CHAPTER TWENTY: A proper set-up
“Where are you going?” Blade asked, his voice deceptively calm, though his muscles tensed beneath his skin. He had to keep his emotions in check—had to make sure Frizzy didn’t see through him.
“She doesn’t belong with you!” Frizzy spat, tightening his grip on Lenora’s wrist and dragging her forward. His steps were purposeful, aggressive.
Blade chuckled. It started as a restrained snicker, but the harder he tried to suppress it, the more it erupted into full-blown laughter, wild and unrestrained. Frizzy faltered mid-step, momentarily thrown off.
“What the hell is so funny?” he demanded, brows furrowing in irritation.
Just as suddenly as it began, Blade’s laughter ceased.
“Pardon my rudeness,” he said, tone cool, controlled. “It wasn’t my intention to laugh.”
Frizzy’s nostrils flared. “Then why did you?”
Blade exhaled, as if answering were a tedious affair. “Because you, Frizzy, are an actor. A rather committed one at that. But as our fathers say—everything that has a beginning has an end.”
“You’re insane.” Frizzy scoffed. “That’s what you are.”
He yanked Lenora forward again, but she squirmed in protest.
“Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” she cried, struggling against his iron grip.
Frizzy halted and dropped to one knee, lowering his voice to something softer, coaxing.
“That man hates you, Lenora. He’s filling your head with poison.”
“Oh?” Blade interjected, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And what do you call what you’re doing? I gave her theory. You? You’re giving her the practical lesson in betrayal.”
Frizzy’s jaw clenched, but before he could fire back, Blade tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
“Born in 1988. Taken in by Elder Niver. Raised as his godson. You became a Red Robe upon his death, but you weren’t ready to die with him, were you? So you defected—to Elder Hans, no less. And now, he’s dangling redemption before you like a prize, isn’t he? Kill me, bring Lenora in alive, and maybe—just maybe—you get to live.”
Frizzy’s breath hitched. The color drained from his face.
Blade took a step closer, slow and deliberate. “Tell me, Frizzy—are you shocked that I know you work for Elder Hans? Or that I know your entire miserable history?”
Lenora yanked free of Frizzy’s grasp, bolting toward Blade. He caught her with ease, lifting her into his arms, her legs swinging idly at his sides.
Frizzy’s expression twisted with fury. “You just wanted to humiliate me!”
“No,” Blade corrected smoothly. “I wanted to see how long you’d keep up the act. Would you wear this mask forever? Or would you shed it like the snake you are? Call it curiosity.”
Frizzy’s fists clenched. “You’ll pay for this!”
“Okay,” Blade replied, unbothered, already turning away.
Rage boiled over. Frizzy lunged, a hammer appearing in his grip as he swung for Blade’s head.
Blade sidestepped, swift as a shadow, and in the same motion, drove his elbow into Frizzy’s nose with bone-crunching force. A sickening crack split the air. Blood gushed. Frizzy stumbled back, gasping.
Then, from above, movement.
Before Blade could react, hands snatched Lenora from his grasp. He whirled, ready to pursue, but Frizzy hurled the hammer skyward. Blade barely dodged in time, dropping low to his hands and knees. The weapon slammed into the ground beside him with a dull clang.
“I was going to let you go, Frizzy,” Blade growled, his patience wearing thin. “Don’t push your luck.”
Frizzy sneered, wiping blood from his shattered nose. “And who the hell are you to lecture me about luck? Do you even have any?”
More figures dropped from the rooftops, brown jumpsuits blending with the night. Five at first. Then four more behind him. The alley constricted, closing him in.
A trap.
Blade exhaled through his nose, lips curving into something between amusement and challenge. “You think this will stop me?”
“We’ll see.”
The first wave attacked.
Two from the front. Two from behind. Frizzy, for once, had the sense to step back and let them do the work.
Blade moved on instinct.
He seized the wrist of the first assailant, twisting it with brutal efficiency. The man yelped, doubling over—just in time to intercept the knife strike from his own ally. A wet gurgle, then silence.
The next attacker lunged. Blade met him halfway, gripping his wrist and redirecting his blade into the neck of the second man. Blood sprayed.
Another came from the left. Blade hooked his boot under the fallen hammer, flicking it into the air. He caught it mid-spin and brought it down hard on the man’s skull. The crack echoed.
The fourth barely had time to react before Blade shattered the fingers of his dominant hand. He howled in pain. Blade slammed his head against the brick wall. The body slumped, unconscious.
Then the second wave came.
A fresh attacker landed from the roof, blade flashing as he slashed downward. Pain ripped through Blade’s back. He hissed, staggering. Blood bloomed across his shirt.
Anger drowned the pain.
Blade spun, hammer crashing into a skull. Another grabbed for him—Blade stole his knife and drove it into the softest target: his groin. The scream was inhuman.
Another knife found his chest. He barely felt it. With raw fury, he punched the attacker’s nose, tore the blade from his own flesh, and raked it across his enemy’s face—once, twice, three times.
Poison glinted. Another came at him with needles. Blade caught his wrist, twisting savagely. The man screamed. With his free hand, he clawed at Blade’s skin, embedding three needles into his side.
Blade’s vision swayed.
Ignoring the burn of venom, he drove an elbow into the man’s ribs—precisely where the lung sat beneath. The gasp was instant. Blade wrenched the needles free and swung his hammer in a wild arc, forcing the others to retreat.
Then—more.
Five more brown caders dropped from the rooftops. Six more surged into the alleyway.
Frizzy stood at their center, victorious.
Blade’s breath came in ragged pulls. His back throbbed. His chest heaved. Blood soaked his shirt, dripped from his fingertips.
Frizzy smirked. “I knew you wouldn’t be easy to kill. That’s why I came prepared.”
