//------------------------------// // Chapter 107: Survive // Story: A Long Way to Fall // by Cinders of War //------------------------------// Mirror Match had just finished having a shower, walking out of the bathroom as she dried her purple hair with a towel. She looked down at the blood on the carpet and clucked her tongue, reminding herself she had to clean that up later. Earlier, she had caught one of Mahogany Wood’s men entering her home uninvited. She pretended not to know he was there until he got the nerve to leave his hiding spot to snoop around. After a brief questioning, Mirror Match had killed him right here, splattering his blood across her body and clothes when she pried open his ribcage with her talons and rearranged his innards. She hated voyeurs, and was considering sending back a piece of the spy to Mahogany, just to make sure he wouldn’t try it again. That man had to learn not to intrude on her private life. Mirror sat down on her couch and tossed her towel to the ground, closing her eyes as she listened for the fabric to land. Her TV was tuned to one of the news channels; it didn’t matter which, all of them were broadcasting the same thing today. “The explosion in Masyaf was surprising. As of now, we have no idea what had caused it, but Saddle Arabian authorities think it might’ve been terrorists.” “Pft. Terrorists,” Mirror scoffed as she drank from a bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty and still she felt none of its effects, which irked her. “Sure.” “We have yet to determine the number of casualties, but we believe it numbers in the thousands. Where the proud city once stood now lies a smoldering crater, seemingly devoid of any life… Families of loved ones have been waiting for news of any survivors, but so far… there have been none.” “I told you so,” Mirror glared at the news anchor. “Told you not to go, but does anyone listen to me? Noooo… not Frigid, not the Mentor, not even my own blasted sister. You daft idiots.” The man on the screen stroked at his brown moustache and looked down solemnly at his table. There was nothing else to be said until they received more information from their field teams. The news then cut to an advert about some kind of grass tea. A hand picked up the can of tea and held it up to her face. A face Mirror had never liked since her early days as an Assassin. “Drink this,” Ebony Wings said on the screen. “It’ll smoothen out your skin like it did for me. If-” Mirror Match didn’t listen to the rest of the advert. Maybe it was because she didn’t like that bad actress and tuned out everything she said, or maybe it was from her black dagger embedded in the center of her now broken TV. First, there was the ringing. Then, the pain. Keila’s eyes shot open as her entire body woke up all at once, bringing an avalanche of pain down onto her prone form. Everything hurt, from her face to her feet, and as more of Keila’s consciousness returned, the agony only intensified until the only thing the young woman could do was lie still and breathe. Time was immaterial to Keila, but as the sun laboriously rose to its peak, Keila forced herself to move. Stretching out one arm almost made her pass out, but she managed to right herself and half pushed, half rolled into a sitting position. The Saddle Arabian sand was scorching beneath her legs, but they were already in so much pain that Keila didn’t even take notice. After giving herself a minute to recover, she looked down at herself. Every inch of her tawny brown skin was burned and raw, covered in scrapes and cuts that were still bleeding. Her clothes had fared no better; Keila’s hooded Assassin coat was all but shredded, the remaining scraps of fabric clinging to her with the help of a generous mixture of blood and sweat. Keila’s pants had been torn off at the knees and her right shoe was missing. The front of her sleeveless top had been blackened and seared into rags and the Assassin knew without looking that the back would be exactly the same. With a shaking arm, Keila raised a hand to her ear. Blood trickled out of it, hot and sticky. Her earpiece was missing. There was no way of communicating with the others; she hoped someone would find her soon. Unable to sit up straight any more, Keila slumped backward onto the sand, only to wince as her back hit something more solid. She looked back at the crumbling masonry. Old Saddle Arabian architecture, by the look of it. Just like the rest of the city- Oh no. Everything came rushing back in a series of flashes. Watching over her wounded partner by the edge of the battle, eyes glued to the ancient citadel in the middle with the sounds of battle in her radio. The flash of light from the heart of the fortress. The white sphere of destruction, spreading and expanding instantly to engulf the entire city. Forced to leave Ikram and running like she had never run before and diving to cover behind a convenience store. Keila rose to her feet unsteadily, her head swimming with