Location: Secluded area near Edin avenue and flora road conjunction.
Tsukigami had been leaning against the wall for a few minutes now. Dressed in the Sorian guard uniform, he had blended in with the guards here now as well as he had at the ball. He had stationed himself near the door and watched until his target had finally entered, late and with the princess. It was not difficult at all for him to recognize Wystan’s face, especially since he had been so close for a moment. Following him for the rest of the night had been the trickier part. But once he saw Wystan make his way to the back gates, Tsukigami had put two and two together: He was off to find the rebellious royal children who had snuck off to Marek’s party.
From that point, Tsuki had decided to position himself along the wall of the noble district like other guards were. Wystan would have to leave through that exit after all. The moonlight shone over him, comforting him in his tense state. After all this time, Wystan had been living quite literally like a King, meanwhile… He gritted his teeth.
The bodyguard in question appeared then. Mounted atop a dark steed, he rode towards the opening of the district at top speed, seemingly eager to get somewhere. Under the brightness of the moon, his robes billowed in the wind granting him an almost graceful appearance, especially in the eyes of those without knowledge of the weapons concealed beneath them. Wherever the destination was, it was certainly important to him. Even from afar, anyone would be able to see that his gaze was clear, keen, and focused on it, almost like a sharp blade thrown swiftly through the night, inching closer and closer to its mark. Such was fitting for the watchdog, a mutt born from the ring and born a second time again as the prince’s living and breathing weapon. If he was not efficient, or deadly, then he was nothing.
Alongside him rode a fellow in a cap. Sitting on top of a fairer horse with a more lax posture, his was a gaze less serious than his leading rider. Perhaps a friend, perhaps a contingency plan. Either way, they both seemed to be acting purposefully. Such could be gathered when the watchdog barked an order at his companion, coupled with an aggressive yet obscure gesture with his arm. Still, the capped man understood. In a few whips and a bout of encouragement, he urged his own mount faster, speeding far ahead from the bodyguard. In no time, he was gone.
Upon confirming this, Wystan pulled on Dusk’s reigns, riding off into a more deserted part of the residential area.
Tsuki caught sight of the
traitor as he rode past and knew he could not waste another second. Even now, he recognized the look on Wystan’s face when he was on a mission. He had always been so focused. But now that would be his downfall as perhaps for once, Wystan would not see something coming. He strung an arrow on his bow with ease and charged forward. Swiftly, he rolled forward on the ground and knelt as he pulled the arrow back and let go, letting it fly toward Wystan and past his face. He knew it would miss, but it would be enough to get his attention.
The sudden displacement of air urged the bodyguard to lean backward on his mount, narrowly missing the arrow by a single hair. In the time it took the projectile to embed itself in the nearest wooden door, Wystan had already dismounted and given Dusk a rough clap on the back. Having seemingly understood her owner and the danger that was about to ensue, the horse galloped away without a second wasted.
With all else out of the way, the watchdog followed the trajectory of the arrow’s flight before scanning the environment. Sure enough, hidden behind the shadows of the residential buildings, the sender was concealed. He faced himself forward, readying both hands to unsheathe his weapons should they choose to reveal themselves. Assassination attempts like these were commonplace, and more often than not, he was prepared to deal with whoever decided to take the risk against him. A fact was made clear to him, however. And one that put him on his best guard.
…Whoever sent that arrow missed on
purpose.Tsuki removed the false guard armor, dropping it to the ground as he stepped forth into the light of the moon.
“It’s been a long time, traitor.” A masked figure stood before the watchdog. His eyes were filled with deadly hatred and lifted his chin as if to signify his condescendence toward his enemy.
“I will kill you for what you have done to me,”Tsuki spoke with smoldering conviction. He then pulled the sword from its sheath behind his back. Then Tsuki charged toward Wystan.
Without any hesitation, the target deftly guided away the blade from his chest. The stranger’s forward thrust was an exceptionally strong one, and after narrowly dodging its path, gave the watchdog enough time to unsheathe his own blade. There was without a doubt in his mind that this perpetrator’s movements were practiced. Eloquent in the way he spoke with his sword. Perhaps even honed specifically to kill.
”Whoever you are, I have no time for you.” He raised his seax in a defensive guard.
