The Silent Blades were phantoms. They moved through Veridia's shadowed underbelly like smoke, their reputation built on impossible infiltrations and ruthlessly efficient assassinations. Their leader, a man known only as Kage, was a master of his craft, a man who believed no target was unreachable, no fortress impregnable. The contract from Baron von Hess was the most lucrative of his career, but also the most unsettling. The tales of the Slum God were wild, contradictory. Kage, a pragmatist, dismissed the stories of exploding heads and golden statues as fear-induced hyperbole. He believed the target was a powerful, unknown mage, likely with hypnotic abilities. A difficult target, yes, but not a god. A fatal miscalculation.
On the third night after accepting the contract, Kage and his elite cell of six assassins prepared to infiltrate the Sanctuary. They were clad in shadow-spun cloaks that drank the light, their faces covered in dark masks, their blades coated in a fast-acting neurotoxin. Their plan was simple: slip in under the cover of the new moon, use the slum's chaos as cover, locate the 'Slum God' in his slaughterhouse den, and end him before he could cast a single spell. They were ghosts, and ghosts could not be fought.
They reached the border of the Sanctuary, a stark line between the lawless chaos of the rest of The Pit and the eerie, watchful quiet of Ravi's domain.
"Something's wrong," Kage's second-in-command, a woman named Silka, whispered, her voice a dry hiss. "It's too quiet. No screams, no fights. It feels… watched."
"Fear is a powerful sedative," Kage replied, his voice a low rasp. "The locals are terrified of him. It works to our advantage. They will not interfere." He scanned the area with his preternaturally sharp eyes. "No guards, no patrols. Arrogant. He thinks his reputation is enough to protect him."
He gave the signal. As one, the seven assassins melted into the shadows of the Sanctuary, their movements utterly silent, their presence less than a whisper on the wind. Any normal guard would never have detected them.
But the Sanctuary's Warden was no longer normal.
From her perch atop a tall, dilapidated hovel overlooking the main approach, Mira's eyes glowed with a soft, golden light. Her new, blessed senses were a revelation. She didn't see the assassins with her physical eyes; she felt them. She felt their murderous intent like a cold, sharp sting in the air. She felt the subtle ripple their cloaked forms made as they displaced the ambient energy of the slum. To her, their 'invisibility' was as plain as a painted target.
A cold, fierce smile touched her lips. They thought they were the predators, sneaking into the fold. They had no idea they had just walked into the lion's den, and its warden was hungry.
She did not raise an alarm. The Slum God had given her a command: to be the first line of defense. She would handle this herself. It was her duty, her honor, her chance to prove the worth of his Blessing.
She sent a silent command, a pulse of her newfound will, to the ex-Red Fang enforcers patrolling the inner sanctum. Intruders are present. Secure the God's den. Allow no one to approach. I will handle the hunters.
Then, she melted from her perch, not climbing down, but dropping into the shadows with an unnatural silence and grace that rivaled the assassins' own.
The Silent Blades moved deeper into the Sanctuary, their confidence growing with every unchallenged step. The slaughterhouse loomed ahead, a dark, menacing silhouette.
"Three at the front, four of us will scale the rear wall," Kage whispered his orders. "No survivors. No witnesses."
As the group split, Silka and two others moved down a narrow, mud-choked alley. The silence was absolute, pressing in on them. Suddenly, Silka held up a hand, freezing her team. She had the uncanny instincts of a survivor. She felt a gaze upon them.
"Show yourself," she hissed into the darkness.
A figure stepped out from the shadows at the end of the alley, blocking their path. It was a young woman, clad in simple slum garb, holding no obvious weapon. It was Mira.
The assassins relaxed for a microsecond. A lone girl.
"You should not have come here," Mira's voice was calm, but it held an edge of cold, hard steel that made the hairs on Silka's neck stand up. There was no fear in the girl's eyes, only a chilling, predatory light.
"Kill her. Silently," Silka commanded, already dismissing the girl as a tragic, foolish obstacle.
One of the assassins lunged forward, his poisoned dagger a blur aimed at Mira's throat.
What happened next defied all logic and training.
Mira didn't dodge. She met his lunge, her hand shooting out, catching his wrist in a grip of impossible strength. The assassin's eyes widened in shock behind his mask. Before he could react, Mira twisted. A sickening CRACK of bone echoed in the alley. She didn't stop there. The golden energy within her surged. She drove her other palm into the assassin's chest. It was not a physical blow; it was a focused blast of divine force.
