Soul of Blades -  Interlude: Omnicidal Fred (Patreon)

Godfred, level 67 Omnicidal Hitman

A month ago, Godfred had been the greatest assassin this land had ever seen.

They had called him ‘The Reaper’. People had even begun to attribute him to unexplained deaths. A foolish king fell from his balcony after nights of drunken hedony? It was the Reaper, they would say. Godfred had thought it was a silly name. But he couldn’t blame them for it. after all, his true exploits were unrivalled. His accomplishments were stuff of legend. He was a ghost to those who had only heard of him in hushed tones, a legend made not of appearances but of absences.

His acts had been tales told in all corners of the world, marking him as the most silent of agents, a shadow that even darkness feared to embrace. His name was whispered in fear, yet none could claim to have seen his face. He had navigated the labyrinth of the undercity, unseen, to eliminate this era's king of thieves, a figure whose existence was so shrouded in secrecy that his existence was a mere rumor, much like his own. He had journeyed across a sea that reflected no stars, boarding a ghost ship to dispatch its captain cursed with immortality, slipping away as if he were never there. A judge, too noble for his own good, heart ceased in a crowded courtroom with not so much as a blemish. All of it Godfreds doing. And most recently, He had infiltrated the impregnable fortress dungeons, places untouched by sunlight and guarded by creatures of myth. Alone, he bypassed wards, beasts, and traps, all to assassinate a sleeping demigod.

But that was a past life, before his magic and aura had been stripped from him.

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. The magic that had defined him, the very essence of his being, had vanished, replaced by something new. Where once there was a seamless flow of movement, a certainty in each step, now there was hesitation. The world seemed different, sounds quieter and colors brighter, as if he had been reborn into reality as a babe. The world had blurred edges now, colors and shapes melding into one another where once clarity reigned. But it didn’t matter. 

Now, he was just Fred. 

A reset, they had called it. A chance to start anew. Fred scoffed at the notion. The loss of his magic and Aura had not diminished him; it had distilled him to his core. Skills honed over a lifetime of shadows and darkness now came to the forefront, guiding his hand, his eyes, his steps, his everything. It required adaptation, a return to basics, to the core of his being as an assassin.

There was a purity in this challenge, a return to the fundamentals of his trade.

And not to mention the benefits of his class. Its skills and capabilities made him more of what he had once been. He did not see it as being diminished, or even reset. No, Fred had been refined.

His class skills had made his life so much easier, and his passives had expanded his range. Presence of the Mundane would force those around him to constantly overlook his being, and experience a strange form of mass hallucination. He didn’t even need to wear a skin mask!  It was freeing, and allowed him to experience a form of normalcy that had been alien to him his entire life. It coupled well with his other passive skills, like Divine Alias, which allowed him to choose a fake cover-class. But his favorite skill of all, Two-For-One, had even given him a few temporary cobbler skills! No longer would he have to spend days or weeks learning cover-trades before jobs. 

To Fred, the reset was pretty damned great.

And to be honest, he found the life of a cobbler strangely fulfilling, with its simple days and novelties. The quiet warmth of the town's citizens had been a refreshing change from the constant fear and grandstanding he faced from others familiar with his trade or victim to it. He no longer found himself acting when interacting with civilians, he was being himself for the first time in his life. Perhaps if he had not fallen into the profession of assassination, he would have been a cobbler or a shopkeep? Perhaps that was his true calling?

In a past life, maybe.

Ash and hardened magma crunched underfoot as he pursued his unknowing guide, his thoughts returning to the present. His latest Job was proving to be as interesting as his past ones, moreso, in some ways, given the unprecedented nature of the events he was witnessing. He had been following a strangely capable man, Alex, to the center of the incursion before he’d lost track of him— how was he so fast? Fred wondered idly before dismissing the thought to refocuse on his target; the red light in the sky. Alex’s speed and secrets didn’t matter. The only thing Fred cared for was completing the job.

He had been paid a hefty sum to complete this task, in materials and enchanted equipment of a quality and durability he had never seen, despite his wealth of experience. And so the Job would be done, not because he was the best, but because Fred was a professional.

Whether it was a system reset, an incursion , or the end of the world as they knew it, to Fred, this was no different from any other day, any other  night, or any other job.

***

Shadows shifted up ahead, twisting into shapes no human could make, gathering like they were gearing up for something big. The shadows moved through the smoke in Fred’s path—a demonic army? Several armies? He paused and studied the demons, noting their numbers, their movements, their leadership.

Just more targets.

The job was the same. Eliminate the target, complete the contract. Demons or men, it didn't matter. He calculated, planned. No fear, no sentiment—useless emotions on the job.

Someone powerful wanted this dungeon closed.

The first step Fred took was not a declaration of war but a commencement of work. His blade, his skills, his mind—those were what he relied on. Magic was a convenience, not a crutch. He moved, a silent shadow among shadows.

As the first shadow took form, a creature of nightmares made flesh, he stabbed, and it died like any other. Fred’s blade spun, finding its mark through a maze of guards, unnoticed. He stepped between light, his skill, Lightless Void, causing its rays to miss him entirely and rendering him invisible. Red flesh parted effortlessly, cascading into maroon bursts as he moved among them unseen, a silent reaper hidden from all’s.

The back line fell in droves of confusion, demonic soldiers wondering as to why their comrades collapsed without cause to unexplained injuries. Blood drenched him, water mixing with mud at his feet. His grip on the blade remained firm, an old friend in his palm. 

