"You...must be mistaken, my name's Sevrin Astergarden. Currently serving under Commander Valcrist of the Sword of Valor."
The assassin finally nodded at her explanation, and Sevrin let her tension dissipate.
Damn it, that was close.
Sevrin eyed Fynn critically, taking in his lithe, shorter-than-average form, before nodding in acquiescence. It’s not for naught that Assassins are well-known for their efficiency—despite their lack of morals, Sevrin thought resentfully. Like it or not I may be well able to find out how abysmal the Sword of Valor’s performance is compared to these band of killers.
“It’s further north,” he said as he tried to keep up with her stride. Despite the added weight of Valcrist’s chain mail and hefty cloak Sevrin’s discomfort around the assassin made her unconsciously want to get away from him as soon as possible. “The aura is stronger in that direction—if you’ll notice, the Door you and your company had dealt with earlier is also way up North, out into the desert. The Door in here and the one you closed, they may be connected via veins…”
Sevrin unconsciously stifled a yawn as the assassin droned on. She caught herself, however, when she noticed Fynn cut his speech short. Probably because of her yawning.
“Erm, please excuse me,” Sevrin muttered in apology, unfocused. “It’s just that I’m a bit tired.”
Despite his mask Sevrin somehow knew that Fynn now had a questioning look in his eyes behind the covering. “Aren’t your senses even quickened with all these—” he gestured towards the bloodied and mangled bodies strewn all over the street they were tracking “—activity?”
“Is all but one to me,” Sevrin remarked, distracted. “A job is a job. Nothing special. People die.”
“Are you all right?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Gah. Yes, of course I am. You saw to it. Why are you so damn concerned with my welfare?”
Fynn was clearly taken aback by her distracted rudeness and apparently kept himself in check. “Oh. I apologize, Lady Knight. I will keep quiet now.”
Moments later in their tracking Sevrin spotted Astalanth Halenor, bent over the empty shell—the residue—of a door-spawn. He seemed to be inspecting something on the filmy and brittle transparent material, his fingers rubbing on a piece of epidermal shell. His brows were knitted in concentration.
“Astalanth!” Sevrin called out as she approached him, Fynn in tow. “You found something?”
The Sword of Valor shook his head. “Door-spawn are supposed to be made of wraithlike material, right? I wonder how they manage to leave this residue behind…They’re supposed to be immaterial ghosts.”
“Probably because they need to assimilate into some sort of material body in order to be able cause havoc on this plane,” Fynn observed. “Astute observation—Astalanth, is it?” Fynn looked up to see the boy nodding his head. “Under normal circumstances, they would have existed here as mere immaterial ghosts, yet some force has given them the ability to wear shells…”
Astalanth sat up, alerted by the scent of conspiracy. “You mean, somebody’s behind all these?”
“Yes.”
Sevrin watched the exchange with hooded eyes. This Fynn Elenium sure knows his subject, she admitted unwillingly to herself. And if Sir Valcrist doesn’t shape us up, Astalanth would probably leave us without notice to join the Assassins.
“There may very well be a contrived plot behind all these,” Sevrin pointed out, “but your exchange won’t change the fact that there’s a Door waiting to be closed.” She turned her head towards the direction where the dark, heavy aura characteristic of an area situated by a Door concentrated. There she felt the hairs on the nape of her neck standing, and she shivered, making her cross her arms. “If you ask me I’d rather have this be dealt and done with.”
“Agreed,” Fynn nodded as he strapped his katars onto his wrists, blades glinting in the fire and moonlight.
Astalanth was about to make a move to join them but Sevrin stopped him. “No, Astalanth…you’d best be taking care of the survivors along with the others.”
“But Sevrin—! You always have all the fun,” Astalanth whined, though Sevrin knew that he was only acting. Astalanth and the others knew that Sevrin, because of her uncanny expertise in swordsmanship gained under Hesper Silberhof’s tutelage, tended to take care of the more delicate assignments.
“Oh yes, hack and slash is fun.”
“Yes it is!”
Sevrin grinned languidly, then ruffled Astalanth’s—who was just a couple of years younger—head. “Quit it, Astie. Be careful, now.”
Astalanth blushed slightly at Sevrin’s rare show of affection being directed at him. “Well yeah, you too, Older Sis Sev.”
Unbeknownst to the two, Fynn couldn’t help but almost give in to the sharp pang of jealousy gnawing deep in his gut. He cleared his throat. “I think it’s about time we close the Door. Sevrin?”
