The Assassination War (9)

Everyone harbors plausible plans.

Until the very end, the Demon contingent that had brazenly infiltrated the meeting hall clung to glimmers of hope.

‘We’ve already secured one objective. Information has been obtained too – half our mission is essentially accomplished.’

‘Now we can initiate a hostage situation to dispose of them both here. If I play my cards right, I might even escape unscathed!’

‘At the first sign of trickery, I’ll kill this brat first. And if that human shows any intent to defect, I’ll feign negotiations before finishing him off too.’

Initially, it seemed simpler than plucking a chicken. Their adversaries’ slightly unexpected behavior hardly seemed cause for derailment.

And those smug presumptions evaporated the instant Edan impartially paralyzed Freugne and them collectively.

Of course, Edan too had formulated contingencies until his reckless charge.

‘Regardless of my actions here, Freugne will inevitably become embroiled. Firing could accidentally strike her, and Sithe’s or my magic poses similar risks.’

‘So I’ll boldly rush in, separate Freugne from the Demons. Immediately afterwards, I’ll create distance while Sithe decimates the disoriented Demons.’

Yet reality remains ruthlessly uncompromising.

The Demon leader’s reaction, while slower than he had envisioned, still outpaced Edan’s expectations.

-Crunch-

Culminating in this grisly scene.

Accompanied by the sickening crack of thick timber snapping, Edan’s body crumpled limply.

The Demon, belatedly verifying his mangled handiwork, spewed unintelligible panicked utterances before a crimson inferno engulfed his vision, exiting his final breath.

If the Demons had botched their schemes from inception, Edan’s plan had foundered precisely at the ‘swiftly creating distance’ phase.

Some had remained impotently observant from the outset, others stood dumbstruck at the unfurling fatalities, while the rest lagged behind, only commencing mental processing of the transpired events.

And amidst this eerie stillness:

“You’ll die too!”

“Wh-What?! But the fight isn’t over y–”

“Don’t delude yourselves. You have nowhere to flee. Capture any stragglers, and feel free to kill those who resist!”

Sithe had been the first to regain her wits and motion amidst everyone’s involuntary paralysis.

“We must flee, even now!”

“Flee where? The plan has already failed completely. Under these circumstances, I’ll claim another casualty at the very least!”

“I, I just want out. Even if I fled, I’d die anyway, so I may as well… Surrender! I surrender! Spare my life, and I’ll disarm, huddle in that corner compliantly!”

“Cowardly wretch, treacherous turncoat! Then flee if you must…!”

The plan had only half-succeeded, leaving a binary choice of perishing here or lifelong underground incarceration.

Whatever hopes and sense of purpose had persisted crumbled alongside their leader’s demise, prompting those swayed by Edan’s offer to desperately grasp at that final straw.

Yet negotiations only commence when both sides have lingering reservations.

With the sole impediment against Sithe’s offensive magic removed, nothing could deter her further.

“The exterior has been secured! But the commotion will soon attract the police. What are your orders?”

“Detain them for now. More crucially, what became of those who infiltrated from the rear? Even one escapee could jeopardize everything later!”

“These ones keep yammering, but does anyone here understand the Demon language?”

And amidst this tumult:

“Are, are you alright?”

“…Could someone help me up, please?”

With an operative’s assistance, Freugne barely rose and slowly approached the spot where she had previously stood.

On the floor lay his motionless form.

As if deceased, unmoving.

---

Her precarious position, sandwiched between the Demons and Edan, had ended.

Yet the surviving operatives’ fleeting elation swiftly gave way to grim realizations, converging upon similar conclusions:

‘We’re fucked.’

‘We’re utterly fucked.’

He was dead.

Edan, their (presumed) leader.

‘What now? More importantly, who will lead the organization henceforth?’

‘Could it be me? If not, then who? No, is such a thing even possible?’

Exchanging furtive glances, they acknowledged this was no illusion.

In most functional organizations, a designated successor would naturally assume the vacant mantle. Failing that, internal power struggles would determine new leadership.

An organization’s greatest asset over individuals lay in its ability to seamlessly replace vacant roles with other capable personnel.

But this case differed.

