There was an ominous aura about the air. A cold breeze blew about. In the dim moonlight, the dilapidated mansion ominously stood against the darkened sky. Its creaking doors and shattered windows seemed to whisper the horrors about to unfold. Inside the once-grand ballroom was now a chilling stage for an atrocity orchestrated by two sinister minds.
They were a pair of twisted souls bound by a mutual lust for blood. As they entered the room, their footsteps echoed against the cracked marble floor, each step heavier than the last with anticipation. The guests, lured under false pretences, mingled unsuspectingly, unaware of the impending doom that lurked in the shadows.
The male, tall and gaunt, moved with eerie precision. His eyes, cold and devoid of empathy, scanned the room, calculating his next move. In his gloved hand, he held a gleaming cleaver, its blade catching the pale light that filtered through the dusty windows. The female, shorter but equally menacing, followed closely behind, her hands clenched around a rusted crowbar. Her smile was a grotesque twist of malevolence and madness.
With a sudden, almost choreographed motion, they struck. The male lunged towards the nearest group of guests, his weapon slicing through the air with a hiss. The blade found its mark, plunging into soft flesh. A woman's scream pierced the silence, her eyes wide open with terror as she collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath her.
Panic erupted. The guests scrambled to escape, their screams merging into a cacophony of chaos. The female was, however ready with her crowbar swinging in wide arcs, crushing bones and splintering skulls with sickening thuds. She moved with brutal efficiency, each strike accompanied by the crunch of bone and the wet splatter of blood.
The air grew thick with the smell of blood and the acrid stench of fear. Bodies fell in heaps, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The killers moved through the carnage like wraiths, their faces masks of unholy glee. They relished in the destruction, the female's laughter mingling with the dying gasps of their victims.
They seemed to stretch and distort in the hellish ballroom, each second an eternity of agony and despair. The once elegant space was transformed into a slaughterhouse, its walls spattered with gore. Finally, as the last echoes of life faded away, they stood amidst the ruins of their macabre masterpiece, drenched in blood and basking in the silence that followed the massacre.
They exchanged a glance, a wordless communication of shared satisfaction. Their dark work complete, they slipped away into the darkness of night, leaving behind a scene of unspeakable horrors that would haunt the living and dead alike for generations to come.
They moved silently through the forest, their footsteps barely a whisper against the forest floor. The moon cast a cold silvery light on their path, illuminating their way back to their hidden base. Their mission had been brutally successful, and they only carried the weight of their deeds with them.
The male, known as Shadow, was a tall figure draped in black. His face was obscured with a dark mask, that covered his lower face. His crimson eyes seemed to absorb every detail of the night. Beside him walked Viper, a lithe and agile female with an aura of lethal grace. Her long hair, tied back lightly shimmered like dark silk in the moonlight.
The journey back to the base was marked by an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of owls. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if in reverence or fear of the deadly pair passing through. Each carried the tools of their trade with practiced ease; Shadow's cleaver still stained with the blood of his victims, and Viper's crowbar, still dripping in blood.
As they neared their base, a hidden bunker carved into the side of a rocky hill, the tension in their muscles began to ease. The entrance was well concealed, a heavy metal door camouflaged with the surrounding rocks and foliage. Shadow approached first, entering a code into the concealed keypad. The door slid open silently, revealing a dimly lit corridor that led to their underground haven.
Inside, the air was cool and filled with the faint hum of the bunker's ventilation system. The walls were lined with high-tech equipment, maps and weaponry. They moved with the confidence of those who knew every inch of this place, their sanctuary and their fortress.
In the central room, they finally paused. Shadow removed his mask. His crimson eyes though cold, held a flicker of satisfaction. Viper ran her hand through her hair, her face betraying a moment of weariness.
"Another job well done,"
A male figure appeared behind a door and walked towards the pair. He removed his mask, revealing a chiselled face marred by a deep scar across his cheek. His voice was a low rumble.
