Fifteen days and fifteen nights, they held strong. Reminiscent of the greatest warriors. A mountain insurmountable. Wave after wave crashed onto their walls without remorse.

And they broke every time with no exception.

An uncountable number of corpses laid bare to the world. All under the imposing shadows of Fort Chylium. Theirs was a mighty a stand. To be remembered throughout history. To be remembered as they who stemmed the tide; no matter for how long.

None would have expected them to last. Not even for a day, yet, they lasted for fifteen. Messages crossed the land. Reaching all major cities. The people heard of their fearless stand. So they prayed for success.

They continued to pray for the impossible.

It was as though they all had forgotten how cruel a mistress the world was. She let no being escape her vindictive grasps. She left no one untouched, no matter who they may be. Legends were killed or forever traumatized, the righteous man corrupted, and the innocent - their purity stripped away from them without mercy.

That was her way, her lasting mark on the those that destroy her beauty.

And it was the same for Titus the Red Mountain - He of Fort Chylium. His valor and struggle meant nothing in her eyes. No leeway made for him, nor his warriors.

For no matter how sturdy a mountain may be, through time its surface becomes eroded. Weathered away by the ever-flowing water that rages on continuously. Or the ever dropping droplets of rain that drop constantly dripping. Carving deep into its belly.

It is but the nature of the world. And the nature of time itself.

No matter how long it takes, the mighty will fall. And in their ashes, others will grow. A cycle that will last to infinity.

Titus, on the morning of the sixteenth day, was not seen on his usual perch surveiling the battlefield. He was not in the command tent near the bailey of the fort. Nor was he on the walls helping to kill the latest tide that thought they were this forts match.

As the soldiers swung with heavy hands, the archers with blistered fingers, and the wielders of the defensive fortifications their minds eroding at the death they caused.

Titus was in his bed.

Unmoving, as he laid to rest.

Pale from its lack.

From the lack of blood.

There he laid in his bed chambers. The inside of his throat greeting the world; openly and completely dry. While the blood that had filled it covered the surroundings. Dyeing it a scarlet color. Almost matching the light red that was his home. The color of his ‘mountain’, his fort, and his people.

Titus looked serene in his moments. Confident in his path to glory. His eyes closed, laying perfectly on his back. While his thick blankets covered him, trying to do its best to keep him warm.

The only other occupant in the room simply stood there. For hours after the deed, he stood there. Watching as the blood flowed out and crawled ever so slowly on the floor. Then hardening into its usual texture. He watched, confused at the serenity his target had died in.

He had been told that great men died the most miserable of deaths. Unwilling to accept that they too will die an unsatisfying death at the hands of an assassin.

The assassin, pulled his mask off, only to reveal that it was a she. With dark purple hair; one would believe it was black if they were not to look closely.

This was the first time she had killed anyone or anything. No matter how minuscule the being was. It was forbidden to kill without command from He Who’s Darkness Shall Brighten The Way. Without a command from the King himself. And there's were lives he would never send unless success was guaranteed.

A small tear slowly crawled down from her left eyes and then down her cheek. She knew what it had meant to take this commision from the King once he heard of how long their mission was being delayed and how many had died attempting to breach this fort. She knew of what she had to do.

She had been taught, so young, that the greatest glory was to kill the soul she is meant to take with her to the life beyond. But, at that moment she felt pity for those that had come before her, and those to come after. More tears began to fall as the soul of he who called himself Titus finally merged with her. It narrated its own tale, teaching her everything it had known.

“Why?” She whispered to herself. Demanding an answer from those that will never hear her question. From those that had taught her.

“Why must we kill those that could stand with us against the legions from the abyss!” She hollered forgetting where she was. In her mind, this man could have saved so many lives if he had been fighting with them.

“Sisters, if only I could return and teach you what they left out. Of the truth they omitted. Of how we kill not, the demons, but those that are just like us. I… I am so sorry that I cannot be there for you all.”

They would learn the truth, of how those they were taught to hate were actually no different than they. With the same fears and joys. They would be broken just as she felt herself break. They were nothing like the demons that spewed from the gates to hell; within her homelands. They were regular people no matter how eccentric some of their acts may be.

She tried to swipe away at her tears, to finish this ritual. She had dallied long enough already. But as she did so, she cut her hand on the tusks that grew from her jaw.

Cursing quietly, she covered her face with her mask. She laid next to the human’s body and hugged him like a lover.

Words from a language forgotten began to flow from her mouth. They came in rhythms that would bewitch all who heard. The longer she continued the more the tears, hidden from the world by a dark mask, fell from her eyes.

‘Ding’

System -

Skill -

The Assassins Final Creed - High Tiered (High)

You are an innocent soul. Grown within an innocent world. And raised with those who are innocent as well. You were taught to kill, but never to spill the blood of others no matter how small a wound it may have been. Your only goal, to kill a single target given by a Master of the Dark. With the soul you kill, you will journey to the beyond guided by the firm hands of Mestifar.

Your sacrifice will not be forgotten, the death of any innocent is never forgotten by The One. Have a safe journey, and hope that your next life is not as cruel.

She closed her eyes, she felt it coming. The dark being that would lead her away, or so she was taught. She was also taught to never stare at it, or risk her soul being consumed by it.

She and her lover, no matter how little of time they had together, broke up into a million bright particles. All racing to follow their guide. To continue on in the cycle of life.

But, to the soldiers that manned the walls and the commanders that watched from below. A grim reaper soared in the sky from where their leader had been asleep; resting for the first time in fifteen days and fifteen nights. It was a sign the elders knew. Of an assassin group from myths and legend. Of those who had never failed, their targets always passing on to the next life.

The commanders ran, hoping it was a lie. Hoping to find the last sign not present in their master's chambers.

One, bulkier than the others lowered his shoulder as they neared the doors that had given their leader privacy, and bulldozed through it. Nearly toppling the wall with it. In a panic, they searched the room until the wisest of them all pulled the bedsheet from its cold grave.

It was there they found what they hoped was never to be seen. A dark metallic carving, of a man and women in a loving embrace. Of Titus and an assassin that had killed him.

They were men hardened by war. Hardened by the deaths they had encountered. Hardened by the killing they had caused.

Yet, they all fell to their knees as they surrounded Titus’s bed. And they all cried, sobbing like children.

They cried because Titus the Red Mountain - He of no Fear, He of Fort Chylium - had died on the sixteenth morning of battle against the tides by the hands of The Sisters Dark Tidings.