Darkness fell over the town of Sandy Cove, with only the faintest sliver of a waxing crescent doing little to illuminate the wood and sandstone buildings. Their path only lit by Skills and starlight, five figures bedecked from head to toe in clothes made of the blackest of nights made their way across the rooftops towards a not-so-humble hotel. Inside, they sought their target, ready to end his life on orders from their spymaster for the glory of the Dark Lord.

 

  Through the secret passage built into the now unlit fireplace, they silently made their way to the lavish bed where their target lay, ready to turn both into coffin and corpse. With a wordless nod between them and poison applied to their daggers, they thrust their implements of death into the covers, ripping through the silk as easily as they were trained to rip away life. Perhaps too easily. Instead of blood, all they drew were feathers. Upon pulling off the covers, they were greeted with several down-filled pillows arranged in the vague shape of a person.

 

  Unknown to them, a sixth figure arose from behind. Uprighting itself without bending a limb, as if floating into place, it affixed its wide, predatory eyes on the would-be assassins with a deranged smile that promised nothing but suffering. With a quick motion, the figure ran up behind the closest two with a thin needle in each hand.

 

  “I can’t believe you idiots fell for the oldest trick in the book!” excitedly whispered Artyom, as he stuck a pair of syringes into the assassins’ legs and squeezed the plungers. The contents of the care package, now being put to use, caused their eyes to dull. After learning that the System’s [Poison Resistance] Skills didn’t work on “enjoyable” intoxicants, Artyom decided to take advantage of the divine oversight by planning to knock out any assassins who came for him with a powerful tranquilizer that commonly doubled as a recreational drug. In this case, Ketamine.

 

  Expecting a counterattack, Artyom jumped back in time to avoid the three lucid assassins’ wide slashes. They stepped forward in pursuit, with the two drugged killers several steps behind them. It wouldn’t take long for the ketamine to take effect, but until then, it was going to be a very tense battle where a single hit would decide the outcome. Virulent poison versus magically enhanced muscles.

 

  Artyom kicked off the fight in earnest with a running jab enhanced by Sonic Waverider and D-U Dermal Armor. To the lucid assassins, it looked like he moved from one spot to right in front of them in the blink of an eye. The only thing that saved them from a hole in their chests was the split-second application of their signature dodge Skill, pushing them away from the would-be pummeling as fast as it came.

 

  The three scattered across the room, each jumping to a separate corner of the expansive suite. Artyom knew what they’d try next, but he was ready. The first of the assassins jumped at him, dagger raised. Artyom sidestepped to the left and countered with a roundhouse kick, which was quickly avoided with a perfectly-timed duck. As that assassin jumped away, one from behind took his place with an attempt at a sneak attack. Without looking, Artyom counterattacked perfectly with a one-legged pirouette coming out of his kick and transitioning into a lariat, attempting to smash his outstretched left arm into the assailant. The wards around the room did more than notify him of intrusions, and acted to expand his senses to wherever they reached.

 

  Once again as expected, the professional killer dodged out of the way by bending their chest back just enough, as if it were a game of limbo. They transitioned the back lean into a backflip, creating distance between them. The third, now looking concerned, decided to throw her dagger at Artyom, who countered by tilting his head out of the way of the attack and catching it by the hilt. Normally they say that a flying knife has no handle, but when it moved as slow as molasses relative to Artyom’s perception of time, it was no longer an issue.

 

  Despite the fight just starting, Artyom was simmering with frustration. Their stupidly uncanny dodges were getting on his nerves, and he needed to find a way around them if he was going to inflict any damage. Skills were powerful tools when used wisely, but he knew they were subject to their own particular restrictions. For example, a skill as useful as that would have a limit to how many times it could be used before it required recharging, or require willful activation to make use of it. He decided to make good use of both of these theories.

 

  Artyom pulled the smoke grenade scroll from his pocket and quickly activated it, before tossing it at the ground directly below his feet. A thick, black smoke billowed out from the glowing paper, shrouding the entire room in pitch black darkness in mere seconds. The assassins were too surprised by the sudden change in the battlefield to immediately act, either due to never having seen such a tool before or taken by surprise at Artyom’s competence and preparation after underestimating him. Too bad for the assassins, Artyom hadn’t underestimated them.

 

  He charged at the second assassin who had previously backflipped towards the kitchen and unleashed a flurry of punches at the figure. Despite not even a mote of light present in the room, Artyom was able to find his mark thanks to Detect Life, and directed his barrage at the large splotch of red in his vision. Of course, the assassin expertly dodged away from each punch, shifting backwards with each application of his Skill, until the first blow connected. He braced for the pain of the impact, but ended up feeling nothing more than a light slap.

