His Name Is Kabel

[There's a reason I chose him.]

The grand ballroom of Greenfen Castle was a sight to behold, its vastness expanding under a lofty, arched ceiling adorned with gilded frescoes that depicted scenes of celestial grandeur. Lustrous chandeliers hung like frozen fireworks, their countless crystals casting a spectrum of light over the polished marble floors. Rich tapestries lined the stone walls, and in every corner, musicians serenaded the gathering with a harmonious blend of lutes and flutes. The air was saturated with the captivating aroma of roasted meats and exotic spices, mingling with the delicate perfume of the nobility who spun in an elegant dance.

A lady dressed in azure silk glided by, her laughter mingling with the rustle of her skirts as she was swept up into the arms of a lord whose doublet glimmered with the emblem of his house. "Have you heard?" she whispered between the steps. "The King of Greenfen wishes for a dance to cement the bonds between our lands, to have peace prevail during these times of whispering shadows and lurking dread."

Her partner, a sturdy man with a beard as black as a raven's wing, nodded. "Aye, the king is wise, for prosperity blooms in the heart of unity. To dance is to align our rhythm with the very pulse of the land we cherish."

The couples danced among floating petals, released from baskets held by cherubic children who scampered about, their giggles lost in the melody. Near a towering window that offered a view of the night sky, two courtiers conversed over goblets of wine. "The vaults of the merchant lords brim with gold enough to blind a man," one remarked, holding the ruby liquid up to the light. "But what is wealth in comparison to the arcane treasures this world conceals? Have you heard of the Stones of Eternity? They say one can control the very threads of time."

His companion, eyes aglow with greed and wonder, replied, "Indeed, but those are mere whispers compared to the library of Lorian. Books that scribe themselves, prophecies unfolding upon parchment... If I could but glimpse those..."

In the midst of the revelry, the master of ceremonies, a portly gentleman armed with a voice that demanded attention, announced the ingratiating speeches about to commence. Each ambassador would extol the virtues of their domain, the common thread being the immense benefit bestowed upon their peoples through the alliance with Greenfen.

The representative from the mountainous Norsheath spoke of silver mines so deep that they whispered the secrets of the earth and blacksmiths whose hammers sang against steel, forging weapons of unmatched craftsmanship. The envoy from the forest realm of Valdoria boasted of their mastery over the mystical flora, healing herbs that could mend flesh and spirit alike, and luminescent wood, which shone with an eternal glow revered by artisans across the continents.

Amid the sumptuous attire, a cloaked figure remained inconspicuous, the simplicity of his garb a shadow among the brilliance. He maintained a distance, observing more than partaking, sipping sparsely from a goblet that seemed never to empty, his gaze concealed beneath the hood's cowl. A nearby noblewoman leaned toward her companion, a dashing knight given to tales taller than the towers of Greenfen. "And who might that be, shrouded in such common threads at a gathering of finery?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

The knight followed her gaze and shrugged his broad shoulders. "A mere scholar, I presume, or perhaps a minstrel awaiting his turn to regale us with legends of old. This evening, however, is about forging futures, not reliving the past."

[The way he moves..the way he acts..it's like he doesn't fear anything]

The ball's pinnacle approached as King Eldric of Greenfen himself took the floor. His regal presence commanded silence, his voice imbuing the hall with a gravity that surpassed the lighthearted chatter. "Esteemed guests," he began, "we stand upon the cusp of an era where the whispers of malice need not grow into roars of war. By binding our strengths, we forge not just alliances but a fraternity of realms, a unity that shall uphold the very essence of our world."

A low murmur of approval swept through the assembly. Yet, beneath the concord, the murmur bore undercurrents of skepticism from those who knew the fragility of peace. An older lord, the gold embroidery on his tunic catching the light, leaned toward a cluster of his peers. "The king speaks true, but let us not forget the silent threats that slither unseen—sorcerers plotting within their towers, creatures borne of shadow and malice biding their time."

