Assassin

Chapter 1: Reckoning...?

Calric 4: Region: Aurora Desert

He knew it would end up like this, maybe not when he was a young man himself like countless others who came before him... like those who will come after him as well. He had no real regrets, if anything he felt... relief knowing his end was coming. Why? He could only guess, but regardless of the outcome of that avenue that would not stop the assassin sent to end his own life. It was almost ironic really, poetic in a better sense when he stopped and thought about it; poison kills poison, soldiers kill soldiers, and assassins... kill assassins. He only had one problem with it.

He never once liked Death-Cult assassins. Bloody fanatics, not how a proper assassin should act.

He would admit they are lethal in their own right. Yet in his mind there was no excuse in going hand-to-hand with everything they are sent to kill. Then again he was never one to favor being skewered to begin with now that he thought about it... The only cold comfort to his predicament was the fact this one was neither bloodthirsty or chatty, if you call shouting praises to their lord being chatty while on the job, no... she was like him... a veteran. She was here to kill him, plain and simple, and from the one time they did have eye contact he saw the one thing he was expecting: contempt for him.

She was his opposite in his chosen path; she stayed, he left. Assassins of the Imperium only had two choices when on the field: do or die. He choose option three, run away, a option no assassin should not even think to exist let alone take, especially a Vindicare assassin; as far as anyone in the Imperium is concerned he is nothing more than the epitome of a loathsome heretic, a vile traitor, someone who needed to die. That was why she was here. After all, every branch of his service lived by the popular slogan of 'death to the heretic.'

He trounced the Guard, he outfoxed the Marines, he repeatedly humiliated the bloody Sisters much to his satisfaction, and no one has yet to catch his trail when he was made known to the Imperium; he was reminded of a old lesson that was left to gather dust in the back of his mind till now thanks to her, 'never send a soldier to do a assassin's job.' It was a game of cat and mouse with them, and he was losing if the three stab wounds were any indication. At least he was going to be killed by a professional.

XVX

Fortune was not the word of the day in his mind as he planted his last IED (Improvised Explosive Device) behind a barrel of oil, and tuned the remote detonator to the frequency of the bomb. He bought time. He relived the very same reason he was being hunted down, he ran away from the angel of death that haunts his shadow. Instead of simply turning tail and running off, he triggered an avalanche and left her to sort out the debris of that canyon. But he knew that wouldn't stop her, he only bought time.

Now he was holed up in an old factory, or at least what appeared to be one judging from the discarded machinery and oil drums to grease them. It might have been someone's laboratory actually, those machines didn't look like they were meant to build something... He grabbed his rifle and ascended the only surviving staircase in this forgotten place. A perfect grave for him if anything. He chambered his very last round he had ready into his one and only partner in all this.

He stood atop the rusted platform built precariously over the unknown machina below and took aim, not once glancing at the scope of his rifle, at the door way leading into the room. He took a tentative step back over the rotting metal to ensure he's hidden in the shadows, but he knew she would find him regardless. He only had one shot.

She didn't disappoint the seasoned killer as she stepped inside, each step was measured and lax. Both of the swords that were moniker of her profession glinting their brilliant razor edges in the specks of light that pierced the room thanks to the years of neglect to the building. A lone finger all but gropes the worn trigger of the rifle.

She stopped after but two paces from the door and looked directly at her prey's shadowed form, one lone visible eye meeting the visor equipped helmet of the 'coward' that was her target. He only had one shot, and now was the time. This move they both knew was as predictable as it was certain. She humored her former compatriot of the shadows, she headed straight into his small gauntlet that was his last stand.

The bullet was dodged with the dancer's grace that was both her training and her experience as she darted forward with drawn sword following like elegant felines trained to follow their master's command. She jumped over the first obstacle that was a merely a barricade with a IED hidden on the top, hiding right on top. It did not clip nor distract her as it roared in destructive fury. She almost danced past the second IED, this time acting as a landmine. Another failure to impede her advance. The third one, also a mine also danced past... right into the path of a IED dropped from the ceiling high above. This one did force her to retreat via a back flip, the first of many to take her to the stairwell leading up to her target despite the purpose of the trap.

She wasted not a second, she leaped up and climbed the safety railing of the stairwell. The last of the explosive guardians went off without hope of catching its intended victim, and setting off the small line of oil drums that either destroyed or set ablaze anything in the radius of their respective detonations. Neither paid heed to the now blazing background as the female counterpart of the two took the time to ascend to the top on the typical path up the stairs.

When the last step has been passed both assassins gazed upon each other one last time. One could wonder why they did so, out of respect between killers soon to engage and prove whom is the superior of the two? Taking note of what could be their respective end? Or perhaps gauging the other and mapping out their attack plan? Regardless they took in the facts worth noting of.

