A lithe hand whipped steel up to block the attack, and the assassin turned his head with a crunch. The swordsman recognized the sound, however, and leaned back just before the toxic green cloud spewed out from between the darker man's lips. The half-elf quickly backed off to draw his blade, and the smaller man did the same as he spat green chunks onto the smooth blue-tinted floor.
"What the hell? I know you've killed kids before," the assassin snapped.
"Nothing personal," the half-elf replied, his voice calm.
The larger man swiftly moved in, swiping with caution and keeping a sharp eye on the lithe Cherub. Nothing connected, and even when the swordsman picked up the pace the small assassin just danced back in a circle. A pause, and the tide shifted. The shorter man rained blows upon the thick steel bastard sword Nyadir held before him, and the wide-eyed man backed away. He stepped around the white-lacquered table to gain some distance, but the crafty assassin wouldn't relent. The man ended another flurry of blows by whipping a steel dagger at his opponent's face, and the half-elf managed to escape with a thin red line along his jaw.
Despite his earlier bravado, the nimble Nyadir found nothing but regret. It was a supreme effort to maneuver his large blade around fast enough to catch all those attacks. They weren't very heavy blows, but any one could be quite lethal, in a land where he couldn't mend himself with magic. The grin had shifted to the other face at this point, but the sharp eyes of the swordsman flared like a beast in its den. The lithe assassin had the balls to pull one hand from his blade, to reach for another of those green pellets, and the cornered half-elf pounced. With a heave he swung his massive sword, and the weakened guard of Cherub broke. His katana clattered to the side bent, and the large swordsman was bearing him down to the ground in a heartbeat. A gloved hand clamped over the assassin's mouth and nose just as he crunched into the green pellet, and his foggy eyes went wide.
With one arm pinned under a knee, the lithe man reached behind him with the other. Another dagger flew up toward the half-elf, but his small wrist was crushed in a leather grip before it got much momentum. The larger man stared in silence as the assassin struggled, faint green wisps trailing up from under his glove. The room fell silent but for the heavy breathing of the dark-haired swordsman, and he looked into those foggy eyes for a solid minute before slowly releasing his grip. The assassin Cherub had been skilled, but all men are susceptible to carelessness. The half-elf didn't fully relax until he had thoroughly searched the corpse, and removed all weapons. The small black bag of green pellets went into one of his vest pockets, and the others he left on a white-lacquered chair. It wasn't until he had finished that he even remembered the flower with the paralytic needles that Tuevo had pointed out to him. It still sat in the uppermost pocket of his vest, carefully tilted away from his chest.
There's always next time...
The large warehouse they were in had many dusty rooms, and Nyadir quickly carried the bodies and weapons to one of these. He was walking back through blue-tinted halls thinking of how to get rid of the kid's blood when he nearly ran into Vauna at a crossing. She sported fine white leather, and eyed the thin cut on Nyadir's chin.
"Ah, there you are. Let's get the others," she said.
"Cherub already left, actually; the kid followed him."
Though her brow raised, the cat-woman nodded and turned back the way she came. The tall swordsman followed after her, and she irritatedly informed him of the reason she had been so delayed. Apparently, the others had heard the news of the illness that befell Port Keinas. They suspected the outsiders, of course, but Vauna and a few others had argued against it. Oddly enough, some small shame crept into the half-elf's mind. Whatever version of him she believed in, he wasn't a tenth of it. Again, the screams from that morning rang in his ears, but the questions weren't nearly so vague. Even though he committed to his selfish decision years ago, never had it been harder to live up to. It was a thrilling freedom at first, and he relished the looks of hatred and terror, until those were the only looks he got.
They met back up with the others not long after, all sporting the same white leather. Tuevo was standing off to one side of the group, and the young lads who had laughed with him earlier now eyed him and whispered among themselves. Looking upon this, the half-elf nearly smiled, and that fact brought shame anew. He gained nothing from seeing the lad suffer the consequences of his actions; it was he who set Tuevo on that path to begin with. To enjoy the same sadism Fordstein had been known for brought bile to the swordsman's throat. The more he wanted to escape the man's manipulation, the more he realized how deep it had already run. Memories of the eccentric man smiling as he encouraged Nyadir's gory habits whitened his knuckles; nothing but a fattened beast.
The group looked upon him with suspicion but said nothing, and he wondered if there had really been anyone but Vauna arguing on his behalf. The aged Lorvo stepped up to explain the plan, probably for the outsider's benefit. The streets had already been cleared, and the doors unlocked; their people were clear of the site, as well. There were only a few dozen guards scattered around the grounds that weren't in their employ. The resistance would split into three groups, one to control the noble's quarters, one to control the logistics center, and one to control the war room. With those centers under their control, the rest of the city would follow suit. The nimble Nyadir was glad to be paired with Tuevo; perhaps he could undo some of his earlier damage. They would be guarding Vauna as they assaulted the war room. With that, they left the warehouse and headed down the blue-tinted street. They travelled with purpose toward the imposing cube, which stood dark before the flickering auroras of the night sky.
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