THE ARMOURER;

CHAPTER TWO - THE ARSENALLE

CHAPTER TWO – THE ARSENALLE 

Rome, Italy 

The Arsenalle was a global coalition of first-class assassins headed by Marcus Denarius. They had three branches overseeing their business all over the world. The smallest, located in the underground of Alexandria, Egypt and overseeing the business in Africa and Oceania, was headed by Marcus’ right hand man, the one whom everyone in the Arsenal knew as and called Damascus. 

The second branch stood in California, United States. It oversaw their operations in both Northern and Southern America and surrounding areas. It was their only public front, functioning under the guise of a martial arts school. Sitting at the top and chairladying all affairs of the branch was Marcus’ half-sister, Prisca, the most dangerous woman in the world they called her. 

The biggest, most notorious and most concealed of the all was the headquarters situated in the heart of Rome, Italy. It was there and still wasn’t. Technically, it stood as an old abandoned churchyard but was actually a den of the world’s most notorious assassins. It was no hidden claim that Marcus shielded it from unwanted eyes using magic from an unknown source, keeping the business top secret. 

A man dressed in an all silver-grey hooded outfit walked towards the gate of the churchyard. He had a silver-coloured quiver hung across his back and a silver-coloured bow hung diagonally opposite to the quiver. Being one of the master’s favourites made him one of the few people who wore grey or silver coloured outfits. He got to the gate and it opened on its accord, a major deterrent for uninvited guests. He passed through and walked past grey flowers and grasses on both sides of the walkway, heading straight to the door which was metres away. He got to the old and rusty double door. He brought out a blade and lightly sliced his palms. Blood slowly ooze out. He used the bleeding palms and grabbed the handles of the doors. A yellow aura seeped out of the door handles and engulfed his hands. His eyes glowed yellow and he pushed open the door. He walked into the hallway and the door closed, his eyes returning to normal and the cut on his hand disappearing like it was never there. The hallway was yellow-golden themed, giving off an aura of royalty and eminence. Several swords hung on either side of the hallway, all caged into the wall with a metallic basket. It was also rumored that Marcus defeated the sword owners in a duel to claim those sword which he now displayed at the entrance hall of his lair, a constant reminder to any and all potential rebels that they couldn’t defeat him. He had gone from being a thief in the streets and markets of rural Rome to the most notorious dangerous crime boss in all of Europe and Asia. 

The hooded man walked to the exit of the hallway and opened the door at its end. He walked into what resembled a wide valley. Hills and higher hills could be seen in the horizon all around the door he had just exited. The door just stood there without any walls or fences supporting it or any building behind it to show it led from somewhere. He could see countless figures dressed in white sleeveless robes and black hair bands around their temples. They were in different groups with different activities and instructors in grey robes supervising them. They were doing all sorts of trainings in different fields of combats. Some were practicing with swords, spears, daggers or other types of blades while others were practicing acrobatics, martial arts or other type of physical exercises. The ones who caught his attention the most were those practicing archery. He could see the flaws in all their steps. From the wrong grip on both bow and arrow to the lack of inaccuracy in their positioning to the insufficient pull, they were just below beginners in the field. They all missed their target except a very young girl who struck close to the marked spot. He walked to the group and their supervisor gave a low bow before smiling. He took a bow and five arrows from the stash nearby and placed all five on the string. He turned to the targets ahead and closed his eyes. Gently, he pulled the arrows and left them simultaneously. The arrows consecutively struck the marked area of five targets. 

“You didn’t really have to make my students feel inferior” their instructor said with a light laugh. 

The man walked to the instructor and handed him the bow. He removed his hood and turned to the learners. He was dark-skinned with a full lowcut hairstyle that was obviously dyed ash. He took one scanning glance at the lot and smiled. “You all know you’re not training to be heroes. You are all murderers. Don’t train with hope to get better. Train like it’s your last day on earth because one day it definitely will be. Take your bow and strike that arrow into the heart of your target if you don’t want a shot at your own heart” he said and turned. 

