“Told you so.” Arvindel said coldly. Her arms folded upon her chest, the thin jacket perfectly mimicking the shirt’s silhouette, creaked softly by the pressure, as she stood over her fellow Eye and their franchoin solfirt subordinate bound tightly back-to-back. The former awake once more, the other still purred like a sleeping cat under the gag. It was quite the nostalgic sight, though less dire as she simply just opened the door on Antonio and Maleern to report the about the war coming to an end in Eoran.

  “Chhld nhh rmlmhfm mm? Prmttn, plmhfm!” Maleern’s pleading went by her ears. Arvindel simply focused on the muffled words, the textile vibrating of the tape as Maleern’s breath battered its adhesive side. And like Antonio, she thought the bck fitted Maleern’s face.

  “You went soft, Maleern. Though worry not, just enjoy the moment.” She crouched before her friend, her Sister and patted her on her shoulders, the other drawn her brows together, then released after she realized Arvindel won’t cut them out from the bindings. “Maybe, we should have a double date.”

  “Rmhlln?” Maleern looked up at her as Arvindel straightened, stretched her arms whilst looking out the window. The gargantuan, snting and polished walls appeared only a breath away, then shadows dimmed the room as they entered the railway tunnel carved into the wall. A tall, narrow rhombus shape arch swallowed the train voraciously, leaving enough space for its broad silhouette including the outer, railed deck bathed at first in dim shadows, then as it sensed the magicraft vehicle, the glowstones on the walls lit up in a warm, soothing golden light. Betwixt each glowstone, an owl like headsculpture opened their stony lids, revealing bold sapphire’s emitting beams, shining through the walls, peering into the anima, arcane points and veins of all passengers aboard.

  Arvindel’s glossy, dark lips trembled at the tickling, a bit unpleasant feeling of being seen through, but she held her ground, standing in the window watching the lights and heads blurring into each other as they passed through the long tunnel. Within the tunnel, space stretched and instead of reaching the other side in a minute, they passed nearly fifteen minutes inside before the sprawling edifices appeared beyond the window, a warm ménge spreading from wall to wall, broad streets, columnal street lights rising above the abodes of the residents, a ziggurat housing the bank, a spire rose high at the eastern wall, over the wall acting as a border between districts, carven on its rounding walls bestial fey like the Caith Sidh, and the God of Wealth and Abundance leaned over the square surrounding the temple where Fey and Heleion’s Gods were worshipped on different levels.

  “Well, I’m gonna see Penry and his guard.” Maleern let out a sigh, leaning her head against Leony’s thick, soft pillowy bun, then she slumped her head back into her wine-red colrs, her eyes slowly closed down as she focused on the whispery words of Antonio. Under the tape, she smiled whilst passing the border of the waking world and dreams.

  *****

  “Everything’s clear here, right?” Glymnis headed back into the main cabin where she spent the past two weeks. Whilst the thought of stepping off from the train tantalized her, now that she made another round, one st inspection inside the main cabin with Kornus, a lugubrious sensation coursed through her petite looking body.

  Still, as soon as she peered in the main cabin, calling out to the three Grant designated as her subordinates for this short inspection. Silence was her answer, accompanied by the ccks of her boots, the stretching of PNC as she reached for her wand pistol on her belt. A pleasant odor lingered in the air, picked up by her feline senses. Pleasant, but portentous. The soft hair on her skin riled, cold tendrils slithered up on her back, their viscous suctions adhering furtively as she walked past the artificial rivulet streaming, round and round the elevated ptform in the center.

  The desire to call out to Thorryn a fellow feyfolk, son of the spring, Anaith a youthful looking orii elf from Northern Eoran and Kornus, the dark elf who barely had the austere grauburgian accent anymore. But she ceased as her legs were guided silently across the floor by the same instinct that impelled a gag order upon her lips. Wand pistol drawn, pointed before her, she stopped at the bathroom door and took a silent, deep breath before touching the door.

  Glymnis flinched a little when her cws made a faint scraping upon the polished surface, and for a few seconds, she stayed still in the utter silence. With a gentle push, she let out a gasp, muffled by the dim vender hands of Kornus, the barrel of a pistol she felt pressuring her uniform, her back. Then she colpsed with a whimper, dead like her comrades id in the broad, long bathtub in the right corner.

  Tovorn held the limp corpse and dragged her inside, throwing her on the two before shutting the door on them. With adjusted uniform, he walked out and saluted to Arvindel a cart away without flinching. Then as he stepped out, wrapped his fingers tightly around the trigger of his wand pistol, and made his way across the ptform, the thronging folk and down the steps.

