An abandoned classroom, one currently left chillingly silent yet also lacking even a handful of dust as it is left ridden with unbreathed air for this season. Every three rounds of seasons they rotate the classrooms, shifting the pattern every year to avoid traceability.
I had come here in search of two teenagers performing prohibited activities, directed by a staff member to hunt them down and make them suffer for their actions. I've yet to earn my ranking, but my goal is to get it far sooner than the rest of my classmates. I'm better than them, far better, so then I should get my rating and position before the rest of them. I deserve the bestest rating, the best in the school, better than even the teenagers, clearly as they wish to commit acts of taboo.
The air is still as I step further inside, checking the corners as my ears twitch towards every shift and breath. The desks are all still neatly arranged, the seats polished and walls deodorized. The blackboard is completely plain as well, seemingly brand new beneath the dim lighting.
An exhale in the left back corner of the room, opposite of me, it's shallow and careful but lacks training, or perhaps is overwhelmed by fear. They can't be that high of a rating if it's this easy to sense them, feel their presence down to the exact spot they crouch in, hiding as though their lives depend on it. No, these kids are just rookies, new to the art of assassination and likely unappreciative of the sacrifices made to give them this opportunity.
Marching over to where they hide, behind a bookshelf that leads to a secluded reading corner, I keep my steps and breaths silent, a craft I've been mastering ever since I had first seen it performed. It was amazing, like the demonstrator had just vanished before our eyes.
Once I reach the center of the room, the door slams shut, and I turn to find a group of six kids blocking it, all holding blunt objects as weapons; mallets, baseball bats, a box of chalk, a trophy. I can't help but smile as I meet their eyes, dark, fierce, enraged. They're taller than me, older than me, stronger than me. But if they lack so much self confidence to the point where they are willing to break the rules and harm another assassin, then I'm more than free to defend myself however I please, and I never go anywhere without my knives.
"Little brown nosers like you don't deserve to stand," One speaks, the voice coming from one of the two people behind me, but I knew that; none of these people are capable of being absolutely silent. The ones behind me are closing in, nervous but focused as they encircle me, one male, one female, those two were the targets I was given to catch and report. It's clear that this was a set up, it appears I've marked myself as a person to watch out for.
One of the people in front of me glances behind me, wide-eyed, and I dodge just in time to avoid a hit to the legs, with what I believe to be a sledgehammer. Now, balancing atop a desk, I have a full view of every person along with the high ground. Eight people in total, all armed to some degree, all viewing me as their target and wishing harm upon me. None of them I recognize other than the two teenagers I was tasked to my left. Bridget Stratford and Jeremy White, two teenagers who have decided to form an unapproved long-term partnership which has resulted in increased risk of revealed identities, procreation, and the spread of their DNA. Them being alone in this room should be enough evidence enough for me to go ahead and report them, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm dying for some combative action, just like how the teachers trained us or how the upperclassmen describe it whenever they return from missions.
Yeah, I could take these guys down, I'm itching to redden my blade.
One of the six to my left slams his bat down on a desk racing at me angrily, the girl to my right brandishes her needles and flings them at me in rapid succession, the rest barrel towards me, holding their blunt objects high above their heads. I watch their feet, all of them are off balance, none of them are trained in this sort of weaponry, yet they think they can take me down using lackluster skills?
Whatever, guess these guys will just be my warm up before my close combat class.
Fluidly, I leap off the desk, dodging the flying needles with ease as they wedge themselves into the walls and desks. Midair, I grab hold of the boy's bat and drag it down with me, causing him to fall over himself, faceplanting into the hard, round wood which begins to soak up his blood with its unpolished finish.
I leap back up again, just barely missing a needle aimed for my temple, which instead just grazes my pant leg. The close call snaps me back into reality, she's learning my movements, likely has watched me perform from time to time. She knows how nimble I am and how much I rely on my own self confidence to continue performing. A hit to that confidence, even an inconsequential graze, would result in me being incapable of fighting. But I know I'm better than them, I am better than them. It was just a lucky shot that they managed to cut a hole in my pant leg.
Seven sets of feet, nine heartbeats, one down for the count as his blood spills out. They race after me, only one of them being a long-range attacker. A mallet wisps past my head, slams into the wall behind me, crashes down, and shatters a desk, my ears ring, but I keep moving, leaping past the group of assassins, hopping from desk to desk until I spot someone who is more separated from the rest, it was the person who went wide-eyed when looking behind me, a shorter female, thicker in size. She's carrying a paddle, the kind our trainers use to punish us when we're younger, it's slightly charred on the center, like a child lit itself aflame whilst being beaten.
She's nervous, the shy type, but likely still holds some level of vexation towards me. She'll be the next one to go down, far too timid to be an assassin.
