Over half an hour earlier, the city had felt like a single heartbeat under the sheet of rain. The watery tears fell like it had a grudge against the sidewalk. Cabs hissed by each other, tires slicing the water into silver fans slapping the nearby pedestrians
Thomas weaves through the crowded streets, bumping his shoulders against the civilians minding their own business. His metal claws are placed close to his earpiece contacting Stitch.
"Have you heard from Hanger or EMP?" Thomas inquires, scanning the ground.
"Nothing," Stitch replies, crossing his legs in his seat, the shadows of a hushed, lamped-lit, cobblestone plaza loom over him. "I have found my target though"
"The Covenant?" Thomas furrows his brow. His eyes drift to a lonely old street vendor selling her vegetables. A battered pushcart precedes her as she waves to all the pedestrians walking past her. Taking pity on the woman, Thomas looks over the delicacies she is selling.
"How are you doing, young man?" the woman politely asks.
"Doing great," Thomas utters, paying no attention to her. He hides his metal gauntlets under his sleeve as he pulls out his wallet. "I'll take an apple…. How's your day going?"
"Pretty well, thank you," the vendor kindly hands Thomas his apple. The assassin looks over at the sign placed next to her vendor: Anything would help.
"You have a family?" Thomas questions.
"Yes, two kids and plenty of grandchildren," She answers somberly. "Sadly one of them is very sick right now and I'm raising money for their care."
Thomas' gaze narrows as he pulls a $500 bill out of his wallet. He rolls his eyes as he hands her the bill. Her eyes widen as she sees the massive transaction for a simple apple. She frantically waves her hands in the air trying to decline the offer.
"Just take it," Thomas mutters, placing the bill on her cashier counter. His eye contact doesn't last–only for a fleeting second. Before the woman could react, Thomas had already melted back into the crowd.
"Don't underestimate your mission Stitch," Thomas barks, tapping on his earpiece. "Have you maintained contact with your target?"
"No but I have found one of his secular groups," Stitch smiles. "Maybe one of the followers here could lead me to him."
As the raindrops fade into the background, the past warps back into the present. Thomas' steps echo off the stone corridors' high ceilings as he meets up with the Emissary. The warden looks up from his pocket watch, as his gaze locks with Thomas.
In a different sector of the temple, Edward looks intently at the memorial on the wall, his arms crossed behind his back. The title is clear as day to the old man: 1970 massacre.
His wrinkly fingers slightly press on the names etched into the stone wall. A silent testament to the fallen lives.
"This will soon come to an end," Edward declares softly, almost to himself. "If only they understood."
As Edward's words melt into the stone corridors, in a different part of the temple, Thomas and the Emissary wander deeper inside.
"The client's already in the temple?" Thomas inquires, raising his brow.
"That is correct," the Emissary answers, placing his hands behind his back.
"Why doesn't he do the mission?" Thomas stops mid-step. "Seems like plenty of downtime."
"The cell is guarded by multiple royal guards," the Emissary utters, dripping with annoyance. "My client wishes to not reveal himself and is currently too weak against the threat"
"Hmm," Thomas' gaze sharpens.
"Free the Reaper," the Emissary chuckles darkly, checking his pocket watch as the hands of time click slowly. "I prefer the higher-ups don't have a conversation with Romano."
"I didn't think the higher-ups would care that much," Thomas scoffs. "Thought they would let him rot just like the others in their cell."
The Emissary furrows his brow. "Losing investments is bad for business. You should know that very well."
Thomas doesn't make a sound. He continues walking, the sounds of his strides following shortly behind him. He puts his hand into a sign–his body veiled in stealth.
"Let's see what you're made of, Acid King," the Emissary remarks before walking in the opposite direction. "Fix the loose ends–just a patch job"
The assassin walks down the stone corridors with his stealth active. He wanders carefully between the straggling recruits and the upperclassmen as he makes his way to the Reaper's holding cell. He walks through aimlessly trying to find which room, hallway, or entrance leads to his target.