the effort but she had to know. She staggered to the edge of the wall and, after a moment of hesitation, looked around it. What she saw hit her like a punch in the gut. Aside from a couple of equally dilapidated walls, there was nothing else left of the city of Masyaf. Just an enormous smoldering crater in the midst of the desert. Here and there, the burnt outlines of houses and shops were still visible, charred into the glassed sand by the immense heat of the blast. But everything near the palace, even the ancient headquarters of the Assassins from ages long past, every single structure in the city was all gone. Nothing had been spared, not anyone or anything. Keila’s throat constricted suddenly as the realization struck her. Everyone’s dead. A strangled sound escaped her ravaged throat as, against her better judgement, Keila tried to cry out. It couldn’t be. Everyone couldn’t be… gone. Not like this. Keila fell into a run. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to find someone, anyone, who was still breathing. She slipped in the sand and screamed as it invaded her flayed skin. Keila rose up and kept running. Her gait, once graceful and athletic, was now anything but. A lone figure clothed in rags, shambling across the blasted sands in the ruins of one of the oldest cities in the world. Every breath ran nails across the Assassin’s parched throat and every step brought a fresh bloom of torture arcing up Keila’s legs, but still she ran aimlessly, calling out every few minutes. “Shadowstrike? Feather Duster? Ikram? Anyone?” When asked later, Keila would never be able to recall how she had been able to keep going, but after a seemingly endless run, the Assassin spotted something near where the old king’s palace had once stood. A solitary figure, standing upright and walking leisurely around the crater, and more importantly, a glimmer of golden light. The solid build, coupled with the long, flowing robes and the long object in his hand, put only one name into Keila’s bleary mind. “Star Lance?” she whispered, and doubled her pace. If the Mentor’s chosen lieutenant was still alive, perhaps there were others. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the epicenter, the lowest point of the crater, and by the time Keila did, the sun was nearly touching the horizon, silhouetting Star Lance in its glare. “Star Lance!” Keila gasped with relief. Her legs collapsed beneath her, unable to take the strain a moment longer. It must have been the blood in her ears, but when Star Lance turned around, he didn’t sound quite like Keila remembered he did. “Who are you?” he asked. Keila squinted up at the man, wondering at his question when she understood. She had been right on the edge of the blast; she was probably unrecognizable. “M-My name’s Keila,” she croaked. “I’m an Assassin, just like you.” “An Assassin, huh?” And then he hit her, right in the face. Sent sprawling across the burning hot sands by the blow, Keila’s only though before she momentarily blacked out was that there was no way that was Star Lance. Shaking the stars out of her eyes, Keila barely managed to roll away from a blade of blackened crystal that stabbed at her exposed chest. Ignoring her screaming muscles, the Assassin rose to her feet and raised her fists, circling around her opponent. ‘Star Lance’ spun to face her. With the sun no longer behind him, the man’s features were cast starkly into the light. Dark grey skin. Polished steel armor, right out of a history book. Eyes of blood red and poisonous green. And most frightening of all, in his left hand, he held something that Keila recognized. The Apple. “Sombra…” Keila panted as she backstepped away from a horizontal slice. “What have you done?” The Templar Grand Master’s only response was to thrust his blade at her abdomen. Keila was forced to roll backward to escape, kicking up a spray of sand as she went. A stab of pain arced up her spine as she straightened up from her maneuver. It’s hopeless. She realized as Sombra strode leisurely at her, flourishing his sword as he advanced. Both of her hidden blades and daggers had been lost, and her now shredded coat had held any other weapons that she might have been able to use. In her current state, she wouldn’t last more than ten seconds against Sombra. Doesn’t mean I won’t go down fighting. Suddenly the Templar was at her side, his left hand crashing into her ribs. Again the Assassin fell to the ground, but this time Keila grasped a handful of sand and flung it at Sombra’s face. He instinctively raised a hand to protect himself and Keila slammed a high kick into his neck. Sombra didn’t even flinch. There was a crackling noise, and Keila’s brain just registered the smell of ozone before her entire front was beset by what felt like ten thousand volts of electricity; then she was flying through the air, smoke rising off her person as she struck the ground again and again, finally coming to a stop face down in the desert. She did not rise again.