The assassin's body was thrown backward as if hit by a cannonball, his chestplate caving in, his body slamming into the far wall with enough force to shatter brick. He slid to the ground, a broken mess.
Silka and the remaining assassin stared in stunned disbelief. The raw power, the speed, the sheer violence… it was impossible.
"Who… who are you?" Silka stammered, her hand tightening on her own blade.
"I am the Warden of this Sanctuary," Mira declared, her eyes glowing more intensely. "And you are trespassers."
She moved. She was a whirlwind of golden energy and righteous fury. The third assassin, a large, brutish man, swung a heavy short sword. Mira weaved under the blow, her hand, now glowing faintly, touching his side. He screamed, a high, thin sound of agony, as the divine energy coursed through him, searing his nerves, paralyzing him instantly. He collapsed, twitching, smoke rising from the point of contact.
Silka, her professional calm shattered by abject terror, threw a trio of poisoned darts. Mira simply raised a hand, and a shimmering, translucent golden barrier materialized before her, stopping the darts in mid-air. They clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Telekinesis. Energy blasts. Superhuman strength. This wasn't a girl; this was a monster. A demigod.
Silka knew the mission was a catastrophic failure. She turned to flee, her mind screaming at her to escape, to warn Kage.
She didn't get two steps. The mud at her feet suddenly churned, rising up to grasp her ankles like solid hands, rooting her to the spot. Geokinesis.
Mira walked slowly towards her, her eyes burning with cold fire. "Your poison cannot harm me. Your blades cannot touch me. Your sins, however, have marked you for judgment."
"Please…" Silka begged, her voice cracking, her years of ruthless training forgotten in the face of this supernatural horror.
"The Slum God offers no mercy to those who would defile his home," Mira said, her voice final. She placed a hand on Silka's forehead. A flash of golden light, and Silka went limp, her mind wiped clean, her consciousness shattered into a million pieces, leaving only a breathing, drooling shell.
Kage and his team at the rear of the slaughterhouse heard nothing. They scaled the wall with ropes and grappling hooks, landing silently on the roof. They found a skylight and peered down into the main den.
It was empty, save for the crude throne. The target was not there.
"He's not here," Kage hissed. "Find him. Search the building."
As they spread out across the roof, the very stone beneath their feet began to glow with faint, golden runes. Kage froze, recognizing it as some form of magical trap, but it was too late.
The runes flared. The divine authority Ravi had imbued into his den erupted. It was not an explosion, but a wave of immense gravitational force. The assassins were slammed down onto the roof with the weight of a collapsing mountain. Bones snapped under the pressure. Their shadow-spun cloaks were useless against a power that warped gravity itself. They could only lie there, crushed and broken, gasping for air, their minds reeling in agony and disbelief.
From the center of the roof, the stone and wood warped and reformed, creating a figure that rose to its feet. It was Ravi. He hadn't been hiding; he had been one with the building, observing, waiting.
He looked down at the broken, groaning forms of the world's most feared assassins, his face a mask of cold, divine contempt.
"You hunt a god in his own temple?" Ravi's voice was not a sound, but a pressure in their minds. "Such arrogance. Such folly."
Kage, his legs and ribs shattered, stared up at the impossible being, his mind finally, horrifically, accepting the truth. The stories were not exaggerations. They were understatements.
"What… are you?" Kage choked out through a mouthful of blood.
"I am the end of your contract," Ravi stated. He raised his hand, and the golden runes on the roof flared with a final, annihilating light, incinerating the broken assassins, their weapons, and their cloaks, leaving behind nothing but blackened scorch marks and the lingering smell of ozone.
A moment later, Mira arrived on the roof, her face flushed with the thrill of her victory. She saw the scorch marks and bowed her head. "Slum God. The hunters have been dealt with."
"I saw, Warden," Ravi said, a note of approval in his voice. "You have wielded my Blessing well."
He turned his gaze north, towards the Onyx District, his eyes narrowing. "The assassins are dead. The message must now be delivered to the one who sent them."
Baron von Hess, cowering in his manor, believed he was safe, awaiting news of his success. He had no idea that his failed gambit had just moved him to the very top of the Slum God's list. His judgment was no longer merely forthcoming.
It was imminent.