As the night progressed within the vast ballroom of Greenfen Castle, the air rippled with the laughter of lords and ladies, their voices intermingling with the delicate clink of golden goblets. Draped in finery, they navigated the politics of dance with the same deftness as the politics of allegiances.

A count, cloaked in velvet as black as the midnight realm he ruled, regaled his company with tales of his coffers, which, he boasted, were as deep as the abyss. "You see, prosperity is a matter both of resources and cleverness. And of the latter, my friends, I possess an abundance." The gems at his throat twinkled as he laughed, each a testament to his affluence.

"Ah, but riches alone cannot rule," chimed in a duchess swathed in emeralds that mirrored the envy in her peers' eyes. "It is the loyalty of one's subjects, the fealty of lesser houses, that truly makes a kingdom formidable."

[Even amongst the rich, he's not like them. It's like he's humble in a way]

Among the throng, the cloaked figure with wavy white hair moved silently, drifting through the ballroom unnoticed for the most part, every so often drawing an inquisitive glance from a shrewd eye, quickly dismissed in favor of more glittering distractions.

Meanwhile, entertained by jesters whose eyes were as sharp as the wit they wielded, the nobles reveled. Yet, underneath their merriment, there lurked a palpable sense of unease — an understanding that alliances were but fragile bridges over turbulent waters.

"Tell me of your escapades across the Sea of Whispers," a young noble asked a seasoned sailor who had ventured far and wide. His accounts spoke of monstrous leviathans and ships disappearing into mists from which they never returned. Each story hinted at the vast, dangerous unknown beyond the kingdom's shores.

As the king's knights flanked the dais, their armor an impressive display of both function and opulence, the presence of the hooded figure grew closer to the king, unnoticed. A blade obscured beneath his cloak, its hilt pulsating with a sinister red glow that yearned for release.

King Eldric, a beacon of surety, continued to toast the future, his voice vibrant in the throng. "To strength, to solidarity, to the dawn of a new epoch in which our children shall prosper!" The crowd echoed his sentiment, their goblets raised in shared anticipation.

King Eldric, the sovereign whose very presence commands respect and deference, is an imposing figure of regal stature. Clad in royal attires that reflect his kingdom's wealth and his personal tastes, his appearance speaks both to his authority and his attention to the traditional vestments of his station.

His crown, wrought from the purest gold, sits heavy upon his brow. Each intricate scroll and filigree on the circlet speaks of the craftsmanship of the realm's finest artisans. Precious stones—rubies like droplets of cardinal blood, sapphires deep as the twilight sky, and emeralds that rival the spring's lustre—are ensconced within the precious metal, a testament to the bounties of his lands. His visage, while bearing the burden of rulership, retains the handsomeness of his youth, tempered by the wisdom of his years. King Eldric's eyes are a piercing cerulean, as clear and as commanding as a vast ocean, reflecting both the depth of his mind and the expanse of his kingdom. Often, when he gazes upon his subjects, they feel themselves awash in the gentle yet unyielding embrace of those blue depths.

His hair, the color of polished mahogany and streaked with honorable silver, cascades to his shoulders in a display of his lineage—a lineage that has borne witness to centuries of rule over the prosperous lands he tends to. The streaks of grey do not detract from his vigor; instead, they enhance the distinguished air about him, reminding all of the experience and trials overcome during his prosperous reign. The skin that stretches over his chiseled features is a sun-kissed ocher, an emblem of countless hours spent riding across his domain, surveying the land and its people with a keen, caring eye. It is a testament to a king who not only rules from the comfort of his throne but who knows the dirt and grass of his kingdom's ground as well as any of his subjects. King Eldric's beard, meticulously groomed, traces the line of his strong jaw in a dignified manner, its color matching that of autumn's twilight—a mixture of dark brown threaded with dignified wisps of grey, suggesting a life lived full and wise. Upon his broad shoulders drapes a cloak as vibrant as the royal family's storied past. The fabric is a deep, velvety crimson, lined with ermine fur, as soft as it is symbolic of his place at the apex of the noble chain. The cloak is clasped across his chest with a brooch shaped like his kingdom's crest, bedazzled with gems that echo those upon his crown. His tunic, a richly dyed ultramarine, is fitted to his physique, demonstrating the vigor of a king who has not let his position erode his strength. Over the tunic, chainmail interwoven with precious metals reflects the radiance of the throne room, a shimmering array that announces his preparedness to defend his people at a moment's notice.

