1 Death or Life

Faint moonlight drifts through the stained glass windows of the grand hall. Barely illuminating the river of blood flowing on the ground.

Towering stone carved pillars fill the room and a second-story balcony with gold and brass railing surrounds the hall on all sides. During the day it would be a magnificent sight to gaze at the intricately carved pillars and ornate tiled floor.

But now this once beautiful hall has become a battleground. Bullet holes riddle the hundred-year-old pillars and blood seeps into the cracked tiles. 

A young man dressed in black crouches behind a bullet-ridden pillar, his body practically blending into the shadows. Knife holsters run down his chest and legs but most of them are empty now, inserted into the men on the ground.

His eyes are closed and his mind focused. His heart beats slow despite the desperate situation he's in, perfectly trained so it can't interfere with his hearing.

Though faint, he can hear the footsteps of his colleagues slowly surround him. The corners of his lips curl into the faintest of smiles, he knew he was going to die.

As one of ten ace assassins, he knew this day would come. Ace, the name was given to the best killers in the organization. Yet, those elite killers would periodically be replaced.

Being in the organization for his entire life, he's only figured out a few things. Even now he only personally knows his mentor, handler, and ten other assassins who are still alive. This is how the organization has survived for hundreds of years.

The moment he accepted his latest mission to kill a bunch of politicians visiting from different foreign countries he knew it was over.

His handler is probably dead and he's next. Only the dead can keep secrets. Even if he knew, he didn't hesitate to complete the task. After the kill, he came here to wait for those to come.

Gripping the daggers in his hands he can hear them moving closer. The smile on his face grows wider as death creeps closer.

"If my guess is correct, you should be here number one." His voice echoes through the grand hall.

The footsteps paused at the sound of his voice. "I'm here."

A deep but calm voice answers his own.

"I knew you would come. You're the only one who's never been replaced as I started my climb from number ten. That means you aren't assigned missions like the rest of us. No, your job is to hunt us down."

Silence seems to swallow the entire world at this moment as he waits for his answer.

"You aren't the first I've killed and you won't be the last." A slender man holds his hand in the air and points towards a pillar before waving.

Ten men in riot gear pull out flashbangs at the same time. They all pull the pin and throw it towards the pillar in perfect sync, as though they've practiced a thousand times.

The moment the grenades hit the ground, he darts from behind the pillar.

Lights flash throughout the hall as rifles begin firing. With their silencers, it sounds as though popcorn is being made to celebrate his death. Bullets hit the ground as he darts behind another pillar.

The flashbangs explode and fill the hall with a blinding light. In his mind, the positions of all the shooters are displayed like a 3D hologram based on the directions of the bullets.

He moves from behind the pillar and flings both arms in different directions. His daggers spin through the air at astonishing speeds before plunging into the necks of two shooters perched on the balcony above.

This gives him a safe passage towards his next target as he runs.

Rounding another pillar he finally opens his eyes to see another shooter aiming at his former position. His hand draws another dagger from his vest and plunges into the man's neck in one fluid motion.

Feeling that he hit the bone, he doesn't try to retrieve the knife as it would take too much time. The body drops to the ground as he continues pushing forward.

Two more daggers are drawn as he can finally see number one surrounded by ten commandos.

His arms drop to his side before he flings them into the air. His two daggers streak through the air like comments leaving a beautiful silver arc.

Before they can hit their intended targets, number one raises two pistols and fires. Both daggers are hit perfectly, deflecting them to the side.

Seeing this doesn't stop him, he grabs his last two daggers and rushes forward. His hands raise as he sees number one squeeze the triggers.

His pupils shrink into points and his heart accelerates. His daggers slice through the air and perfectly hit the two oncoming bullets. The sharpness of the blades and force of the bullets cause them to be sliced in half.

The bullets splinter to the side as though they're opening a path forwards for him.

Moving a step closer, his hands are already moving to slice the next two bullets. As he does, the ten commandos have already raised their rifles.

The tips of their rifles glow as a storm of bullets is unleashed.

All along he knew he couldn't survive, at this moment of death he didn't back down. All he's known his entire life is killing. Unable to go outside besides performing missions, he could only find sparse entertainment online.