To the Death-Cult assassin, she saw in the growing light that was the fire below what was typical of any assassin often associated with the Imperial Guard regardless of their rank, a full body suit lacquered to a dark grey, points of his suit darker than others, points which were often associated with relatively common attacks on one's person, i.e. his forearms, his shins, his chest, and his head. She knew from experience that these areas were reinforced to defend him from his target's weapons as she could easily attest to from previous encounters. She still could run him through despite the added difficulty. The helmet of her adversary was typical to her, covered the head to reveal nothing of his identity with a visor made of reinforced glass also darkened to the shade of grey that was his suit, two tubes jutting along the underside of his jaw to a single point that was a almost rectangular with a touch of rounding mask that doubled as a voice synthesizing unit and a breathing apparatus to defend him from gas attacks plus enable him to stay under water of long periods of time. Ultimately if she wanted to discern his identity then the helmet has to come off, unfortunately it would most likely accompanied by his head should she be the victor. His only means to defend himself, other than the sniper rifle strapped to his back, was a drawn knife and a drawn heavy set pistol without a finger hovering over the trigger.

For the ex-Vindicare, he observed what was also typical for him save for one feature. Illuminated by the raging flames climbing higher with the passing of each minute, he observed her bronze colored form fitting body suit, the only obvious protection that was given to her was a obviously armored chest piece fashioned to look like scales protruding downward to prevent a upward blow from a hand least they suffer a deep gash, a pair of white wrist guards and on her left arm was a form of partially armored sleeve that he could not place in term of name despite his years of service. Then there was the feature that he was idly curious about since this all began for them, she had no hood. Typically a assassin from one of the Death-Cults would wear a hood made from the same fabric that made up the body suit, and for some reason beyond him they left the mouth open for all to see. She seemed to forsaken the hood all together. If he didn't know any better, the face he saw now was that of a young woman barely breaking out of her early twenties that just gotten out of, or perhaps even started, her training to be his polar opposite in terms of style. Where a Imperial assassin typically used a sniper rifle at most if not forced to use another weapon, a Death-Cult assassin used a sword in every battle they got into.

Her hair was a platinum blond, bordering on white that was combed into a bun at the back of her head save for a heavy lock of hair reaching over and covering her left eye. Her skin was smooth, taken care of obviously with a practiced hand, and bore only two blemishes: a dot of a beauty mark tucked away at the corner of her eye, and a scar that was only a centimeter past the hair covering her eye, from the looks of it went up to her eye. He couldn't tell do to the hair. The only eye visible he could see was a blue one, a weathered blue at that; still emitting the all but instinctual hate for him for abandoning his duty to the Imperium and the Emperor. He couldn't help but wonder if his eyes looked like that at one point of his life.

Neither had spoken one word to each other through the whole ordeal. The flames have reached and started to devour the roof with abandon, drowning out any other noise in their insatiable hunger for fuel. Neither had anything to say to the other to begin with. Neither even screamed or bellowed at the other as they charged.

XVX

His gun was seemingly useless as a club against her as he wailed on her time and again, its purpose now modified to deflecting what strikes from her sword he could block. His knife was suffering a far worse fate than the gun as he parried a fair number of stabs that could've ended his life long before now. He didn't have the luxury of pondering how many more strikes from the angel of death he could survive against with the shape of his knife was in. He grunted in pain as she delivered what would be the twelfth kick to his ribs, this one finally cracking the bone under the suit. He hunched over himself with a arm favoring his wounded side. Unfortunately for him his opponent wasn't falling for the ruse; she was like him indeed, a veteran in killing. She launched a sword at his leg while keeping its twin held high above her head to parry the counter-attack.

Seeing no choice, the ex-Vindicare leaped back at the ready for her assault to be renewed. Even with the rampaging flames blocking out all sound, he didn't need to hear the sickening crack of rusted metal as the floor under him was giving way. A fact not unnoticed by his assailant. She back flipped onto a piece of railing and used it to leap up high above her target. The end of their game was nigh. But the end the end was not going to be without something to remember him by. He didn't move, there was no point, what was left of the platform since they started their dance of death was either destroyed from their cooperative efforts or was on fire now, and despite the quality of their armor, flames are known to be destructive to a good deal of things. He raised his pistol at her as she descended; he may have had one shot in the rifle, but it wasn't his last bullet.

He fired. The shoulder of her bronze body suit was now being coated in a lovely shade of red in the chaotic light of the fire. The angel of death that was his own assassin merely smiled at him as the blades pierced his chest, a smile belonging only to a specter of death that haunts the last moments of every creature that awaits their demise; it was as serene as it was surreal.

She kicked off of him when the floor broke, she did not look at him as she hurtled over the railing to the same door way she entered in her hunt for him. It didn't matter to her, for few can survive the torrent of flames the room has became once being wounded and knocked out. The job was done.

If she bothered to look however, she would've seen those strange machines have sparked to life, when, it was hard to tell, but a orb of eerie blue light was suspended over an apparatus shaped like a ring. She would have also seen her target being swallowed up by it with the debris that was the walk way.

XVX

Unknown planet

The former Vindicare slammed into the earth front first, arms and legs splayed out from the force of impact... there was even a indentation of his landing underneath him... along with the scraps of metal, with a inconveniently large piece 'harmlessly' landing on his back, at least it was the flat side.

Between the kicking, stabbing, slicing, rib breaking, and being abused by the forces of gravity, he could only sum it up in one word that escaped the synthesizer of his helmet in a gravely deep voice, "Ow..."