I gave my life to assassination. My hands, these ruthless instruments, still sticky with the memory of the warm blood that clung to them, have snuffed out hundreds of thousands of existences. Without a blink, without a shadow of a doubt, in air thick with the metallic, acrid smell that filled my nostrils with every strike. When the order came a name whispered in the shadows, a target I struck like an inexorable shadow, my heart beating to the muffled rhythm of my felt-soled steps on the damp ground, with no need for gold or glory.
I was forged in the fire of death, the burning metal of the forge engraved in my skin, designed for a single purpose: to kill. And, may the gods curse me, I sometimes took a vicious pleasure in it, an icy shiver that shot up my spine, reminding me I was alive amidst the cold, rigid corpses, their last breath still warm on my cheek.
LOVE... That cursed organization that raised me from the stinking abyss of sweat and fear, that honed me like a blade, the screech of metal on stone echoing in my ears. Fed on blood and secrets, I swallowed the bitter taste of forced loyalty.
I was their perfect puppet, their invisible strings pulling on my aching muscles, their unrivaled monster. Anathel, the Silent Death, whose name alone made the air around me shudder like a frigid wind. They cast me out like a mangy dog on my last mission, the stench of betrayal sharp in my throat, condemning me to oblivion in a muffled scream. But they underestimated the demon they had created, that roaring beast seething beneath my skin.
Every operation was a masterpiece of lethal precision: measured to the millimeter, invisible, relentless, with the tick-tock of an invisible clock hammering at my temples. Not a trace, not a clue, not even a stray drop of blood beading on the icy ground. My victims? They evaporated, erased from the world's canvas as if they had never existed, their final glassy stare etched into my retinas, a hoarse whisper escaping their lips before absolute silence. A gasping breath, and then... the void. Brutal, absolute, the echo of their fall resonating in the emptiness of the night.
But betrayal struck me like a dagger in the back, the cold blade sinking into my flesh with a wet crack, the coppery smell of my own blood filling the air.
LOVE, my masters, my creators, sold me for a reason I still don't know, their treacherous voices whispering in the dark corners of my memory. I was there, on the brink of the abyss, body broken, blood flowing in crimson rivers on the cold, sticky floor, each drop hitting the stone with a sinister plop. Wounded like a novice by shadows craftier than I, their muffled steps approaching in the darkness, I felt life leaving me, drop by drop, in a whirlwind of throbbing pain radiating from my gaping wounds, the rage burning like a red-hot iron in my chest.
Death reached for me, mocking, its putrid breath brushing against my clammy skin, and I screamed inwardly against this unjust fate, the salty taste of tears mixing with the blood on my lips. Why me? Why now, in this cold that numbed my limbs?
Yet, by divine irony or a curse the gods granted me a poisoned grace, the wind howling around me like mocking laughter. I survived. Crawling out of the darkness, every breath a ragged agony tearing at my lungs, every heartbeat a cry for vengeance pulsing in my veins like a burning poison. My hatred, that black flame, survived with me, more voracious, more destructive than ever, its fire crackling in my bones, consuming me from within with an infernal heat that will not be extinguished until justice is done.
Now, it's my turn. I will make those who broke me suffer, inflicting upon them the same searing pain, the same glacial cold that invaded my veins. Not with a solitary blade, no, whose whistle in the air I already miss.
I must become stronger, transcend my mortal solitude, feel the collective power vibrating around me like a buzzing swarm. A network of puppets that I will manipulate without mercy, their hearts beating to the rhythm of my orders, lost souls with haunted eyes, tools forged in my own throbbing pain, which I will use to hunt down LOVE's secrets, to uncover the why of my condemnation in the stale smell of their lies. They will pay for every second of my agony, for every life I took in their name, the taste of their fear on my tongue.
Only then, yes, only at that precise moment when everything aligns in perfect chaos, the air charged with electricity, will my vengeance descend like a storm. Ruthless. Inevitable. And the world will tremble before Anathel, resurrected from the still-smoldering ashes, the ground trembling beneath my steps.