I just now split this up, so that's why this chapter has no reads/votes/etc. Also, the comments on the last chapter might be for this, or may have be automatically deleted, I don't know, sorry.
Part Two
/||||\
He fired one. Two. Three shots point blank into Hays chest before the man could even finish reaching for his gun.
Silence erupted. Then a scream.
Castian vaulted over the bar, landing with a crash against a row of old bottles. A gun cracked and a bottle shattered next to him, sending shards everywhere. Close. Way too close.
He rolled back against the bar, grabbing one of the bottles at random. It was half full—probably brandy. Where had that bullet come from? There. So the shooter would be...
Castian barely took a moment to aim, legs springing out under him as he jumped up and threw. There was the satisfying sound of glass breaking, and something heavy hitting the ground, but Castian was already out of sight again.
He needed to get out of here, quickly.
Out of his holster he pulled something the size of a ballbearing. A grin tugged his lips. It was small and nondescript.
"We can end this peacefully!" he shouted, though he knew they couldn't and didn't really care.
"Over my dead body!" Someone yelled back, echoed by a wall of assent.
"Whatever you like," he muttered, pinching the little thing tight between his thumb and forefinger. It grew warm, then hot.
Castian rolled out from under the bar, dropping it down the neck of a bottle as his fingers began to blister. "Nighty night."
It sizzled madly in the remnants of the brandy. He hurled it over the bar.
This time, they were ready. He heard the loud yelp of a pistol and the shatter of glass. Castian curled forward, squeezing his eyes shut. It had better work, or he'd kill Taren.
A roar filled the room, and his ears popped, protected by the buds he always wore if there was going to be gunfire. No one else was as lucky, and no one else had closed their eyes, he'd wager.
He felt more than heard as people hit the floor, falling like dominoes, one after another after another.
The light on his eyelids stopped. Castian cracked one open. The floor at his feet was covered in shattered glass, beer and rum, brandy and whatever else there had been. All the glass in the entire place had shattered.
He stood in the deafened silence, boots crunching on the floor.
People sprawled over tables and chairs. Each other. The floor. But that wasn't what made his breath catch.
In the center of the room, the floor and tables were white. Like bleached bones. The left leg of one of the men had been caught in it, the cloth of his pants was gone, tattered and white. Underneath it, bone peaked out where flesh had been, something white pooled around him. Blood? Yes, as he watched red slowly joined it, making a bright pink color.
"...Shit."
Footsteps pounded along the walkway outside, coming fast. Shit. Shit. Shit.
You're a dead man Taren Cradlin. Son of a bitch!
Castian leapt over the counter again, tripping over Hays as he scrambled for the small door at the back. It had better lead out. Someone stirred as he jumped over them. Not all dead then. Well at least there was that.
He slammed against the door. It rocked on its hinges, locked tight.
A single shot from his gun had the handle off. Shoving hard, he pushed the door open and slid through into a dark alley, shaded by the building on the next side.
People were shouting, inside and out. The word "Sheriff" repeated on most of their tongues.
Castian closed the door behind him as people began to pour into the saloon.
That hadn't been supposed to happen, hopefully no one important died and changed things for the client. Probably not...
Castian walked down the alley, staying in the deepest shadows as he fiddled with the watch at his wrist. It was a small, sleek thing, dark, with a hand that moved steadily, counting down his hours. Twenty-one hours, thirty-seven minutes, six seconds. Five seconds. Four seconds.
His fingers moved over the clock face, nails slipping up under the latch.
Something hard hit him from behind.
He slammed into the dusty street. Black spots leapt in his vision. He pushed his arms under him turning to look up over his shoulder.
A blur flashed in his vision. Another blow knocked into him.
Castian crumpled. Everything went black.
YOU ARE READING
An Assassin In Time
Science Fiction(ON HOLD) If time couldn't hold you, what would you do? Castian was born inside a Field, outside of time. He has no timeline. He belongs nowhere, and anywhere. The Field he was in was destroyed when he was young, and he and four other children...