  Noticing the gathering crowd around Penry and his few remaining guard, with eloquent, deliberate movements jostled across. One guard noticed him behind a tall, green dragonkin reporter in dull beige trench coat and striped shirt with crisp colrs straining around the scaled neck, her indigo blue eyes set deep at first shimmered with a genial expression, then suspicion when she noticed Tovorn pulling out his wand pistol. The reporters, the people wishing to see the famed Mereddyd Penry spped their hands over their ears, whilst the Presidential Guard began moving around Penry as the shriek of a banshee shook the building, shattered the windows whilst a mana bullet passed from the pentagonal barrel, bearing the wicked red, bck and yellow shade of the infernal realms.

  Cries and shrieks followed, muffled at first by the ringing in their ears. A body fell with a soft thud upon the polished floor of light sand brown and a dark oaken shade around the edges of the tiles. Tovorn’s footsteps rang with the certainty his mission had been accomplished whilst two of the Presidential Guard chased after him, shouting, calling forth marble vines from the floor moving with the fluidity of muscled ones to catch the killer whose legs evaded each writhing tentacle.

  *****

  “Good work Leony.” Arvindel whispered as she decided to check the Mirage Mirror Room first. There she found the two guards still bound and gagged to their slick seating, Brewonor facing him, his pants pulled down, his dick still erect and covered in his own cum and the saliva of Fatima. Tabithiri facing the wall, her groans muffled as even in her dreams, the aching of being torn from the spell eased not. And Fatima rested on the console, her face staring at the ceiling with tongue protruding out from her lips, her neck as twisted as her shawl. Satisfied that only one more assassin remained, she left the guards inside, and headed straight for Penry’s section with hurried steps as the train already arrived to its destination.

  The ample opportunity formed in the shape of flocking reporters and voters. Their tramples passed across the windows, the thick, polished walls as the Golem Engines rested down, cheers, yells mingled into a singur chaotic cacophony as Arvindel took turn after turn. Unease settled as a strange, hideous waft hit her, her body quivered meagerly rustling the violet silken shirt buttoned down to her chest, creaked the leather and the slider drummed against the teeth beneath the slim, thin fp piece shrouding them.

  One more assassin remained. The one who killed her Sisters, Liluruil who accepted every task without a word and Weeko freshly flittered out from the academy, eyes searing with excitement to further the cause of the Bck Rose Coven, the Kingdom of Naireanth and its allies. All deprived by one pale elf, marred by the blemishes of the other races aging, accompanied by a smell she imagined to be the same which she felt whilst passing through the st cart, where a dark elven Presidential Guard saluted her, then stepped out from the cart, disappearing with poised steps and posture amongst the crowd.

  Arvindel instead of heading out, continued onwards and within Penry’s luxurious cabin, her fears gained deeper confirmations in the three corpses fitted into the bath, the st slowly sliding towards the edge – belonging to Glymnis, the caith-folk who appeared as young as Weeko, whilst the fear of death remained as her st expression. “Fuck.” She cursed, grabbing her golden wand pistol, and rushed after the dark elf then colpsed onto her knees, shielding her ears with her palms as the unbearable shriek of a banshee shook the railway station, shattering the windows, cracking the walls.

  Quickly she rose back onto her feet, passing through the passed out or dead people like a ghost until she reached the streets. Down on the road, she calmed a little, seeing Penry unharmed, the hulking bodyguard Grant took the bullet through his massive shoulder. A hole in which the flesh gained a putrescent quality, the skin bckened around it. Yet he seemed awake, holding back to scream out bloody hells as blood cascaded from his ears too. Naier whose face cked the warm shades, pallid from fear of losing Penry, pointed towards the alley not far ahead where two of her comrades followed Tovorn,

  Arvindel nodded, her legs already in motion as she took after the three, and after running across the winding, maze-like alley, arrived to a decrepit building. Quickly, she gulped down a stamina potion, calming her body and breathing, and followed the faint etheric trail matching the infernal wave-lengths of the assassin. Up on the top third floor, she phased through the wall, only to find an empty apartment, in its center the two Presidential Guards bound to each other, both the handsome, bald sraudornian with broad shoulders, golden eyes and the blue-eyed alfrith with long, center parted hair of purple – darker at the centers, near her face lighter tones – gagged with long strips. Beneath them, she sensed magicraft bombs activating just as they woke up.

  Crashing through the window, she felt the heat, watched the dim hellish fmes consume the top third floor completely whilst the wave of force sent her right into the building across it.

