After enduring the agony of hanging from the ceiling for hours, Adonis finally found relief as the Duchess and her dreadful daughters departed. As he dropped to the ground like a cat, his muscles protesting with pain, a sinister grin crept across his face. Now, he could start the hunt.
The three brats had given him pools of information, which he now stored in his mind like a hunter preparing for the kill. With his knives at the ready, he set out to instil fear in the hearts of his prey. Time to scare some rabbits.
To hunt an animal, you must know your terrain for your game. Bait it, and then drive it down, slowly increasing the fear register, and once it reaches the peak, the death blow.
To bait effectively, one must understand the terrain and manipulate the instincts of the quarry. Adonis began by appealing to their desires: Cammalleri's obsession with attire and jewels, Delia's attachment to her puppy, and the Duchess's longing for her husband.
Dahlia's rooms were on the second level, the fifth door to the left. Adonis surveyed the room with disdain. Outdated tapestries adorned the walls, while worn-out furnishings filled the space. He opened the armoire doors. Gowns packed so thick you could barely stick your hand in to wrestle them out. Getting the gowns out proved easy, as he simply ripped them out. He grunted as he grasped a gown set in rubies, and smothered in layers of linen. God, did she need to die in rubies to get herself noticed in court?! He tore through the armoire, slashing at the extravagant gowns with his knives until they lay in tatters at his feet. Each slice was a mockery of Dahlia's vain attempts to garner attention, reducing her prized possessions to nothing more than shredded remnants of her shallow existence.
Wouldn't there be hysterics!
Satisfied with his handiwork, Adonis slipped to the back room. He closed the chamber doors from the inside and slipped out the window. Balancing on the sill, he locked the windows, too. He dropped to the gravel and headed to the kitchens.
The head cook was from Fineas' care. A master in the kitchen. Cammalleri was there, dipping her finger into a spiced pumpkin sauce with roasted parsnip sticks. Servants bustled around her wide girth to the ovens with cauldrons of tomatoes to be roasted with peppers and black garlic, and pots of kneaded bread to be baked. They stirred vegetable stock over the fire pits, sautéing vegetables in pans with onions and red wine. Orders barked in the air.
"Turn down the head on that lobster!"
"Where's my steak?"
"You're getting greasy oil everywhere!"
A servant set down a tray of pounded steaks near the cooking station. "These need to rest before caramelizing."
No one saw a single rump fillet of steak disappear. Adonis held it between finger and thumb as he made his way to the trees near the pond. Berries were scattered and squashed on the wooden path and he crushed a handful of the hard red berries and smeared it over the raw slab of meat. These were belladonna and just one was poisonous. He shimmied up the creepers and dropped into Cammalleri's quarters. There was a plush dog basket in the corner of the bedroom, and the puppy was in it.
Adonis paused, considering his choices: Kill the mut now or leave it the meat.
The spaniel drew back its jowls, revealing nippy canines. It was about to go into a barking volley. Adonis wiggled the steak temptingly. Instantly, the pup's ears went floppy and its mouth opened. He dropped the steak onto its bed. "Sweet dreams," he murmured as the puppy began gnawing the belladonna-soaked steak.
Thirdly, there was the Duchess of Carlin herself.
He climbed further up to the third floor. the window was locked, from the outside. He cursed his luck. Dammit!"
Peering through the white frame and glass, he could see Penelope admiring herself before a full-length mirror of sea blue glass. What she wore took his breath away. It was of fashionable style at least— pearl-white with a scooped lace collar and an open, plunging black. Her sleeves hung off at the elbows in delicate puffs with ribbons and more flowing lace. The skirts were softly rippling off her body like sea foam.
This was a gown he'd put on his wife. Elegant, enchanting, and utterly flawless. Yet... it was a shame to cut down this Plopstop in it. Maybe make the cut small and save the dress.
Penelope dabbed in pots, touching rouge to her cheeks and around her eyes. She unpinned her jewelled combs and let the waterfall hang down her back with faint streaks of gray she was trying to dye.
Gray and white? A stark contrast. Like a gray wolf in the Briar Forrest of Tressden. On her it looks like a shroud of a dead one.
