Madness Remains

Kalt smiled to himself, pristinely cared for blade turning over in his gloved hand. It was a remote place in the ruins that he made his hunting ground, rather his playground. A man was shackled to the wall with chains that Kalt had made brand new with a little magic. As far as the assassin was concerned, there was no name attached to the figure hanging against the wall. Breath came and went from the man’s bare chest, as Silver Wing watched, glancing at Ashe and waiting patiently for his toy to awaken. He stirred against the chains occasionally, telling Kalt that it would be soon. And soon came. Dark eyes flicked open, fear the first emotion displayed, replaced by anger as the man struggled against clattering chains and finally saw the uniformed assassin sitting on a stone with clear blue eyes locked on his prey. ’Human minds, frail and scared Freed by death, and death is fair. Hopeless souls, play a part In my wicked work of art. Such relief, every time Taking life, to take what’s mine. At the end, here we lie Here we’re killers, or we die.’ Approaching the chained specimen, Kalt lifted a brow, reaching out and grabbing his face tightly, not letting him escape the grip. ”Tell me,” he said quietly, fingertips digging into the man’s cheeks, “do you think you deserve to live?” “Yes,” the man spit out between ragged breaths. Kalt nodded slowly, releasing the man’s face with a slight huff. “I think your wife would disagree.” He turned his back, eyes flicking once to Ashe as he absently examined the knife in his hand. His subject was a murderer who killed his adulterous wife. In all truth, Kalt didn’t care who he had under his blade. He had killed countless in Northwind, many in Northaven, some innocent and some not. The god of death had no discrimination and neither did the assassin. Ashe, however, had standards... No killing innocents. While Kalt wouldn’t care to uphold that rule, he knew she would refuse this if he didn’t, so a murderer was at least fair game for his twisted games. He listened to the muffled cries of the man, as a rag was stuck in his mouth. It was becoming obnoxious. They hadn’t even started playing yet. ’Play the game, paint your scene Taking this to the extreme. Masterpiece, dark design Your last moments, only mine. It's a need, here in dust Kill the world that stole from us. Take your place, let it be In my crimson symphony.’ A lively whistle lived on his lips, that same whistle that his only living torture subject would be aware of. He enjoyed working to music. The assassin sharpened his blade idly, ensuring the perfect edge for his artwork. That’s what this was, after all... Art. After a little while, he removed the rag from the man’s mouth and frowned. ”Please, don’t scream yet,” he muttered. ”Ruins the mood if it comes too soon.” Kalt tossed the rag onto the ground and lifted his knife, moving the edge across the man’s cheek, drawing blood from his wincing face. A flicker of a grin was displayed on Kalt’s lips. He stepped back and began his work. ’I feel it in my bones, a need to be your god A need to strike you down. When order disappeared, and madness took control The conscience in me drowned. I want to be your guide, into the afterlife It's a gift, look past the pain like I do. I want to see your eyes, just before your demise When only fear remains inside you.’ His work was masterful. Never the slightest stroke out of place. Screams of pain graced his ears, and he was absorbed into the moment, a feeling of ecstasy flooding his body with each movement, each sound, each agony-filled jerking movement from his victim. Blood dripped down the man’s torso, as skin was peeled away and severed with such fluidity that it may as well have been cutting through butter. It was such a beautiful thing. An ethereal symphony of rattling chains, bloodcurdling screams, hyperventilating breath, and the gentle drip, drip, dripping of blood on the ground as it slowly drained from the man’s body. He hadn’t had this feeling in far too long, that beautiful darkness he willingly welcomed into his soul. Had he not been taken into the Guild, that darkness wouldn’t have touched him, but gods, he couldn’t live without it now. Kalt listened to the heavy breathing, the pleading from the man in a voice that almost seemed muted and drained. He couldn’t tell if he was begging for life or death. Either way... ’When the world was turned to gray The hatred wouldn't go away: Resentment in chains. In the coldest of all hearts A voice descends, the light departs. Madness remains.’ He stepped back, listening to the subtle shaking of chains and turned his back to his artwork. Removing his gloves, he tossed them aside and grinned, approaching Ashe and gently touching her cheek. ”Your turn.” (Lyrics: “Remains” by Aviator) kalt give into the night.

