The Dagger's Wrath (BOOK 1)

Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Oh, Devario... After the big revelation, it's almost like he's lost hope all along through his journey but he'll get back on his feet ready for the battle... Won't he?

Devario Farighan, the Darklands Kingdom

The damaging blow came to his stomach the moment he hit the ground, his head flapping in mid-air and then flopping against the ground with a hard crack.

He hadn't fought that much with Sir Menson, whom had been his mentor of assassination since he was a little boy, but he decided that now might be the best idea. Now might be the best idea, seeing that Fravado, his brother, might just be coming for him any second and he would have to be ready to attack him. He would have to be ready for anything that he threw at him. The swirling sensation of his stomach rolling inside him came the second that he hit the ground with an instant thud, and chaos broke loose into the air as he let out a mighty scream.

It echoed throughout the training chambers where fellow knights and soldiers and boys-in-training were. He got some attentive glances from them, but ignored them all. He wouldn't have to look at them for long if he were to be up on his feet in a battlefield.

"Fight like you would normally fight," a voice called out from the shadowy blur that was his vision, twisting and turning in the vicious ways of life. He didn't know what to think, what to say back to the voice, but he knew who the voice was: Sir Menson. It was an obvious accusation, and it was a rule to speak back to your masters, and so he did.

"Fight like I would normally fight?" It was more of a question than anything else, clinging onto the edge of the thing that had once known himself but who was he, now? Was he still that same assassin that fought for the Slaves of the Contract? No, he was an assassin that fought for himself, for his own inner demons that tried to fight their way through his stomach and release demonic powers into him. He didn't know what he was going to become in the years to come, but he knew that it had to do with the fact that he was here, and he was fighting, training, to become whatever it was.

The voice—now a figure—nodded, and Devario answered by jumping up from his place.

He closed his eyes and thought for just a moment. Suddenly all of the ragged breathing that he heard was Fravado's. His brother was entering his mind, his brother was coming for him and his brother would fight him until he was dead, but he would get back up on his feet like he just did before and fight with his weapons. He opened his eyes to see Sir Menson and swished his way through him, ducking when Menson grabbed his blade and he shoved his master away, pinning him to the ground—

But Sir got up on his feet and lunged for Devario before the assassin plunged his fist at his nose. Blood spurted from his nose but Menson sucked it up before going for a twisting attack, grabbing the assassin's blade and, therefore, arm, twisting it up his back, up, up—Devario, he's coming for you, he's going to murder you, rip out your throat and—but the assassin swiped his foot to Menson's leg, causing him to fall over.

Then he pressed his master's body to the ground and grabbed his blade back, pressing it to his neck.

"Dead," Devario said, simply before turning around, but he knew that Menson, an elder man at least to he, wanted more than just a little fight. The mentor jumped for him and lunged, throwing himself at Devario, but he ducked and Menson went flying over him, landing in a crouch, chuckling. The assassin kept on walking, however.

"I'll see you next session, prince."

Prince.

The word struck him like a fizz of lightning, jiggling through his brain and stomach, taking over his body and hurting him like the way he had done to himself when—no, he would fight, he would fight and win the justice of every good thing that he had faced before this moment. He pushed the wooden doors so that they slowly creaked open and heard a slam behind him as the training room floated behind him.