Clank!

Two of the palace guards glanced down the hallway, shadows clouding their vision.

Their sight persuaded them that the corridor was empty. And yet the low tone continued to echo through the halls.

"What was that?"

"Come on, man," the other whined. "My shift ends around the corner. Let's just ignore it,"

"Check it out," The larger guard insisted, waving off his partner for the routine check.

His companion sighed, then retraced their steps back to the center of the hall. He glanced at the suit of armor and then checked the window. "Yep, nothing," he muttered.

His fellow guard nodded, and continued on his way, slowly, so that his partner could catch up.

But a shadow passed the trailing guard's eyes, and then the only sounds to fill the hall were his own footsteps.

The guard glanced back, only to find the hallway empty, and the window open.

In times of fear, anything can seem to be the enemy. From the souls he couldn't see, to the darkness itself. Shadows now seemed to crawl along the ground, concealing traps that could be anywhere, and everywhere.

And this man was afraid.

"Rigor?" He whispered, glancing around. The guard prayed for an answer so that he didn't have to rely too heavily on his bravery.

But there was nothing.

The scratching of the sword, as he unsheathed it, rang in the hallway.

But still no reply.

The guard turned his breastplate towards the depths of darkness, and marched forward in determination, keeping an eye peeled for any signs of his comrade. He stepped cautiously towards the window and glanced out.

If only he had been looking in the other direction.

Behind the soldier, hidden slightly behind the suit of armor, stood a figure. He was tall and lanky, his limbs having seemingly no meat to cover his bones. He was covered in a jacket with a tall collar on his torso, long, black, pants, and only socks on his feet. His clothes were worn and slashed. Several ragged pieces of cloth missing from all over his body, revealing pale skin, and even some scars.

His face, however, was the most terrifying part of the intruder. It was covered by a mask, made completely of metal. The mouth of the mask seemed to have been torn open, to shape ragged and sharp teeth, with blood staining its jawline. There was only one eyehole, for his left eye, which was black, with a scarlet red iris. And on the top of his head was a jet of red hair. Once blond hair. But had been dyed by his bloodthirst and vengeance.

In one stride, the stranger crossed the hall and jabbed his fingers into the guard's neck with enough force to bust his Adam's apple. Before the guard could so much as gasp, the stranger disarmed him and launched him out the window.

The scariest part? He barely made a sound.

The assassin looked curiously at the weapons he'd acquired: a long dagger, and a sword. Then he set the sword down, in the fresh pool of blood leaking from the body of Rigor, now hidden in the suit of armor.

The man clenched the dagger in his left hand. And on his right, he had a black scarf wrapped around his wrist.

Without a sound, the assassin continued down the hall, on a mission. He headed for the center of the palace.

Barely two corridors later, he froze.

"The king must not be disturbed tonight," came a voice from the hallway. "But I want guards placed all around his room. It seems that we have a missing prisoner. Stitches is loose,"

"Yes Admiral," said a much softer voice.

Stitches grabbed a shield off of the wall, wrapped himself up tightly, and covered himself in the corner with the shield.

"I especially want to know if anything, and I mean anything... looks... odd..." The Admiral's voice trailed off as he got closer. "Why is that-"

Stitches kicked up the shield and sprang from his position, landing on top of it. In a split second, he located the Admiral, and flicked his wrist, sending the blade deep into the man's neck from ten yards away.

Another guard, who had just entered the room, roared and dove at Stitches, hard set on cutting him in half. But the assassin was quicker. He kicked out his foot and sent the shield up into the air, deflecting the sword.

The guard stumbled back and swung his sword again. Stitches turned his neck and deflected the blow with his mask, sending up sparks like burning rain. He reached up and took a medal off of his opponent's chest.

The soldier bull-rushed the criminal, slamming him into the wall, then slumped lifelessly to the ground. A badge stabbed deep into his temple.

Stitches pushed himself off of the ground like a puppet coming to life, his seemingly limp limbs barely touching the floor as he pulled himself to a standing position. Then he turned his head and looked at who the Admiral had been talking to.

A little girl. A maid. Barely the age of nine. She stared at the assassin, nothing but fear shining along with her tears.

Stitches reached down, grabbed the sword, and broke off several inches from the end of it. Then he walked over and seized the little girl's shoulders. He dragged her into a broom closet and set her on the ground.

The little maid cowered and shivered at his touch. She merely sniffled, fearing the outcome of a scream, and stared at him.

Stitches reached onto a shelf and drew off a long strand of rope, pulling on it to test its strength. Then he grabbed the girl's foot and dragged her towards him.

He pulled out an array of food from inside his coat. And set them, one at a time, on the ground in front of her. He pointed at her and gestured to stay put. Then he grabbed his rope and left the closet to continue with his business.

Outside the king's bedroom, he glanced down the hall and saw four guards.

The first one was easy. In a single swoop, Stitches dove into the corridor, threw the rope over his neck, and snapped it. Two of the other guards saw it happen.

"It's Stitches!" One cried. They drew their swords and lashed out.

