Chapter Nine: Cloaks in the Dark
The air had stilled.
Not the calm of peace, but the pause before a blade sang from its sheath.
Port Royal's vibrant cries had dulled into hushed murmurs. Somewhere in the alleys, a cart creaked. A bottle shattered. Then nothing. Just the wind, restless and sharp, whispering between shutters.
Inside the safehouse, the pistol in August's grip trembled.
He stood near the shuttered window, the fever sweat still drying on his skin. His long platinum curls clung to his temples, damp and limp. His grey eyes were sharp despite the sickness, trained on the shadows beyond the slats.
Elias crouched near the fireplace, blade in hand, watching the door. His every muscle was coiled, still. Waiting.
A breath.
A pause.
Then the crack of movement outside.
Elias rose in one fluid motion, lips tight. "They're here."
August didn't reply. His focus remained locked.
A soft rattle against the back window.
A footstep.
Then...
CRASH.
The front door burst inward.
Elias didn't flinch. He moved, blade flashing in the lantern light, meeting the first shadow through the door with a brutal downward strike.
The intruder hissed, steel clanged, and the fight erupted.
August didn't hesitate. Despite the ache in his body, he pivoted toward the second assailant slinking through the broken shutters. He fired.
The shot cracked like thunder.
The figure reeled back, caught in the shoulder.
August dropped the pistol and grabbed the dagger stashed by the table, limping toward Elias. His lungs burned. His skin burned. But he moved.
Another man crashed through the rear window.
"Three!" Elias shouted.
"Four!" August countered, catching sight of another cloak moving along the outer edge.
But then a new figure stepped into the doorway.
Tall.
Broad.
Cloaked in deep black, face shadowed by the hood.
August froze.
That cloak.
The cut. The drape. The red stitching near the collar. Identical to the one from his dream.
His breath caught. The dagger slipped an inch in his grip.
"No," he whispered. His body moved, but his hands... stopped.
Elias saw it the hesitation. He turned in time to knock a blade away from August's ribs, pushing him back. "Eyes on your target" same man, August. Move!"
But August couldn't.
Because the cloaked man stepped fully into the lamplight
And his face was a stranger's.
Cold, unreadable. Eyes sharp. But wrong. Not the one from the dream.
Not him.
Just another soldier. Another ghost in a borrowed skin.
"Killian Vesper."
He didn't speak. He simply observed the room with unnatural stillness. Then, he moved
Too fast.
In a blink, he was in front of Elias. The clash of steel echoed again. Elias grunted as his blade was parried, disarmed, and he was thrown back.
August lifted the dagger again, adrenaline overtaking fever.
From the rooftop, another figure appeared, crouched with elegance above the window. Bow in hand. Silver-tipped arrows glinted in the moonlight.
Elysian Nevan.
He loosed a shot
August ducked, the arrow barely grazing his arm.
Then another shattering the lantern, plunging the room into fire-shadow and smoke.
"Get down!" Elias roared.
They dropped together, rolled behind the overturned table.
"Two elites," Elias hissed. "That's no random squad."
August clenched his teeth. "They're here for us."
"Killian Vesper," Elias whispered, eyes narrowing. "And that archer Elysian. I've heard stories."
"Don't care," August snapped, coughing hard. "They bleed like the rest."
Their eyes met. An agreement passed in silence.
Fight now.
Or die.
And in the dark, the game began.
The battle had begun.
Killian moved like shadow incarnate. No wasted steps, no breath between attacks. One blink, and he was across the room. Another, and Elias's shoulder was bleeding.
But Elias didn't flinch. He met the next charge head-on, sword drawn, steel clashing against enchanted steel. Sparks flew. Their dance was brutal a contest of speed and instinct. And Elias held his own, barely.
Meanwhile, August rolled to his knees, grabbed the fallen pistol, and fired toward the second window.
Glass shattered.
A dark figure reeled back with a hiss Elysian Nevan.
Slim, elegant, and deadly, he landed on the sill like a wraith. His bow already drawn, eyes gleaming with calculation. The moment August moved again, an arrow whistled past his ear, embedding in the stone.