He remembered the night of the Starlight Ball in Tressden, when he'd not been able to shake the image of the gray wolf from his mind. He'd felt a strange pull towards her as if she held some kind of secret that he needed to uncover. And so, under the cover of darkness, he'd ventured out into the Briar Forrest of Tressden to search for her. The forest had eerily quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet. Adonis had felt as if he were being watched, the shadows playing tricks on his mind. But he'd pressed on, determined to find the mysterious wolf.
After what felt like hours of wandering, he'd finally caught sight of her. She'd stood amongst the trees, her gray and white fur blending seamlessly with the snow-covered ground. Her eyes had locked onto his, piercing him with their intensity. Without a word, she'd turned and began to run, disappearing into the depths of the forest. Adonis had followed, his heart pounding in his chest. The chase was exhilarating, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins.
Finally, he'd caught up to her at a clearing, the moon casting a silvery light upon them. And at that moment, he saw her for what she truly was – a wolf-like no other. Her fur shimmered with a magical glow, her eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom. As he'd approached her, she nuzzled against his hand, a silent understanding passing between them. Adonis knew then that she was no ordinary wolf, but a spirit of the forest, a guardian of Tressden's wild lands.
Hidden among the birch trees, Yura, King of Tressden, a figure of unparalleled majesty and grace. had watched the acceptance of the wolf and this emissary. He was sovereign of the woodland realm, the land a vision born of moonlight and shadow. His half-blood form was tall and lithe, draped in robes of shimmering silver and gold that seemed to flow like liquid moonbeams around him. His hair, spun from strands of starlight, cascaded in a silken over his broad shoulders, crowned by a circlet of delicate silver deer antlers adorned with the delicate filigree of leaves and vines.
But it is his eyes that twinkled with laughter at the scene that he had watched repeat itself in the ancient forests, deep and fathomless, of ages untold.
"She has tasted your blood and wishes you to her pack. All wolves must meet with my blood and accept them. But with a foreigner, they are prone to rip their throats out. You? It has been a long time since the Old One has found you worthy of the journey."
When he'd spoken, it was as though the very air around him became enchanted, shimmering with an ethereal light that danced in harmony with the music of his voice.
Together, they roamed the forest with the She-wolf, a stark contrast of gray and white against the backdrop of snow and ice. And as the sun began to rise, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Adonis knew that he had found something truly magical in the Briar Forrest of Tressden – a connection that transcended time and space, a bond that would last for eternity.
Tressden was another mighty kingdom deep set in the howling cold north of the world where the sea raged against teeth of ice, frost, and starlight. It rose in the Frozen Icelands and guarded by the Ice Wolves. In winter it was cloaked in a majestic cloak of snow and icicles dripping like diamonds. The icicles frozen into solid shapes of diamonds and remained like that forever. Tressden was a land flowing with magic and beauty. When the sun came and spring ripened, the snow melted and lush green lands emerged with a wild terrain and rugged aurora. Adonis had only been there twice in his long life, second when a shipment of furs and pelts had been shipwrecked in the fire calderas of Volta. Tressden's King had called for help when the Volta dragons had attacked the cargo ships and the Assassins of the Empire of Glass had responded to their aid. Adonis had spent a frigid journey on a ship hurling his guts up arriving in the tossing, icy waters. To free the ships, their ships had to enter the Fire Sea and face the Volta dragons who were hell-bent on burning these miserable humans and leaving their stinking corpses at the bottom of the ocean. They'd used grappling hooks, crossbows, and javelins to fend on the air serpents while Assassins hacked the Tressden ships free from the slowly setting magma in the ocean.
Then they had sailed back into safer seas leaving behind them the butchered carcasses of the dragons. The King of Tressden had met them on the southernmost tip of the shores with his cadre and a pack of Ice Wolves. The She-wolf that had tasted Adonis' blood bounded through the fluffy snow, crying in delight to see her favourite. Then she proceeded to bowl him off his feet into the snow. The King had a disgust for assassins entering his homeland, but he'd been enchanted by Adonis of a glass soul.
