The Rising Sun: Episode 3
Night stretched over the realm like a vast, star strewn blanket, and a tingling chill was left to spread over the air. Here, in the Igrac hills that was somewhere in the middle of the planet Enro, the cold aura about the place at night was nothing short of ordinary.
The hills sprouted over the land in various heights ranging from mere stubbles to towering mountains. With stout, shapeless plateaus sitting amidst them. The moon and the stars together shone down, leaving a feeble blue glow upon the ground below.
Ion scratched his neck with one hand, the other one holding a crumpled bit of paper. He let his narrowed eyes wander over the entire scene before him, surveying it closely. His cloak rippled in the gentle breeze as he stood here in the middle of the hilly expanse.
He unrolled the paper held in his hand and let his eyes run down it slowly, reading it for the tenth or so time. The paper containing the details of his next target, the vigilante whom which Grando wanted him to hunt down.
The man’s identification, as in the case of most of Ion’s targets, if not all, was unknown. All that was known of the vigilante was that he wore an iron mask and a black fur coat. He happened to utilise a range of weapons, all of them high on the techno scale, varying from electro guns to gas bombs. He was a master in stealth and precision, a well trained spy who had managed to infiltrate their bases for short spans as technicians or other low level workers, before taking the entire base down.
Grando’s intelligence network had managed to uncover that this guy was working alone, secretly trying to target and bring down terrorist organisations bit by bit. Grando’s secret head base was his prime target and Grando was assured that the guy would make a trip there soon enough, if not put a stop to. And that was where Ion, the master hunter/ assassin known in the field, came to place.
Ion had set forth on this hunt a few days ago, after a day’s rest following the previous one. He had managed to get a very faint string of clues to lead him to this place, where the attacker was last spotted in a nearby town in a security camera. The cameras also recorded him hiking off into the hilly region on his bike. And so, Ion had happened to drop by here to have a date with this mysterious vigilante. A killing date.
His keen eyesight sharpened the landscape around him, which was pitched in far detailed accuracy that to any other ordinary person.
He took in a deep breath, before strolling down the lands, his ears and senses kept peeled in high alert. He knew the slightest sound or movement from any stray traveller anywhere closeby would fall to his grasp immediately. And his target, unfortunately for him, was no mystic to sense Ion approaching from nearby. All Ion needed was to manage to wander close to wherever the vigilante was now. If he did, everything else would be taken care of with the help of his shadow like stealth: he would creep upto the target without even letting him know, and then slit him by the throat.
But he frowned, remembering that Grando preferred this target alive. He had wanted to torture the brat who had given him so much trouble, before putting him out of his misery. And Ion thought, savagely, that he would like to watch this as well. Torturing non mystics had been something of a delicious leisure activity for him. And who better to torture than his own targets – for whom he would get handsomely paid as well.
He strode down the land with a measured pace, a cat like softness in his steps. To somebody standing closeby, he might have looked like a shadow left to run loose without an owner. He trotted down the place for a few minutes, passing hill after hill, and even climbing over a few of them to scan the entire lands below with a higher and wider view. But he saw no one for miles around. But just because he didn’t see them, it didn’t mean someone couldn’t be lurking about the shadows, beyond his range of sight.
He continued to plough up and forth the hills, his ears kept pinched for the meanest whisper of sound anywhere around him. Half an hour or so passed fruitlessly, leaving his hopes to dwindle.
Almost giving up, Ion took a seat on a rock outside the opening of a small cave at the foot of the hills, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
Guess I was wrong. he thought. He’s probably left this place by now.
He realised now that there was quite a very slim chance that his target was still roaming somewhere around here. A spark of anger arose within him: he now realised he had to start all over again, tracking down this guy from scratch again.
Great!
Just as he rose and headed down the land grumpily, he froze, his ears twisting. Going sharp like an Elfling’s. His gaze slowly travelled across and stalled at the entrance of the cave before him…
Was he imagining it? … Or did his ears just sense the faintest of movements from inside of that cave? Letting his jaw fall slightly, he stood there with a rigid stillness, blocking everything else out from his mind. As the seconds scrolled by, he heard it again … movement inside of that cave. And with it came the undisputable movement of cloth as well.
Ion’s heart halted as a glimmer of hope found his vision. Was there really someone inside that cave now? Because if there was, Ion knew it had to be none other than his target. The vigilante. He stalled his racing hopes or a second, wondering briefly if he was, in his over enthusiasm, imagining things.
Well, only one way to find out…
Ion warily moved by the side of the rock, laying his back against it. Stopping for a quick, steadying breath, he slowly slid his hand over his sword handle. And he moved in towards the entrance with his back still plastered to the wall so that, if there really was someone within, they wouldn’t see him entering.
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