”I am not the person you are looking for. Step aside.”Tsuki moved along with Wystan’s motions. His expression had twisted with mixed emotions underneath the mask. His words were the final nail in the coffin.
“You’ve forgotten me, Wystan Blackmane.”He retorted, his voice both pained and cold. He shook his head in repugnance. He raised his gaze to meet Wystan’s, his eyes red with both emotions and with fury.
“You disgust me.” Tsuki said finally with deep anger. He passed with the forward thrust; Tsuki ducked low sweeping his foot towards Wystan's legs in an attempt to trip him, turning his head to keep an eye on his opponent and positioning his sword to strike if he fell.
The night was dark, but the watchdog’s senses stayed sharpened. He promptly stepped backwards to avoid the sweeping movement, but not without a bit of a struggle. It was not the man’s advances that shook him - it was his words.
”...You– How do you know of this name?” The bodyguard spoke as he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to glean the attacker’s identity. Of course, as the second prince’s retainer, many knew of his name… but not of his patronym. This was a fact. Aside from the Danrose family and his closest messengers, not many should have known of the watchdog’s surname. It was a false moniker, after all. One that birthed him the right to enter the ring and fight for his life. Why did this man know of it? Why did this move to anger him? Who has he forgotten?
Without waiting for a response, Wystan raised his sword to the masked stranger and spoke with words cold as steel.
”...Rid yourself of that visage. If you wish to fight, then show me who you are.”Tsuki stood up,
”So, you really cannot tell… I shall reveal the truth.” He stated as he lifted his hand to his mask, unclipping the buckles that kept it stationary on his face. He let the mask drop to the ground.
“Was it really that easy to forget me, Wystan.” The face that stood before him was one that Wystan knew very well aside from the fact of glowing red eyes and long black hair.
“I was turned into this, and when I came to, you were gone. I once believed we would get out together but I survived for years after you left me in the pits. I killed everyone in my path to reach you.” The emotions in his words were a volatile mix of sorrow and hate. Tsuki readied his sword and stood there motionless ready to strike at any sign of an attempt to attack from Wystan.
“What will you do my friend?””...””How dare you…”The watchdog huffed as he spoke, fist tightening painfully around the hilt of his sword. If one were to listen close enough, they would have been able to hear his heart thundering against the padded layers of armor. If one were to have looked close enough, perhaps they would have seen the bodyguard’s hands quiver just a moment before moving to strike. But outwardly he was unmoved, the gold in his eyes dulled over years and years beaten down under a thousand fists; his heart cut into by a hundred or more knives. And yet, this was something more painful than any jab to the face and stab to his ribs.
This was the face of a man he once spent his earliest life with, wondering each day if they’d be alive for the next. A man he once fought with, bled with, and called ‘brother’. A man that he was sure to have seen killed in front of his eyes, and whose life ended long ago. And now…
No, it simply could not be. A hundred days spent wishing would bring no friend of his back from the dead, no matter how badly he wanted it. This much he knew for sure. Wystan refused to believe him.
”I have betrayed not a single man...” He growled behind clenched teeth.
”...because all those that I once knew are now dead.”With that, the watchdog rushed forward into the perpetrator's boundaries and raised his sword arm into a downward slash.
Tsuki sneered.
“I see how you feel about me.” He said as he parried the attack of Wystan’s blade. He kicked Wystan back,
“What more do I have to say for you to believe me, 118. I am far from dead. But I will make you wish I was.”Tsuki said with hatred boiling in blood, attempting to slash Wystan’s stomach.
The bodyguard barely regained his composure just in time to step back from the quickness of the attack. Even as the blade only found purchase in the leather of his armor, a jolt of… a feeling completely unfamiliar to him suddenly froze him in place. It was as if his body grew a thousand times heavier; the grip on his blade loosening ever so slightly. The watchdog rarely ever made mistakes; for accidents and unforeseen circumstances on his watch were his responsibility. However, for the first time, the watchdog felt that such a fact had been disproven with this man’s utterance of a single phrase.
118. ”...”Wystan’s sword fell slack as memories of his past caused him to falter in his stance.
”...””…117. There can be no way…” The bodyguard desperately readjusted his grip on his blade. His nails were short, but they still dug into his gloved hands enough to turn his knuckles white.