The Tressdens was a kingdom of humans and ancients of lasting life, made of flesh, bone, and blood. No magic. Adonis had offered a display of glass souls in his court in exchange for the King's consent for three furs and pelts for his lover. King Yura had accepted his terms. The furs were of wolves. "Blood Wolves," King Yura had explained. "Our bloodthirsty enemies of the south. Always trying to cull our numbers and hunt us to extinction. In return for our loss of life and heart, we gut them, flay them, and turn them into cloaks for Kings and High-Ones." Gone had been the warmth and enchantment, replaced by a steel sharp blade forged in the icy depths. His voice had carried the weight of judgment, stern and unyielding, as he addressed those who had dared to betray the trust of his people. Adonis had sensed that this man was very like him.
"You could turn them into our fluffy toilet seat butt warmers." Adonis had offered, his face straight.
These creatures wore silky, thick coats of silvery-gray and white. Canines for crushing bones and legs rippling with muscles longing to hunt. A bit like himself. If he'd been a wolf, this gray lady was going to die tonight.
Adonis waited until Penelope swept out of the room and balanced himself on the balls of his feet, his nails clinging onto the edges of the window frame. His fingers deftly reached for the concealed set of jet hairpins, each one a deadly tool disguised as an innocuous accessor in his ermine-white hair with its dregs of dark coffee-brown tips. It had been used to fasten half of his hair behind his ears in pleats. Adonis had spared no expense in crafting them, knowing that in his line of work, versatility was paramount.
With a flick of his wrist, he inserted one of the hairpins into the lock, his fingers moving with practiced ease. A soft click! signalled his success, and he pushed the window open with a silent exhale.
The windows opened. He returned the pin, twisting it roughly into his hair into a messy bun, and dropped to the floor. Penelope's bedroom was on the right.
Everything an Assassin owed was used as a weapon. A bottle of wine to a paperweight. Those were made of heavy glass— enough to shatter a human's wrist. Adonis had commissioned a set of hair pins, supposedly for a woman, but he personally used them. Each pin was a weapon. One was the head of a stiletto, a scalpel, and a collection of lockpicks. You never knew what could happen to you. He'd even gifted Elise a fan made of folded plates of diamond-edged metal.
His eyes scanned the room for any sign of movement. Every shadow seemed to dance with potential danger, but Adonis remained focused, his senses honed to a razor-sharp edge.
With precision, he moved silently across the room, his steps barely making a sound against the polished floor. His eyes flickered to the portrait of Charles, Penelope's late husband, a man whose memory hung heavy in the air. Adonis felt a pang of sympathy for Penelope, but sentimentality had no place in his line of work. Charles was dressed in a black doublet with sapphires, a sword at his hip.
A fighter? How quickly he met his demise.
His fingers brushed against the cool metal of his knives, a reminder of the tools at his disposal. Adonis whipped his knives free and made quick work of the portrait, slashing it beyond recognition.
With a final glance around the room, Adonis knew that his work was done. The baits were set, and now all he could do was wait. But even as he slipped silently away, he knew that this was far from over. For Adonis, the thrill of the chase was what kept him alive, and he wouldn't rest until his mission was complete.
*************
It all began with Cammalleri's shrieks echoing through the corridors
"MOTHER!!!"
Cammalleri stood in her room, screaming as her mother burst into the room.
"Look at my dresses! Who did this?!" She thrust the material at Penelope's face. The Duchess' face was slack, her heavy jowls like a bulldog hung open. Her beloved dresses were torn to shreds.
"Who—"
"And this! It was just bought!" She ripped at what remained of a silver sequinned gown. "It was new! MY PERFECTLY NEW DRESS!!" And her voice rose to a perfect scream. Penelope called her to the head butler.
"JEEVEA! WHAT DID YOU DO?!
"I put everything back as you ordered, Ma'am. Washed and pressed..." The words died on his lips as he took in the pile of gemstones and shreds. He bellowed, "WHO DID THIS?"
Accusations flew, and even the loyal servants trembled under her wrath. "My lady, we never—"
"I swear I'll fire every since one of you unless you tell me!"
"Where is my maid? It'll be her! I'll have her head!" Cammalleri screamed. clutching her dresses.
