Throne of the Nameless.

Chapter 2. Traitors.

He looked at the dead body of the woman he had killed. Her body lay lifelessly as blood flowed from the bullet hole centered between her eyes. 

It was a gore scene.

But not to Rhok.

He has devoted his life to killing and slaughter. He couldn't even begin to count the number of people he had been sent out to kill. But it was his duty.

To rid the world of vermins like her. But then again, who was he to judge who should live and who shoule die?

He sighed as he got up. His body was drenched in sweat from the intensity of his make-out session with the dead woman. He didn't even remember her name.

Not that it mattered.

He walked away from the bed towards the bathroom. Her husband still lay in the bathtub filled with blood and slit throat. Rhok walked past him and entered the shower.

He found the cold embrace of water quite calming. He didn't have to think. He didn't need to.

Rhok had been sent to kill the couple. Whichever means he used was irrelevant as long as the mission was accomplished. 

He had killed the husband first. He resisted a bit but it was pointless, his death was inevitable.

After that, he seduced the wife and slept with her. Woke up and slept with her once again just for good measure before lodging a bullet in her brain.

It was his last kill. He didn't want this anymore.

He didn't know what he wanted either but, killing wasn't it.

He yearned for another life. A life of normalcy, where he could go to work like every other person. Make friends, make love, eat freely, and live a normal life. Settle down and get kids for himself.

He would have two twin sons. Mastur and Bator. 

He chuckled at himself. 'Masturbator!'

What a corny joke. But then again, he never knew what was to be considered funny or not. Rather he chose to decide what was amusing to him and what wasn't.

He turned off the shower and walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He patted himself dry and got into his clothes.

He never wore anything except black. He was a nameless and one with the dark. One with death.

A thick leather boot with a metal sole and retractable spikes at the tip of it. Black Jeans with little pockets about. He wore his trench coat.

That was his favorite accessory. It had so many pockets it was almost stunning. He had never managed to fill in all the pockets at once before.

And lastly, he picked at the base of his wrist and dragged out the skin underneath. It was fake skin, fingerprints couldn't be tracked with this.

He was well aware of digital footprints. But he was already recorded as dead so many years ago. Still, he couldn't leave evidence behind.

He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. After pulling off the fake skin on both hands, he put on his gloves and found some petrol lying about in the room.

After pouring a healthy amount of petrol about the room, he lit it and burned the fake skin along with the room.

He checked the time. Three in the morning. It was time to move out, he could taste his freedom already.

Just to be sure he poured petrol around the house before now. The fire hungrily licked at the fuel and consumables in the house.

Rhok thought to himself why he had killed the couple. He couldn't find any incriminating evidence against them. 

He didn't know why he killed them and that bothered him. Why had it taken him so long to figure this out? He had been controlled and treated like a puppet with strings attached to his very mind and soul.

As though whatever the upper echelons of the organization thought was right, was inevitably right.

'Soon...'

He sauntered off to the marked location, leaving the burning building behind. He got on his bike and started it. He couldn't turn on the headlights, he couldn't be followed and needed obscurity.

But he didn't need to. He was trained in stealth as well. He donned his night vision goggles and started the bike.

He raced away into the darkness without looking back. He never looked back.

Roughly about thirty minutes later, Rhok arrived at an undisclosed location. It was the meeting point between him and his superiors.

It was the point at which he would be given his freedom. He stopped his bike and looked up ahead. Three figures stood in the shadows.

He knew what they were, not who they were.

The upper echelons of the organization. No one had truly seen their faces unless those who lived long enough to retire. Right now he was amongst those select few.

He walked excitedly as he approached the three figures.

"Stop!" One called out.

"Number double zero five. Report" another called out.

Rhok remained in place, he didn't want to mess up this chance by upsetting them in any way whatsoever.

"Both targets have been eliminated. No tracks. No tails and No witness" he replied back. His hands were getting sweaty. 

That only ever happened if he was getting nervous. He hadn't gotten nervous in years. Decades actually.

"Excellent. Rhok, you have done us a great service over the past five decades. And now your service comes to an end. We bid you well" the last one said.

The three of them stood under a rock formation. He couldn't exactly see them but he could hear where their voices came from. He knew they existed.

But now, did he feel relief? His service had ended? Was he finally free?

Could he just turn around and walk away? Use the money he has spent five decades saving to take care of himself and escape this life?

A smile began forming on his lips.

The three men began moving deeper into the mountains, as though an opening was there. But one stopped.

"Ooh and Rhok, farewell. And don't hold a grudge against us in the afterlife".

'What?'

Rhok's eyes looked forward. The meaning of those words completely registered in his brain. At the same time, a red beam of light crawled up his body.

He was familiar with it. In fact it was one of his favored weapons. A sniper.

Before Rhok could react, his right knee was blown off.

"Fuck!" He screamed with all his might as he crumpled to the ground. He couldn't run, but he didn't dare give up.

He couldn't die now. Not after what he had been. All the pain he had been through.

He struggled and got up on one foot. Pain was a friend to him. He would embrace it and cling unto it fervently. He would survive this and live. No matter what.

He began jumping on one foot away. Back the way he had come from. 

'My bike!'

He needed to get away from here. He brought out his gun and shot out randomly. He didn't know where the sniper would shoot from.

Another bullet racked through his right shoulder. He held his shoulder in pain, almost falling to the ground. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

He wouldn't fall here.

He clenched his left hand and began crawling to his bike. He could get away from here if he could just get on his bike.

But...

In front of Rhok, seated on his bike was a familiar figure. He was a young man in his twenties whom Rhok had trained himself, his own student.

'Bran?'

"Bran, help me up! We need to get out of here now!" Rhok shouted in desperation. 

Another shot pierced through his back, sending him tumbling to the ground. Rhok could move. But he hoped. Surely Bran would save him.

"Bran please" he grunted as he threw up a mouthful of blood. Bran gazed at him for a little while longer. His lips drew into a smile.

"Aah, Rhok. How I've envied you." Bran took a step.

Then another.

Rhok was struggling to breathe at this point. He held his shoulder and knee to stop the blood from flowing out but he was doing a bad job of it.

Bran stood in front of him and pointed a revolver to the side of his head.

"Bran! Don't. They'll use you just like they used me." He struggled to say. The bullet had pierced his lungs, he couldn't talk or even breathe without gurgling in his own blood or suffocating.

"Hush now. The greatest of all Assassins! The Nameless one. Rhok. The harbinger of death" Bran continued talking, bringing the gun to Rhok's head.

"You lived a good life Rhok. I wish you death all the same."

Boom!