Thomas' eyes narrow as royal guards station at a specific entrance. It clearly signals that the Reaper is behind those doors. As Thomas sneaks closer to the entrance, the royal guards quickly unsheathe their broadswords and immediately prepare for battle.
What the—? Thomas' mind races, They can see through my stealth?
A broadsword swings forward like a razor. Thomas leaps back into the corridor to create distance. As his boot slides across the stone floor, the stealth hiding Thomas starts to dissipate into tiny strips, slowly revealing himself completely.
"So those swords can negate stealth," Thomas compliments, activating his metal gauntlets with a metallic click. "Not bad."
The two guards slowly turn their heads towards each other and with a slight nod- springing onto opposite sides of the corridor, rush towards Thomas. They didn't grunt or shout orders. Just mechanical violence.
Thomas flicks his glowing glove–snap. A crackle silences the air–a torrent of acid sprays out, blanketing the corridor.
The guards, noticing, leap out of the way of the incoming acid attack- gracefully soaring over the confused Thomas like phantoms.
"Quite agile for some medieval refrigerators," Thomas comments, his eyes turning to look back to see many more guards walking out of the corridor. Rows of them. Perfect formation. Weapons raised high in the air.
The stainless blades didn't gleam–they glared.
Surging towards Thomas, one of the guards swings their broadsword in a powerful wide arc. Almost as if his feet never left the ground, Thomas scrambles back as the bite of steel inches away from him.
As Thomas' heart hammers in his chest, his gaze catches focus on the guard lunging low, aiming for his legs.
Instinctively recoiling back, he nearly loses his footing. He grabs onto the guard's broadsword midswing. Muscles tightening, he whirls his arm forward, cracking the guard's ceramic mask into tiny glass shards raining onto the unforgiving floor.
He edged away slowly, breath ragged.
Either the intel was wrong or the guards weren't ordinary–the Emissary set him up for a rough entrance.
Before he can react, a guard with a chained mace connects with Thomas' ribs. The wind whooshes out of him as a faint grunt leaves his lips. Another guard jams the hilt of his blade into the Acid King's shoulder, twisting it mercilessly. He grimaces, holding back the searing intensity flaring up inside him.
Grabbing one of the guard's heads, he melts it off with his acid with a green illuminating glow. The guard didn't seem to fight back or squirm around, it just dropped down dead like a porcelain doll. The sounds of fighting from below alert Zhang and Edward to the location.
The synchronized steps of the guards echo like a heartbeat. Leaping upwards, Thomas propels himself forward, cracking one of the guard's heads open.
Shards of ceramic and porcelain shoot out like shrapnel.
Blood spills out like a confession.
Slamming his fist to the ground, a tidal wave of corrosive energy engulfs the guards, raining acid onto the remaining threat. Armor sizzles. The guards–silent and unyielding step forward as their bodies break apart like wax almost as if they were forced to keep fighting.
Seizing the moment, the Acid King launches a barrage of strikes, breaking down the remaining guards. The bodies cut down like flies, bones fracturing like brittle china. With their masks broken, the formation falters.
Bones snap.
Gauntlets strike like meteors.
Thomas, unflinching, rips through the ranks one by one.
"Keep swinging if it makes you feel better," Thomas shuts his eyes, and the room's relentless tilt gently sways him. The remaining guards slowly retreat, maintaining their forces–that's what Thomas thought.
As Thomas grabs onto the cell door's handle, a sharp scratch appears on his gauntlet almost as if something chipped it. The wind whistles as if hundreds of prayers ringed in the air. Thomas' expression doesn't change as he looks over his shoulder.
A lone figure standing in the darkness, his katanas already drawn.
"Let's see if your skills match your arrogance," Zhang walks forward, his steps exuding a sense of duty and order.
Thomas walked like a loaded gun with legs–trouble, ready toe to toe. The silence is thick enough to drown in it.
