The door creaked despite its exceptional craftsmanship. She cursed under her breath while she slipped through the crack she'd made for herself and slid the double doors shut.
Her body stilled as she patiently listened to the darkness. A shuddering sigh oozed through her lips and she reassuringly caressed her short sword strapped against her lower back. Determination flooded her veins. She nodded into the eerie silence and took her first step toward her target.
'Right about now, he should be knocked out by the poison... right?'
Her blood ran cold on her second step. The atmosphere grew heavy, as it always did to emphasize his presence. A thread of hesitation wormed into her psyche.
Could she really see through with this mission?
What if she fails and, and...
'Stop it!'
Naesh growled in self–depreciation. Calmly, she recited her mantras mentally, rebuilding her resolve. The fabric of her attire had been riddled with patches of cold sweat.
"Haaa~ Now, darling, what's taking you so long?"
It came in sudden, and Naesh had to bite her inner cheek to prevent herself from crumbling to the ground. The voice was thick and deep, it uttered every word in an eerie slowness, hammering every nail upon her coffin.
She had been found out!
But how? She racked her brains whilst in the darkness, holding her breath, hoping that he might've been sleeping. But a tag at the back of her mind knew the truth already, she was merely delaying the inevitable. Discreetly, Naesh pulled out a vial from the folds of her cloth and expertly smeared the liquid against the blade of her short sword.
'Heh!' She mentally chuckled at her distress. She had signed up for this, a stupid calf trotting into the Tiger's den, drunk on delusions of taming the beast.
"Wh– why are you still, still up at this hour?" She managed.
There was a pause that stretched to infinity, racking her nerves to no end. Naesh could feel the little hairs rise along her spine.
"Why shouldn't I be?" Came the curt reply.
Naesh felt her organs twist and turn. Her instincts screamed at her, that she shouldn't let her guard down in whatever circumstance around him, yet the velvet allure in his accent stroked at her desire, and it spread like poison to threaten the mental defenses she had built about herself.
"You are the head of the Margants, every vein from across the city and beyond undoubtedly feeds into you. I reckon that such a position requires adequate rest, no?" A short pause. "Is what your médico prescribed, I believe."
Naesh could taste the hoarse sensuality in her voice. Another silence, he liked to take his time before answering her. Perhaps he was already aware of her agenda tonight. Nevertheless, with every second that trickled by, she got more restless.
"Come here."
Her body answered to the command before her mind could register it. Along her mechanical walk towards the voice, she stepped into a puddle of water, the fur carpet felt filthy under her feet with every step.
'What is this? And why am I walking in the dark?!'
With a righteous fury, Naesh clapped twice and a second later, warm light flooded into the massive room.
Truly, he had aesthetic taste, to say the least. Most of his furniture was curved from hardwood, and his walls were adorned with snippets of history from across the world. Moreso in ancient forms of weaponry, it never ceased to amaze her every time she walked into 'their' room.
Yuck!
Her leggings were getting wet, she despised how sticky her toes felt wedged in between the cotton. Her eyes finally drifted to her feet.
"Ah!" She yelped and took a step back, slipping in her haste and falling on her backside. However, she was no longer bothered with the discomfort of dampness, her body had clumped up in surprise. She stared unblinkingly at the object a few feet before her.
Blank eyes stared right back at Naesh, the light in them snuffed out. Twin streaks of dried tears had etched into the makeup, like rifts upon dried ground. Her expression had been frozen in utter terror, her features had adopted various emotions before her ultimate demise; fear, remorse, grief, anger, and finally settling into horror! An excruciating death, one more likely psychological rather than physical. Undoubtedly her deduction of the decapitated head.
Naesh schooled in her emotions, as was the discipline engraved into her. She gulped down her shock and rose to her feet, her purple kimono drenched in scarlet.
The room was half-lidded with corpses, its walls patterned in blood like a grotesque mural. Suddenly, it all hit her at once, the undeniable scent of iron and ethanol was thick in the atmosphere, it overwhelmed her. Why hadn't she noticed the stench earlier?