Blade clenched his teeth, barely holding himself upright. “What did Hans promise you?”
Frizzy scoffed. “What does it matter to you?”
Blade’s lips curled in a bloodstained smirk. “Because Hans never keeps his promises. Whatever he’s offered, don’t bother believing it.”
Frizzy laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a manic, rasping cackle. Even villains didn’t laugh like that.
Blade’s patience snapped.
With one fluid motion, he hurled the hammer. It struck Frizzy square in the forehead. The force sent blood bursting from the back of his skull.
Frizzy crumpled, still smiling.
“Oops.” Blade tilted his head. “Only meant to shut him up.”
The rest rushed at him—
Then, smoke.
Thick. Blinding. Suffocating.
By the time it cleared, Blade was gone.
__________________________________________✍
With his left arm slung over the stranger’s shoulder, Blade’s legs moved faster than his body could handle, each step amplifying the searing pain coursing through him. It had been a long time since he had endured agony of this magnitude. He thought he had grown accustomed to it, but pain—relentless and cruel—always found a way to remind him of its presence.
His heavy-lidded gaze flickered toward the figure holding him upright. A black bucket hat cast a shadow over their face, a nose mask concealing the rest. Something about them was off.
Instinct roared through him. With a sudden jerk, Blade tore himself free. His balance faltered, and he crashed to the ground, a sharp, guttural sound escaping his lips as his body skidded to a halt. Blood surged up his throat, spilling from his mouth in thick, crimson streaks. The droplets hit the cold ground, some splattering against his own face.
His breathing grew shallow. A violent tremor seized his body.
Boots—dark, sturdy—came into view. Blade’s gaze trailed upward, locking onto the only visible feature of the stranger’s face: a pair of keen, watchful eyes. He didn’t need to see more to know—it was a man.
Gritting his teeth, Blade forced himself up. Every motion sent a fresh wave of pain through his limbs, but he didn’t care. His mind, clouded and unfocused, clung to a single thought.
Lenora.
He had to find her.
Staggering, he turned—only for a firm grip to seize him before he could take another step.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the stranger demanded.
Blade’s patience shattered. With a burst of raw defiance, he slammed the man against the nearest wall, tearing the mask from his face before the other could react.
Recognition struck like a blade to the gut.
Ripper.
His former colleague.
“Yes, it’s me,” Ripper admitted, his voice unbothered. “Now, can we get out of here?”
Blade’s emotions twisted into a tangled mess—neither anger nor relief, just a numbing uncertainty. None of it mattered.
Lenora. She was the only thing that mattered.
“Where is she?” Blade rasped. “Where’s the little girl?!”
Ripper exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into his tone. “Is that really your priority right now? You’re poisoned, Blade. If we don’t get you to a doctor, you won’t make it.”
But Blade wasn’t listening. He could hear the Brown Robes approaching. Footsteps—sharp, unyielding—echoed closer. Time was slipping away, but Blade didn’t care. He needed Lenora. His body swayed, but he kept moving, each step trailing more blood in his wake.
Ripper’s grip tightened, struggling to hold him back. Blade was getting weaker—that was the only reason Ripper could restrain him at all.
Then, Ripper made the only move that could stop him.
“She’s with me,” he confessed.
Blade froze. His bloodshot eyes snapped to Ripper’s face.
“What?”
“I was the one who took her,” Ripper admitted. “Now, can we go?”
Before Blade could react, Ripper slung his arm over his shoulder, bent his knees, and leapt. His fingers caught the edge of the rooftop, and with a powerful heave, he tossed Blade up before pulling himself over just as the Brown Robes arrived. Below, the guards saw only a pool of blood, then took off down the main road, assuming their target had fled in that direction.
Blade barely clung to consciousness. The world spun around him, his mind sinking deeper into the void.
Ripper dragged him forward, step by step. It was a struggle, but there was no other option.
At the far edge of the village, a caravan waited. The head of the caravan rushed forward upon seeing them, his movements brisk but careful. A small figure darted past him—a child, her mint-colored gown fluttering in the night breeze.
“Uncle!” Lenora’s voice cracked with urgency. “Blood!”
She collided with Blade’s legs, clinging to him with all the strength her tiny arms could muster. He recognized her instantly. Relief hit him like a wave, knocking the breath from his lungs.
Falling to his knees, he wrapped his arms around her, holding on as though she were the only thing tethering him to life.
Ripper wasted no time. He pressed a wad of cash into the caravan leader’s hand. “Keep them safe. Just for now.”
Lenora pulled back, her face streaked with tears. Her small hands were stained red. “Uncle, you’re hurt!”
Blade forced a weak smile. “I’ll be fine, baby.” But his words barely carried, his breath ragged and uneven.
A pair of delicate feet stepped out from the tent. Blade’s vision blurred, but the scent—the scent was unmistakable.
Soft hands gently pried Lenora away from him. A soothing voice followed.
“Don’t worry, baby. He’ll be fine.”
A strong grip caught him from behind, steadying his crumbling body. The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Ripper’s voice.
“I’m handing him over to you. Take care of both of them. Our deal is over.”
A reply came, but Blade was too far gone to grasp it.
Strong hands lifted his limp body, carrying him into the tent. The doctor followed closely behind, while the mysterious woman rocked Lenora in her arms, soothing her with gentle pats on the back.
Ripper turned; ears tuned to the approaching footsteps.
They were coming.
But he was ready.
From beneath his cloak, he retrieved a lamb’s blood pouch, puncturing its base just enough to let the thick liquid drip. In his other hand, he hoisted a puppet—a decoy dressed in a cloak—before taking off in the opposite direction.
As expected, the Brown Robes followed.
And just like that, Ripper vanished into the night.
