The Veilborn Strikes
The fire crackled behind Cassian, flickering shadows stretching across the clearing. The scent of burning wood and spilled blood clashed with the stink of sweat and rotting meat.
The bandits stood frozen for a heartbeat. Their leader, Raze Vakros, hadn't moved yet, still watching with that smug amusement.
But the others?
They had seen enough.
"Kill him!" one of them bellowed.
The rush came fast— five men moving at once, weapons flashing in the dim firelight.
Cassian's dagger twitched in his hand. This was going to hurt.
The first one, a brute with a war axe, swung hard for Cassian's ribs. Cassian ducked low, twisting around the blow, and slammed his dagger into the man's armpit—a soft spot. The steel plunged deep, slicing through muscle and tendons. The brute howled. Cassian yanked the blade free and shoved him away.
The second came at him with a curved sword. Cassian pivoted, dodging the strike, then snapped his foot out. His heel crushed the man's knee. The sickening crunch was drowned by the scream.
A shadow loomed behind him. Cassian felt the attack before he saw it. He turned just in time to raise his forearm—
CRACK!
A heavy club slammed into his wrist. Pain shot up his arm. His fingers spasmed, nearly dropping the dagger.
Sloppy. He was slowing down.
Snarling through gritted teeth, he lunged forward, slamming his forehead into the attacker's nose. Blood sprayed as the man stumbled. Cassian drove his knee into his gut, knocking the wind out of him, then plunged his dagger into his throat.
Warm blood splashed across his knuckles.
Three down.
The fourth bastard was quicker. He feinted left, then swung his sword low. Cassian barely twisted in time, but the blade bit into his side—not deep, but enough to burn like fire.
Cassian hissed. His body wasn't at its peak yet. He was strong, but not invincible. Not yet.
He needed to end this fast.
The bandit saw the wound and grinned. He pressed forward, sensing weakness.
Cassian let him.
The moment the bandit raised his sword for the kill—Cassian stepped in, fast. His dagger found the man's wrist and slashed deep, severing tendons. The sword clattered to the ground. The bandit barely had time to scream before Cassian ripped open his throat.
Four.
The fifth and final bastard hesitated. Smart.
Cassian's chest rose and fell. Blood dripped from his blade, mixing with the dirt beneath his boots. The firelight flickered over his mask, casting a monstrous reflection.
The last bandit's breath was ragged. His hands trembled.
Cassian tilted his head.
"Run."
The man bolted.
Cassian let him.
He needed one survivor. A messenger. Someone to spread fear.
And besides… there were still plenty left to kill.
He turned.
The rest of the bandits—fifteen, maybe twenty—were already closing in. Some had seen enough to hesitate. Others just wanted revenge.
Cassian rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. His muscles burned. His ribs ached where he'd taken a hit. But he wasn't done.
Not yet.
Another rush.
Cassian met them head-on.
The first swung at him with a short sword. Cassian sidestepped and slashed across his exposed ribs, opening him up.
A second swung at his head. Cassian ducked, feeling the blade whistle past his ear, then came up with a vicious uppercut to the jaw. The bandit's head snapped back. Cassian grabbed the bastard's collar and hurled him into the fire.
Screams filled the air as the flames swallowed him.
No time to rest.
Another came at him—a huge bastard with a spiked mace. Cassian barely dodged in time, the weapon grazing his shoulder. Pain flared. He ignored it.
He couldn't dodge again.
So he stepped forward instead.
Before the bandit could recover, Cassian caught his wrist, forced the mace downward, and sunk his dagger into his side—once, twice, twisting the blade deep.
The big man crumpled, choking on his own blood.
Cassian stumbled back, panting.
His arms were getting heavier. His legs burned.
His body was screaming for rest.
But there was no stopping now.
Not until they were all dead.
Another came at him. Cassian dodged left, stabbed right. His dagger punctured a lung. The bandit collapsed, gasping, drowning in his own blood.
Another swung a hammer. Cassian rolled beneath it, came up, and sliced his throat open.
Another. Another. Another.
His arms ached. His breath was ragged. His vision blurred at the edges.
But they kept falling.
Until only a handful remained.
Cassian stood in the center of a field of bodies. Fifteen men lay dead at his feet. Their corpses twitched, their blood seeping into the dirt.
