Blood beaded then gushed from the young princess's neck. The canyon of open flesh spanning from ear to ear. The assassin gripped her face with a gloved hand. In one small insignificant gasp, her heart pumped its last, rushing the warmth out of her. In the night broken up by spots of moonlight the blood turned black against the white sheets. Her nightgown soaked in the liquid, her pale slender form floating in the puddle. Her dead eyes, once a brilliant green, stared blankly at the ceiling.

The assassin's inky lips curled up in a wicked fanged smile as he capped the container he had held to her throat. Wiping his curved blade on the pillow, he slid it silently back into its leather sheath. His enchanted boots made no noise as they stepped across the stone floor. The room was under construction and was not meant to be slept in for several more weeks. A sliced open tarp with warding symbols stitched into it hung where the masonry was still being laid. The assassin had bypassed the wards easily with his employer’s amulet, the foul device now swung from his neck by string.

The secret to this whole plot had been the princess’s stubbornness, that she slept in the unfinished room despite the danger. What a foolish little girl, thought the assassin as he admired himself in the vanity mirror. The subterranean cretin did this often for among his people he was regarded as attractive. Here on the surface, among the humans, they would recoil at his jutting cheekbones, knife edge nose, and hair braided into tubes meant to resemble the snakes that they worshiped in the underground. It was best for his kind to keep hidden and he had, perfectly to this point. In the organization of this plot they had not accounted for the creature’s greed. That life in a land of dull slate and granite, anything with a shine was sacred.

Forgetting the slain girl behind him, his fingers traced the lines of an ornate golden brush on the counter of the vanity. He was supposed to place the vial to the amulet and be on his way out, but he could stand to be a few items heavier. Especially when those items were shining with a holy glow in his bulbous white eyes. So, like a flash the brush and several jeweled hair pins went into a pouch on his belt. A tiara, there must be a tiara around here somewhere, he thought. More, more, there had to be something to make a female swoon before him. The princess was only fifteen but they must have given her a lavish circlet by now. It would make him the most popular Midnight Elf in his city. No, females would flock from all around the cold dark to praise him and his shining stolen pieces. Stolen no less, from a princess of the Magi Kingdom when he had opened her neck to the air. The Burrowing Serpent would bless him with a magnificent find now, he prayed, gesturing to the taken life in his silent invocation.

The wind started to blow in from the hole in the tarp as the assassin perused the top drawers of the vanity. Nothing. The middle drawers. Nothing. Come now, Serpent, he thought, I have offered you such a sacrifice. Angry, the assassin tugged the handle of the bottom drawer. He jumped back from the sheer noise, a klaxon driving a knife point into his sensitive ears. A holographic image of the dead girl popped up from the drawer. The figure, very much alive, stuck its tongue out at the assassin. “You meanie, trying to steal my crown!” it repeated over and over again each time almost louder than the last.

The assassin tried to yank his hand away, but it stuck there, thin vines working their way up his wrist. His knife slashed, but the vines were quick to regrow. A door was thrown open and foot steps pounded against the stone. The door to the bedroom swung open, throwing the hall light in. “Lulu, what's wrong?” asked a tall girl in the doorway flanked by two guards.

The assassin hissed at the light.

The oldest princess, Diana, looked from the bed to the man at the vanity. Diana's hand moved almost on its own, forward with her fingers splayed. Her magic went into the ground and brought forth a sapling with a jagged edge headed straight for the assassin's face. The assassin took a branch point to the palm. Plucking his bloody, splinter laden hand free, he swung the amulet at the vines. A wave of unnatural energy came sparking out from it. The vines slithered away and the image fizzled out of existence. The sapling fell over dead as well, just as it was about to go in for a second strike. The assassin stood quickly and launched a steel knife toward the doorway.

The guards, their shields taking up half their bodies, stepped mechanically forward, creating a barrier of metal for the knife to bounce off. They advanced toward the creature, shields up. One guard slid expertly to the side of the assassin and drew his sword, swiping at his torso. The assassin hopped atop the vanity to avoid it, but could not dodge completely as he took the tip of the sword to the meat of his bicep. He had drawn his curved dagger, but the guards were a wall of shields. He successfully dodged two more swipes, but he was slowly getting boxed in with the stone behind him. More footsteps echoed down the hallway. A fierce roar broke through the night as a brilliant white tiger tore through the tarp hanging on the unfinished wall.

