bonk

“What.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, yes. You never were the smartest, were you, Darius?” His voice purred Ademar’s true name, one his “father” had given to him.

“Where did you learn that?” Ademar asked, barely more than a whimper. He would have growled at Mason had he not been so terrified, his ears stuck to the back of his skull as he cowered. He held onto a broken staff as if it would help him now.

“You may have thought you were slick, but a simple lock wouldn’t keep me out of that journal of yours, and you knew it.” Mason claimed, leaning back on the support beam behind him in a casual way despite the pure malice in his voice, each word dripping with a new poison that seemed to dig the dagger in Ademar’s shoulder deeper into the socket it made for itself, causing a small pool of blood to collect at his knees, of which he sat on, attempting to shuffle away.

This prompted no more than a sigh from Mason, who produced another dagger from seemingly nowhere, spinning it in his hands, trained fingers gripping effortlessly around the handle.

“Why did you lie to me?” He asked with an eerie calmness. The dagger was inches, no, a fraction of an inch from Ademar’s face. He could see his broken and mangled back face in the reflection. A sorcerer low on mana was never a match for the assassin.