In the dark and relentless world of assassins bound by codes, hidden allegiances, and unbreakable oaths, Blood Oaths and Shadows offers a thrilling collection of interconnected short stories set within the legendary universe of John Wick. These stor...
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*Rome, 1692*
I remember the night everything changed with perfect clarity. The wet cobblestones beneath my feet, the flickering shadows cast by oil lamps, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I had just completed what should have been a routine contract – the elimination of a minor noble who had crossed the wrong people. But this time was different. This time, I had witnessed something that would alter the course of history.
Standing over the body of Don Federico Visconti, I watched as three different assassins emerged from the shadows, each claiming the right to his life. Each had been contracted by a different patron, each believing they alone held the legitimacy to end him. In the ensuing chaos, two of them died needlessly, and the third fled with a wound that would likely claim him before sunrise.
It was then that the idea first took root in my mind. We were better than this. We needed order.
My name is Marcus Aurelius Thorn, though history – should it remember me at all – will know me simply as the Architect. This is the story of how I built the High Table, and how it nearly destroyed me.
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The first seeds of the High Table were planted in my study in Rome, where I spent countless nights poring over ancient texts and philosophical treatises. I had been in this business for twenty years by then, having started as a mere boy of fourteen under the tutelage of Master Chen, a legendary assassin from the East. He taught me not just how to kill, but why we kill. The philosophy behind our craft.
"There must be rules," I muttered to myself one night, the candle burning low as I made my notes. "There must be structure."
A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. It was Isabella, my most trusted confidante and fellow assassin. Her dark eyes held a warning as she entered.
"Marcus, they're here."
I nodded, straightening my black silk vest. The first meeting of what would become the High Table was about to begin. I had spent months reaching out to the most influential assassins and contract brokers across Europe and Asia, promising them something revolutionary: a system that would bring order to chaos.
The great hall of my villa had been prepared for this gathering. Twelve chairs arranged around a circular table made of ancient oak. The symbolism wasn't lost on anyone – this was to be a council of equals, though I knew better. Power is never truly equal.
They filed in one by one: Vladimir Petrov from Russia, his beard streaked with gray but his eyes sharp as ever; Hanako Yamamoto, the shadow empress of Japan's underground; Abdul Rahman, master of the Arabian assassination networks; and others from Italy, France, England, and beyond. Each carried centuries of killing tradition with them.
"Welcome," I said, remaining standing as they took their seats. "You're here because you understand that our world is changing. The old ways are failing us."