  *****

  Still confident his mission has been accomplished, Tovorn sauntered jovially in the central square, sitting down to enjoy a cigarette whilst already changed into his preferred knitted turtleneck, a poncho and slick, grayish bck boots and pants provided by Emilior’s men in his hideout. He looked at his clock whilst smoking, making sure he had time before the pickup.

  Then he rose onto his feet, legs trembling a little as he unconsciously started thinking about the shot. It passed above the the umbral elven guard, crazed his oily, dense hair, entered right into Penry’s chest. The inscriptions flowing in the mana bullet must have rotted his organs as soon as they entered. He should be like the ancient pharaohs of the Southern Heleion. A withered husk with empty eyes staring at the sky, a yawning maw with bckened, sallow teeth fallen into the parched throat. Clothes tattered, torn parchment like before they crumbled on the blockaded road. He is dead. Right?

  Sweat flown slowly down his forehead, dripping from one-fold of his dry skin to another, the sun felt crueler, the heat penetrating his clothes, upending the soothing ws of the enchantments. His heart pounded, whilst his thoughts jumbled. At one point he walked with confidence, sure he succeeded, at another he questioned whether the bullet ever left the barrel at all. Whether he just ran, believing he triumphed once more, that patience paid off like all the thousand times before.

  “Did it?” A cavernous, honey smooth voice echoed in his mind as he felt something cold trickling down from his nose.

  A vague sensation led his hands to his chest, where he felt tiny needless passing through his sweat tarnished turtleneck, clinging to his cmmy body. “It has been so long, my dear Tovorn. Three thousand years.” The voice filled him with the same dread he masked with confidence when staring into those hellish pearls of golden, shimmering with the brilliance of stars. An infernal fa?ade as the boyish face strewn onto a skinned goat’s head was a mockery of the divine.

  “It can’t be. I never fail. I never lose.” He repeated in whispers, his voice broken by the flowing bile as he colpsed onto his knees. Before he could reach his pocket for a healing potion – a st vein effort – the bckened liquid of all his bodily fluids broke forth all his orifices. His teeth corroded into dim particles, his skin stretched until it torn away, revealing the hideous flesh, his ass cheeks fallen into the soft sand like sliced off pieces of meat and before his eyes liquidized mixing with the corrosive bck liquid, he gazed upon the listless, bewitching visage of Arvindel unnoticed by all other.

  Firm hands grasped his soul, whilst the crowd shrieked in the square as his once prided, hideous form broken down into a pond of bck sludge.

  *****

  2nd of October, 502 of NDE. High above Maba, Central Eoran.

  “That was a bit excessive.” Lythienne commented, as her phantasmal image held flipped through the newspaper. She sighed with a faint smile.

  “Wasn’t my intention. I guess I may have hit a poison or something?” Arvindel extenuated whilst inspecting two tickets to the ride.

  “And what about the one who got away?” Maleern flinched, then like a little girl started wrapping a few strands of her hair around her index finger as the piercing, violet eyes moved right at her.

  “He got the better off me and Leony.” She said meekly, Lythienne sighed audibly as she stood up from her chair.

  “Anything else you could at least get out of him. Other than his juice?” She asked. Maleern’s cheeks reddened and she sunk into the leather couch protruding from the sleek, polished floors.

  “Just confirmations we already knew about the Oscurazon, their new witch leader.” She reported feeling a bit shameful. “Though he did add she had raven bck hair and violet eyes, and the air of an old hag.”

  Lythienne sighed, then looked into the distance with a doleful gaze. “I may have an idea then. But regardless, good job Sisters.”

  “What about them?” Arvindel asked whilst sliding the tickets into her pant’s expansive pockets.

  “After all the money they must have spent on Penry’s rival, I doubt they stop at one attempt.” Lythienne looked at the two, pondering. “For now, enjoy your vacations – and date,” She looked at Maleern who flinched meekly. “Wait, until my or Katinkah contact you.”

  *****

  ?? of October, 502 of NDE.???

  He hated it. Hated being torn away during the weekends, the one time he could rex, sit by his pool, enjoy the stiffness of his yacht whilst watching the interminable azure vistas of the oceans, the sea surrounding Eoran. And he could not even watch the death of Tovorn, the reason for his rues who failed a simple mission, one he already carried out hundreds of times for their cabal, thousands before The Monarch enlisted him. And he hated not being the one who triumphed over Hatred as his boots ceased their loud clinks against the polished marble floor reflecting his elegant suit, mismatched with a hooded woolen vest beneath it.

  “Lord Phirghyria.” The tall, lean umbral elf announced his arrival to the others, already seated. Unlike him their expressions hiding not their utter terror. Emilior was sure, it wasn’t his time. Thanks to his vast mercantile empire built for the past few centuries. Emilior was safe from His anger.

