Black Blood Story

I already knew they would be there - settled, relaxed, certain that they had won.

The fire in the warehouse started quickly. All it took was a handful of oil and three arrows with incendiary tips. The flames spread like the plague, tinging the sky with a dirty red light. A spectacle. I wanted them to see. I needed them to come out of the shadows.

And they did.

Philip was the first to appear, pushing open the door of the room with the arrogance of someone who thinks he's in control. His guards followed, shoulders tense, eyes scanning their surroundings.

Idiots.

The aim didn't waver. I held my breath and let go.

The first arrow cut through the air like a whisper. Quick, precise. It found the center of Philip's forehead as if it already knew the way. The sound was dry - a hollow pop followed by a spray of blood splashing to the side. I saw the butler hit by the spatter before he even realized what was happening.

Philip's body remained upright for a second. His eyes were wide, still trying to understand.

Then he fell.

Like a rotten tree that yields to the weight of its own arrogance.

The second shot came before the first body touched the ground. One of the Commanders tried to react, but hesitated for a second - and that was enough. The arrow pierced his chest and threw him backwards like a puppet with its strings cut. He didn't even scream. He just fell.

The third tried to look out of the window.

I almost laughed.

The third arrow entered his forehead and exited the back of his head, the tip dirty with brains and his eyes still searching for the source of the attack.

Three dead.

Three shots.

The silence lasted only a moment.

Then the butler started shouting - a mixture of despair and disbelief.

"MEN! FAST! THERE'S BEEN A MURDER! A MURDER!!!"

His cries were hollow, like those of a drowning man who hasn't realized he's already dead. No one responded. No soldier dared to come out.

They knew I was still there.

I moved across the rooftops, feeling the warmth of the tiles under my feet. The bodies on the walls greeted me with the same silence as the living. The smell of blood and smoke enveloped me like a cloak. I climbed rocks, jumped over ledges, balanced myself on beams. Every step was precise. Each arrow, a sentence.

I could hear hearts beating inside the castle.

Those who were hiding - trembling, sweating, praying - haven't understood yet: there's nowhere to hide from an archer like me.

I'm not just an assassin.

I'm the answer.

And tonight... I'm the punishment.

As soon as the first heads appeared through the doors and windows, I didn't waste the opportunity. It was like blood in the water - and I was the predator.

Every arrow I shot had a name. A face. A motive.

The outside guards, all those who had helped sell Vera and Nora's lives, were shot down one by one, without hesitation. I already knew who they were. Alfred told me everything before he paid with his tongue for his betrayal.

Some bastard from the capital - yet another nobleman with too much power and not enough morals - wanted to wipe us out. They wanted to clean up the ashes as if they had never burned. They bought Alfred with promises of wealth, titles and status. And he accepted. Just like others inside that castle.

But what they didn't know... was that I was willing to go all the way.

I carried my quiver of clean, sharp arrows. My war bow strapped to my back, a familiar weight. And then I ran. Like a feline on top of the tiles, fast, silent.

I jumped two courtyards, scaled a wall with ease. I landed on the stone floor of an inner courtyard, almost soundlessly, my body absorbing the impact.

That's when the first guard saw me.

About ten meters away. His hesitation was short, but enough. He shouted - a mistake - and ran with his sword in hand.

I took a breath.

I pulled. I aimed. I let go.

A single arrow.

It pierced the air and went straight into his chest. A deafening thud. He still took two steps, stumbling as if he could ignore the death nailed to his chest - then he toppled over.

"The killer! He's here! He's here!" the shrill scream came from the other side.

The butler.

That voice... God, it was so annoying. It was thin, sharp, desperate. Like a chicken at the slaughterhouse.

The next arrow was aimed at him.

It flew thirstily. It hit him full on.

He fell to the ground letting out a muffled grunt, his voice now nothing more than a choked wail. Blood dripped from his mouth. His lung was punctured.

I moved forward. Quickly. Instinctive.

I aimed the bow at every door, every window around.

Another guard appeared at the entrance. However, he didn't even see me properly, and by the time I noticed him, it was too late.

The arrow hit him hard in the chest. He tried to scream. He tried to fight against what was already inevitable.

Almost as soon as I fired, my hand reached for another arrow in his back. The bow never rested.

I turned around. In the center of the room, the tables were still set. Spilled glasses. Unfinished dishes. They were there, eating, toasting, celebrating the arrival of that worm called Philip.

The maids were huddled in the corners, static. Some were crying. Others just stared at me with wide eyes, as if they were facing a ghost.

And then I saw it.

A familiar face.

Time seemed to slow down. The sound of the fire, the footsteps, the moans, everything became distant.

That person...

It was impossible for him to be there. But he was.

My first tightened around the arrow.

It was Armida.

For a moment, I couldn't believe my eyes.

She was there. In the middle of those people. In that den of traitors.

Time seemed to freeze. I remembered her as if it were yesterday - the two of us, aged eleven, sitting side by side on the cold floor of the library in Karwen's fortress. She was smart, curious, and laughed when I tried to hide the fact that I was nervous about history lessons.

And now...

There she was, plundering something from the body of a boy in a green cloak. I saw the dark glow between her fingers. A ring. A black ring.

Surprise was on her face. Mouth ajar. Her eyes widened. I could almost hear what the look was saying:

"How... how could it be you?"

My first closed on the arrow.

The distance between us was less than ten meters. Maybe less. I didn't hesitate.

I let go of the string.

The arrow flew.

The sound of the impact was dry.

The tip went through her eye socket and out the back of her head, splattering blood on the stone floor. She didn't have time to scream, to fall, to react.

Armida died there.

Without explanation. Without forgiveness.