[He's the perfect candidate for this. The other assassins…they weren't good enough. Even with the power I gave them. They were fucking pathetic.]

Then, with the swiftness of shadows at dusk, the hooded figure surged forward. The red-eyed assassin drew the blade — a weapon forged in nightmarish flames — and plunged it into the king's back. An eerie glow enveloped the dagger as it sank into royal flesh.

King Eldric's cry was a single note of shock that silenced the ballroom. As the monarch fell, the red flames from the blade burst forth in a deadly wave, cutting through the air toward the king's knights.

[King Eldric..whose divinity was shrouded in the guise of mortality, is one that whispers through the corridors of time—a mesmerizing riddle wrapped in the enigma of a deific masquerade. He who bore the mantle of a god yet walked among men as sovereign of Greenfen hosted a grand ball, not merely for the pageantry such an event entails, but for reasons as complex and profound as the threads of fate spun by the Fates themselves. King Eldric, bearing the omniscient gaze of an elder deity, sought not the throne for mere dominion over land and people. His intent was far more esoteric. It was within the mortal realm that he perceived the golden strands of potential—the opportunity to weave together the disparate threads of human endeavor into a tapestry glorious and uninterrupted by the discord that so often plagues the earthly domains Thus, he declared Greenfen his kingdom, for it was a land vibrant with the verdant promise of prosperity and knowledge—a verdant crucible within which the seeds of true understanding and unity amongst kingdoms might flourish. As a king of such a realm, he cultivated alliances, engendering peace through diplomacy, the sharing of arts and sciences, and by benevolent rule which taught mortals the virtues of wisdom and fellowship. Here, under the resplendent glow of chandeliers and the harmonious strains of music, he offered sanctuary to those who held sway in realms far and wide. These were not merely political allies but essential components in the grand scheme Eldric envisioned—an intricate dance of destinies intertwined, elevating mortal capabilities towards something approaching divine wisdom. Eldric's godhood, concealed beneath flesh, granted him insights no mere mortal could fully comprehend. He observed the subtleties of human nature: their fleeting joys and deep-rooted sorrows, their ambitions that soared like Icarus towards the sun, and their fears that slithered through the psyche like serpents in twilight gardens. He knew that in the microcosm of a royal ball, where hearts lay open and true characters were often revealed in wine-loosened tongues, that a confluence of spirits could be guided toward a unity that might otherwise take eons to achieve. The alliance he fostered under the guise of simple festivity was, in truth, a conclave of silent whispers—a guarded mystery through which he intended to nurture the seeds of enlightenment within mankind. Through this delicate act of guidance, he hoped to quell the raging storms of war, to mend the fractures of enmity, and to lay a foundation upon which the mortal world could ascend to a vision of utopia he so tenderly held. Thus, the ball at Greenfen was not merely a celebration, but an ivory key upon the piano of creation—a note struck with precision to resonate through the ages, played by a god in the guise of a king who revered the endless potential residing in the souls of mortal beings. The first false god..ordered to be dead. I want him dead.]

The elite guards, sworn to protect, lunged forth only to meet their fates as the infernal fire engulfed them. Their armor offered no shield, melting like wax under the curse-laden flames, their cries of agony swallowed by the ensuing chaos.