Viper nodded, her lips curving into a slight smile. "Indeed; they never saw us coming, or leaving in that case."
Scarface and Viper chuckled at the joke, but Shadow remained unmoved.
They moved to a table where a map lay spread out, dotted with red marks indicating their past missions. Shadow picked up a marker and added another mark, a silent testament to their growing legend.
As they settled into the quiet of their base, the weight of their actions seemed to dissipate, replaced by the cold efficiency of planning their next move. For now, they allowed themselves a moment of rest, knowing that the night had been theirs and that their reputation as the deadliest assassins remained unchanged.
The base perimeter was guarded by silent sentinels, their eyes sharp and senses alert. Inside the base was a hive of activity. Assassins moved like wraiths through the shadows, training in secluded open areas, or sharpening their weapons in dimly lit rooms. Suddenly the silence was shattered by a series of swift coordinated movements. From the surrounding treetops, figures dressed in dark, non-reflective clothing descended silently, their faces hidden by masks. They moved with precision and purpose; each step calculated to avoid detection.
The first wave of the attackers neutralized the perimeter guards with swift, silent strikes. Bodies dropped to the forest floor without a sound. The infiltrators then moved to the entrance, which was open; orchestrated by their inside person. Inside the base, the assassins were taken by surprise. The invaders moved with the efficiency of seasoned warriors, using smoke bombs and flash grenades to disorient their targets. A fierce but brief struggle ensued in the hallways and training grounds, the clash of steel and muffled cries punctuating the night.
The leader of the attackers, a figure clad, in black with a silver insignia on their chest directed the assault with hand signals. They moved through the base like shadows, eliminating their targets and securing strategic points. The element of surprise was their greatest weapon; and they wielded it with deadly effectiveness.
Within minutes, the base was overrun. The invaders gathered the surviving assassins in the main room, where their leader revealed their face, a mask of triumph and cold fury.
Suddenly, slow rhythmic footsteps were heard from a dark corridor.
"You have outdone yourself, Chang."
Scarface appeared from the dark corridor, clapping his hands slowly and maniacally, accompanied by a dozen of his best assassins, who descended on their opponents with elephantine fury, neutralizing them all in split seconds.
The air became thick with tension as the two assassin leaders; Scarface and Chang, faced each other, surrounded by the bodies of their fallen comrades.
"Attacking me in my base? Surely you must be suicidal." Scarface said.
Chang stood tall and composed, his eyes sharp and calculating, never leaving his opponent. He wielded a pair of sleek, curved daggers, their edges glinting menacingly in the dim, flickering lights of the room.
His movements were fluid, like a predator ready to strike, every muscle coiled with deadly intent.
Scarface stood opposite him, of equal stature and lethal grace. In his gloved hands, he held a pair of ornate, razor sharp sai. His eyes burned with cold fire, reflecting the years of rivalry that had led to this inevitable confrontation.
The fight began with a blur of motion, both leaders launching into a flurry of attacks and counterattacks. Their weapons clashed with a series of sharp, ringing sounds, each strike met with a precise block or parry. Chang moved like shadow, his daggers a seamless extension of his body, while Scarface's sai twirled and slashed with deadly precision, his movements a mesmerizing dance of death.
Chang feinted to the left, his daggers flashing towards Scarface, but he was ready. He twisted his body, his sai deflecting the blow with a metallic clang. In the same motion, he brought his sai around in a sweeping arc, aiming for Chang's midsection. He barely evaded the strike, rolling to the side and coming up in a crouch, his eyes never leaving Scarface.
The duel continued; with neither giving an inch, their skills seemed to be evenly matched. Chang's strikes were swift and relentless, a barrage of attacks designed to overwhelm and outmanoeuvre. Scarface countered with a combination of agility and technique, using his sai to trap and redirect Chang's daggers, turning his own momentum against him.