Stitches deflected one blow with the body, and the other, with his sword shard. Then he leaped off of one guard's shoulder and grabbed onto a beam on the ceiling.

"Get an archer in here!"

He looped the rope over the beam and jumped back down. Both guards immediately stabbed at him, and one caught his arm, leaving yet another tear in his jacket. Stitches collapsed.

The archer sprinted in, and fired from the end of the hall, aiming for the visible flesh under the criminal's mask.

Stitches's hand shot up, and caught the arrow, throwing it into the eye of the guard who'd sliced his arm. Then he jumped up and put himself to the back of the other guard.

"Fire!" The guard demanded.

Stitches collapsed, this time on purpose, as the arrow plunged into his enemy's neck. Finally, he scooped up the shard, tied it to the rope, and slung it down the hall, catching the archer in the face.

Then he yanked the rope back, wrapped it around the final guard's neck, and pounced on the other end, hanging him from the ceiling.

Before anyone else could show up, Stitches opened the king's door, stepped in, and locked it behind him.

"Stay where you are," a voice cried from the darkness.

Stitches smiled beneath his mask and cocked his head slowly.

The king stood at the far side of the room, with a sword clenched in his shaky fists.

***

A young man emerged from his palace bedroom, utterly offended by the racket.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded from the first guard he saw. "Where's Liam?"

The prince's assistant rounded the corner, just as his name was spoken.

"Stitches is missing, my prince," his friend replied gravely. "We've found three bodies so far, and heard struggling from the king's corridors,"

Prince Hope clenched his jaw and pointed at the guard. "Get me a sword,"

***

Stitches leaned against the door and watched his prey shake in fear.

"I know what you want, Stitches," the king nodded. "And I won't let you have them,"

Stitches straightened up and moved a step closer.

"I'll kill you Stitches!" The king screamed hysterically. "I swear I'll do it!"

Stitches didn't even hesitate. He was unarmed. Had nothing to his name but the clothes on his back.

This man though, had a weapon. He had hundreds of guards at his command. And thousands of lives more at his disposal. He had riches and fame.

But all the fear in this room did not lie in the unknown figure. It was within the one who's sins weren't public knowledge.

Sins he was going to pay for.

Stitches walked to the desk in the corner of the room and began to tear through the drawers.

The king lunged forward, his blade held high, but Stitches turned and grabbed the sword.

Out of sheer panic, the king wrenched his weapon from Stitches's grip, slicing open his hands. But the assassin ignored the pain, as he dug back into the drawers, leaving trails of blood all over its surfaces.

In the bottom drawer, he found what he was looking for... Two daggers. One long, and one short. Both with matching, dragon-printed, handles.

For the first time in ages, his hands clasped onto the weapons that had been stolen from him so long ago. The objects that meant more than anything to him in this world. The objects that would end up being the beginning of the cold-blooded war of the ages.

Stitches turned around to glare at the king with his single, damaged, eye.

"Well... Now you have it!" His Majesty shook. "Begone, demon!"

Stitches shook as well... in silent laughter. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what had just been told to him. Then he stepped forward.

The king swung his sword.

Stitches lifted his short dagger. The handle gleamed when it touched the other weapon. And the king's sword broke on contact.

King Hope threw the damaged weapon at the assassin, but it merely bounced off of his thick jacket.

Stitches caught the king's neck, and slammed him against the window, cracking the glass. Then again, throwing the ruler's bleeding scalp into the strengthened glass. In a fit of rage, Stitches grabbed his chest with both hands and threw Hope against the window again, finally sending shards of glass down into the courtyard.

He bent the king backward out the window and lifted the longer dagger.

"Don't do it!" The king begged. "I... I can bring her back!"

For a second, Stitches only looked down at his enemy, contemplating the offer. Then all the hate in the world filled his dead eye, and he plunged the knife into the king.

King Hope screamed in agony. Stitches grabbed the handle with both hands and forced it down through the man's entire body, even catching the windowsill beneath.

The knife handle gleaned and a thousand more gashes tore open across Hope's skin, as if he was being shredded by dozens of invisible knives all at once.

Blood poured from every open wound, and splattered Stitches until he drew his knife back out with force. Only then did the torture end, and the mangled body of the once-king, fall to the ground at his enemy's feet.

***

Prince Hope broke down the door and stumbled into his father's bedroom.

For a second... He didn't look up. All he heard were gasps from behind him.

And those made him want to look even less.

But after several minutes, he couldn't wait any longer. Jakob tilted up his head.

Blood dripped down the walls. The room was torn apart. And his father's body was draped carefully over his bed, mangled hands folded neatly over an empty chest.

On the wall, was a marking. One long, diagonal line, with three slashes through it. It looked like a cut with three stitches in it.

Stitches...

The Prince slowly stood and stared out the broken window.

"Stitches does not work on his own," He growled.

"Sir?" A guard hesitated.

"Find out what kingdom wanted my father dead. Start with Keriyon. If you find them... kill them. No matter the cost,"

He turned to glare at the room. "And if I don't have Stitches head by the end of this... I will have each of yours',"