"It's rude for opponents to not know each other's names." Zhang says politely putting his hands on sheathed katana, "I am Zhang He. Second in line for the Arbiter title."
"I am Thomas Maloum," The man calmly says, his tone monotone and distant, "But I prefer you go by my title: The Acid King."
"Sorry Acid King," Zhang calmly says, raising his katanas, "Your resolve is noted."
Zhang swings his katanas in a wide arc leaving behind a trail of wind. Thomas, anticipating an attack, looks on with confusion—Zhang hadn't moved an inch.
Suddenly multiple slashes appear across Thomas' body like a phantom– mortally wounding him. Scarlet tears welled where the invisible slashes met flesh. Blood quickly drips down Thomas' arm as Zhang charges with a chilling precision.
Zhang swings his katanas in a graceful motion but Thomas leaps back. Swiftly acting, Zhang throws two air slashes at Thomas.
Reacting, Thomas shoots out his acid, the radioactive spiritual energy illuminating the hallway. The invisible slashes cut through the spraying acid with acid droplets clinging on.
Thomas now seeing the air slashes quickly leaps and dodges the attacks. Turning his head, he sees Zhang swinging his katanas towards him. Shifting his weight, he narrowly dodges the strike.
Extending his palm forward, Thomas ducks low, his gauntlet pulsed—a quick shot of acid slices through the air like a sniper round. Zhang pivots smoothly, feet barely touching the floor, carving a perfect crescent in the air.
As the stone wall melts into a cloud of fine dust, Thomas halts Zhang's swing with his metal gauntlet. A loud clunk rings in the air as the assassin lands with a left hook. Parrying around with the grace of a dancer, Zhang's expression never changes—serene as a monk, deadly as a god.
Moving like smoke–he was impossible to catch.
"All that discipline yet you probably bow to a houseplant if it outranks you," Thomas proclaims, his words piercing Zhang like a firearm.
Zhang closes the distance–not a single breath wasted. Not a single step out of place. His swings felt like rehearsed perfection, his heartbeat radiating off each rhythm.
The wind behind him gusts as Zhang's blade catches the lantern's light. The wind wrapped around his limbs, guiding them towards Thomas' throat–controlled. Not chaotic.
"You got a funny way of asking for mercy," Zhang utters, voice cold as steel.
"Mercy? I'm too useful for that," Thomas mockingly phrases, pushing himself back. "Mercy is only for those with a bad chance at life."
"Useful doesn't mean irreplaceable," Zhang cuts back, slicing through Thomas' words.
"I'm not scared of a little A student," Thomas provokes, coiling his arm back. "You're wasting my time and everyone else's."
With a flick of his wrists, a thin ribbon of corrosive acid slashes through the walls cleanly, with no splash or residue. Zhang shifts his body, narrowly dodging the attack. He already knew where the next strike would land before it did.
Pushing himself off the ground, Thomas leaps forward, claws extended like a predator hunting its prey. Zhang's blade locks with Thomas' gloves and sparks dance out like mischievous spirits in the moonlight.
Swinging his arms forward, Thomas brings his serrated claws inches from Zhang's skin. Those weren't just weapons–they were unfinished life sentences. As the fight continues, they move farther and farther away from the jail cell, traversing deeper into the temple.
Parrying off Zhang's katana strike with a quick deflection, Thomas counters with a sharp elbow to the warden's face.
Holding onto Zhang's face, the assassin slams it on the unforgiving stone wall. Flicking his fingers, Zhang enforces his hand with spiritual energy. In the blink of a second, a small gash opens on Thomas's shoulder.
Closing the gap, Thomas unloads a barrage of strikes like a shotgun, aiming for the chest and face. Each punch felt heavier than the last, driving Zhang back like a jackhammer. Anticipating the next fury of strikes, he slaps them away with his backhand.
Snatching onto the Acid King's arm mid-air, Zhang leaves with a powerful chop on the chest, a slap on the face, and another chop. Momentarily stunned, Thomas stumbles on his feet. Taking advantage of the situation, Zhang closes in, elbowing to the jaw, palm to the chest then delivering a flurry of chain punches at the assassin.