Now then, it was time to face the source of this nightmare. Naesh soared her eyes slowly across the room. Oh god, there was so much blood! Everything was still and dead, no body was left fully intact. The plush sofas were drenched in blood and brain matter, she caught sight of a foot entangled in innards on the lampshade, it was comical in a way, like a nightmarish necklace. One corpse had a handful of eyeballs stuffed into its open jaws and—
Finally, her gaze met his.
He leaned against the marble desk as though everything was but a new paint job to the master bedroom. His eyes – charcoal irises with indistinct pupils that enhanced his soulless gaze – bore into her, studying her with the intensity of a predator.
'Oh! He knows!'
Naesh feigned steady steps towards him, her muscles pulling tight beneath her clothes.
She let her gaze linger on him longer than she intended, studying the man with a calm she didn't quite feel. He was a hulking figure, broad – every movement carrying the weight of quiet authority. His yukata, though custom–tailored, clung to his frame possessively. The white fabric stretched over his shoulders, the seams whispering against the strain of muscle beneath. His brown skin caught the dim light, its warmth softened by the cold sheen of blood.
Crimson had claimed him in cruel artistry, splattered across the cloth like erratic brushstrokes, staining his beard where he'd once tried to wipe it clean. The result was a portrait both violent and magnetic, a man too composed to notice the ruin he wore so naturally.
She walked up to him, her hips adapting a sensual sway the closer she got. He watched as she wrapped toned arms around his neck and kissed him.
'Heh! Always with the same tricks.'
He grinned against her lips and dipped his hand into the wealth of her midnight cascade, grasping a fistful of hair, he pressed her against him, deepening the kiss. And despite the itch in his mouth, the churn down his throat, he numbed his instincts and indulged himself one last time.
'I forfeit the war, to win a battle.' He felt his eyes droop, and he couldn't help but chuckle.
Naesh felt her eyes sting. Despite herself, grief slipped in, like a blade inching toward her heart. It had only been a few months; it was supposed to be a simple contract. Yet somehow, she'd grown fond of him. The man she was slowly killing with a kiss. There would never be another like him.
Duty was a fickle thing.
She wished she'd been raised in ignorance, like the damsels in films – blissfully naïve, untrained in restraint. Maybe then she would have chosen her heart over the cold rationality that had been carved into her since childhood.
A heavy hand settled upon her head, she looked up and met his dimming gaze, they were dipped in emotion she was sure he had never expressed. Blood dripped from the corner of his lips, his life force slipping away. His caresses became slower.
"You have done well, my Naesh," he wheezed, "I leave everything in your hands."
And like a dying star, strength burst from within him, he pushed her away and picked up the wakizashi beside him, unsheathed it, the blade bright against the light. Without any further departing words, he spared Naesh a glance and grinned wild, his face splitting with demonic glee, and plunged the sword – down to the hilt – into his chest.
For a heartbeat, she almost reached for him, almost begged him to stop. But he'd already made peace with his end. And in that fleeting silence before the blade struck, she realized she loved him too late.
He died by his own sword, upright, like a bronze god of solitude. Naesh rushed toward him, tears now unrestrained streams down her cheeks. His body was still warm, but his heart was unsalvageable.
'Damn you, Zalach!'
She was partly relieved that she wasn't the one to kill him, but sorrow was still the same, with his heart, a portion of hers was lost as well. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a peculiar stone carving of a swan.
That was odd, Zalach preferred wooden carvings of ferocious beasts nonetheless. She...she loved exotic birds.
Composing herself, she walked toward it, beneath the obsidian swan was a golden envelope with green accents. Naesh slit it open and skimmed through the contents.
"Haha," she chuckled nervously, fresh tears bursting forth, "You sly bastard."
It was a Will. Zalach was handing her his life's work, effectively freeing her from the clutches of her elders and the world at large. From a mere pawn to a master of the whole board.
Everyone would now answer to her!