14. Sage
14
SAGE
I wipe down the last glass and set it on the rack with a soft clink. The bar is finally empty, and the silence feels almost oppressive after the cacophony of the night. My arms ache from mixing countless drinks, and my feet throb in protest of the hours spent standing.
"Another night down," I mutter to myself, surveying the dim interior.
The usually vibrant establishment now seems eerie in its stillness. Shadows loom in corners where raucous laughter had echoed just hours before. The faint scent of brimstone and spilled alcohol lingers in the air, a reminder of the diverse clientele we serve.
I grab my bag from behind the bar and head towards the back exit. As I push open the heavy door, the cool air of the alley hits my face, a welcome respite from the stuffy bar.
Something feels... off.
I pause, one foot over the threshold, and scan the narrow passage. The dim light from a single flickering lamp casts long shadows across the uneven cobblestones. Empty crates and barrels line the walls, creating perfect hiding spots for any manner of creature.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My hexeblood senses, honed by months in this dangerous realm, scream a warning. I take a cautious step forward, every muscle tense.
A whisper of movement to my left is my only warning.
I whirl, barely avoiding the slash of a wicked-looking blade. My attacker emerges from the shadows, a lithe figure clad in dark leather. Their face is obscured by a mask, but I can feel the intensity of their gaze.
"What the–" I start to say, but I'm cut off as they lunge again.
Time seems to slow. I watch the blade arc towards me, my mind racing. In that split second, something deep within me surges to life. Power courses through my veins, a gift from my hexeblood heritage that I'm only beginning to understand.
I twist, the knife missing me by a hair's breadth. The assassin's momentum carries them past me, and I take the opportunity to put some distance between us.
"Who sent you?" I demand, my voice steadier than I feel.
They don't respond, instead readying for another attack. I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around a small vial. Deus's words echo in my mind: "Always be prepared, especially when you think you're safe."
As the assassin charges, I uncork the vial and fling its contents at their face. The liquid ignites on contact with the air, creating a brilliant flash of light. My attacker recoils, momentarily blinded.
I use the distraction to look for a weapon, anything I can use to defend myself. My eyes land on a broken bottle near one of the crates. I lunge for it, snatching it up just as the assassin recovers.
We circle each other, the tension palpable. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, but beneath the fear, there's a thrill of excitement. This is what I've been training for.
The assassin strikes first, a flurry of quick jabs that I barely manage to parry with my makeshift weapon. The sound of glass against metal rings out in the quiet alley. I give ground, letting them push me back towards the bar's wall.
Just as my back hits the rough bricks, I drop low and sweep my leg out. The move catches them off guard, and they stumble. I press my advantage, slashing with the broken bottle. They hiss in pain as it catches their arm, drawing blood.
"Not so fun when your target fights back, is it?" I taunt, a surge of confidence flowing through me.
They respond with a growl, redoubling their efforts. We trade blows, a deadly dance in the narrow alley. I can feel my body moving almost of its own accord to avoid their attacks.
But I know I can't keep this up forever. I need to end this, and fast.
An idea forms in my mind, born from countless hours of alchemical experimentation. I feint left, then dart right, putting some space between us. My free hand dips into my bag, fingers closing around various vials and pouches.
"Let's see how you handle this," I mutter, quickly mixing ingredients in my palm.
The assassin charges, blade glinting in the dim light. I wait until the last second, then throw the mixture at their feet. It reacts instantly with the moisture in the air, creating a thick, adhesive foam that expands rapidly.
They cry out in surprise as their feet are suddenly trapped. I don't waste the opportunity. With a final burst of energy, I launch myself forward, bringing the bottle down hard on their head.
The impact reverberates up my arm. The assassin sways for a moment, then crumples to the ground.
I stand there, chest heaving, barely able to believe what just happened. The adrenaline begins to fade, replaced by a potent cocktail of fear, anger, and relief.
"Okay, Sage," I say to myself, trying to steady my nerves. "What now?"
I look down at the unconscious form of my attacker. I can't leave them here, but I also can't let them wake up. With shaking hands, I pull some cord from my bag and set about binding their hands and feet.
