Chapter Text
The halls of the mansion are quiet and still. It’s a calm, foreboding silence, as if the walls are holding their breath, knowing what will happen tonight. The quiet is only broken by the click of heels on the floor.
She walks languidly. Not too slow, but not in a rush, either. She knows she will reach her target one way or another. It’s only a matter of time. The Thorn Princess never fails.
Another day, another traitor to be purged. Another late night that could have been spent with her family. Lately, Yor has found herself finishing her jobs as quickly as possible. Her work—both her day and night job—is fulfilling, but her time with Loid and Anya is even more so. Yor has never been a demanding person, able to make do with very little and still be happy, but her family is one thing she requires in her life. Everything else is null. She imagines Anya’s excited hug and Loid’s gentle smile when she arrives home, and she picks up the pace. Yor can’t arrive home too late, after all. That would be suspicious for a mere civil servant.
Just like that, she’s outside the bedroom. Yor lifts a leg and kicks the door down. She’s not in the mood for stealth today.
They were expecting her. Her client is standing toward the back of the room, flanked by bodyguards on either side. She wonders how they knew.
“Thorn Princess.”
Over the course of her career, Yor has witnessed all sorts of emotions from her clients in their dying moments. Fear, anger, resignation. In one or two odd cases, even awe from the ones who were gone long before she put a blade through their hearts.
The emotion she sees this time around is new. It’s… smug. As if he has Yor right where he wants her. Like he is not about to die at her hand.
It’s unsettling. She doesn’t know what advantage he thinks he has, but she hopes it’s not a real one. No matter the case, Yor is quick to push her misgivings aside. Doubt has no place in her mind when she is Thorn Princess. An assassin cannot afford to doubt herself before the kill.
Yor raises a golden stiletto. Her intentions are plain as the moon on this cloudless evening. They all know why she is here tonight.
“Excuse me.” Her voice rings out slow and steady. Almost lazily, the way her words roll off her tongue. “I heard that a traitorous scumbag lives here.” She counts eight bodyguards in total. A pity—he knew Yor was coming, but he only prepared this much backup. “Is that you?”
“You don’t want to make another move, Thorn Princess,” her client says. How laughable. He thinks he’s in control here.
Yor takes a small step forward, poised like a viper to strike. She continues like she never heard him speak. Scum like him doesn’t deserve a response. “In that case… May I have the honor of taking your life?”
His fear is poorly concealed. Yor can see the cold sweat beading on his forehead and the tremor of his figure. He impresses her when he only takes a step back reflexively. The bodyguards tense when her eyes rove over them analytically, wondering which one she should kill first.
“I said you don’t want to make another move, Thorn Princess,” he repeats. “Or should I say Yor Forger?”
It takes Yor a heartbeat to realize what he just said. She’s just decided to start with the one on the far right when her mind makes sense of his words. She immediately lowers her weapons. His confidence earlier suddenly makes sense.
“How do you know that name?” she demands. Yor has mentally prepared herself for all sorts of scenarios when she’s on the job. Enemy assassins as skilled as her, or traps set to eliminate her before she even reaches her client. Shockingly, though, Yor has never anticipated anyone figuring out her identity. She becomes aware of this as she frantically tries to remember what she should do in a situation like this.
He doesn’t offer an answer. Instead, he smirks. Because, Yor realizes, he has wrested control of the situation out of her hands with a single sentence.
“128 Park Avenue,” he says simply.
Yor feels the breath escape her body. The room suddenly feels too small and suffocating.
“A home of three, the lovely Forger family. The father, a well-respected psychiatrist, Loid Forger. The daughter, Anya Forger, a bright young girl attending Eden Academy.” He smiles. “And of course, the mother, Yor Forger. By day, a civil servant. But what her husband and daughter don’t know is that by night, she is Ostania’s deadliest assassin. Thorn Princess.”
He has Yor’s complete attention now, and he knows it. She glares at him venomously. “If you even touch them—” she snarls, taking a threatening step forward. Yor can barely restrain her fury. But she needs to know what he plans to do with his knowledge before she paints the walls with his blood.
He continues. His smile only becomes wider as he speaks. “I believe some men of mine should have already paid your lovely family a visit.”
Yor knows that her principles are quite… skewed, to say the least. It’s to be expected. She is an assassin, after all. She doubts her mind is fully intact anymore. Not after all these years of bloodshed.
