The hooded figure stared at the crowded square, his repressed emotions boiling in his chest, sending an uncharacteristic red tinge to his vision. The doors to the cathedral opened, and a robed man walked out, waving his hand in a greeting to the sea of red before him. His boot barely scraping against the ledge, the man leaped from the rooftop and landed with a muted ‘thud’ on the ground, his hand reaching out to break his fall slightly.
Up on a ledge, a guard yelped in surprise at the sudden appearance of the white-cloaked figure, and fumbled for his rifle. His hands scrabbled along the metal, removing the safety catches and trembling as he aimed for the man that wove through the crowd like a serpent. He frowned slightly as the sun was blocked from behind him, and he was encased in a shadow. Pain rippled through his abdomen, and staring down, he spotted the hooded man tilt his head up to flick stone-grey eyes to his for a split second.
The guard looked down to his grey tunic only to see his blood seep through the material, fanning out like a crimson flower of death. No one saw his body drop to the sun-warmed tiles, the shadow gone, and the guard bleeding his way to his maker.
The cloaked man sidled through the scarlet crowd, pushing aside his coat to pull out two weighted knives when he saw guards turn around. He tossed them, and both found their marks, striking the guards down with their blood pooling around their bodies as they choked their dying wishes out. The man stepped over their bodies, his cloak barely touching their armour as he walked through the crowd that parted, their heads lowered, and the vile scent of fear in the air.
From under his hood, the assassin smirked, even though his eyes were still cold. Fools, he mused, forcing himself from spitting contemptuously at them. As he neared the doors of the cathedral, he slipped his hands out of his pockets and flicked them. An ominous ‘shink’ resonated through the deadly silence as two hidden blades slid out of their holsters that had been strapped firmly onto his wrists and forearms.
Time seemed to slow around him, as a pair of guard yelled and raised their spears. The assassin refused to stop, only quickening his pace and slamming both blades into his opponents simultaneously. He lowered his head as their bodies fell to the ground like sacks of potatoes, and allowed the hood to conceal his face further, as he approached the man that cowered in fear at the head of the assembly.
A shout filled the air, and soldiers filed into line, shielding the priest from the assassin. The white-robed man merely allowed his lips to spread into a smirk as he raised his fisted hand. The soldiers faltered slightly, as a quartet of white-robed men moved forward, their faces veiled by hoods and their swords and maces already in their hands.
“Fools,” the assassin muttered and his brothers grunted their agreement as the soldiers were struck down left, right and forward; the assassins merciless in their killings.