The flickering firelight cast long, shifting shadows across the bandit camp. Five men sat around the flames, their laughter carrying through the still night air. The stench of cheap ale, roasted meat, and unwashed bodies clung to the clearing like a foul mist.
Cassian stepped into the open.
The moment his boot pressed into the damp earth, the laughter ceased.
Five pairs of eyes turned toward him.
One of the bandits, a wiry man with a scarred face, pushed himself up from a log, hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword. "Who the fuck are you?"
Cassian said nothing. He remained still, the firelight glinting off his mask.
A heavier-set man, sharpening a rusted axe, snorted. "Shit, another lost dumbfuck. Wrong place, asshole."
Cassian's gaze swept across them. Not mere raiders. Fighters. Trained. Their movements were relaxed, but their hands never strayed far from their weapons.
Then, from the shadows beyond the fire, a sixth figure stepped forward.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with the stance of a man who'd seen his share of death. His dark eyes studied Cassian, lingering on the mask. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
Unlike the others, he wasn't tense.
He was entertained.
"I know that look," the man mused. His voice was smooth, measured. "You're trying to figure out if you can cut us all down before one of us shoves a blade up your ass."
Cassian remained silent.
The man chuckled. "That's fair. I'd be wondering the same shit in your position." He stepped closer, letting the firelight illuminate his face. A rough, chiseled jaw. Eyes sharp as a predator's.
"Name's Raze Vakros." He watched for a reaction. "That ring any bells, mask-boy?"
Cassian hadn't heard the name.
Raze's smirk widened. "Didn't think so. You don't look like the type to give a shit about bandits."
He gestured toward the men behind him. "These bastards? We make a living off dumb motherfuckers who wander too far from safety." His tone was almost conversational. "Some we rob. Some we gut. Depends on the mood."
One of the bandits chuckled. Another took a swig from a flask, watching Cassian with mild curiosity.
"But you—" Raze continued, tilting his head. "You're different."
Cassian didn't move.
Raze's eyes flicked back to the mask. "I've seen men wear masks before. Usually cowards who can't stomach the sight of their own face. But yours…" His voice lowered slightly. "…yours ain't just for hiding, is it?"
A breeze stirred the fire. Sparks crackled into the night air.
Cassian's grip on his dagger tightened.
Raze exhaled through his nose. "Not much of a talker, huh? Fine by me." He gave a casual shrug. "But here's the thing—"This is Blackwood, boy. And you? You're standing in our fucking hunting ground."
He leaned slightly forward.
"…So tell me, what the fuck are you looking for?"
The fire crackled. The bandits shifted slightly, their casual demeanor giving way to something sharper. The atmosphere changed.
A single wrong move would turn this from conversation to bloodshed.
Cassian finally spoke. "I wasn't looking for anything."
Raze's lips twitched. "That so?"
Cassian's voice remained calm. "But I found something."
Raze's amusement flickered—for the first time, a hint of intrigue in his eyes. "And what the fuck did you find?"
Cassian tilted his head slightly.
"A dead man who doesn't know it yet."
Silence.
Then, a grin split Raze's face. Not anger. Not fear. Excitement.
One of the bandits cursed under his breath. Another reached for his weapon.
Raze lifted a hand, stopping them. His grin didn't fade. "You've got some big fucking balls, I'll give you that."
A slow, deliberate pause.
"…I wonder if you can back it up."
Then—
A sharp whistle.
The sound of rustling leaves.
More footsteps.
Cassian's jaw tightened beneath the mask. They weren't alone.
From the trees, more figures emerged. Shadows moving through the night. Reinforcements.
A trap.
Raze watched him carefully."See, I fuckin' knew it. You're the bastard who butchered my boys."
His voice was almost gentle now. "That's why I made sure we weren't alone."
The bandits around the fire rose, hands on their weapons, their
grins turning cruel.
Cassian exhaled slowly.
The tension shattered.