"You fucking idiot! Hit her!" A voice shouts from behind, but it's no matter, with a flick of my wrist, my knife is sent flying and not a moment later, she's hunched over, coughing and gasping. My feet plant on the floor, harsh stings reaching up past my calves as I slide next to her pained body and dislodge my weapon from her chest. The others are towering above me in an instant, their weapons already swinging down, but it's easy to slide out of the way, their rage blinding them to their close quarters. Bridget, however, tracks my movements from afar, her needles slicing through a strand of my hair before implanting themselves inside a nearby metal chair leg. I breathe, watching her wrists, her eyes, the muscles in her neck. The others grow closer, Jeremy barreling for me like a bull who just spotted red, sledgehammer flying through the air, now battered due to the contact with other harsh objects.
Reaching to my side, I dislodge one of Bridget's needles, pinch it between my fingers, and send it flying back towards her, except, someone gets in the way, blocking its path and taking the hit for her instead. He's a darker male, I've seen him staring at her a handful of times, far too long for it to be considered tactical. But he's out for the count now, the box of chalk he was holding drops to the ground, shattering every piece inside until powder rises and blinds both Bridget and the two other boys near her. This is my chance. I kick my legs into the air, Jeremy, relying on his momentum, runs into me, spitting as my feet wind him, forcing him to drop his weapon. I pull back and kick him again with my right leg, causing him to fall left, the rectangle top of the hard weapon is pushed into his throat, forcing him to wheeze as he rolls over and I grab hold of it. Rotating it once over my head as I remain kneeled down and sending it flying through the air, listening to the grunts of the two boys and the following crashing of desks with subtle crying that plays out underneath. Five down, three remain, I know the immediate location of one, Bridget, now on the floor, pinned by two idiotic boys and a tower of desks, her weeps are pitchy as she cries out, her breaths shallow as though she's being choked by something.
But where are the other two?
Something drips onto my shoulder, I move to dodge whatever may be waiting above me, but a bat then slams into my waist, causing me to yelp as I tumble to the floor, tripping over Jeremy and hitting the back of my head against the corner of a desk. I catch a glimpse of what was above me between winces, a large bubble of water, hovering mid air, electrified. So this is what I was told I would eventually be taught, the abilities to control elements, use magic. It truly is awe-inspiring.
Someone steps into view, masked up, their identity hidden to me, they don't wield a weapon, so they're likely the magic user, but if so, then where is the person who hit me?
"I think it's about time you head back to class now, keep your mouth shut from now on and just focus on yourself." A voice changer, as they speak it's like their sentence cracks mid word and their tone is unnaturally deep. Must be a shitty cheap clip on for their mask. Behind them, another person appears seemingly out of thin air, a male with splotchy facial hair and a chubbier build.
Holy shit.
Invisibility magic.
So. Fucking. Cool.
They need to show me how to do that, it's so sick! They must. I'll make them.
They pass the masked person the bat, who grips it tightly and with rage, the bubble above them pulsates and grows, the electricity now piercing outwards, attempting to grip at everything around it. "You'll never make it anywhere in life with the way you are. You shoot to kill but in your eyes, everyone around you is a target. Your soul will never be blessed with the gift of magic if you can't trust anyone around you, not even yourself. Kill yourself, you'll never make it as an assassin."
I sit still, silently glancing between the two rageful faces before me, both capable of using magic, both believing they're so much better than myself.
It makes my insides burn.
Something shifts and glows within my hands, the space around us illuminating. It starts small in my palms, condensed but mild and controlled, yet it shines like it's begging to be noticed, released and allowed to spread.
My veins turn red as the warmth grows beneath my soft, youthful, yet scarred skin. Their words, threats, fail to reach me as I gaze down at myself, stunned and amazed. His rage grows, and, although it is faint, the sphere of water above him trembles.
I don't know what I'm doing or how to control what is happening to me, but I do know that I want these people gone. Out of my school. They have not earned the lessons bestowed onto them. I lunge for them, forcing my hands forward as they plant onto the first boy's face, the fire from within me blooming from my palms and curling around his skull, scorching his bones whilst simultaneously melting his skin.
His screams reach me through the flames, but I pull away upon watching the outer layer of his electrified water quake, launching myself in the other direction, sticking onto the hard walls, clenching my eyes shut whilst my breath hitches.
The red still remains.
Finally getting the courage, I turn to find the results of this task, originally to follow and catch two teenagers in the act of making love and report them, now has turned to a wet, electrified room of bloodshed and suffering.
One of the two boys with powers, the invisible one, lies on his back in a puddle of translucent blood, foaming at the mouth, limbs twitching every few seconds.
I smile once again, hands warming up against the wall, pride coursing within me.
Eight down, none to go.