 

  A wave of confusion went through the killer, before he realized the truth. Artyom had never meant for his attacks to actually do any harm, and didn’t bother spending energy on them past making them quick. He was simply saving his strength for when the assassin ran out of dodges. His eyes went wide in horror as Artyom delivered a teeth-shattering uppercut into the assassin’s chin, sending him flying into kitchen cabinets. The collision broke the expensive wooden containers, with both the assassin and their contents crashing to the floor. The force of the attack did more than shatter teeth however, and the horrific contortions it forced on the killer’s neck would keep him on the ground. Permanently.

 

  The other two assassins, realizing what just transpired, advanced slowly towards the noise with a magical red glow now coming from their own eyes. Perhaps the now-dead killer didn’t have such a Skill himself, or was too taken by surprise to activate it. It didn’t matter now, as the others had wisened up to the smoke and were ready to combat it. The two drugged assassins were beginning to suffer even harder from the effects of the ketamine, and had only just gotten their daggers out.

 

  Artyom made his way to the remaining combat capable duo, ready to get his hands dirty again. The third assassin stepped ahead, ready to be the first one to strike. Too bad Artyom would take that place. One step, two, and… Artyom activated the flashbang scroll right below the killer right as she walked on top of it. An eye-scorching flash that made burning magnesium look like a soft candlelight, accompanied by an eardrum-rending bang that would bring even a banshee to its knees, flew from the piece of paper out into the room. Just as with the crashing cabinets, Artyom didn’t fear that the noise would disturb the other patrons of the hotel, since he’d warded the suite against the propagation of outgoing sound. It wouldn’t do to have witnesses here after all, not until he’d finished his business.

 

  Completely enfeebled by the flashbang, the assassin wasn’t even in a state to comprehend Artyom casually zipping over and delivering his fist into her chest. It would’ve been trivial to deliver it through her torso instead, but Artyom didn’t want to bother with that much cleanup. Besides, the absolute force behind the six-inch punch he delivered was more than enough alone to end the fight. The shockwave of his fist travelled through the assassin’s body, creating thousands of microscopic tears in her chest cavity, utterly shattering her ribcage, and rupturing organs. Blood began to leak into her lungs, causing her to cough it up as she tried to make sense of the world around her while both blinded and deafened. Despite trying to kill him, Artyom still felt pity seeing the assassin suffer the sheer brutality of his attack and put her out of her misery by stabbing the back of her neck with their poisoned dagger. He was sure the toxin did her in faster than the injury, the spreading purple streaks across their veins making her end an overall ugly sight.

 

  The smoke finally began to dissipate after the final assassin decided to open the suite’s windows. Artyom had to give them credit for such an obvious yet clever solution. Artyom slowly approached them, the placid expression of a career killer on his face, ready to let them run or kill them where they stood. For a moment, the killer considered jumping out the window and fleeing death, but they had other ideas. They took their dagger and ran it through their nearest drugged compatriot, who seized up at the poison entering their system and promptly collapsed onto the floor. Artyom realized they were planning to kill his would-be prisoners before making their own escape.

 

  “No, no, no!” shouted Artyom as he threw one of the poisoned daggers he picked up at the traitor. In a state of pure desperation, they didn’t bother activating their dodge Skill as the blade struck them in the side as they were ready to perform one final team kill. The poison spread through their body in an instant, and their own willpower to finish the job faltered as they dropped their own blade to the ground, before their corpse followed. The final assassin, now drugged beyond consciousness, slowly drifted off into a debilitated torpor. Artyom let out an exhausted sigh. Now it was time to get down to the real business.

 

---

 

  He opened his bleary eyes, awoken by the sound of waves and the first peek of dawn. Most would find peace at waking up to such a sight and sound, but not him. Especially when he was filled with the overwhelming urge to clear his bowels. He would’ve run straight to the bathroom and done just that if it weren’t for a few minor inconveniences. First, he didn’t really know where he was. The mostly dark sandstone cave was entirely unfamiliar, and he didn’t know the first step to take towards finding a porcelain throne to seat him. And second, possibly the more important of the two, his arms and legs were tied with rope and he was down to nothing but his underwear.

 

  “Don’t bother screaming for help,” said Artyom, perched up on a large rock overlooking the bound and stripped assassin. He sat casually, one leg bent and the other dangling from his seat, as he leaned on the cave wall overlooking his prey with disdainfully bored eyes.