Suddenly, Chang spotted an opening. He backed him to a corner and lunged forward; his daggers aimed at Scarface's neck. Scarface hadn't anticipated such a move, and trapped between Chang and the wall. With a swift twist, Chang disarmed him, sending his sai flying from his grip. Chang reacted instantly, bringing his daggers up, in a forward slash, followed by the wet splatter of blood. Chang leapt back, blood dripping from his daggers.
Scarface fell knee first on the floor, blood spurting from his neck, before falling face down, blood pooling under him.
Chang abruptly turned and threw his daggers into the shadows. A figure emerged from the shadows, a dagger plunged into his shoulder and another right through his right arm. He barely winced in pain as he pulled the daggers from his flesh.
Chang cautiously leapt back, in shock.
"What the-" Chang gasped.
Shadow moved in slow calculated steps. He had a cold, soul searching stare. He held the two daggers, as he circled around Chang.
He pointed to his neck with the dagger in his left arm, momentarily distracting Chang. And with a hiss, the dagger flew through the air and sunk into Chang's neck, exactly where Shadow had pointed.
Chang gasped as he tried pulling out the dagger from his neck, coughing out blood.
"The more you try pulling it out, the more painful it gets." Shadow's voice was flat and emotionless.
He then pointed to his heart using the other dagger. Chang tried shielding his heart with his palm, but a swift hiss through the air sent a dagger flying through his palm and into his heart, making him fall backwards, painfully gasping for air. Blood pooled quickly under him. Shadow went up towards Scarface's lifeless body and bowed slightly before it.
"Until we meet again, sensei-"
He felt a certain chill; and as if by instinct, his body moved to the left, dodging a kunai. He stood, his back towards the enemy as she appeared from a dark corridor.
"You never drop your guard, do you, partner?" Viper said, as she held onto her crowbar.
Shadow sighed, and turned to face her. "The only thing that will be dropping, will be your lifeless body once I'm finished with you."
"Is that what you said, when you killed your parents?" she asked, a menacing look on her face. "Oops, I hope I didn't strike a nerve."
His eye twitched. She had some nerve; selling them out to their worst enemies, and now she was getting to him. He couldn't overlook such an act; she had to pay.
The two assassins were not only extremely talented but also hell bent on the kill. Thus, the fight would be extremely tight. Earlier on, Shadow had trusted Viper but now the only thing he could feel from her were her eyes, glinting with malice in the dimly lit room. She was not the partner he knew and trusted; she was a traitor.
And with that, both stepped forward, weapons meeting in between to create an effect of a fire sparkle. It would be very hard for onlookers to determine who was in a better position to defeat the other as both dancers moved up with such high speeds. Both had fought together in the past but this fight was of a different kind altogether. This fight was extra special for Shadow because the betrayal had left a bad taste in his mouth; he had lost his tutor and sensei.
He had the advantage of height over his opponent, which he used to his full advantage. His cleaver rose and fell again, but Viper blocked his swing smartly. It was a fair fight until finally, it was realized that Viper had started to succumb to exhaustion. Shadow's stamina in a fight was unrivalled; even at his worst. Despite this, she fought on, determined to win.
The fight was gruelling and went on for what seemed like hours. Shadow dodged deadly blows aimed at his head and countered attacks with his cleaver. He tried his hardest not to let his guard down, knowing that one mistake could cost him everything. As the fight went on, Viper's stamina was spent. It was clear that she could no longer continue fighting. She knew that she had been beaten by her former partner, who now stood before her. Although she was defeated, she had no regrets because she knew that she had fought to the end. In an act of desperation, she lit a grenade, and an explosion followed.
Out of the wreckage of the building, Shadow crawled and he looked weak and sore. Most of his black clothes were ragged and burnt and were hanging loosely on his well-built torso. One of his eyes was nearly shut, and the other arm dragged heavily at his side: the bone of which had been very undoubtedly cracked by one of Viper's powerful blows. He looked frantically with his one eye at the wreckage around him searching for sign of his female adversary. This fight had stemmed from Viper's heinous act, but quickly turned into full-blown brawl, all the repressed animosities had come to the surface.