The room filled with motion slow, yet too fast. Every heartbeat carried the weight of a lifetime. Elias knocked Killian back with a kick to the ribs, but the assassin twisted in midair, landing without a sound.
August aimed again. Fired. Missed.
Another arrow. This one grazed his side. Warm blood soaked his shirt, but he stayed standing.
"Elias," he called, voice ragged. "Split them. Now."
Elias understood without words.
He feinted left, then crashed into Killian's side, driving them both through the doorway and into the hall beyond.
The two vanished in a storm of dust and footsteps.
That left August with Elysian.
The archer stepped down from the window, calm as a nobleman at tea. His movements were graceful, practiced, lethal. He nocked another arrow. "You should have stayed in bed."
August laughed a dry, bitter sound. "Believe me. I tried." With slightly mocking tone"
He fired again.
Elysian twisted his head, avoiding the shot by inches. The arrow in his bow loosed in the same instant, and August barely dodged it. It nicked his shoulder, burning like fire.
Still he moved.
He grabbed the second pistol from under the table Rolled behind the cot. Fired through the mattress.
A gasp.
Not a hit, but close.
Outside the room, he heard Elias roar. Steel met steel again. Killian cursed, and something cracked a wall or a rib.
Elysian circled.
August waited.
Beneath the fever, beneath the pain, something clear and cold had taken over. A steadiness. His hands no longer trembled. His breath slowed.
He saw the rhythm.
Elysian stepped. Pivoted. Raised his bow and August struck.
He hurled the pistol, not to hit, but to distract. Elysian dodged, eyes tracking it.
Too late.
August surged forward with the dagger Elias had hidden in the floorboards. He slashed.
Elysian jerked back. The blade caught his forearm, drawing a red line across pale skin.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, there was nothing but breath and blood and the echo of battle in the hall.
Outside, thunder cracked.
And Killian Vesper laughed.
The battle was far from over.
The storm had broken loose.
Steel clashed against steel in the narrow corridor. Elias and Killian collided like titans, sword against dagger, the air splitting with every strike. Sparks rained off the walls. Killian moved with terrifying speed, every motion a blur of lethal intent. Elias parried, countered, forced to fight on instinct, each blow rattling through his bones.
Killian's grin was bloodless. "You're slower than the stories."
Elias didn't answer. He lunged instead forcing Killian back, blade slicing through air where neck had been. A miss. Killian twisted, dagger arcing up cutting shallow along Elias's ribs. Elias hissed, pivoted, and punched. The blow cracked against Killian's jaw, sending the assassin stumbling. But not falling. Never falling.
Back in the main room, smoke coiled through the firelight.
August stepped from behind the cot, blood trailing from his shoulder, grey eyes like tempered steel. Elysian had circled again, his bow drawn taut, silver arrow glinting at full tension.
"You won't get another shot," August said.
Elysian tilted his head. "You're brave for someone half-dead."
August smiled faintly, mockingly. "And you're slower than you look."
The arrow loosed.
August dove, landing on his side behind the table's broken leg. The arrow embedded into wood with a violent thunk. He rolled, came up with the dagger again. Elysian drew another arrow with seamless grace until August threw the lantern.
It shattered at Elysian's feet.
Fire exploded up the side of the curtain.
Smoke thickened.
August charged through it.
Elysian fired missed.
They met in a crash of limbs and blade. August struck low, fast, his dagger grazing Elysian's thigh. The archer stumbled back, kicked August away, and drew a short knife from his boot. For a moment, they stared across the smoke. Ash clung to their faces.
Elysian moved first thrust high. August ducked, slashed. Metal kissed flesh. A line of blood bloomed across Elysian's ribs.
"I see you're not just pretty," Elysian murmured.
August didn't respond.
He lunged again.
Meanwhile, in the corridor, Killian swept Elias's legs from under him with a vicious spin-kick. Elias fell, rolled, came up with his blade reversed and struck upward.
Killian blocked, barely.
Their weapons locked Killian's dagger sliding along Elias's sword. Sparks flew between them.
"I expected more," Killian said, breath close.
To be continued