"Have her head you shall. I'll have all your heads," smirked the hidden shadow.
Patty dropped a deep curtsy, so deep her nose was almost touching the ground. "My lady, I never touched your clothes, I put them away as you said-"
"You were here! It was you who found this ruin! You're responsible!"
"Madame!" A young boy in a smock coat and breeches smacked open the doors. "The puppy has—"
Dahila bolted from the hysterics, her blonde curls streaming behind her as she slapped open her doors to find Poppy-honey. Poppy-honey was slumped on her side, her tongue handing, her glass eyes still. Beside her was a sickly mess of blood and vomit. As was a chunk of raw steak.
"No!!" Dahlia dropped to her knees, dropping to her knees, scooping up Poppy-honey. The puppy's body was cold and limp. Grief-stricken, she clutched the limp body of her beloved pet, while the shadow lingered in the background, casting a pall over the once-glamorous halls of the chateau.
"My God," gasped her mother.
"How could this happen?" Dahlia wailed, tears wrenching from her glass heart. Her body bent in heaving sobs.
"Poisoned."
"My lady!" A manservant burst through the doors, gripping their edges, his knuckles white.
"I swear someone is playing a cruel trick on us!" Penelope turned on the servant. "I swear I'm going to behead every one of you!"
"His Lordship's portrait," he panted.
"Oh, God," she moaned.
But the terror did not end there. The family patriarch's portrait was discovered defaced and destroyed. Assassins in ancient times had signalled death to the high class by disfiguring their portraits before murdering them in their beds. the practice was outdated, but it was still regarded with fear, sending shivers down the spines of the noble family.
"Charles!" Penelope was struck still by the portrait. A dead puppy and shredded clothes.
"Who—" A strangled noise in her throat made her choke. "Who did this?"
"I did."
The shadow had been following them. A black ghost. A wraith of the dead.
He crept closer to Penelope, glaive, and axe in hand. She turned, startled, and he saw fear flicker in her eyes. He chuckled darkly, relishing the terror he could instil in her.
Like a nightmare hidden in the casting shadows of the chateau.
"Assassin," faltered the butler.
Dahlia's hands went slack and Poppy-honey bounced off the stone, her neck snapping. Cammalleri's fabrics pooled around her ankles.
Patty vomited.
He grabbed Penelope by the hair, pulling her towards him. She whimpered, her fingers tipped with gold nails grasping at his arms in a futile attempt to break free. Adonis whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin, "You thought you could escape justice, didn't you, my dear Duchess? But I am here to deliver it."
He raised the knife, ready to strike the final blow. He slit her throat open, almost decapitating her. Penelope staggered and fell face-first at his feet, her blood pooling over his boots. The Reaper stood over Penelope's lifeless body, the duchess' blood still dripping from his blade. He lifted his splattered face from the mess and said one word, "Run."
Dahlia was the first to gather her wits about her and used Cammalleri as a human shield and shoved her towards the door, sacrificing her to save herself just as Adonis withdrew a throwing knife. Throwing it into Jeeva's back.
Servants staggered to the door as blood splattered everywhere, slamming them shut just as Adonis, with a savage knee strike, broke through the door, causing chaos and carnage as he mercilessly cut down anyone in his path.
"RUN!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD— RUN!!!" screamed Cammalleri as he sunk his axe point through her spine. She died as Dahlia and Patty disappeared around the corner.
Eight servants and one duchess. Sixty-two servants and one daughter to go.
He wiped the blood from his eyes and walked through every room to complete his carnage. It was a game of hide-and-seek. servants Hide from this murderer. Try not to get killed.
Two frantic footmen cowered in the shadows, their glass hearts pounding in fear. With trembling hands, they grabbed hold of two heavy chairs, desperation etched on their faces as they launched a brutal assault against the intruder. The wooden legs of the chairs swung wildly, aiming to crush Adonis' skull and put an end to the terror he brought with him.
But Adonis was no ordinary man. He blocked the legs of the chairs gouging his eyes, the impact sending vibrations through his body. The gold chair legs shattered upon contact, and he retaliated with a swift kick, sending one footman crashing to the ground, clutching his chest in agony.