This was about to get bloody.
Cassian exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he faced the bastards in front of him. The first wave was already dead, their bodies twitching in the undergrowth, warm blood soaking into the dirt. But the rest? The ones still standing?
They wanted revenge.
They'd get something worse.
Raze Vakros stood off to the side, watching with that smug fucking grin. He didn't move, didn't interfere—just crossed his arms like this was some kind of show.
Cassian didn't care.
He was about to give them a performance worth remembering.
Time to flex.
He let them see the Veilborn.
Cassian raised his dagger, blood still dripping from the blade. Then, he stepped forward—
And vanished.
Or, at least, he tried.
For a brief, flickering moment, the world around him blurred. Shadows curled at the edges of his vision, folding over him, swallowing him into the dark—
Then pain.
A violent snap tore through his core, like something inside him had shattered. The sensation was unbearable—like someone had driven an iron rod through his skull.
Cassian staggered. The world slammed back into focus, and his feet hit the ground harder than they should have. His stomach twisted. His breath hitched. It didn't work.
Not yet.
One of the bandits—an older, scarred fucker—tilted his head. Then he grinned.
"The fuck was that supposed to be?"
The others laughed.
Cassian said nothing. His fingers curled around the dagger. Alright. No magic, then.
Vhar'Kan it is.
His old mentor's voice whispered in his mind.
"If you can't win with steel, win with your body. If you can't win with your body—"
Cassian's eyes narrowed. Then break theirs.
The first bandit stepped forward, gripping a rusted cleaver. "Let's carve you up, pretty boy."
Cassian moved.
The bandit barely had time to swing before Cassian was inside his guard. A sharp elbow smashed into his jaw, snapping his head back. Before the bastard could recover, Cassian grabbed his wrist, twisted it violently, and forced the blade into his own throat.
A choked gurgle. Blood sprayed.
Cassian didn't even watch him fall.
The second came from the right. Cassian ducked low, driving his knee into the man's groin. The bandit wheezed, doubling over, and Cassian hammered his fist down on the back of his neck.
The man hit the ground like a sack of shit.
Another swung a club at his skull. Cassian twisted, dodging at the last second, then caught the man's wrist and bent it backward.
A sickening snap.
The bandit shrieked, his hand hanging limp at an unnatural angle. Cassian didn't waste time—he drove the dagger through his ribs, twisting it deep.
The body slid off his blade.
Three more surrounded him.
Cassian smirked. Good.
The first charged. Cassian sidestepped, grabbed his shoulder, and drove his knee into the man's stomach. He felt ribs crack beneath the impact. Before the bastard could react, Cassian grabbed his head and smashed it against his own knee—again, again, again—until the face caved in.
The second hesitated. Big mistake.
Cassian moved like an animal.
He kicked off the ground, twisted mid-air, and brought his heel crashing into the side of the man's skull. The bandit collapsed instantly, twitching, drooling blood.
The last one stood frozen, eyes wide. Cassian, panting, covered in blood, turned to him slowly.
The bandit's hands trembled.
Cassian flicked his dagger, splattering red onto the dirt. "Not gonna try?"
The man growled and lunged.
Cassian let him come.
At the last second, he spun behind him, hooked his arms around the bastard's throat, and yanked him backward. The bandit thrashed, gasping, clawing at Cassian's forearm.
Cassian held on.
Held on until the struggling slowed. Until the bastard's fingers twitched and spasmed. Until there was nothing left.
Cassian dropped the body.
He straightened, rolling his neck. Blood dripped from his fingertips, soaking the ground beneath him. Around him, corpses lay twisted, broken, ruined.
The remaining bandits shifted uneasily. Their revenge-fueled rage was gone now.
Fear took its place.
Cassian smirked. Much better.
He raised the dagger, blood glistening on the blade, and spoke—low, cold, and full of death.
"Come on, then."
He stepped forward, tilting his head, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Come and fucking die."