Third person POV

It was just mummers of confusion, then, shouts of worry. Cries of alarm. And then a flash of bright red light. It vibrated across the lands, and pushed matter back, like a strong wind pushing blades of grass. There was silence, accompanied after by shouts of fright. It was from a rocky cliff, where five men stood.

Correction.

Four.

The last one was thrown back courtesy for the light, and being pushed off the cliff to the waters below. His face showed shock, and guilt, and unbearable sadness. His arms reached out to his companions, his fingers curling around thin air. His hair whipped his face as he fell, cutting his vision in strips. His clothes fluttered around him, dancing in the rapid winds.

His mates looked at him, devastated, and looked in horror as he fell, deep into the waters. They screamed his name, over and over again, like a broken record disk, but nothing they did could bring him back. They reached out their hands, but all failed.

His eyes clung onto his friends, sending a silent apology and message, as he fell into the dark blue waters. His friends shout of despair slowly got muffled, and eventually died down.

As he fell, his eyes closed tiredly, and he sighed in resignation.

He hit the water, like a rock into a pond. Ripples appeared, and disappeared, like nothing ever happened.

He did not surface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A silhouette of a person darted from rooftop to rooftop, his footsteps as silent and quick like a cat. The moonlight colored his clothing a dark grey, and his face was further darkened by the hood he wore. He continued jumping swiftly to his destination, always unseen by the last night stragglers from bars.

When he arrived, he perched carefully on the window sill, and put a gloved hand on the cool glass, and silently opened it. A gust of wind blew in the now open window, waking the velvet curtains and making them dance. The unknown man slunk around, not making a sound.

He opened room after room, not a noise emitted from him as he entered and left, obvious that he had not found what he seeked. As the minutes ticked by, he became more and more inpatient, and occasionally huffed under his breath.

He approached a gold embossed door, his lips curved into a sly smile. He reached out with his gloved hand, and just as he was about touch the doorknob, a rough and vicious voice echoed through the alcove.

"So, what do we have here?" The voice snickered, and the metallic sound of a broadsword coming out of its sheath was heard.

The mysterious man retreated his hand, but his back still faced the voice.

"Is it the infamous assassin? You really are rusty, thinking you could sneak into the chamber, did you?" Another voice, oily and slurred, added.

The assassin turned slowly, and smiled venomously, a smile of conceit.

Two guards, flanked in iron, were poised, a broadsword in each of their callused hands. They cornered the notorious assassin, like a pack of wolves circling a rabbit, but the rabbit only continued smiling, his smile glinting dangerously in the reflection of the moonlight.

He then spoke lazily and smugly " Why can't you guards learn? The reason the bell didn't sound is because all of you guys were trained the same, and have the same stupid pea sized brain you don't even bother to use. The reason I'm never caught is..." He never finished his sentence.

He placed both of his clothed feet on the door, and pushed off of it, and sailed clean above the heads of the guards. His hands dipped swiftly into his belt, and two daggers, sharp and glinting in the moonlight streaming through the open window, came out, hissing for blood and death.

As he was in the air, he brought his hand down with a single stroke, and the guard that was unwisely taunting him had a dagger protruding out of his neck before he could react. Blood cascaded out of the opening and he slumped to the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing. The smell of copper invaded his nostrils, but he paid it no heed. He was accustomed to it.

He landed perfectly behind the other guard, his legs bended to absorb the sound, and the poor guard, who was too shocked to even react, stood no chance. His dagger came down once again, and was rewarded with a burst of crimson.

He got up from his kneeled position, and took the daggers, stained in blood, and wiped them on the blood-stained undershirt that was visible under the guards armor. He sheathed his weapons silently, and strode confidently to the door, acting like nothing happened, and opened it. The door swung on its hinges, and he entered, a satisfied smirk on his face.

A minute later, he emerged, blood splattered slightly over his trademark jacket, and he stepped over the now overflowing with blood bodies.

He perched on the same open window, the curtains still dancing happily with the night breeze, and prepared to jump.

Just before he jumped, he smirked again, his white teeth glinting maliciously in the near darkness.

"No one messes with the BajanCanadian."

~writers note~

How did I do? I personally really like this idea of a book and I think this is not a bad start to it! It's a little shorter, but most prologues are. Well, any thoughts or theories?

BAAAIIII