Nobles scattered, their finery a forgotten cascade of silk and jewels as they fled. For all their guarded words, none could shield against the raw, visceral fear that now gripped the room.

The assassin stood amidst the pandemonium, the dagger still aglow, his red eyes burning with an intensity that matched the weapon in his grasp. The scars under his cheeks etched deep, each a story of a past steeped in blood and darkness.

[This Assassin I've chosen..]

The room had become a tableau of terror and despair, the magnificent ballroom now a stage for death's grim dance. No longer a place of union and joy but a pit of sorrow and betrayal where the hopes of Greenfen lay bleeding.

The grand ballroom was a tapestry of opulence and decadence, its towering marble columns adorned with cascading vines of ivy. The air was heavy with the scent of perfumed nobility, their ornate masks concealing their true identities. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden glow upon the scene, illuminating the swirl of vibrant silk gowns and polished armor.

Amidst the swirling mass of dancers and dignitaries, a figure cloaked in darkness stood, their presence unrecognized amidst the revelry. Their hood concealed their features, shrouding them in an air of mystery. Eyes glinting with cold determination surveyed the room, seeking a target.

[He's perfect. Too perfect, too cunning.]

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the symphony of mirth, shattering the illusion of tranquility. The guests turned as one, their masks contorted in shock and terror. A collective gasp escaped their lips as they beheld the lifeless form of their beloved king, sprawled upon the marble floor.

Panic seized the ballroom, a tempest of fear and confusion. The knight guards, sworn to protect their sovereign, drew their swords and unleashed spells of protection. But their efforts were naught but feeble resistance against the dark figure that emerged from the shadows.

With a blur of movement, the figure sidestepped a spell, their lithe frame evading the guard's strikes with inhuman agility. They moved as if part of a macabre dance, their steps leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. From beneath their cloak, they produced two daggers wreathed in ghostly flames, their ethereal glow casting eerie shadows upon the chaos.

[This Assassin…it's like I struck a gold mine. What can't he do?]

The guards lunged, blades aimed to pierce the figure's heart, but their attacks were met with a deadly parry. The figure's daggers whirled through the air, their fiery arcs slicing through armor and flesh alike. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, painting the once-pristine marble floor in a grotesque mosaic of agony.

The cries of the wounded mingled with the screams of the terrified guests, their voices a cacophony of despair. The figure seemed impervious to the chaos around them, their focus razor-sharp as they wove through the chaos, their daggers finding their targets with chilling precision.

As the last of the guards fell, the room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the trembling breaths of the trembling survivors. The figure stood amidst the carnage, their cloak billowing like tattered wings. Their eyes, gleaming with an unholy light, surveyed the room.

The hooded figure stood amidst the aftermath of their deadly rampage, their daggers still dripping with the blood of their victims. The room was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint gasps of the survivors. As they turned to leave, a small figure stepped forward, a wooden sword clutched tightly in their hand.

The hooded figure regarded the child with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Without hesitation, they lunged forward, aiming to end the child's life swiftly and effortlessly. But as their dagger pierced the child's chest, a surge of energy rippled through the air.

To their shock, the child's form began to distort, morphing into a towering beast. Its once innocuous appearance was replaced by twisted limbs and a massive body covered in pulsating red vines. The creature roared with a thunderous fury, its eyes gleaming with a savage hunger for vengeance.

The hooded figure recoiled, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden transformation. They swiftly regained their composure, their eyes narrowing with determination. With a flick of their wrist, they conjured a shadowy vortex, attempting to ensnare the beast within its dark embrace.

[He wields my power well..like he's one with it. He has no goals, no emotions, nothing to love..nothing to hold him back.]

But the creature was not so easily contained. It bellowed, its distorted form thrashing against the encroaching shadows. The red vines lashed out, entangling the dark tendrils and ripping them apart with a sickening squelch. The room trembled with the force of their clash, debris flying through the air.