The remaining five or six hesitated, stepping back.
Cassian exhaled, rolling his neck.
He was tired. His wounds stung. His body felt like lead.
But he smirked.
This was still too easy.
Cassian's breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Sweat mixed with blood—his own and his enemies'—dripped down his body. His arms burned, his muscles screamed, but he kept moving.
The ground was littered with bodies, some groaning in pain, others completely still. He had already killed twelve of them. At least twenty more remained.
They should have run. They should have fled after watching their comrades fall like animals at the butcher's block.
But fear made men stupid.
One of the bigger bastards, wielding a long-handled war axe, stepped forward. His face twisted in rage as he raised his weapon and let out a roar, swinging it down toward Cassian's skull.
Cassian twisted his body at the last second, dodging just enough to let the axe carve into the dirt. Before the brute could recover, Cassian lunged in, slamming the hilt of his dagger into the man's ribs. The bandit wheezed, his body folding for a brief second—just enough time for Cassian to twist behind him and slice his throat open.
Blood sprayed across the dirt. The man's body crumpled.
Another one lunged from behind, swinging a rusted cutlass.
Cassian barely managed to parry. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through his fingers. He stepped back, trying to regain balance, but two more closed in on him from the sides.
Too many. Too fast.
For a split second, Cassian felt it—fatigue creeping in, a warning that his body wasn't at full strength yet.
He pushed it aside. He couldn't afford to slow down.
The first man slashed. Cassian ducked, sidestepped, and slammed his fist into the bastard's throat. The second came right after—Cassian kicked him in the shin, then twisted and buried his dagger into his chest.
The third tried to swing from the side—Cassian pivoted, dodging just in time, before grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it. A sickening snap echoed in the night as the bone broke.
The bastard howled in agony. Cassian silenced him with a knife to the throat.
Bodies kept falling.
Ten more dead.
But he felt it now.
His breath was heavier. His body was slower. His vision swayed slightly.
He was cutting through them, but they weren't weak. These were not common street thugs—these were seasoned killers, moving in formations, attacking with coordination.
They weren't just trying to kill him.
They were testing him.
Cassian gritted his teeth. It didn't matter. He would carve through them all.
The next three came at once.
Cassian let them.
The first swung high. Cassian ducked, catching the bastard's wrist and twisting it until he heard the telltale crack of bones snapping. The second thrust forward with a spear—Cassian stepped to the side, letting the weapon graze his ribs before driving his dagger into the man's armpit, puncturing his lung.
The third hesitated. Cassian turned, his bloody dagger still buried in the second man's body, and gave the last bastard a slow, deliberate grin beneath his mask.
That was all it took.
The bandit ran.
Cassian let him.
There were seven left now.
They circled him, no longer attacking wildly.
The confidence they had when they first surrounded him was gone.
Cassian exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Blood dripped from his blades, pooling at his feet.
They were scared.
He smirked.
Good.
One of them made the first move, swinging with a longsword. Cassian caught the blade between his daggers, twisted it, and yanked it free from the man's grip. He drove his knee into the bastard's face, shattering his nose, then spun and slashed across his throat.
Another came from behind. Cassian bent low, dodging the attack, then drove his elbow into the bastard's gut before finishing him with a blade through the chest.
Another corpse hit the dirt.
Another life ended.
Four left.
Cassian took a slow breath.
This was easy.
Even exhausted, he was still superior.
They were nothing.
He took a step forward, lifting his blade—
And then, it happened.
Something moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Cassian barely had time to process it. One second, he was moving in for the kill—the next, he was somewhere else.
His back slammed into a tree. Hard. The air was ripped from his lungs as pain exploded through his ribs. His vision blurred for half a second.
The fuck—?!
Cassian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to steady his gaze.
And then he saw him.
Raze Vakros.
Standing there, right where Cassian had been a second ago.
A slow smirk spread across Raze's lips as he rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers.
"You really thought it was that easy, huh?"
Cassian's breath hitched. His ribs ached. He had been hit.
But not by a normal attack.
No.
That speed. That force.
It wasn't human.
It was Aetheris.
Cassian clenched his fists.
For the first time since the battle began, a single thought crawled into his mind.
This… might be a problem.