The dilapidated lights hummed nervously barely holding on. The lights filtered through panels embedded in the walls and ceilings effectively removing all forms of shadow in the room.
Cameras in every corner tracked every one of the kid's actions. An innocent young boy with unkempt black hair and, a sterilized grey uniform watches the man in the white suit. He watches over all of the recruits. His subordinate writes down all of the information on his clipboard.
Only the buzzing of the flies broke through the tension.
"Lift your head. Number: 231," the white suit man commands, putting his arms behind his back. His face was incomprehensible and smudged–a fragmented ghost of the past.
As Thomas' memory fades, he is brought back to reality. His eyes narrow with a cold professionalism, as Zhang and Edward raise their blades.
"Sorry I got to get you down here," Zhang says in a hesitant yet defensive tone.
"It's fine," Edward replies, fingers curling around the hilt. "I'm not complaining.
Someone's got to do the hard things around here." His jaw tightens, his gaze narrowing on the Acid King.
"I don't know how he got here," Zhang questions, furrowing his brow. "He tried to enter the Reaper's cell. Either to clean up loose ends or free him."
"I wish to leave him dead for you guys," Thomas moves his claws, through his flowing jet-black hair. "Too bad the big dogs want him back in 1 piece. Sentimental in their investments. Don't ask me why?"
"Investments?" Zhang furrows his brow.
"We have so many different multi-million knives in the drawer. If you're that special, they don't want a rusty tool," Thomas shakes his head, shrugging at the thought. "Eh, it doesn't really matter anyway."
Edward steps closer, voice low but steady. "Tell me–whose orders are you following?"
Thomas cracks his knuckles, the acid seeping through his claws like a warning. "No one tells me what to do–except him,"
"Him?" Edward's gaze sharpens. "Who?"
Zhang frowns but Thomas doesn't give him a glance. "You know enough."
Edward nods slowly, the tension in the air rising. "Let me handle this Zhang. I have the better advantage against him."
"Don't be reckless." Zhang steps back, slicing the air like a paintbrush. The invisible gusts swirl around the stainless steel as Thomas pounces forward.
"This is my battle," Edward screams out, "Not yours."
He rushes forward, his movements are fluid and unpredictable. His swings–a pattern of powerful strikes aimed at Thomas' weak points. Redirecting his arms up and down,
Thomas deflects Edward's stainless steel with his gauntlets. A long clink of metal rings out.
Zhang slides down on the floor with the grace of a predator, wrapping the bottoms of his feet around Thomas. As the assassin stumbles with a loud thud, Edward doesn't hesitate–sharply bringing his blade down, intent on ending the battle.
Pushing off his foot, Thomas spins off the ground, dodging the attack.
As he pushes himself off the floor, Zhang is already there, rolling forward and snapping a quick kick that pushes Thomas' arm back. Coiling his legs back, Zhang unleashes them like a cannonball, crashing into the assassin's chest.
Thomas catches his breath as Edward gently swings his blade with deadly precision. Tucking his arms close, he maintains his distance between himself and the old man. With a quick sweeping motion, Thomas redirects Edward's arm back.
With the old man momentarily stunned, Thomas steps forward swiping away Edward's right arm before landing a visceral punch to the old man's rib cage. As Edward lets out a small grunt, Thomas gets behind the senior citizen, grabbing his shoulders.
He slightly pulls Edward's body off balance, before landing a sharp calculated kick to the knee. Edward's legs buckle as gravity takes over, falling with a heavy uncontrolled descent before sprawling onto the floor.
Thomas holds onto Edward's collar tightly as Zhang charges forward but the assassin kicks him aside with ease.
Bringing Edward closer, Thomas' hand cuts through the air with a falling blade, smacking into the back of the old man's head. As Edward's head snaps back, he brings his arms up, protecting himself from the next barrage of strikes.
Deliberately pushing Edward back, the old man stumbling on his footing, Thomas lands a deliberate sharp blow to the joint with precision. As Edward clamps his hands together over the injured joint, Thomas' hands slice through the air around him, crashing into Edward's eardrums like cymbals.
A deafening ringing floods through Edward's head, but before he can recover, Thomas lands a swift powerful sweep crashing into the old man's leg. The force sends him to the floor with a sickening thud. Turning his gaze, Thomas sees Zhang rushing forward like a typhoon, swinging his dual katanas like descending crescent moons.