Unleashing a primal roar, the beast summoned a torrent of destructive magic. Fiery tendrils of energy shot forth, colliding with the hooded figure's defenses. The resulting explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the ballroom, shattering windows and reducing the remaining decorations to rubble.

The hooded figure, undeterred, retaliated with a surge of their own power. They conjured a barrier of shimmering force, repelling the onslaught of destructive energy. The clash of magic illuminated the room with an otherworldly glow, casting grotesque shadows upon the walls.

The hooded figure and the beast moved in a deadly dance, their every movement a calculated display of power and brutality. The figure darted and weaved, their daggers slashing through the air with deadly precision. The beast countered with its twisted limbs, each strike accompanied by the whip-crack of the red vines.

[His name..]

Their clash sent shockwaves through the room, the impact of their blows shaking the very foundation of the ballroom. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the acrid odor of magic. The battle raged on, an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

The hooded figure, growing frustrated, summoned a barrage of ethereal blades. They materialized in the air, each one gleaming with malevolent intent. With a flick of their wrist, they sent the blades hurtling towards the beast, their trajectory leaving no room for escape.

But the beast was relentless. It twisted and contorted, evading the onslaught of blades with unnatural agility. The red vines extended, deftly swatting the projectiles out of the air. The room became a deadly ballet, the clash of steel and the crack of splintering wood echoing through the chamber.

[The name of the one with the night, the one who can wield a god's power..]

The beast, sensing an opportunity, unleashed a devastating wave of chaos. The red vines writhed and surged, tearing through the remains of the ballroom with reckless abandon. Tables and chairs were upturned, their debris flung through the air like deadly projectiles.

The hooded figure, recognizing the imminent danger, conjured a barrier of pure energy. But the force of the chaos wave was relentless, battering against the barrier with ferocious intensity. Cracks spiderwebbed across the barrier, threatening to shatter it completely.

With their barrier on the brink of collapse, the hooded figure made a desperate gambit. They channeled their remaining energy into a single, devastating strike. Shadows coalesced around their daggers, transforming them into ethereal blades of pure darkness.

With a primal scream, the figure lunged forward, aiming to strike the beast's heart. But the creature, sensing the imminent danger, lashed out with its red vines, seeking to ensnare the hooded figure and crush them within their grasp.

The hooded figure's ethereal blades clashed against the beast's vines, a symphony of violence and resistance. Each strike reverberated through the room, the force of their clash shaking the very walls. The air crackled with unrestrained power, the scent of burning ozone mingling with the stench of blood and decay.

Both combatants strained against each other, locked in a battle of willpower and strength. The hooded figure's face contorted with effort, their eyes burning with determination. The beast, its monstrous form seething with fury, matched their opponent blow for blow.

The ferocity of their clash took its toll on both combatants. The hooded figure's cloak was torn and tattered, their body covered in deep gashes and burns. The beast's twisted limbs were mangled, vines dripping with its own dark ichor. Yet, neither showed signs of relenting.

[His name…is Kabel. Earth's best assassin.]

Bloodied and broken, they continued their relentless assault. Each strike landed with bone-crushing force, each counterattack met with a defiant resilience. The battle had transformed the ballroom into a charnel house, its once grandeur now marred by the grotesque spectacle of violence.

As the battle waged on, a surge of power coursed through the hooded figure. Their eyes blazed with newfound intensity as they tapped into the depths of their abilities. Shadows swirled around them, coalescing into a vortex of pure darkness, ready to consume everything in its path.

With a thunderous roar, the figure unleashed the vortex upon the beast. The swirling shadows devoured the creature's twisted form, consuming it in an unfathomable void. The beast howled in agony, its monstrous cries echoing through the chamber as it was torn apart, and its body.

The hooded figure, the assassin, his name was Kabel, with his wavy short white hair, and dark red eyes with scars below them, stood there covered in blood and dirt. And as he walked away, a holographic system window appeared in front of him, saying:

[False god King Eldric slain.]