Chapter 12: Assassin - 2
The words, "Target found," was a chilling pronouncement that seemed to serve it purpose. My blood ran cold. I stood frozen, my back to the cloaked figure, every muscle in my body telling me to run, to fight, to do anything. But fear, raw and primal, had rooted me to the spot. My hands, hidden in my pockets, began to tremble uncontrollably.
This is it. Just at my back is someone that has a 98% probability of killing me. This isn’t a game, It’s real. I won’t die here, I thought.
I became desperately courageous, born of sheer terror. If I was going to die, I wouldn’t go out without a single question answered.
"Before you do it," I managed to say out, my voice barely a whisper, thick with fear, "just tell me who sent you?" The words felt absurd, almost comical in it desperation, but I had to know. Who wanted Olberic – and now me – dead?
He made a low humorless chuckle behind me. "I will be wasting my time telling a dead man anything." The voice was that of a professional killer.
It was followed by a chilling shiiing of metal sliding from it’s sheath. "I promise to be quick," the assassin added.
I felt a sudden shift in the air, a displacement as the assassin lunged towards me. I didn’t see it, but I felt the rush, the imminent impact. My mind, thought of a solution. Pause!
The world froze.
The rush of air stopped. The faint sounds of the manor was gone, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. The very dust particles suspended in the air hung motionless. The assassin, a dark, cloaked figure, was suspended mid-lunge, his dagger just inches from my back. Every detail was suddenly, unnaturally sharp. The intricate stitching on their cloak, the faint sheen of oil on the dagger’s blade, the slight tension in their muscles, frozen in the act of striking. It was like stepping into a photograph.
Thirty seconds. That’s all I had to act.
My first instinct was to run. But then, a thought, cold and calculating, surfaced. Who are you? I have to know. It was my chance.
I reached out, my hand hovering over the assassin’s face. The hood was pulled low, and a dark, simple cloth masked his face. With a decisive tug, I pulled it down.