”...There is no way that this can be you…”“This cannot be you.” The watchdog’s tone was grave, anguished, and heartbroken all at the same time as he tried to convince himself. In ragged breaths, his chest began to rise and fall harder this time. His grip had tightened so much that his fist began to ache from the pressure as for the first time in a long time he pleaded for reality to play on his side.
”Tell me that this is a sick, horrible joke, you bastard. Tell me that this a figment of my imagination.””...Tell me that this is not real!”Perhaps this was fate’s way of playing games on those who were brought into this world and made to survive unwillingly. Because more than a decade ago, Wystan cried out the same string of words when he had heard the ringleaders announce his dear friend’s untimely passing. Tsukigami, his only brother in the world didn’t need to share the same blood as him; he only needed him to stay by his side until they could leave the ring together. He only needed to stay alive. However, now that could never happen. The young Blackmane had tried to forfeit his life on stage the next day, submitting himself easily to his opponent as his limbs were torn into and his vitals damaged. It was then that Prince Auguste had found him broken and nearly dead. Perhaps it could be considered a wholly fortuitous event - a show of rare kindness gifted to him by fate herself… but obviously, good things do not come on their own without taking from him. If only he had double-checked with the ring leaders then. If only he had more faith in his friend to survive that fight.
If only he did not have to stand here on this day, with nearly buckling knees, begging for the man he used to know to simply be a product of delusion.
” This can’t be you, right…””...Tsukigami?”Tsuki took this moment of faltering and swung his sword to Wystan’s neck, stopping the moment it touched skin, drawing blood. A tsunami of emotions and memories ran through Tsuki’s body and mind. He remembered all the years they had spent together, all the fights they fought, how they promised each other to get out together. A single tear dropped from his eyes as he had trembled, staring at his old friend. For the first time, he was unable to kill someone.
“Yes…Wystan.” He spoke, his voice shaking with emotions. He dropped his sword to the ground, running off behind a building and disappeared.
Wystan paid no mind to the thread of crimson that opened up and trickled down his neck. His own sword fell to the ground, the bodyguard wholly unsure of what to make of the situation. With his mind racing at a thousand miles per minute, he struggled to calm himself down despite not having moved at all after Tsukigami seemingly disappeared. Whether it was for his own good or the watchdog’s, it did not matter. The workings of his head swelled, almost threatening to pour out of his eyes as his heart ached, but for some reason his face stayed bare. It had been too long since he had shed his last tear, and too long since he’s forcibly learned to keep them all contained. And now after all this, they were filling him up with no place to go. He balled up a fist and slammed it hard against his chest. Teeth grit against each other as he repeated this over and over in a desperate attempt to ease the furious beating inside his chest. It would not stop.
Perhaps it would have been easier if he had killed him instead.
Several long minutes passed writhing in pain. What frustrated him more was that he himself could not understand where it was coming from. The bodyguard would continue to struggle until he’d finally manage to catch his breath laying on his side, gasping for air as he kept a palm on his chest to steady his breathing. As he slowly regained his sense of composure, he shambled to his feet and picked up the sword Tsuki had left behind.
It felt heavy in his hands. Incredibly heavy. Dark as the night. The sound it made as it swung through the air was phenomenal, and perhaps Wystan would have stood to admire it if only the circumstances had been much more… different. In fact, there were still traces of his own blood on it after being nicked ever so slightly with its exceedingly sharp edge. Needless to say, it was an excellent weapon of a high caliber; one he wished to return to its owner. For what reason? Even he did not know. All forms of thought were wiped clean.
There was much left to do, after all. Prince Auguste would be expecting him by the end of the night with Anastasia and Callum safely in tow. Those two hadn’t left his mind, and thus he effectively decided to shelve Tsuki for now. There was only room for so much in his mind and heart; the latter of which being normally what gets a man killed in this line of work. This event was more than enough proof for it.
A whistle sounded through the night air. In a few minutes Dusk appeared once more at her owner’s call, and they were once again on their way. A deep sigh left him as he rode, not forgetting to sheathe Tsuki’s sword. It was at this moment that he noticed a strange series of grooves at the bottom of the hilt. With a swift flip, he rotated the sword in one hand as he rode in the direction of the warehouse, and on the underside it read:
”Blackmane.” 
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