If his whole life revolved around killing, he at least wanted to be the best. No matter how many hundreds of people he killed, he always remained number two.

Thinking it was a problem with his skills, he forfeited the use of guns for daggers. Killing someone with a dagger felt more personal and it forced him to improve. He turned his killings into an art form.

Even then he failed to reach number one. That's when he knew the game was rigged, there was no way for him to reach the top. When he was finally assigned this mission, he knew it was a chance to prove the meaning of his existence.

Seeing his goal right in front of him, he's willing to die to achieve the only goal he could ever have. 

All his strength is transferred to his legs; He knew he would soon lack the ability to move forward, so he lept through the air. His arms cross in front of his head as a rain of bullets passes through his body.

Blood blossoms behind him like bloody rain. He already knew it would come to this, he played it out in his head countless times when he chose this place. All of his armor had been removed so the force couldn't push him back from his goal.

Clicks begin to ring as the bullets are exhausted. His heart, lungs, and internal organs have already been shredded by the bullet storm. His body moving on pure will as he clings to this last moment.

The second his foot hits the floor, his arms drop but his daggers are still firmly grasped in his hands. Number one comes into sight with a single gun raised.

His left-hand stabs forward with everything he has left as number one pulls the trigger. From so close, the bullet has already penetrated his right eye before he can even register what's happening.

Number one steps back and avoids the dagger aimed at his throat. He watches as the back of number two's head explodes.

"Fool." Number one scoffs.

His body falls backward. With half his brain splattered behind, he's already dead by every measure of science and man.

Yet, at this moment, his single eye hasn't lost its final luster. His soul seems to scream at his arm to move. Even if his muscles are shredded and his bones are shattered he screams.

His eye dims further as his body drops closer to the ground; his final dagger still clenched in his right hand.

If not an arm than a wrist, that is all he can ask for in a final attempt as his soul fades. At that moment, his wrist jerks forward, and the dagger flies.

"What?" Number one starts to dodge but sees the dagger is way off course.

The dagger hits the vest of a commando instead before tumbling to the ground.

A sudden thud draws their attention. Turning his head he sees number two's body has hit the ground with a slight smile.

"Pathetic, your last-ditch effort was a waste. You couldn't just die peacefully like the others." As number one takes a step forward, a massive explosion envelops his body.

Knowing that the force of the dagger wouldn't kill, he aimed for the grenade pin on the commandos vest. His body hitting the ground distracted them from noticing the dislodged pin.

"Huuh!" Suddenly he takes a deep breath. Confused at why he can still breathe, he tries to open his eyes.

"Hsss" A burning and stinging pain radiates from his face and forces him to stop trying to open his eyes.

He tries to move his hands only to realize they are chained together. His hands touch his face only to feel two massive scars. Two vertical lines from his cheeks to his forehead has completely blinded him.

With no bandage, his blood has crusted over his wounded eyes. This has stopped the bleeding, but the former owner of this body has already died.

He already knows this body is not his own. From touching his face and how well he knows his body after years of training.

Just when he tries to figure out what's going on, a flood of memories comes pouring in.

This body's name is Yager Sol, a citizen of the Gilinor Kingdom on Vigner Island. Yesterday, the royal family suddenly walked through the market of port town Dullmore for a visit. Everyone bowed down and dared not look at them out of fear.

Everyone was heard stories of the King's vanity.

As a sixteen-year-old boy, curiosity got the best of him. Raising his head a bit, his eyes passed over the Prince and Princess before his eyes stayed on the beautiful Queen. Seeing her eyes like emeralds and beautiful golden hair he was mesmerized.

Her high-class look was countless times better than the girls he saw at the brothel.

The King who just so happened to be looking in his direction saw everything.

Feeling infuriated that a commoner dared to raise his head and disrespect him by tarnishing his wife with his eyes. He charged him with the crime of disrespecting the Queen; He had him arrested and blinded on the spot to serve as a warning.

Taking a shallow breath, he finds it hard to believe what happened. Not because he was blinded, but the fact he crossed into South Blue in the fictional world of One Piece.