An alarm sounded, panic ensued.

More soldiers fell, and more soldiers rose to take their place. How many of them are there? Fred wondered, exhaustion creeping into the edges of his movements. This is going to take forever, he lamented internally, before moving to complete his goal.

The blood fell harder, a relentless cascade blurring the edges of his vision. The world seemed smeared, like a painting left out in a storm. He watched the droplets carve rivers through the air, and settled into the task at hand.

Then they saw him; a momentary shift in the dark. One had a perception skill, Fred’s Appraisal had labeled it as ‘Dispel’. It removed his camouflage and forced him into the light. Fred stood surrounded and exposed, his veil of secrecy shattered.

A sea of armored demons stared up at him. Monstrous variants lurched forwards, his equal in height. Fred stared down. And then he saw the demons raise bows.

The job started.

As the first arrow cut through the air, time seemed to fold upon itself. The moment stretched, filled with the acrid scent of fear and the sharp tang of steel. He noted the archer's lower level, his stance, the bow's tension— “Amateur. Return Death,” he muttered. The arrow landed in the archer's eye.

Then they surrounded him, an endless number of infernals with levels of all ranges, few of them matched of his own. Fred scoffed. 

The confrontation was brief; His blade sliced, and demon flesh parted like dark curtains, revealing nothing but boiling blood behind. The demonic soldiers fell. Their mages, consumed by overconfidence, never sensed the strikes that silenced them forever. 

A champion stepped forward to face him, armed to the teeth in defensive gear. The ground itself appeared to recoil from the demons' touch, the earth scarred by the darkness that trod upon it. Fred’s enchanted blade found gaps no armor could cover, guided by experience honed beyond mortal limits. Breath steady, he exhaled with a stab and breathed in with retraction, measured. 

The champion fell. More champions rose to take his place, an endless stream of soldiers, enraged.

Fred’s blood fell, too. It's just water, he thought, scanning the blood red and flame filled sky. Drops hit the ground, keeping him grounded. A strike landed, breaking past Fred’s defences. More strikes were repelled by his armour but shook his bones. Fred tutted in irritation. More of his blood fell, now. The reset had weakened him, dulled his senses. And the soldiers. There were just so many of them, too many. 

“Evil Malleus.” He heard a dying demon call him as he impaled it, flinging its lifeless form into the masses.

“Evil Malefica.” Its comrade raged as he chopped wide, bisecting many.

Evil? Me? Fred laughed, his blood spraying at the action to paint his lips. “Foolish. Our system has no morality.” 

His next swing was a statement. Then a block to counter a demonic champion's rebuttal. It slashed, and Fred’s stab was a final argument made in the language of warfare.

An arrow pierced his thigh.

He snapped its shaft in frustration. It would take him way too long to reach the center, and he was starting to get tired.

How in Pyra’s name did Alex manage to make it so far? He wondered, arching his back to lean out of the path of a swinging mace.

No matter. He had done this before, countless times. Names and faces, forgotten. Only the job remained. This was what he did. Nothing changed. Not even now.

Another arrow pierced his side, and lightning struck his back. Fred hissed in pain at injuries he hadn’t felt in years. He swung, and the offending archer fell, bisected. He stabbed, and the lightning wielding demon fell, but Fred’s movements had begun to slow.

This isn’t working, if this continues… I could die. He had to return to his fundamentals; the essence of assassination. It lay not in brutal conquest or open combat. His profession shone brightest in the dark, in stealth.

“Lightless Void,” Fred vanished into the spaces between light and moved with the certainty of one who knew no doubt. 

Forwards. Blade met flesh. Flesh gave way. Again. And again. A bloodbath. In the distance, Alex raced with speed, a whirl of blades, magic, and demonic blood. Fred twisted, keeping clear of innumerable deadly swings. Two versus an army.

Amidst the clash, a single demon's eye reflected a world turned to fire and ash. brief glimpses of despair that moved in the form of a human— no, a spectre of death. The blood of its kin hung in the air, suspended in time as the spectre moved in ways it could hardly follow. It finally caught sight of the spectre's blade, cutting through the entirety of its being. Too late. It fell, dead.

Another demon took its place. Targets fell, one by one. More targets surged to take their place. 

This isn’t working, Fred repeated internally. A blast of heat and flame singed his back, and Fred gasped in pain and realisation. It was impossible, and he would soon have to retreat or face death. He couldn't make it in time, there were just too many, and they were too strong. 

But Alex, far ahead in the center was still alive somehow, though not for long by the looks of things. Despite the distance, Fred could see it clearly.

The army of demons didn’t slow down. They didn’t waver. they were running, chasing a young man across the flame twisted space. Following him.

The man with an unreadable class rocketed through the battlefield at speeds that caused Fred’s eyebrows to raise in surprise. He moved so fast that he appeared to stretch, leaving after images to all but those with the highest of levels. Fred noted with mild interest that Alex drew ever-closer to Fred’s true target— the incursion crystals. Fred had been tasked with destroying them, but It appeared that Alex had the same goal, though he wouldn’t survive its execution.

A smirk tugged at a single corner of Fred’s lips. Elation, the first real emotion he’d felt all day.

It seems as though this job would complete itself, he concluded, fading into the darkness between light in retreat, much to the confusion of the surrounding demonic soldiers. 

He would no longer offer his aid. 

Alex was on his own.