The Assassin's Beast

Honor to a Family

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For among other evils caused by being disarmed, it renders you contemptible; which is one of those disgraceful things which a prince must guard against.

~Niccolo Machiavelli

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The warning signs were there, and I have been careless in my interpretations. My lapse in judgment will cost me dearly. An error I may not survive.

Could I be any more of a mistake?

I have failed for the first time and I just hope it wouldn't be my last.

This room, this very office, may well have been my grave.

Red walls symbolizing a Cyrazine privilege and pride, where I call this cold stone my home. These thick walls are my prison, but I know all too well the door to my cell is open. Freedom just a step away; all I had to do was open the door. But no, this place, this cell is where I must stay. Beyond these blood-stained walls, nothing waited for me—no future, no purpose.

"You are a disgrace!" his voice shaking me to my core, digging its tough claws into my soul, leaving my vessel in a whiplash. It cut through me like the swift motion of a blade slicing through my heart. He was emotionless; he was my fear. The crippling terror that stalks you in reality and haunts your dreams, ripping and tearing at a barren soul.

He would decide my fate.

He decides my punishments.

This unsympathetic man hardened by his hate of the world but respect the authority within is my father. A father that knows its title but never the meaning. I, as a daughter too, only know the title, never the position.

"I didn't mean to fail you in such a way of disgrace, father, forgive me." I knew better than to quiver under his harsh tone, but I also know to show the respect he deserves. It will still do me no good.

Not now.

The monster hides behind his humanly grey eyes, slowly creeping, stalking... waiting.

"You didn't just fail me. You disgraced your mother. How would she act knowing her daughter couldn't do such a simple assignment!" My back itched, trying to warn me of the assault, I knew it was coming from a mile away, but I still didn't see it. He pulled the katana from his bet and sliced my exposed back, adding another scar of discipline to my collection. I also knew better to flitch, but my body betrayed me.

I am truly a disgrace.

"Did you flinch?" he asked, curiosity dripping from his solid tone. This is a surprise. I am usually not worthy of hearing emotion—especially considering he was a high-ranking officer, I have been given a great honor.

But on such inadequate terms.

"Yes, father, I did," I said honestly. I kept my stance, still not daring to move. He brings the katana down again on my right thigh, and my body doesn't move as I take the punishment I have so wholeheartedly deserved.

Crimson splattered the walls, blending in with its cold, distant color.

He placed the katana back in his belt. But my punishment wasn't over, not yet. The monster in his eyes wasn't satisfied.

Why could I just do one simple thing? I was told to guard the cells of twenty-five werewolves. I was on watch when they all shifted and rebelled against death. I knew they wouldn't escape. I mean, why bother to fight, when history sets a path for you that was also inescapable death. I see it as an ungrateful act. They get to sleep in peaceful silence while in death. And I don't have that privilege dead or alive.

They, however, managed to break down the prison bars that held them. I remember mumbling a curse as I cut all of them down to size easily. Pathetic wolves like them were no match for me. I was trained better then to let weaklings like this best me. Also, that fact is that my experience was furthered in werewolf fighting techniques. My uncle taught me how to dismember them, dissect them to perfect pulps of wasted flesh. But just as reinforcements arrived, I had the problem solved, mostly.

One left to go.

I razed my blade and saw something in its eyes. Sadness, fear, pain, and hope that I would spare it. I could tell it was young, about the age of twelve, maybe.

Twelve huh? Is that the right age to die?

I... hesitated? It reminded me of someone, but I couldn't put my finger on it, like seeing a face you knew you never knew, but you did. It slipped away and jumped out a nearby window into the night, leaving me dumbfounded.

And now, here I am. A disgraceful, pathetic assassin, and two new scars to prove it. Fresh and wet on my back as the warm liquid traveled down, but with my arms behind me, I cupped the blood, making sure not to spill it on the hardwood floor.

"Guards! Take her to the hole." Inside, I gasped, not daring to let it slip past my lips. I knew better to suggest a different punishment, for my father will ask what you think he will do to you. And the victim falls for the trap sadly, like a human in a wolf's cage. He ends up doing something way worse.

But that's not why I gasped.

I followed the guards, not trying to escape what they write in stone. I was out of my father's office; a new set of red walls faced me, a path leading out of this mansion and out into the brisk air. But these walls were barren, a few paintings here and there of the Cyrazine family. These walls were barren, a few portraits here and there of Cyrazine family members glaring down at me with a hard stare. Walking past these paintings of deadly assassins and killers, you could see the outline of where her frame use to sit. Her tag also disposed of, making me wince.

Back at the house in Russia, even at the age of three, I remember the halls. I remember walking past the names of the Cyrazine, then suddenly Adolphus appearing in our history.

I was escorted down to the hole.

That hole was a deep, cold drop—going down to about seventy-five feet underground. They made this punishment to see if you were worthy of living another day under hunters and commanding officers. This was only level three of the fifteen different punishment levels that waited for anyone who failed their duties and showed mercy to the beast we hunt, or humans. All of these rules were well known to the Cyrazine family.

It surprised me I only got a level three punishment; I could admit my father was a jarring man but within principled reason.

He was bitter because of her.

He couldn't save my mother, who was executed when I was very young. So, it was in his jurisdiction to make the irrevocable decision of her fate. But there was nothing he could do to save her, and it was in his jurisdiction to make the irrevocable decision of her fate.

I just wished she had a more... undecorated death.

They stripped me of my katana, and all the weapons I had with it. They ripped my shirt off, baring my chest to the fall air, kissing my skin roughly with leaves. Not to mention they tore my bloody jeans apart.

I was to go without clothes, for they showed an honor that I had to gain again.

I faced the hole, readying myself to fall seventy-five feet down.

"Get going!" the guard yelled, promoting my fall with a jab from his staff. I jump down into the wide, black hole, hoping only to break a rib or two and a fractured ankle. It takes seconds to remember who I am. But I don't even say the name aloud or think it, knowing that I have shamefully disgraced my honor and my fathers.

My bloodline was one of the best at this institute. The line of the Cyzarine Family of Assassins. Our family name originated from Russia, where we originally held up till my mother's passing. We left three days after our loss and didn't even stay for the funeral with her side of the family at Adolphus's estate. Coming here, we were being worshiped like Gods and commended for our efforts. Not only were we treated with high regard among the other family killers who lived here, but I was one of the top killers in my division.

But none of that mattered now that I was only twenty feet away from breaking my arm.