Chapter 62: I never miss my target
"She is that dangerous?"
Gurn slowly shook his head, his fingers nervously playing with his cigar. "Ask Roland Strain," he replied simply.
"The late patriarch of the Spear Clan?"
"Yes," confirmed Gurn while nodding. "And avoid ending up like him."
"I see..."
Silence settled between them. Andromeda extinguished her cigarette against the ashtray.
She stood up slowly, her legs slightly numb from the hours spent sitting. "I will come back if I need more information," she said while heading toward the door.
When her shadow materialized into a human form, a blade sliced through the air toward the back of her neck.
Andromeda spun around with supernatural speed, the assassin’s blade passing just a few millimeters from her throat. She landed in a combat stance, her narrowed eyes fixing Gurn with icy fury.
"Old pig, what does this mean?" she asked, her voice low and threatening.
Gurn had not moved from his couch. He was calmly smoking his cigar, a satisfied smile on his lips. Around him, the shadows stirred and materialized. About ten second sense chi users emerged from the darkness, their faces hidden behind dark masks.
"Well," said Gurn while shrugging.
"it turns out that the Sword Clan paid a fortune to know Blood Moon’s location. And Lord Vamp gave his approval." He took a long puff. "So... I apologize for being rude..." He made a casual gesture with his hand. "Catch her!"
The twelve chi users leaped simultaneously, their blades tracing deadly arcs in the air. Andromeda remained motionless for a moment, then she exploded into movement.
"Bunch of idiots," she said with contempt. "You think I am afraid of you?"
Her black blade sprang from its sheath. She twirled the weapon around her wrist, creating a protective circle that deflected the first attacks. The first assailant dove toward her, his blade aiming at her flank.
Andromeda dodged with a hip movement, her blade coming down in a precise arc on the man’s wrist. He let out a muffled cry as his hand fell to the ground, still clenched on his weapon.
The second attacked from behind, hoping to take her by surprise. Andromeda did not even turn around. She bent her knees, lowering herself under the blade that passed above her head, then rose in an explosive movement, her blade plunging backward. She felt the resistance of flesh, then the body collapsed behind her.
The next three charged in formation.
Andromeda stepped back one step, then two...
When they were close enough, she suddenly changed direction, slipping between the first two like an eel. Her blade spun, slicing the tendons of one’s legs, perforating the throat of the other. The third screamed and threw himself at her, but she disarmed him with a precise kick to the hand, then finished him with a clean thrust under the ribcage.
The fight was fast and brutal. Andromeda did not even need to use her chi, contenting herself with precise and deadly movements, each gesture calculated to maximize efficiency while minimizing effort. She danced between the blades, avoiding them by a few millimeters, her counterattacks always fatal.
Her blade spun then struck to the left, hitting an artery, then to the right, perforating a lung. The two men collapsed at the same time.
The last four retreated, their eyes wide behind their masks. One of them let out a cry of rage and threw himself at her, but Andromeda cut him down with a simple circular movement of her blade, the tip opening his throat before he could land his blow.
The remaining three then understood they had no chance. They lowered their weapons, their shoulders slumping in a gesture of surrender.
Andromeda ignored them, turning toward Gurn who had not moved from his couch. Her blade spun one last time, projecting the blood of the defeated onto the room’s carpets before sheathing it.
"Old pig," she said while approaching him, her steps silent on the floor littered with corpses. "This does not look like you. I thought you were smarter than that. You could have just asked me to kill you if you wanted to die so badly."
She placed a hand on the low table, leaning toward him. But she noticed something strange in his expression. Gurn did not seem stressed, not in the slightest. He was smoking calmly, his eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
"If you kill me," he said in a calm voice, "Lord Vamp will send someone to take care of him. What is his name again..." He pretended to think, his fingers drumming on his cigar. "Ah yes. Daemon Shaytan Dagon."
"What!?" she exclaimed, her voice betraying an emotion she had not shown for years.
Andromeda felt her heart stop for a fraction of a second. Her hand instinctively went to her blade, drawing it and placing it against the portly man’s throat before she had even fully realized the movement.
The blade pressed lightly against Gurn’s skin, enough for a drop of blood to bead on the surface.
"And what makes you think I give a fuck about the fallen heir of the Sword Clan!" she spat, her fingers trembling slightly.
Gurn laughed softly, without fear, his life hanging by a thread but that thread was stronger than steel. "So, Blood Moon, do you really want to take that risk?"
"You really want to die!"
"Lord Vamp knows that you had infiltrated the Sword Clan to kill him," said Gurn. "But strangely, you missed your target and he suddenly unlocked his chi core..." He paused, clearly savoring the effect of his words. "And everyone knows that you never miss your target."
Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade. She remained motionless for a few seconds.
"..." She stayed silent. Then she opened the door and left.
"I think there is something fishy going on," continued Gurn, his smile audible in his voice. "You know, when you have been in the business as long as I have, you learn to sense secrets. And you, Blood Moon..."
Andromeda stopped and spun around, kicking the door open. The wooden plank slammed against the wall, and she found herself facing Gurn again, her blade already drawn.
"Indeed," she said in an icy voice, "I never miss my target."
She closed the distance between them in a flash. Her black blade traced a perfect arc in the air, slicing the portly man’s throat before he could make a single gesture. A trickle of blood beaded along the cut, then began to flow more abundantly.