 

  “The cave is far away from any buildings, and the sound of the waves will cover any noise you make,” he continued. “Besides, nobody’s going to the beach at this hour. So, let’s have a chat.”

 

  The assassin looked at him with defiance on his face, though Artyom knew it was merely a facade to cover the sheer terror overtaking him. Artyom simply smiled a predatory grin at his victim, confident he was going to get what he wanted soon enough.

 

  “You’d might as well kill me now,” said the assassin, trying his best to steel his gaze at Artyom. “For us assassins, failure means death, and that’s all that waits back for me for failing to kill you. I fear not what you will do to me, for I already know my fate.”

 

  “Woah, woah,” began Artyom. “There’s no need to be so melodramatic! All I want is some information.”

 

  “You’re not getting it. I’m still loyal to the Dark Lord and would rather die than betray him!”

 

  “Still loyal, huh? Too bad that loyalty isn’t a two-way street, from what I saw.”

 

  The assassin looked at Artyom with confusion, before realizing the truth himself and unsuccessfully trying to hide the look on his face.

 

  “Oh, you remember, don’t you? Your pal back at the hotel was about to make a beeline for the window to escape, but decided to try and kill you and the other straggler first. That really doesn’t seem like the kind of group that’s worth giving your life to if they’re so willing to play fast and loose with your own.”

 

  The assassin wordlessly looked down and away from Artyom. They both sat in place for some time until an audible rumbling made the assassin grimace and bend over.

 

  “Oh yeah, that. One of the side-effects of my toxin purging spell happens to be the urge to… do your own purging afterwards, as I’m sure you can see,” said Artyom, light mirth in his voice. “So how about this for our first deal; I’ll let you relieve yourself if you go ahead and sign this.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill dipped in ink. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, I’ll just stick the quill in your mouth and hold the paper up to it. And if it makes you feel any better, it isn’t even mind control, it just creates suggestions and compulsions in your mind to do what it says. You could totally just leave afterwards, and I’m tempted to let you since I feel so bad for you.”

 

  Artyom had filled out the magical employment contract the night before in preparation for the attack. Apparently, the backs of the paper were filled with dense legal jargon meant to prevent the contracts from being used for outright slavery, but after some careful reading and consultation with TOAL’s legal team, he found the best words to fill out to get around as much of it as possible. Honestly, Artyom wasn’t sure why TOAL even had a legal team, but he was glad that they did. That’s not to mention his opinions on why the System had these ridiculous contracts in the first place, but he felt the exact same way about them right now.

 

  Another rumbling came out of the assassins’ lower large intestine before he relented and signed the employment contract, its system-derived magical properties binding him as Artyom’s new “employee”. After a somewhat awkward session of helping the assassin relieve himself while still tied up, the two of them settled down more comfortably. Of course, comfortable was a relative term, as the assassin was still tied up. Still, with his bowels cleared, he could’ve been sitting in a bathrobe at a spa and felt just as good.

 

  “Alright,” said the Assassin between breaths. “Are you going to torture me now? I can see you’re nothing like the Great Hero, so I wouldn’t put it past you. The Spymaster also got his torture victims to sign an employment contract before he starts to make it quicker.”

 

  “Torture?” asked Artyom, genuinely surprised. “I mean, I get how the way I do things alludes to that, but I don’t torture people. Besides, it doesn't actually work, and anyone who says otherwise is an idiot. So instead, let’s talk. Let’s start with your name. You can say that, can’t you?”

 

  “...Rugul. It’s Rugul.”

 

  “Well Rugul, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

  “...”

 

  “...what?”

 

  “Well, I just tried to kill you and now you have me tied up. What kind of torturer are you?”

 

  Artyom let out a sigh. “The kind who doesn’t torture. Fine, I guess I’ll be a bit more forward then. I want information, so let’s start small. How about something that won’t be considered ‘treasonous’ for you to talk about? Tell me about the Dark Lord, or maybe even about yourself. Why did you become an assassin in the first place?”

 

  Rugul eyed Artyom suspiciously, before struggling at his bindings again in vain. Having failed to get loose, he spoke. “Well, there’s what everyone knows about the Dark Lord. His title comes from his demonic heritage and skills with dark magic, which can summon demonic armies that are led by his most able lieutenants and generals. With them, he rules his lands and fights against the encroaching Vijarian Kingdom for our way of life!”

 

  “Alright, that’s something,” encouraged Artyom. Though it sounded like it was lifted straight out of a textbook or propaganda piece. “How about if you tell me about yourself now? How did you end up becoming an assassin of all things?”