Once they're secure, I drag them back into the bar, grunting with the effort. I need to find Deus, to tell him what happened. He'll know what to do.
"Deus?" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty bar. "Deus, are you here? We have a situation!"
But there's no response. The bar remains silent and still.
A wave of loneliness washes over me. I'm on my own for this one.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself. I can handle this. Deus has taught me well, and I've learned more than just how to mix drinks in my time here.
I prop the assassin up in a chair and begin to search them methodically. Their clothes are nondescript, designed not to stand out. No identifying marks or insignia. But as I check their pockets, my fingers close around something cold and metallic.
I pull it out, holding it up to the light. It's a coin, unlike any I've seen before. One side bears the image of a twisted tree, its branches reaching out like grasping fingers. The other side shows a symbol I recognize from my studies of underworld lore – the mark of the Ebon Conclave, a secretive group of elder demons.
"Well, that's not good," I murmur, turning the coin over in my hand.
The implications are chilling. If the Ebon Conclave is behind this assassination attempt, it means I've attracted the attention of some very powerful, very dangerous entities. But why? What could they want with me?
I pocket the coin and continue my search, but find nothing else of note. Frustrated, I step back and survey my captive. There has to be more to this.
An idea strikes me. I hurry behind the bar, gathering ingredients. If I can't get answers the conventional way, perhaps alchemy can help.
Working quickly, I mix a potent truth serum. It's a complex brew, one that Deus had only recently taught me. As I work, I can almost hear his gruff voice in my ear, guiding my hands.
"Careful with the nightshade essence," I imagine him saying. "Too much, and you'll have a corpse instead of a witness."
Once the serum is ready, I approach the still-unconscious assassin. With a grimace, I force their mouth open and pour the liquid down their throat.
Now, all I can do is wait.
As the minutes tick by, my mind races with possibilities. Who else might be involved? How deep does this conspiracy go? And most importantly, where is Deus?
The assassin begins to stir, groaning softly. I tense, ready for anything.
Their eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they take in their surroundings. When their gaze lands on me, I see a flicker of surprise, quickly masked.
"Good evening," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I think it's time we had a chat."
They remain silent, glaring at me defiantly. But I can see the truth serum taking effect, their pupils dilating slightly.
"Let's start with something simple," I continue. "Who sent you?"
The assassin's jaw clenches, fighting the compulsion to speak. But the serum is too strong.
"The Ebon Conclave," they grit out, looking furious at their own admission.
I nod, having expected as much after finding the coin. "Why? What do they want with me?"
This time, the answer comes more easily. "You're a threat. Your power... it's growing too quickly. The angels fear what you might become."
"The angels? You're working with them?"
A chill runs down my spine. I knew I'd been improving, but to be considered a threat enough for angels to ally with demons?
"There's more," the assassin continues, the words spilling out now. "They don't just want you dead. They want to make an example of you. To show what happens to those who upset the balance of power in the underworlds."
I take a step back, my mind reeling. This is bigger than I could have imagined. It's not just about me – it's about the entire power structure of this realm.
"And Deus?" I ask, dreading the answer. "What do they plan for him?"
The assassin's lips curl into a sneer. "Deus is a fool. He should have known better than to protect you. The Conclave has plans for him too. Even as we speak, they're–"
Suddenly, their eyes go wide. They begin to convulse, foam forming at the corners of their mouth.
"No!" I cry out, rushing forward. But it's too late.
The assassin gives one final, violent shudder, then goes still. Their eyes, now glassy and lifeless, stare up at the ceiling.
I stumble back, my heart pounding. This wasn't supposed to happen. The truth serum shouldn't have caused this. Unless...
Unless it was never about the serum at all. Unless the assassin had been prepared for this very situation.
With trembling hands, I examine the body more closely. There, almost hidden beneath the collar of their shirt, I spot it – a small, empty vial on a chain around their neck.
Poison. A failsafe to ensure they couldn't reveal too much if captured.
I sink to the floor, my back against the bar, as the full weight of the situation crashes down on me. The Ebon Conclave wants me dead. Deus is in danger. And I'm alone, with a corpse in the middle of the bar and more questions than answers.