  He climbed the short stairs, walked across the slim bridge until he reached the sharp, sword tip like end and turned towards the balcony where He sat, watching from those sunken, bck eyes awakening a little dread in his own heart. He was not as sure at all times like Vanagloria was before the Devil of Vainglory came to triumph after a loss, thousands of years before.

  Confusion took the pce of dread, as the reports continued. A muscur, red dragonkin whose eyes and horns brimmed in hellfire at their tips finished his report in regards of their aid in arming the rebels, the terrorists fighting to free Orhmedia from the grasp of the Arghyrian’s, weakening their grip on the south of Heleion. His voice meek, barely audible as he spoke into the crystal designed to amplify the voice, unbefitting of one granted the form of a dragon.

  Then all his woes vanished when he gazed upon the Soratanese woman, completely cd in a vibrant white and pinkish-red kimono of some dull, mundane linen tucking her meager, asymmetrical bosom whilst the dry fair skin of hers invited the occasional gazes, her lush, voluminous onyx bck hair with long, winding streaks of fuchsia tumbled onto her shoulders, framed her chest. Even though her voice drawn every gaze upon herself, passionate and desirous of ciming her for themselves, her report distressed Emilior as the Hoshigawans and the Bck Lotus proved much firmer in their answers for dissent. The Golden Path seemed a lost cause, and both Emilior and The Monarch knew it was time to stop funding them and focus on the Archipego instead.

  Then the st, an energetic feyfolk with lupine eyes, additional ears coming from his deep brown hair with streaks of gray stood up almost immediately when the she stopped her report and sat back down. Eyes still fixated on her, whilst the next report, as distressing as hers followed. At that point, Emilior felt relieved, knowing who drew the shortest. And as far as he knew, he was the easiest to repce.

  “Thank you, Acedia. Any pns to remedy our problems in Albion? To silence…” For a moment The Monarch turned to his aide wreathed in shadows, but from his outline, Emilior noticed he dressed properly elegant unlike him. Adelia, Emilior remembered the sole Eye of the Bck Rose he managed swaying to their cause then were promptly taken under Acedia’s wings.

  “Haven’t yet. Truth be told, we are unsure about her status.” Emilior sighed at his foolishness, but this was expected of the peppy feyfolk.

  “Not even your agents?” All could feel his question aimed at a man in bck and crimson robes, hood over his head, face under myriad wraps of bck gauze. Like a mummy. He shook his head, a raspy voice boomed through the chamber lit up by the glowing maps of Eoran and Heleion carved into the polished and cavernous stactite walls. At the next foolish words of the feyfolk, Emilior sighed and tensed his muscles in his face, not to smile. “They have been captured by the Albionians.”

  Then an expected shriek followed as bck fmes consumed the feyfolk, where he stood nothing remained but his shadow burned into the polished floor – like his predecessor.

  Emilior coughed once, feeling the dark, empty gaze aimed at him. A deep breath, and he opened to report his pn after the failure of Vanagloria. To kill Penry at once, and to make up for Tovorn’s failure and ensure his life and existence – the elimination of the Governing Council of Northern Eoran…

  Afterword:

  And another one, ends. A shorter one that almost ended on the train itself.

  In hindsight and the first outline, Tovorn would have perished on the train instead of on a square, but when I started the chapter itself, changed pns as I wanted to include a section of momentary uncertainty.

  There were a few more casualties, with Grant being a bit uncertain whether he makes it or bleeds out. Or maybe the bullet was cursed.

  Also a little segment to foreshadow a bit more than the first story. Some confirmations to connect the previous stories to this, and the future ones that are mostly just some vague ideas. Though in some extent they will follow the theme of Tovorn, where they are a sort of representation of the Seven Deadly Sins, but also in some extent the opposite of them.

  To expand a bit. With Tovorn the idea was a marred elf who despite his tarnished looks and stench, carried himself with an air of pride, vainglory. There were no doubts in his heart regarding his skills. All the others will follow a simir, or slightly simir theme, with Emilior up next. With him I already have most of it certain and py into the next story, and besides him, there is the Warlock of Lust [or Witch] who has the looks, but not the sexual desire [a sort of confirmation it wasn't her in the Merry Times story]. Though this one is up for slight changes, additions.

  Now all I need is a proper name for their organization besides, The Cabal.

  Anyhow, thank you all for reading this story, hope you all enjoyed it. For May the pn is two Bound Diaries mentioned before [I think], and a three part story that hopefully be up in early access on my patreon and subscribestar. Free upload will be end of May for the three-part story. Till then, take care and have a nice week, and May!

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