Prologue

A low rumble of thunder woke him from his half-conscious state and he blinked his eyes, hoping to rid the tears that collected in the corners of it as another sharp pain knocked him back to the dusty ground. He swallowed his cries, clambering for whatever he can grab but found nothing but dirt.

The booms resonated continuously in the sky and each sound matched the number of boots that collided with his ribs and stomach.

He really felt like puking, but he parted his busted lips instead and engulfed a huge amount of air, hoping that it would lessen the agony that he was feeling.

"Don't break him too much." He heard one of them spoke.

He rolled on his back and the butt of a long gun suddenly collided with his temple, striking him with enough force to blind him for a moment. He released a low yelp from the unexpected blow and the men circling above him let out a few grunts of satisfaction.

Soon after, the rain began to patter on his skin. It started low and little, hitting him on the cheeks and on his bruised left eye, and then it became a series of continuous pelts.

He felt them slowly drench what was left of his torn up clothes, heard them batter against the ground around him, giving his surroundings a muddy texture.

And all of a sudden, he was up; his hands were covered in semi dry blood and dirt, and he couldn't discern whether it belonged to him or to anyone else. His eyes were cloudy but he could see the change of venue- could see the guards piled on the floor with their gore splattered everywhere, and he could see the walls of the tiny hallway decorated in streaks of scarlet.

He was a standing wreck with a dislocated right shoulder and with numerous purple patches littering his body. He was having an inner turmoil, conflicted with several suppressed emotions that finally broke free after a long while.

How could he have done all of this?

"Oh," He muttered under his breath, head aching from the abuse and the force of recovering a memory from a spider web of thoughts.

"I am an assassin."