“Promise me that you won’t be long,” Cassandra looked up to her love with unmatched hope. She spoke quietly, almost in a pleading fashion.
During the last few weeks she had grown extremely fearful. More than once had they been attacked randomly when walking through town together. Raziel had always been able to handle the situation, as the attacks were not carried out in large groups. The previous night, however, it was slightly more than he could handle on his own and they were forced to flee the area after a few of the mercenaries had been mercilessly slaughtered. To add onto the problem, Cassandra was also now pregnant, yet it was not yet visible.
“Don’t worry,” he responded quietly but with his usual cool confidence that had always reassured her. “Nothing will happen to you.”
“Just promise me…” she insisted.
“Very well, Cassandra. I promise that I won’t be gone long and that I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”
That seemed to make her feel slightly better and she nodded quietly, burying herself against him. He embraced her dearly and placed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
She nodded once again and looked back up to him. Being that she was considerably shorter than he, Cassandra stood on her tiptoes and leaned up to kiss him gently, passionately. The kiss was returned with the same affection before he stepped back – much to her dismay. Fingers touched her cheek softly, reassuring her once again. And then he was gone, disappearing behind the heavy wooden door that led out onto the streets.
Once outside, Raziel shut the heavy door behind him and exhaled; chilling greens danced around. The street was deserted which could be both a good and a bad sign. At an hour like this, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The last few days had been extremely out of the ordinary. More than once had they been ambushed and not once had he been able to get a name out of the mouths of dying men. He couldn’t help but admire the loyalty of the men to whomever they worked for, but enough was enough. Determined on putting an end to this nonsense, he strode down the street. If there was one place where he could get the information about these men, it would be among the guilds.
Not an hour had passed when he left the guild headquarters, thinking over what he had been told by one of his own personal informers. It was hard – nearly impossible – to trust anyone in this town, but this one he could be sure would not try to trick him in anyway. The informer was just a girl not even out of her teens; she was a favorite among the guild and knew everything there was to know, from the affairs of the downstairs neighbor to the current movements taking place within the ranks of all the different divisions. Raziel wasn’t part of the guild, per se. This certain organization proclaimed to be light and righteous. Only humans and certain white robed mages were allowed within the ranks.
Slayers, the girl had told him. There had been a lot of talk of slayer activity lately, but why would they be targeting him and Cassandra? The girl had explained that the mercenary division had been loosing business as of late and were able to track him down. The slayers saw this as just another sport and took the matter into their own hands. He had asked why they bothered with Cassandra and the girl’s response startled him: “They will not come after you, they’ll go after her because they think that she is at greater fault for being with you… being mortal and all. They’ll get to you through her.” After such explanation, he had said no more and made his exit hastily.
In his hurry down the street, he hadn't noticed the small group of rogue soldiers that had gathered in a nearby alley. Nor had he noticed the high number of eyes that watched him move along. Booted steps rang against the cobblestone floor, echoing off the walls of the buildings that surrounded him. When he finally broke away from his thoughts, it was too late.
He was shoved back against the wall and flinched but it did not slow him done. Raziel fought against them with brutal ferocity. One of the soldier’s was taken by surprise when a small blade was produced from Raz’s right gauntlet and mercilessly rammed in between the man’s collarbone. Blood touched the man’s lips, soon dripping freely as he sunk heavily to the ground.
Two other men that stood close by watched the scene in horror and charged him right away. Once again, he was forced to the ground. One of the soldiers forced a sword to Raziel’s throat; the blade touching and lightly cutting the flesh there. Seeing that he would not be able to lift the man completely at such a disadvantage, he opted for the easy way out: a knee was brought up, slamming into the soldier’s groin. The soldier naturally howled in pain and was easily shoved aside.
His comrade immediately took over and as Raziel began to push himself up, he collapsed as a booted foot was slammed violently into his gut. He could taste the unmistakable metallic taste of blood in the back of his throat. There was no time to think, however, as the soldier was obviously determined to take him down single handedly.
There was a shrieking sound as the man unsheathed his sword. The blade was brought done before Raziel had time to react; the sharpened edge cut deeply into his right bicep. Blood splashed to the cobblestones beneath him. Raziel cried out lowly and pressed his gloved left hand to the wound; dangerously silver visage glared up at the soldier. Within seconds, he was up despite the pain and struck out.