 

  Rugul closed his eyes and took a deep breath, completely still for a second after the exhale. Then he spoke. “When I was still a teenager, maybe 16 or 17, I helped my parents out on the farm. Something about how well I could wield a hoe or carry things around caught the eye of the Dark Lord’s men, and before I knew it, they drafted me into the army. The bulk of troops were made up of lesser demons, so they put me on track to become an assassin instead.” He paused to take a long breath.

 

  “Please, continue,” requested Artyom, partially focused on something else.

 

  “I spent years under the tutelage of the Spymaster along with the others, honing my skills as a master assassin. Day in and day out, we pushed ourselves to our bodies’ limits, knowing that the fate of our Lord’s bounties lay on our shoulders. Us assassins usually train for upwards of 8 years before being deployed on missions.”

 

  Artyom’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the statistic. 8 years was a long time to train, only to die in the course of a few minutes by his hands. Still, with the combination of underestimating him, not knowing to expect something like a flashbang or smoke grenade, and the taint slowing their minds, it made sense how the fight against him went as it did. Most small-scale encounters were usually decided very quickly, with Skills and the like only doing so much to prolong the inevitable.

 

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Rugul, snapping Artyom out of his thoughts. “8 years is a long time to train, just for all of us to get killed by you so quickly. The first few years of ‘training’ was just us learning about our Lord and how important our role is to him. We didn’t actually start any of the physical training or leveling until after we were each deemed fully loyal.”

 

  “Sounds like some garden variety indoctrination. I get the idea of cultivating patriotism in the troops, but why spend that long? Were they that scared you were going to run away or something?”

 

  Rugul broke eye contact with Artyom and looked slightly downwards. “Nobody in the Dark Lord’s domain is allowed to leave. The borders are heavily guarded, especially with his castle being right on them, and none may enter or exit save for his armies. With what I’ve seen from the outside world, I think I can start to understand why. It’s much nicer out here than in there.”

 

  “I’m surprised you’re so freely sharing this with me,” said Artyom, his concentration split between Rugul and some mental task. “I’d expect those few years of mental conditioning to get rid of those thoughts.”

 

  “Yeah, but not for me. That’s why they have us watch out for each other. We have a policy to kill any of us that might end up helping the enemy, even being heard talking well about the Vijarian Kingdom is grounds to end your life.”

 

  With a deep breath, Artyom pushed along the conversation. “And why didn’t the indoctrination work on you?”

 

  Rugul looked back up at Artyom stoically. “It’s because I didn’t train for the Dark Lord. When I was just a kid, seeing my parents’ faces whenever I helped them around the farm or house was the greatest. I always felt so happy seeing their expressions after I did something helpful, and I knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Be helpful to others. That’s what got me through training and all of those grueling years, I wanted to be helpful.” His eyes began to turn misty, and he took a sharp breath through his nostrils. “Even after seeing what it’s like outside and realizing that the Dark Lord is full of it, the idea of being helpful was the only thing keeping me going. But it looks like those days are over. In the end, I was useless against you and now I’m a dead man, even if I choose to return. Just kill me now and end my misery.”

 

  Artyom stared at him in silence with patient eyes full of understanding. “That’s rough, buddy.”

 

  Rugul didn’t respond. He simply looked back down at the ground.

 

  “But if I kill you now, I’m going to have to find a new employee.”

 

  The assassin quickly looked back up, a look of confusion marring his brow.

 

  “I didn’t get you to sign that contract just to make it easier to interrogate you, you know. As you pointed out earlier, I’m nothing like the Great Hero. That’s because I serve a higher purpose, one beyond the petty squabbles of the Dark Lord. Countless lives are at stake beyond the confines of a single world. I came here to stop a threat against them, and my quest has led me to provoking the ire of the Dark Lord and Goddess both. You said it yourself that you always wanted to be helpful, and this is your chance to help more people than you ever have in your life. So, would you like to help us out?”

 

  Rugul stared at Artyom, wide eyed. His breath was slow as he took a long draw of air before nodding once. “I’m in. I’ll help you.”