“Hey” he heard a female voice call. He turned. It was the girl who had struck close to her target. She was lightskinned with a long hair that was obviously dyed ash. The hair was wrapped into a doughnut with a pin in its middle. “I am a big fan of you” she said without a smile. 

He smiled at her. “I can see. Please make me a fan of you too” he replied. She smirked and walked to the instructor. She took the bow from him and picked an arrow from the stash. She took a stance and looked at the middle target the visitor had struck. She gently placed the arrow on the string and pulled the arrow gently. She let go after some seconds. The arrow whizzed through the air, taking everyone’s eyes with it. It struck through the man’s own, hitting the previously hit spot. She turned to the visitor and smirked. The man turned to their instructor and their eyes read the same thing. 

“She reminds me of the baroness” the instructor said. The man nodded and walked to the girl. He pulled out an arrow from his quiver and handed it to her. The arrow was silver from end to end. The tip of the arrow was two sided, each side having an ancient vulture inscribed on it facing the same direction. “Whoever you kill with this would die physically but the paradox of his or her soul will be yours to fate. There are only few pieces of this” he said to her. 

“Why are you giving me? You are impressed” she asked bluntly. 

“Not really. You remind me of someone who gave me something like this first” he replied and returned his hood over his head. He turned and walked out of the area, patting the instructor as he exited. He changed course for a direction in which he could see a floating piece of rock behind a misty wall. The rock seemed to have been uprooted from the ground as it had the shape of an up-side-down triangle. The closer he got, the more the scenery around him changed and the more the floating piece of rock enlarged. From the blue cloudy environment to a grey-clouded atmosphere before red glowing cracks finally took over on the ground, changing the whole scenery to that of a volcanic environment. He could see rock clearly now. The once small rock now appeared immensely towering as though it reached into the clouds. He walked to the space beneath the rock and stepped onto a circular platform built there. The platform had runic symbols on the circumference of a drawn circle on it. Two crossed swords were engraved in the middle of the circle, the exact position he stood on. The circle, its runic symbols and the crossed swords glowed white, his eyes glowing with them. A wall of whitish energy encased him from the rim of the platform to the pointed base of the floating rock which was now as wide as his eyes could reach. He felt his body rising in the encasement. The speed gradually increased to the point he felt his body moving against the density of the rock. By the time the process was over, he found himself kneeling in a room overlaid with gold from top to bottom. The floor was designed in a checkered pattern of skulls, knives, bows and arrows. 

“Rise” he heard a familiar voice say. 

“My lord summoned me. To what do I owe the honor” he replied as he stood up to see a man sitting on a chair with his face to the wall opposite him. The man sat with his back to the hooded man. Just above the man’s head hung a golden sword that looked too enormous to be wielded. It didn’t need a sheath, its sides and edges were bare to instill fear in whoever dared trespass. All he could see of the man was his long black hair which ran from his head, over his shoulders, across the back of the chair and onto the floor. The man who needed no guards. The man who rallied the world’s most dangerous assassins. The man, Marcus Denarius. 

“Greyshot. Some of our patrons in Africa have been complaining of trouble in Egypt. Someone has been killing their agents, partners or family. Damascus did not give any of those assignments” Marcus replied, his voice rather normal for a legendary killer. 

“This is either a rival party or someone going rogue in the Alexandria unit” Greyshot replied. 

“Either way he must be formidable. Several of our clients have ordered the head of this person. We can’t have someone spoiling business. And as is the code, one from the same unit cannot be assigned. Damascus requested I assign someone. And you are the most fitting” Marcus explained, standing up. He whirled his head and his hair flung over the left side of his torso. He turned to Greyshot, the latter ducking his head immediately. 

“Consider it done master” Greyshot replied his head bowed. 

“This will be your last assignment. After this your debt will be clear. You might wish to continue in my service, but on contract terms. You might wish to be independent, but you know the probable disadvantages” 

“My decision will be made known to you after my assignment is completed” Greyshot replied. 

“Till then” Marcus replied and waved his hand. Greyshot felt the same feeling of his body moving against the density of the rock. He found himself on the circular platform with all the inscriptions glowing white. He turned around, stepped down and began his journey to Egypt.