He had been an irreplaceable existence.

While temporal progression had inevitably entangled various vested interests, developing business-oriented superior-subordinate dynamics, the organization had originally existed solely to serve its singular leader during its formative stages.

Offering allegiance and devotion, receiving the future in return.

Yet the provenance of this future intelligence remained shrouded in complete secrecy, solidifying the hierarchical reporting structure with the leader at its apex.

Had even remote possibilities for internal upheaval existed, emboldened factions might have vied for succession. But those most intimately familiar with the organization’s inner workings recognized such notions as futile.

Ultimately, ‘information’ constituted the organization’s paramount asset.

And intelligence networks tended to proliferate widely, leaving inescapable trails. But this syndicate had defied such norms.

The secrets had accompanied Edan to his grave, leaving perhaps only one solitary individual privy to the unvarnished truth.

“…What will become of us now?”

“I don’t know. We can only wait and observe.”

Unspoken, their scrutinizing gazes converged upon Freugne.

As the one he had so assiduously nurtured, she might possess inherited knowledge. And perhaps even prove capable of steering the organization adequately in her own manner.

Coughing fits amidst the swirling dust, hushed murmurs fretting the organization’s future, the captive Demons’ ragged breaths – this dissonant cacophony suffused the venue with an oppressive pall.

In contrast, Sithe harbored no such apprehensions regarding the prospective void.

Freugne could simply assume that vacant position. It merely entailed stepping forward from the recessed shadows.

Admittedly, she would encounter operative resistance, tasked with demonstrating legitimacy and competence. But with sufficient time, such obstacles seemed eminently surmountable for her.

‘Are you alright…?’

Sithe tentatively gauged Freugne’s demeanor.

Rather than erupting into tears, screams, or lamentations defying her profound affections, Freugne had bitten her lower lip – a trickle of blood suggesting self-inflicted injury.

And as their vacant gazes momentarily intersected, Sithe instinctively recoiled a step.

Difficult to articulate precisely, but something deep within Freugne seemed to have contorted, fractured.

---

The Demon who had held Freugne hostage collapsed lifelessly, his disintegrating form dispersing as ashen embers.

He had likely harbored no particular dread towards death itself.

If infiltrating Londinium amidst such turmoil had proven enormously arduous, then evacuating safely would have been downright impossible. Their mission had essentially necessitated resigning themselves to mortality.

But for Freugne, the scenario diverged.

“Can you stand?”

“……”

“Here, allow me to assist you.”

No pulse. While her skin remained warm, the wintry drafts gusting through the venue’s gaping breaches gradually leeched that residual warmth.

Yet Freugne addressed him, as if this alone could revive him, an unsettlingly aberrant sight despite her gentle, mellifluous tones.

She had never reconciled herself to death, let alone contemplated its inevitability for others.

Had she foreseen this, she would have intervened.

But her obliviousness had culminated in this outcome.

The self-assurance, the self-esteem that had once consumed her psyche now lay shredded, leaving only warped obsessions in their wake.

‘There was still so much I wished we could experience together.’

‘So many unspoken words remaining.’

“Here, I’ve brought what you requested…”

“Just set it down over there.”

A bowl brimming with snacks rested beside her. She remained unaware, perhaps opportunities still remained.

Freugne’s perspective overlapped with a similar previous incident.

Edan injured while attempting her rescue, a scenario mirroring the present. Back then too, he had seemed deceased, yet miraculously revived.

‘So if I feed him diligently, could he not be resuscitated as well?’

No need to rouse immediately. If additional recuperative time proved necessary, her abundant patience would persevere, however prolonged the duration.

But what if days, weeks, even months elapsed without any signs of reawakening?

Then…

‘…What should I do?’

Freugne shook her head. No need to dwell on futures that had yet to unfold – uncharacteristic for her inveterate planning obsession.

Instead, she resolved upon more productive endeavors.

Grasping a snack, she attempted placing it into his mouth before realizing his inability to ingest solids.

Then what recourse remained? Force-feeding became the sole option.

Taking a deep breath, Freugne chewed the snack herself.

And in that instant, Edan’s fingertips twitched faintly.