 

  With a smile on his face, Artyom untied the assassin and got him back his clothes. While anyone with half a brain would be screaming at him for freeing someone who only recently tried to kill him, simply based on a single verbal affirmation, Artyom knew he was safe. Despite its limitations, the magical employment contract was worked over by TOAL’s legal department to impose three absolute restrictions on the signee. First, Rugul would be unable to kill the employer, Artyom. Second, he could not work for or willingly work to assist someone who stood against him; a sort of noncompete clause. And third, Rugul would always have to tell the full truth to Artyom, completely unable to lie to him. He could still quit, but Artyom would immediately be notified via magic and the restrictions would still last for a month afterwards. Artyom really wanted to put more of the contracts to use, but he couldn’t think of anyone worth convincing or strong-arming into signing it that wouldn’t give him the fight of his life. A spy like Rugul was the perfect “employee” to recruit, someone squishy and motivatable enough to willingly sign it and important enough to be useful to Artyom.

 

  “Now, for your first task, I’d like you to investigate something for me. There’s supposed to be a temple built in Heart’s Point. It’s probably nothing but ruins now, but I’d like you to go there and look into the existence of an ancient weapon. Something that looks like a staff?” Artyom considered letting the assassin be the one to investigate something so dangerous , but didn’t think that he’d actually find the weapon there. At best, he expected him to find information on what happened to all of the old gods and goddesses. Besides, if the weapon really was there, somebody else would’ve found it by now.

 

  “Alright, I’ll head there now and start searching. I’ll meet up with you when I’ve found something.”

 

  “How will you know where to find me?”

 

  “News about the hero spreads fast, with all of his antics. The churches even report on it during their weekly sermons. So it shouldn’t be too hard to reach you.”

 

  And with that, the assassin went on his way. Artyom deactivated his auras of sadness and hope while stretching his legs. Did forcing Rugul to feel what he did so he would join Artyom make him a right bastard? Probably, but those were all emotions he was fully capable of feeling on his own. And besides, there was too much at stake to worry about his methods as long as he didn’t cross the line into “war criminal”.

 

---

 

  Back at the hotel, Artyom inspected the dead bodies that littered his suite. He’d taken the same secret entrance that the assassins did to avoid any early risers in the hallway. He wasn’t going to be able to hide these bodies, or the damage their fighting wrecked on the room, so he decided to be honest… mostly.

 

  “Aaah!!!” screamed Artyom at the top of his lungs as he stomped his foot on the ground and began smashing pieces of furniture. The ruckus eventually attracted a visit from the hotel staff, whom Artyom told to call the Great Hero as quickly as possible. After seeing the blood dripping from his face, the poor bellhop turned tail and brought along the rest of the party in no time at all.

 

  “Artyom, what’s going on?” asked Tommy. “Is that blood? Was there a fight?”

 

  “See for yourself,” replied Artyom gravely, as he motioned the others into his suite.

 

  Everyone froze in shock at the site of the dead assassins. Artyom was certain that while Tommy and Neitra were truly fearful of the attack, the others were more surprised that he was still alive.

 

  “Were any of you targeted?” asked Artyom, innocently.

 

  “No, we weren’t,” said the hero. “Me, Lensa, Ecole, Xerica, and Daisy, at least.”

 

  “I wasn’t attacked either,” replied Neitra.

 

  “If assassins are going to keep showing up, we should make sure we don’t sleep alone,” said the Great Hero. “Artyom, you can stay in the same room as me tomorrow.”

 

  “Oh uh, thanks Tommy,” replied Artyom.

 

  “But even if we share a room, that doesn’t mean we get to share my ladies!” he shot back, a lecherous smile on his face.

 

  Artyom sighed internally, but appreciated Tommy’s generosity. The others entered the room and took in the full bill of damage caused by the altercation. A smashed table here, a hole in the wall there, some broken cabinets and their contents spilled out on the floor. The four ladies froze when their eyes all met at that last one. Artyom caught them as soon as they averted their gazes inconspicuously and silently exchanged looks with each other before making their way out of the room.

 

  “Hey, where are you all going?” asked Tommy, curious at their sudden departure.

 

  “This assassin attack really scared Lensa,” said Xerica. “She and the rest of us could use another day to calm down before we continue with the Goddess’ quest.”

 

  “Uh, ok. Go ahead and take that, I’m sure we all need it after all of this,” replied Tommy, motioning at the room.

 

  Artyom tried to find what got them so on edge, and finally noticed the corner of a massive book poking out of the debris. Of course, it was none other than the “Introspections on the Divines,” and they must’ve seen it… seen it. Artyom’s eyes widened at the sudden realization. He realized exactly what this meant, and shuddered. So much for finding his answers slowly. He was sure that their extra day of vacation was so they could prepare the next hit on him, and it looked like they were desperate enough to do the deed themselves. Well, two could play at that game, and he knew exactly where to start.