"When do you ever give up?" Thomas taunts, attempting to land a visceral sidekick. Unsummoning his katanas mid-charge, Zhang intercepts the assassin's leg, surprising him. Slashing downward, Thomas' hand drops like a guillotine but the warden snatches it and throws it over his shoulder.
Grabbing onto the other leg, Zhang pushes Thomas's weight and momentum and yanks him onto the stone floor with a sickening crack.
"Is that your answer?" Zhang taunts, resuming his katana. He brings them down like a brush on a war-torn canvas. Thomas, reacting in time, kicks Zhang's arm aside. Grabbing onto the warden's collar, Thomas slams Zhang's head on the unforgiving surface of the wall in front of him.
Pushing his elbow back, Zhang drives it like a screwdriver into Thomas' stomach. As the assassin stumbles back, Zhang builds on the pressure, landing a flurry: a wide kick to the gut, a sweep to the leg, a strike to the face, before whirling for a spin kick that cracks Thomas' chin.
Thomas' body flies through the air like a mannequin, crashing into the narrow stone walls around him with a bone-jarring force. Zhang kicks his leg forward, aiming to snap Thomas' head off but the assassin keeps his arms low, blocking the strike.
Leaving with a flurry of punches, Thomas moved with deadly precision but Zhang was faster, slapping and redirecting each of Thomas' strikes. Sweeping his leg like a blade, Thomas crashes it against Zhang's side but he blocks it with his arms closely tucked together–the shin meets his forearms with a meaty thud.
Thomas tries to leave with a punch but Zhang lands a visceral slice of his palm on his face like a lash of lightning, snapping it back before yanking him forward. Grabbing onto his collar, Zhang crashes his rising knee up Thomas' sternum, knocking the air out of his lungs.
Dazed, Thomas staggers. Sweated dripped from his brow A faint trail of smoke billows and rises from his gauntlet. A shimmering liquid ooze shoots out, twisting like a living serpent.
"You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart," Thomas' voice cuts through the tension.
Zhang leaps out of the acid's trajectory, narrowly dodging the stream of death. He drives his katana like a lightning spear but Thomas grabs Zhang's wrist and directs him off balance.
Extending his leg forward, Zhang slashes a crimson line across Thomas' chest.
"Nice try," Zhang cuts back. Blood drips off his temple momentarily, blurring his vision. Stumbling back on his feet, he clutches his forehead. Lifting his head, Zhang is instantly met with a knee driving into his face.
Crashing into the wall, he slowly slumps to the floor below. Looking over the injured Zhang, Thomas makes his way to the cell room.
"You're going to get him?" Edward mutters, fighting through the pain.
"Don't talk to me," Zhang snaps.
Edward coughs. "He's getting away."
"Not for long," Zhang says quietly, rising to his feet. He slowly slumps back down with a sharp exhale. "After I take a small break first."
"I can't move my body," Edward finishes weakly.
The cell door hinges hiss as they melt into a liquid goo. The door falls onto the unforgiving floor with a loud metallic thud.
"Oh, my savior. You're here," The Reaper compliments, lying casually in his bed. Thomas, now bruised, stares off with displeasure.
"Can you take these chains off?" the Reaper suggests. With a quick flick of a finger, Thomas slices the metallic chains in half with a thin acid whip. The two assassins quickly make their way out of the cell, leaving the two wardens behind them.
"You still look rough," Thomas scowls.
"That filthy old man," The reaper softly rubs his shoulder. "He was a lot rougher than I thought."
"Really?" Thomas says, pretending to sympathize. "He gave me a run for my money—nothing I can't handle. Maybe you've just gone soft."
The Reaper looks over his shoulder, glaring at the Acid King. "You're not the only one close to Romano's circle."
"Yeah, I'm not," Thomas smugly walks. "But I'm one of the best. If you're not the best, you're just dead weight."
"Thankfully I'm not," the Reaper smiles, making his way out of the corridors. Thomas takes a deep exhale, rolling his shoulders back. Being the best wasn't just his pride but his survival.
The Emissary opens his pocket watch checking the time. A golden metallic click rings in his ear as he notices the approaching assassins.
"Good job," he calmly congratulates. "Any troubles?"
"None at all," Thomas walks forward. "Threats neutralized. Not dead."
The Emissary stays quiet. He looks over his shoulder, disappointed by the response. A shadow crosses his face. "Oh–really."
The room fell silent, the flaps of the flies below broke through the tension. The three men move through the corridor, their steps echoing off the ornate walls around them.