Before Thomas can recover, a swift jab clips his jaw, sending droplets of sweat trailing in the air. Swiping his hand forward, the assassin pushes Zhang's arm away and lands three visceral punches on the warden's side.
The wind knocks out of Zhang's lungs with each strike. It was like hundreds of razor blades shredding through his body.
Gritting his teeth, the warden stumbles back. Thomas' acid-coated gloves glow, outstretched near Zhang's face, sizzling the air around it. Zhang's breath hitches, a shadow of panic creeping in.
A jetstream of acid shoots out from Thomas' palm with a toxic green glow. Snapping his body back, Zhang narrowly dodges the corrosive ribbon of death. Steading his breath, Zhang summons his katanas, eyes locked unwavering.
He slices high and quick, aiming to split muscles and bone. Taking a calculated step back, Thomas fixed on the opponent. Zhang lunges forward, katanas whip through the air, spinning in a wide arc.
Reacting fast, Thomas grabs the katana's mid swing and quickly melts the blade in half. The stainless steel katanas bubble and turn into a liquid goo.
Zhang leaps back, dropping his now destroyed katanas onto the floor. The slick molten remains hiss as they stain the floor below.
"Not so sharp now are we?" Thomas smirks. "You bark loud for a coward. All tears like a whiny baby"
"Coward?" Zhang's eyes widened, taken aback by the insult. Blood trickles down his lips. "I'm more righteous and noble than you'll ever be."
Thomas glares. His smirk fades.
Flicking his wrists, a whip of corrosive energy nearly slices through Zhang's neck. The lash of acid splits the pillar behind Zhang sending dust raining on top of him.
"Save the tough talk," Thomas scoffs. "You're not brave for puffing out your chest."
He lunges.
Zhang's breaths were shallow and ragged, acid burning away at his uniform. He barely lifted his arms in defense before Thomas' knee drove into his stomach. A loud gasp escaped his lips as heavy elbow jams into the side of his head.
Pain blossoms around the warden before Thomas grabs him by the collar. The back of his head cracks on the cruel floor below him. Zhang coughs, blood trailing down the corner of his lips.
"Where's all your righteousness?" Thomas snarls, spite spitting out. "Here's a reality check. All that talk. Gone." Fighting back, Zhang flicks his wrist, smacking the bottom of Thomas' chin. Retaliating, the Acid King tosses the warden like a discarded toy, crashing into the base of the corridor.
Thomas grits his teeth, disgust crawling over his face. Before he can make any distance, Zhang whips his finger, sending an air slash into Thomas' leg. He stared defiantly–still alive. Bloodied but not broken.
Flexing his hand, Thomas' acid dissipates into a faint mist. His steps were faint yet carried a sense of revulsion. Zhang's head remains upright, eyes swelling shut yet his gaze remains defiant.
"People like you are the problem." Thomas sneers looming over Zhang. Coiling his arm, his muscles tense before releasing the force like a gunshot. Before Thomas' punch lands, a stainless blade halts the strike. A loud clunk rings in the Acid King's ear.
Turning his head, Thomas stares directly into Edward Meitner's eyes. His finger clenched tightly around the hilt, keeping it steady.
"I think that's enough," Edward's gaze locks with the Acid King, his blade glistening between Thomas's gauntlet. "Make your move. I'll be your opponent."
"Edward Meitner?" Thomas scoffs, kicking Edward in the shin. As pain shoots throughout the old man's body, Thomas lands a sharp elbow across his face.
"Such an honor to meet the 'Moth man' himself," the assassin acknowledges, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "Too bad all I'm looking at is just a pathetic old geezer."
"I wish people would stop calling me by my old title," Edward's blade shines brightly, almost a beacon of hope radiating off of it. Thomas' expression remains unmoving, and distant as he glares down at his opponent.
Not afraid.
Just ready.