“I agree.” Sevrin unsheathed her bastard blade and carried it over her shoulders, the blunt edge of the blade leaning on a shoulder guard. “Take care, Astalanth,” she said as she and Fynn started to continue the tracking.
Sevrin and Fynn were already a number of paces away when a piercing shriek nearly made the swordswoman jump in surprise. Quickly, Sevrin turned, trying to locate where the dreadful sound came from.
“All but one, eh?” Fynn chuckled as he adjusted his sakkat, readying himself for the imminent action.
“Do shut up.”
They walked a few paces more and after walking around the bend there it was, the Door they were searching for. It was on a rooftop, about three floors above ground, yet the purplish aura visible against the dark of night gave it away.
Without a word Fynn grabbed hold of the piping of the nearest building and nimbly started to leap to the rooftop, grabbing hold onto anything he could and leaping upwards, clinging onto another handhold, doing it repeatedly until his feet touched the terracotta tiles of the rooftop.
Sevrin could only stare blankly as he made his way upwards. How the hell does he do that?
“What are you waiting for, Astergarden? Go up here now!”
Sevrin muttered several invectives as she kicked the door of the building open and charged into the almost completely unlit lobby, wicker lamps scattering eerie shadows and scant light, a negative chiaroscuro if there ever was one. It was a play not of light, but of shadows. A scent of undistinguishable perfume permeated the stale air within the building, and of…sex.
Sevrin could never forget how that smelled. Years being under Hesper Silberhof, literally and figuratively, imprinted its scent into her memory so deep there was no hope in her erasing it from her mind. All she could do was to try and overwrite the memory with new ones, and she was doing exactly that with her exploits alongside the Sword of Valor.
But there were still nights when his rough touches haunted her, making her lose her sleep....
She shook her head. Now isn’t the time to dwell on it, it’s not like I need the sex… But she found herself staring at the bed off to the far side of the room, with its extremely rumpled sheets. Either the owner tends to be very frisky while sleeping or had company.
“Sevrin!”
Her head snapped up at the assassin’s voice calling for her to hasten her way up to the rooftops. Sevrin immediately ran to the staircase by the corner and climbed up to the almost pitch-black room filled with the same thick, cloying scent as downstairs, only stronger. But she had no time to take further notice, the scuttling heard through the roof was disturbing; it was apparent that someone or something was getting killed at that very moment.
There was no visible passageway up to the rooftops. Except for the window, Sevrin thought, as she shuffled her way blindly towards the faint moonshine streaming from the opening lined with lace curtains. Finally peering out and up the window Sevrin put her foot on the windowsill and groped for handholds outside the window.
“I’ll be there…ah…”
Hauling herself, armor and all, up to the terracotta rooftop’s surface she was greeted with the sight of Fynn trying to skewer the Door-spawn with his twin blades, his fists thrusting towards the monster’s exposed flesh at his neck.
The Behemoth of the Door was slightly different from what Sevrin and the Sword of Valor had dealt with earlier; this particular one, while less bulkier, was taller and more sinuous in form, thin, its carmine limbs apparently made of elastic material, cartilage maybe. It was snapping its surprising swift arms like whips at Fynn; the assassin bore red welts on his arms where he was struck by the Door-spawn.
He was not concentrating in this match though, Sevrin could tell it; his eyes were frequently darting towards the gradually fading chalk imprinted upon the tiles, outlining a pentagram.
“Sevrin, I need to take a closer look at the—uff!!” Fynn wheezed as his short moment of distraction cost him a swift blow to the stomach, sending him to his knees.
“Leave it to me!” Sevrin said aloud as she calmly approached the beast, her sword at the ready.
“What the?! Don’t just walk in front of it!” Fynn cried out, still clutching his stomach. His warnings went unheeded as the monster shifted its attention towards her, and snapped one of its limbs at her—
—but Sevrin merely sidestepped, put an arm against the limb which tried to strike at her, her sword-arm lashing at him in reflex. With a howl, the beast tried to whip her again, but just the same Sevrin merely evaded it, grabbed hold of its arm with one hand, and striking back in the same instant.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fynn swiftly running towards the Door: he traced his fingers along the chalk markings and sniffed the residue. Be quick, Sevrin wanted to tell him as the monster tried to lash her into pieces, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he was needed.
Finally, he was apparently satisfied with his observations, and with a high leap—katars glinting bloodily in the moonlight—plunged his twin blades into the back of the monster, where its skin seemed to be thinner and transparent.
With an agonized howl the monster’s body twisted and shimmered, dissipating, eventually leaving the mere shell that served as its vessel in the mortal plane.
“Shall we party, then?” Fynn remarked casually at the awe-struck swordswoman.