Curled knuckles collided with the man’s jaw, creating a sickening crack. His sword was kicked out of pudgy fingers, sent clashing some feet away. The pain shot up his arm at an alarming rate, making it harder to move but there would be no stopping now – not until these bastards were dead.
“Who sent you?” hissed Raziel, taking a firm grasp of the man’s head between his hands. When the latter did not respond, he did not bother with repeating himself and quickly turned the man’s head until the neck snapped beneath the force. Glancing around, Raziel counted but a handful of bodies on the ground… where had the rest gone? The streets were deserted. He took the opportunity to dash down the street; the home he shared with Cassandra was but a few doors down.
He collapsed against the door, finding it open. This caused him to stumble inside but it didn’t matter, he used the momentum to move down the hall.
“Cassandra?” he called loudly for her, looking in each room as he moved towards the master bedroom. In no way was he prepared for what he would find, however.
The scent of blood overwhelmed him as he stepped into the room. Shivers tore through him violently and even though his wounds were slowly starting to mend themselves the pain was forgotten and was instead replaced by a deeper pain still.
Inside was Cassandra as he expected, but with her was another man. Her slender body was covered with bruises and slashes; there had obviously been a fight. One which she had no chance of winning. Once smooth flesh was marked with dark bruises, seemingly inflicted by brutal fist blows. Jagged slashes tore down her upper arms and chest, these obviously done maliciously by knifepoint. The nightgown she had been previously wearing was stained crimson and torn at the chest. The silken material crumbled around her upper thighs and waist in an obscene fashion. Worse of all was the steady trickle of blood that stained her thighs. To add to the morbid effect, a cross had been carved into the side of her breast like a spiteful, sinister tattoo.
What had happened was more than obvious to anyone walking into the scene, however Raziel did not want to believe what he saw. He did not want to think it was possible that he had failed her, that he was too late and that she was dead. If not dead, then very close to it… but she was so still!
Her assaulter glanced up as Raziel entered and flashed him a chilling smile. That was a smile of pride, accomplishment and furthermost: victory. He had no need to kill the real problem when it could be crushed by such an easier deed.
Shimmering silvers looked to the man, but immediately turned to Cassandra as the softest of whimpers touched her lips; those blueish, red tainted lips once so precious and luscious. It killed him to see her like this, and that was exactly what the man had been counting on. A flash of emotion crossed that unnatural silver gaze. What the man had not been counting on was the reaction that resulted from such emotion; he’d been counting on despair but instead got utter, desperate rage.
Before he could even react, Raziel was on him. The man was slammed heavily back against the opposite wall. A gloved hand tightened around his throat, making his breathing harder and not allowing him much movement; in fact any sudden movement would result in the end of his pitiful mortal life.
“Who are you?” Raziel leaned close and hissed quietly. His body shook uncontrollably, the effort it took not to kill the man on the spot was entirely too great. Instead of a response, however all he got was that same chilling, knowing smile. This man had no fear, or perhaps he knew something that Raz did not. The latter was true.
Before he could further his questioning, two pairs of hands restrained him and yanked him away from the wall. He was violently backhanded; whoever had done it was smart enough to use an iron knuckled glove for the task. His head snapped to the side with the brutal blow, blood tainting his now split lips. When his vision cleared, he noticed that the two men that stood over him were two of the few that had managed to escape earlier on. Raziel was shoved back against the wall and kept there with a sword once again pressed to his throat. He tilted is head back slightly in order to keep the pressure of the blade limited. He eyed the two men, then the other who dusted himself off and approached. This one was obviously in charge.
Once again an eerie smile touched the man’s lips. He slapped Raziel lightly, tauntingly and chuckled. “She should’ve known better than to associate with the likes of you,” he said quietly and turned. “Knock him out, but don’t kill him… this one will live with this knowledge for the rest of his damned life.”
The other two were more than happy to oblige: once again that glove collided with his jaw. A knee was brought painfully up into his middle, forcing him to cough. Blood splattered on the floor. It did not take more than a few more seconds of the treatment to knock him from his conscientious state. The pain was too much to handle – not the physical pain; that was much too easy in comparison to the burden that flowed within. The last thing he saw before collapsing to the floor was the body of his beloved Cassandra being dragged away from the room and from him.