The other footman, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps, found himself snapped up in Adonis' vice grip. Adonis's wrist coiled around the footman's throat, squeezing the life out of him with merciless strength. The footman's face turned a sickly shade of purple as he struggled to break free, but it was futile.
As the life drained from the footman's eyes, Adonis seized the smashed chair leg, a cruel smile twisting his lips. He brought it down with brutal force, crushing the footman's skull like a fragile egg beneath his boot. The sickening sound of bone breaking echoed through the room, mingling with the footman's final, choked gasps.
His bloodlust not yet sated, Adonis turned his attention to the second footman, who lay defenseless on the ground. He drew his small dovetail knife and plunged it into the footman's chest, carving out his glass heart in a single, brutal motion. The footman's body convulsed in agony before falling still, the pulsing crimson glow of his heart illuminating Adonis' blood-slicked fingers.
Frantic screaming pricked his ears. So, the brats were at the locked doors. Time to speed things up.
He pocketed the soul and went on the spree, cutting out the glass souls, tripping up girls in boiling soup, using their skirts to drag them back, and dodging a cook who threw pot after pot after pot at him. He killed her by using her knife block. Someone was hidden in a storeroom where a smoky haze of flour was erupting.
A scrape of steel produced a shower of sparks in the room of flying flour. One spark and— BOOM!
Some servants threw themselves out the glass windows. Adonis knew they would not survive the five-story drop. A crunch of bones on the gravel answered him.
The screaming grew louder as Dahlia clawed frantically at the lock.
"Pleasepleasepleaseplease!" Patty wailed as she heaved the doors. Nothing budged. Shrieks pierced their ears as she turned to see failing bodies from the window.
"Open, you damn thing!" Dahlia snarled, wrestling the doors. She had watched her mother's head decapitated, and her sister slain in cold blood, splattering her.
She could not die. She could not die. She could not die. She could—
Adonis landed on the stairwell, his chest heaving with exertion. The bodies of the servants lay around him, their glass hearts scattered on the floor like broken ornaments. His black leathers was soaked in blood. The points of his blades were running with rivers.
Dahlia and Patty cowered in a corner, their eyes wide with terror.
He slowly made his way towards them, his gleaming blades raised high. Dahlia shoved Patty forward, writhing against the doors, her hands over her head, "Kill her! She's got a better head than mine! I'm pretty! I could make you richer than you have ever dreamt!"
Patty turned on her. "You horrid cow! You're nothing but an absolute little— whose sun shines out of your arse!"
"HOW DARE YOU!!"
Her cattish yowls were giving him a brewing headache. Their yowls grew to a screaming so loud his ears felt they would explode. With a swift motion, he brought down his blade, the sound of metal meeting flesh echoing through the room. Dahlia fell to the ground, her blood pooling around her like a macabre halo. Patty screamed and tried to flee, but Adonis caught her by the hair and dragged her back.
"You thought you could escape me," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "You thought you could bargain for your life. But I am death itself, and I will not be swayed by your pathetic pleas."
With one final swing of his blade, Patty's screams were silenced forever. And then the screaming finally stopped.
The room was filled with the sickening scent of blood and death, a carnage that had just taken place.
Adonis stood amidst the bodies, his black eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The game of hide-and-seek had come to a brutal end, and he had emerged victorious. The fear that he had instilled in the hearts of his victims would live on long after he had left, a haunting legacy of his terrifying presence.
As he stepped over the corpses of the fallen, he felt a sense of exhilaration wash over him. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline of the kill — it fuelled his very being, his lust for destruction insatiable.
***************
The once elegant mansion now reeked of blood and death, a chilling reminder of the twisted events that unfolded that fateful morning.
Adonis ditched the idea of an ale. He found the Duchess's horses and carriage, hitching the sleek chestnuts to the awaiting carriage, ready to make his getaway.
Returning to the chaos inside the mansion, Adonis scoured every nook and cranny, unearthing a veritable treasure trove. Jewellery. His eyes gleamed at the sight of the glistening jewels — pearls the size of walnuts, a necklace adorned with ropes of pearls culminating in a teardrop sapphire as deep as the ocean.
