Creation system
Chapter 22: Assasination

Chapter 22: Assasination

A crystalline barrier of sapphire light materialized mere inches from Mitch’s face, its translucent surface rippling with arcane energy.

The assassin’s blade struck the magical shield with a resonant chime, and the weapon’s deadly trajectory deflected harmlessly to the side.

Sparks of azure mana cascaded from the point of impact as the barrier fulfilled its purpose.

The protective ward shattered like glass in the next instant, its fragments dissolving into motes of dispersing energy.

The tremendous force behind the assassin’s strike had been enough to overwhelm the defensive enchantment, though it had served its crucial purpose.

Mitch’s shield bracer had saved his life by a mere moment.

Without hesitation, Mitch channeled his mana into a crackling sphere of raw magical energy.

The orb of concentrated power hurtled through the narrow space between him and his attacker, its surface writhing with electric-blue tendrils.

But before the projectile could find its mark, a swirling vortex of absolute darkness manifested before the hooded figure.

The void-like anomaly consumed the mana ball entirely, its hungry depths drinking in the magical energy and rendering Mitch’s counterattack utterly useless.

A cube of midnight-black energy tore through the fabric of reality beside Mitch’s bed, its edges crackling with spatial distortions.

This was his pocket dimension, a personal storage space accessible only to him. He thrust his hand through the dimensional breach, his fingers closing around the familiar weight of his tier-two combat knife.

The blade hummed, its edge honed to supernatural sharpness that would help it pierce through the assassin’s defenses.

Mitch lunged forward with desperate precision, aiming the weapon’s point directly at where he estimated the assassin’s heart would be beneath the concealing robes.

The blade cut through the air with lethal intent, seeking the vital organ that would end this confrontation in a single strike.

The hooded figure flowed backward like smoke, his movements unnaturally fluid as he created distance between himself and Mitch’s attack.

The assassin’s robes billowed as he repositioned himself near the room’s narrow window, his stance suggesting years of combat experience.

"Tsk, a mage," the assassin spat, his voice carrying the cold malice of someone accustomed to killing.

The words dripped with disdain, as if encountering a spellcaster had somehow complicated what should have been a simple murder.

Mitch’s magical senses swept over his opponent, reading the subtle emanations of power that surrounded every awakened individual.

The assassin’s mana signature burned with the intensity of a mid-tier two awakener, significantly stronger than Mitch’s own low-tier classification. The realization sent a chill down his spine as he calculated his chances of survival.

He didn’t even consider calling for help. The innkeeper had warned him that these particular rooms were warded with sound-dampening arrays, designed to give guests privacy. Now that same consideration for discretion had become a death trap.

No matter how loudly he screamed, no one in the inn below would hear his struggle. He was entirely alone, with only his magic and wits to keep him alive.

"What do you want?" Mitch demanded, springing to his feet beside his bed and assuming a defensive stance.

His mind raced through possible escape routes and combat strategies, though none seemed particularly promising.

"Your trinkets, gold, and cores, of course!" the hooded man replied with insufferable smugness, as if Mitch’s possessions were already his.

His tone suggested this was merely a formality, that the outcome had already been decided in the assassin’s favor.

Mitch launched another mana ball while simultaneously charging forward, hoping to overwhelm his opponent with both magical and physical pressure.

The glowing projectile streaked through the air, but once again, that mysterious void-skill manifested to devour his spell. The assassin’s ability to neutralize magical attacks was proving to be a serious problem.

The assassin’s boot connected with Mitch’s ribs in a devastating kick that lifted him off his feet.

The impact drove the air from his lungs as he crashed into the room’s wooden wall, splinters of timber raining down around him. Pain exploded through his torso as he slumped to the floor.

Ugh, so strong, Mitch thought, tasting blood in his mouth. Despite investing considerable attribute points into his physical capabilities, he remained fundamentally a mage, a low-tier two practitioner whose body couldn’t compete with an awakener who had specialized in physical enhancement.

The difference in their combat capabilities was becoming painfully apparent.

A serpentine form emerged from the assassin’s sleeve, its scales gleaming with an oily sheen. The creature bore the distinctive skull-shaped marking of a death, one of the most venomous magical serpents.

Its fangs dripped with a viscous substance that hissed when it touched the wooden floor, and its eyes burned with predatory intelligence as it fixed its gaze on Mitch.

The snake coiled its muscular body and launched itself through the air, jaws gaping wide to deliver a fatal bite.

Mitch’s third mana ball intercepted the airborne serpent, detonating in a brilliant flash of magical energy.

The explosion tore the creature apart, painting the room’s walls with gore and viscera. Blood splattered across Mitch’s face as he shielded his eyes from the gruesome display.

The blinding aftereffects of the explosion masked the assassin’s follow-up attack. Two throwing knives sliced through the air where the serpent had been moments before, their trajectories aimed with precision.

Mitch’s vision, still recovering from the magical detonation, failed to register the incoming blades until it was too late to dodge.

The first knife buried itself in his abdomen, its edge finding the gap between his ribs with accuracy.

The second blade carved a deep gash along his left arm, severing muscle and sending blood streaming down to his fingertips. Agony lanced through his body as the weapons found their marks.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mitch yanked both knives from his flesh and immediately channeled healing magic into his wounds.

Golden light suffused his injuries as divine energy worked to close the cuts and restore damaged tissue.

The brief infusion of holy power also purged most of the poison that had been coating the blades, though he could still feel traces of the toxin burning through his system.

"You fucker!" Mitch roared, his voice hoarse with pain and rage. Blood continued to seep from his wounds despite the healing magic, creating dark stains on his clothing.

"Mana ball!" he shouted, pouring more power into the spell than before. But the assassin was ready. A throwing knife intercepted the magical projectile mid-flight, causing it to detonate harmlessly in the air between them.

Mitch immediately followed up with another spell, this one aimed slightly to the left of where the assassin stood.

His opponent threw himself sideways, barely avoiding the crackling sphere of energy as it scorched the wall behind him. The near-miss suggested that the assassin’s defensive abilities had limitations.

It appeared that the void-skill had a usage limit, and the assassin’s supply of throwing knives was exhausted.

Only the combat blade in his hand remained, which meant the fight was about to become much more personal.

"How much mana do you have, for fuck’s sake!" the assassin snarled, his earlier confidence replaced by frustrated exhaustion. His breathing had become labored, suggesting that his own magical abilities were taking a toll.

Tendrils of absolute darkness began to rise from the assassin’s feet, wrapping around his body like living smoke.

The shadow smoke moved with unnatural speed, completely engulfing the hooded figure in a matter of seconds. The darkness was so complete that it seemed to absorb light itself, creating a void in the shape of a man.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the darkness dispersed.

The assassin was gone, leaving only empty air where he had stood moments before. The room fell silent except for Mitch’s labored breathing and the steady drip of blood from his wounds.