The Last Lightning Strike

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Summary

"Better luck next time beautiful." The world is constantly changing for good or for bad I'm not sure anymore. I lost myself once in the world full of chaos, greed and heartache now I am not going to make the same mistake again. Losing family is one thing but losing myself that is something entirely different in the darkness and the demons flooding my mind wanting to be let out onto the world of the living for once and for all.

Genre:
Fantasy / Mystery
Author:
erinwilkinson15
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
2
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
16+

prolouge

The war being forgotten the life of the people faded away in the wind. We were all so close then now we come in drips and drabs careful not to look each other in the walking by. I wonder if life could have been different I we won the war? Could there have been a different outcome if the king didn’t get brutally murdered in his own bedchambers? These are the sort of questions going around on people’s tongues two thousand years ago the only difference between these two question is can fate play a role in our madness for greed, luxury and the highest status. Hey no one can change the past only learn from the mistakes made. Stories exchange around the campfire of the painful screaming and tortured ones during and after the war. So many people were in pain that were left to suffer in front of their loved ones for that that they never committed. Soft sponge and rouge rugs left on the tables of abandoned homes. Not many dared to check for much only doubt filled their bodies of others suffering on the actions they made.

Most of society thought of an assassin to be cruel, cold-hearted and calculated however being an assassin had its perks. A fresh country every week, no dishes new clothes every day - the old ones discarded at thrift store doors. Old myths once alleged of the upmost respected assassins - of the king of course - slaughtering no so innocent thieves and murders as the slept during the night to earn their keep and to stay out from under the castle. I didn`t believe in them until I became one myself at the age fourteen when my godfather explained to me on the night the kings youngest son was born. All the training started at a young age I just didn`t understand or believe that I could be like the rest of them the assassins in mean. That night onward my godfather increased my training pounding every bit of knowledge into my head from the old myths to the conspiracy theory of the dead.

Earlier today my godfather assigned me a target in the palace who is visiting the royal family like many other people on this fine day. I am looking for a duke and his wife from the neighbouring country.

Back to present time I am creeping along a shadowed wall knife in hand, covered in black heat red blood. Grinning at the soldiers standing at their post in front of the grand mahogany doors both look asleep leaning against the wall. The hallway and my foot steps are ad quiet as a mouse searching for a piece of food. Getting closer the smell of alcohol hit my nose in waves between cigar smoke and rotten mouldy cheese.

“Gross.” I muttered to myself.

Gracefully in and out of the moon shined hallway the foul smell became clears this of more than just a high class dinner party in play. Many scenarios’ run abruptly through my head but none of them compared to what I saw next. The soldier’s head to toe are covered in grease and mechanical parts. One hand and both arms are missing on one soldier and in place are working mechanical limbs resting on the hilt of a sword. The other had half its face missing replaced by a mechanical brain and half skull.

Guess that leaves a great deal of unwanted and unanswered questions that soon need to answered hell will continue to rise. Coming from inside the ballroom cheers grew louder practically screaming over any sort of live music meant to be playing. Coming to a halt a voice whispered in my ear raising the hair’s on the back of my neck.

“Better luck next time beautiful.”

“Huh.”

Something sharp injects into neck eloping me into a deep oblivion. Fading out voice’s grumbled of unspeakable words to feel my lifeless body be planted over someone’s shoulder.

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