Venturing into the chambers of the pampered offspring, he scoffed at the abundance of riches untouched and unappreciated. Those brats wouldn't know the true value if it bit them! For him, it wasn't about the quantity, but the quality - a lesson instilled by the Queen of Hearts herself. Think not of its size, but its clarity, cut, and colour. He carefully selected pieces of true worth: a pink kunzite choker, a triple-layered pearl necklace, and a crimson garnet heart with a history dating back a millennium. A set of drop pearl earrings edged with emerald leaves of tiny rosettes of pink opals. A jade craving of a triple-mastered vessel. Each features a beauty: Double decks. Fifty guns. Each rope etched with texture and flags carved paper-thin. A Moorish black necklace of peacock pearls. Each pearl had an alluring green, gold, and purple textures. A rare colour indeed. There were also four huge opal pearls set in their shells.
More rooms yielded more treasures, some garish and tasteless, yet still valuable. He gathered his selections — a delicate porcelain egg and a meticulously crafted golden rose of bullion, its petals thinner than paper laying them out on the floor, satisfaction evident in his gaze.
And now for the Duchess's treasures.
Entering the Duchess's chamber, he liberated her wedding ring and he sliced open the corset ties in the back of her white gown. Carefully, he pulled off the gown and carefully removed her blood-stained gown, intent on salvaging what he could from the wreckage. A bit blood-splattered, but saltwater will remove those.
Charles' drawers revealed a hidden safe. With no key, of course. He split the safe's door with one blow of his glaive. Papers spilled out of the shattered metal. Seals and titles. Among the documents and titles lay a hefty purse filled with six hundred thousand gold crowns, a testament to the Duchess's wealth. He pocketed the purse with the harvested soul.
Adonis packed the gems and treasures into a packing case, including the stained gown, knowing saltwater would cleanse it of its sins.
Time to leave this bloodbath.
And with a wicked grin, he disappeared into the shadows, ready to seek out his next listed victim and unleash his brand of terror once more. The legend of The Reaper would continue to grow, a nightmare in the hearts of all who heard his name.
**********
In the dimly lit corridors of the Assassins' Quarters, the air heavy with bodies stained with the dead, told his muscles that everything was ending,
In the dimly lit chamber, Adonis bore the weight of his burdens as he entered, muscles taut with the gravity of his mission. Elias had been entrusted with the Duke's title papers, to be delivered to His Esteemed "Upmost Holiness," while Adonis himself carried the case to his appointed chambers. But it was the Queen who awaited him, draped languidly across her couch, a delicate fan flickering in the shadows of drawn dusky blue curtains.
With a grunt, Adonis heaved a leather chest onto the opulent gold desk before her, the solid thud echoing in the quiet room. The key clattered against the surface as he released it from his grip.
"The reapings, My Queen," he said.
She rose gracefully, a white feline companion leaping from her lap as she approached the chest. With practiced hands, she unlocked its contents, her gaze sweeping over the horde within. Atop the treasure lay a crimson velvet box, its lid lifted to reveal Duchess Penelope's ring nestled within.
"I razed entire chateaux and commandeered the carriage," Adonis explained, his words heavy with the weight of his deeds. "The scent of burning flesh would raise the alarm among her neighbours."
"And were they deceased before the flames consumed them?" the Queen inquired coolly, her gaze sharp.
In answer he raised his glaive and axe, the blades rusted red.
"That's just it?"
"That was the least of their worries," he replied grimly.
Without further words, he reached into the depths of his cloak, producing two severed hands adorned with rows of gleaming rings. Each finger bore a small mark: Two crossed arrows.
"The hands of her daughters, Dahlia and Cammalleri," he explained, his voice devoid of emotion.
Queen Melia regarded the grisly trophies with a calculating gaze, before deftly removing the precious rings from their stiffened digits.
"Excellent work," she murmured, her praise as rare as it was coveted.
But Adonis knew better than to linger in the fleeting warmth of her approval.
"I see now you've got an eye for gems, Adonis. You've learned from your last lesson. I'll have my treasurer evaluate it. He'll give you your payment. You may leave."
Adonis left, but he knew he couldn't rest forever. He had his treasures to evaluate.