The Assassin in Blue watched silently. She had chosen a toppled over pillar to sit on, scarred hands braced upon the cold stone. She was clad in head-to-toe black, her rich blue cloak draped over her small frame. Steady breath clouded before her, and electric eyes watched the figure in chains without wavering. When the chains clinked together as the man began to stir, she flicked her eyes up to Silver Wing the same moment he cast his gaze to her. As still as she was, it was still like the entire world stopped for a moment. It didn’t matter how they got here. How she had. It didn’t matter why. Only that they were here, and that she hadn’t hesitated when the opportunity was offered. She still didn’t move as the man awoke. He had been chosen because he killed his wife for some stupid reason. It was a code Ashe refused to break: she would not hurt innocent people anymore. Her code was crooked and strange and never made a whole lot of sense, but there were lines she had laid, lines she would not cross ever again. Kalt had obliged - it made no difference to him. Silver gleamed off of that knife, and the assassin’s blood turned to ice. She largely ignored the cries of the man on the wall now, her gaze tracking every flicker of movement from Silver Wing. Tonight… tonight was no simple affair for Ashe. She hadn’t done anything remotely close to this in two years. Maybe longer. She hadn’t seen those knives… The assassin stirred upon the rock to keep herself visible - she would not fade into nothing for this. She was going to learn something tonight, about herself, about Kalt, about who they had become. The anticipation that thrummed with every pulse of her blood was telling, but she needed more. Wanted more, had refused to admit that she wanted more. She remembered that Ice Bitch she stalked, remembered the blazing, screaming frustration when that kill had been stolen from her. She knew then how deeply the bloodlust had festered, but tucked it away… Now there was a release offered on a silver platter. It was that whistle that snapped her attention to terrifying clarity. That lively tune that still echoed in some of the worst of her night terrors, memories of terrible things forced on the both of them. Her eyes cracked with ice as she watched Kalt begin his work. Her pulse quickened, everything sharp and in painful focus as red gleamed on the whimpering body in chains. She didn’t need to remind herself of what he did, she had accepted it before they had even descended on him. His sounds of pain were earned and deserved. The first scream came ripping from his throat, and Ashe’s eyes immediately latched onto Kalt. For a long moment, she couldn’t look away as her limbs became light, her heart plunging downwards into weightlessness. It had been a long time since Ashe was a part of this, a long time since she felt the tug in her chest, the feathering of muscle in eager hands. She was in her element for the first time in years. The screaming built into crescendos, and her heart was starting to pick up its pace. She tried not to keep glancing at Kalt, at the cruelty singing in his eyes, tried to ignore the prickling along her skin. She focused on the ragged sounds from the man whose skin opened without resistance. Ashe leaned forward and drank the frozen air in deeply as she realized his work was nearly done - nearly her time. The screaming stopped, and the silence was filled with ragged breathing, with begging, with the steady drip of blood to the stone floor. Ashe rose silently to her feet then, cloak whispering over the pillar just as Kalt reached her, and his un-gloved hand brushed her cheek the same moment he smiled. Bloody, with expectant eyes on her. ’Your turn.’ Ashe kept her head tilted up at Kalt for a moment, her shoulders back and jaw set. In spite of the cold, the assassin removed her own gloves as one hand reached up and brushed over the top of his. The other… She walked beyond Silver Wing without a word, and her heart was at an even rhythm as the ring of steel joined the whimpers of the man who had been cut to ribbons. Kalt had his fix. It had been long enough since she’d had hers. She stopped closely in front of the man that sagged against his chains. His body steamed with sweat and blood in the air of deepfrost, and her boots stuck in the puddle on the floor. She looked up at him, at the dark eyes that were unfocused and wavering. That won’t do. A small thread of lightning arced from the snap of her fingers at the man, and he let out a yelping shriek as his entire body was lashed to attention. He set fear-crazed eyes on the small woman as she looked up at him, her eyes sharp and cold. His voice was wet and cracking as he whispered please for his life, for mercy. For salvation. Ashe tilted her head, as if considering, flashing a glance at Kalt before she looked back at his work. He’d gone easy on the man by the looks of it, likely so he didn’t lose consciousness, to give Ashe her opportunity to release. Tonight she was making a choice. She was learning a lesson about herself. ”Help me,” the man begged. Ashe considered her sword: Reckoning, gleaming and dark. She glanced up at the man as she positioned her blade, just between the fourth and fifth rib, and the man wheezed in what might have been a whimper - barely audible over the shaking of his chains. ”Help you?” she asked steadily. Ashe flickered a savage grin, baring her teeth, and she plunged Reckoning into his heart. Skin slid along metal, blood pulsed in a fountain - downwards, covering her hands, her arms, chest, shoulders - and he let out a strangled gasp with wide eyes upon her. Her heart finally raced wildly as her eyes dilated on the man's dying gaze. ”That’s the problem,” she said as she slid her blade free from his chest. ”People keep thinking I’m some fucking hero.” She let him die alone, turning away in his final moments as something deeply warm spread through her, sparks of blue flickering across her skin as a painful tension uncoiled and eased from her body. It left her light, left her heart fluttering.. and she closed the distance between her and Kalt. She held her sword down at her side as she reached up and clasped the side of his face with a bloody hand, lifted herself to her toes to slant her lips over his - slowly and deliberately, like they had all the time in the world. Ashe it's live or die my way.