But there is one thing Yor is dead certain of. Target her, and that is fine with her. Yor is an assassin. If, one day, she finds herself looking down the edge of a blade, if she feels the muzzle of a gun pressed to her skull while carrying out her profession, that is to be expected. One day, she knows she will get what is coming for her.
But her family. Loid and Anya. They are innocent and pure. They are all that is good in this world. Loid, with his warm demeanor and soft smiles and the gentle lilt of his voice. And Anya, all bubbling enthusiasm and wide eyes of innocence and her heart of gold that uplifts everyone around her.
Loid and Anya are off limits. And if anyone dares lay a finger on them, Yor will destroy them.
She barely restrains a growl as she charges forward, but the bodyguards stand in her way. They point their weapons at her as if it could actually make a difference.
“Return to your home peacefully, and they won’t be hurt. You will find a note telling you where you can find your precious family.” He looks all too proud of himself. He still thinks he will actually walk away from this alive.
Yor will enjoy this.
“Now, are you willing to cooperate—”
She’s on top of the first bodyguard in an instant. Yor doesn’t waste time on his hired help, too eager to get her hands on the client himself. Her vision is a haze of red as she runs the bodyguard through with a stiletto and yanks the blade out of their chest. She ducks right before gunfire pierces the air and kicks the shooter in the ribs. A satisfying crack of a ribcage rings through the air as they go flying back. Their head hits the wall with a thud, and they slump to the floor. They don’t stand again.
Yor flicks a stiletto through the air at another bodyguard who reaches for their gun. It impales their throat. She’s down a stiletto now, but it hardly matters. They’re all dead anyway. Lunging for her next target, she slits their throat cleanly with her other blade. Picking up a nearby table, Yor turns it on its side to shield herself from incoming bullets and then throws. It crushes the duo firing at her from across the room, and they go down immediately. Blood paints the surface of the previously pristine table a vivid crimson.
There are only two bodyguards left. They stumble back, hovering protectively in front of their boss. Their grips on their guns are shaky, having witnessed Yor take out six of their colleagues in a matter of seconds. They know they are next.
She strikes quickly and cleanly. They let out strangled gasps even as blood pours out of their throats. Their bodies hit the ground with two resounding thuds.
It’s just their boss now. The scumbag who dared threaten her loved ones. Yor strides forward, covered in blood that isn't hers. Her actions are guided by a haze of bloodlust, but it hardly matters that she’s lost her focus. She is seething, and she lets that fury propel her forward, riding on pure killing intent.
“W-wait! If you kill me, then my men will kill your family! You don’t—” His pathetic pleas are cut short when she stabs her stiletto through his shoulder. It goes out the other side and impales itself in the wall, pinning him in place. Yor turns to retrieve her other stiletto while he screams in agony.
She turns back to him. He watches her approach, terror written all over his face. His eyes are dulled from pain and blood loss, but he is undoubtedly aware of everything that is happening.
Good. Yor wants him to feel every painful moment of his demise.
Twirling the stiletto and wondering where to stab him next, Yor speaks. Her voice shakes with the anger sizzling beneath. She makes no attempt to hide it. “You dare threaten my family,” she hisses. “You thought you would get away with laying your grimy hands on them. If I find out a single hair on my husband or my daughter has been harmed, I will find everyone you care about and kill them all slowly and painfully. I’ll make sure to give them deaths far worse than the one you will have at my hands. And I will enjoy every minute.”
Yor has picked her next target by now. The chest. Not the throat or heart because that would be too quick a death, but she really does need to be on her way. As much as she wants to stay and make this lowlife suffer, Loid and Anya are infinitely more important than her desire for revenge. Yor needs to make sure they are safe.
She stabs him. He cries out weakly, lacking the strength to do much more than whimper and sob. Yanking out the stiletto, Yor decides to leave the one in his shoulder where it is. He will stay there, pinned against the wall, until he bleeds out or passes out from the pain and bleeds out anyway. She does hope he’ll stay conscious the whole time. And she has spare stilettos strapped to her thigh anyway.
The room reeks of blood. It’s splattered everywhere, painting the walls and soaking the luxurious wine-colored carpet a deep scarlet. It stains Yor’s skin, and she knows it will be a pain to wash off later. But she has no time to clean up right now. Loid and Anya’s safety is at stake. There could never be anything more important than them.
It’s deathly silent, as if the walls have released the breath they were holding. Thorn Princess has eliminated her client, but the job is far from over for her. The pale moon hangs low in the sky outside the window. The sole witness to her deeds, and her one consistent companion.
The only sound that penetrates the quiet is the click of her heels against the floor.