In the duration of the fight, the resentment and an ego affected between the two assassins made these actual fights turn into passionate battles. He had fought her with brute force and fury and as they clawed away at each other, they had kicked, stabbed and shot their way around the large open space of the cave in a deadly ballet. Blood flew, skin split, bones shattered. They had knocked each other through walls, and given their all in the fight.
Finally, Viper had lit a grenade and the explosion from that killed every one in the building in flames. She had no doubt that no ordinary man or woman alive could survive it. But Shadow was not an ordinary man.
A very faint sound of movement in the rubble and Viper managed to crawl out from under a large piece of reinforcement iron that had fallen through the floor. She stepped carefully, her fairly graceful movement now hampered significantly by discomfort. Her long black hair hung loosely over her pretty face, but it was not enough to hide the carnage caused by Shadow: her beautiful red lips were cut vertically, one eye was swollen shut, and blood trailed down her ashen cheeks for what might have been multiple small cuts. Her black garment was torn and scorched.
Nonetheless, when Viper looked at Shadow across the debris, the eye she had left retained the receptive rage of hunters as she challenged him. With her free hand she grabbed one of the knives left at her belt, and with the other she aimed at a thin pistol lying the ground.
Shadow stiffened his muscles in hope to jump behind the nearest object quickly. He had nearly depleted his personal artillery and various amusing booby traps during that protracted fight. The most he could do would be to try to wrestle the gun away from Viper but his battered body resented the idea of close combat with her.
But defeat wasn't possible. Their personal war would only stop when one of them would die so they could fulfil their role of the provided professional hitman. This truth could be felt in the smoke within the air between them as they glared at each other across what their battle had reduced to.
Seconds stretched taut. The shabby twosome may well have flung themselves at one another once more if only police car alarms had not started ringing somewhere nearby. Officials were probably reacting to reports of the blast and subsequent fire; later they would descend on the scene in droves. The hideout was secluded but the fight was not unheard of.
Shadow moved first and vanished into the darkness as he was clearly in pain. With this, he will get the small respite he needs to exhaust more strength and prepare himself for the next battle he's certain will be there. Viper stayed a moment longer, her eyes threatening to claw him down the next time they met. Then she also limped away with fractured ribs before the arriving police cars and fire trucks could cage them.
Both the injured assassins understood that this was far from done. Any time they commenced a rivalry—couched as it always was in layers of fear on both sides—one of them would heal too slowly, and the cycle would begin anew. As two poles of magnets inevitably attract one another, so did the couple's hatred constructive from lack of tolerance. Each was equally bent on being the one to bring the other to a stop. Seeking non-development of conflict, their duel had been going on for years and may have been extended for many more years.
For Viper, continuing the play with a despised but once-respected opponent was a dark thrill for her. Just as it did for Shadow. So, their mad dance would continue.
Yet things would only get worse when they would meet again in the future – the bodies would be even more broken, the impact even more deadly. They never distinguished between public domains; they could no longer afford to leave room for the neutral parties. And the longer their animosity remained unresolved, the greater their external losses would also be exacerbated. The last two famous killers had no restraint for anyone including any onlookers or the innocents around them. The desire of both sides had reduced what was once clinical rivalry to a murderous grudge match with no codes or boundaries. Tonight, was only the beginning of how much they would be willing to risk the fight in their own war. None of them would even stop the process until the other was completely annihilated, regardless of what additional expenses would come with it.
And with Viper and Shadow gone once more, the destruction of the hideout was all that remained of the unmanaged carnage that will erupt the moment their paths cross and when their self-destructive respective lives inversely intertwine once more. It would be more shattered limbs, more lost fluids, more bodies turned to ash, and then, at last, an empty body to reward one killer for beating his most despised adversary. But not yet. Not this night. The deadly dance would go on.