The tiger defended the hole in the wall like a mother protects its young. Ears back, its eyes were glowing from the light of the hallway, its long fangs ready to sink into him. The assassin reached into a pouch and threw down a smoke bomb as the guards lunged at the same time as the mass of fur and muscle. Their swords hit nothing but wood. The assassin had snuck under the two guard’s shields, bones cracking as his joints bent in like a serpent. He kicked at the knee back of one guard, causing him to stumble into the vanity. He sprinted past Diana, who had been moving towards the body and continued on toward any exit not blocked by the tiger.

He heard another roar and dared a look back to see the tiger chasing him. As he looked forward again his limbs were struck with steel bands. The metal clapped together restraining his hands to the front and feet together as well. Two court Mages floated several feet off the ground in the hallway. They wore long buttoned coats and their bodies were bound mostly in long lengths of white cloth.

“Target neutralized, Brother,” said the female Mage, Rose.

“Should we dispose of him, Sister?” said the male, Iris.

They deliberated a moment, all their focus on the magnetism of the metal. The assassin floated, shackles the same polarity and thus opposed to each other. Every time he tried to reach down or bring his feet in, his hands were rocketed away from his feet. There was no slithering out as they pressed into his bones.

Diana and the tiger, Aiko, reached the assassin and the two Mages. “He killed Luann!” said Diana, fighting through her sobs. Her young face was flushed red and her teeth were grit.

“We know,” the Twins said calmly and in unison.

“Kill him!” Diana pleaded.

“The head of the guard will be here shortly,” said Rose.

“Let him decide what to do,” finished Iris.

Diana raised her hand.

The Twins raised their hands as well to stop her.

All the small bones in one of the assassin’s hands collapsed in on each other, a last resort for those that worshiped the Serpent. A most devout act, momentarily turning his hand to a sack of bones held in by flesh and twisted up muscles. His ruined hand of tangled up tendons clasped as a clumsy mit on the vial tucked in his belt. Bringing the tube of glass to the hanging amulet it vanished with a flash of light.

“What was that?” Diana asked, lowering her hand slightly.

“The princess's blood,” said Rose.

“The Wood Tombs,” said Iris.

“Get me out of here!” the assassin screamed.

“You are no longer necessary,” spoke a crackled voice from the amulet.

“What?” was the last word ever spoken by the assassin before he was engulfed in a raging fire that took only a moment to reduce him to ash even with the twins trying their hardest to extinguish him.

<><><><><><><><><>

Deep in the Wood Tombs, located in the mountains miles from the castle, crafted guards kept watch over those that refused to die. The guards here were not meant to see the light of day. They shuffled around the torch lit tunnels in clanking armor day after day without rest. Some of their skin had flaked off over the years so that their magical glowing cores were visible.

Hanging from the ceiling was an elven thief holding a vial of blood in her teeth. Her long lanky body crept ever closer to her goal. Her pale skin stood out in the faint light but the guards never looked up as part of their watch. The doors were heavy enough and no one was allowed to teleport in or out.

The guards left the corridor of their most important prisoner. The thief hopped down from the ceiling and shook the dirt from her fingers. Before her stood a Wood Tomb, the only one in this section.

Encased in branches was a skeleton slightly larger than that of a child. Wood curled around the rib bones and encircled the spine. The thief checked over each shoulder, uncorked the vial of blood, and emptied the contents into the skeleton's mouth. The jaw clattered shut as the wood withered away from the skeleton. Muscle, sinew and tendons started to grow like moss on the bones. Eyeballs appeared in each socket and filled with liquid. Alabaster skin grew over the fine red mess of muscle. Fat filled out the hips, small breasts, and few other places on the petite form. Finally colorless hair sprouted from her head.

She took a deep breath as her black eyes saw for the first time in a long time. The resurrected being stepped forward, catching herself, despite the thief’s attempt to intervene. The small woman who had caused so much death rose, breathing in fresh air, savoring that which she had been denied for two hundred years. She snapped her fingers and a black band of cloth appeared around her chest as well as a short skirt around her waist.

The thief bowed before her. “Mistress Blodwyn, we have long awaited your return.”

Blodwyn smacked her lips, “Whose blood did you use to release me?” Her voice was a cruel high pitched noise.

The thief was stunned by the question. “Princess Luann, she was of the Orchidrin line, whose grandfather you battled against.” She stopped herself before she said anything about Blodwyn losing.

“Ah, good,” she smiled.

“We had better hurry and leave before the guards come back.”

“Oh, they know, and I prefer it that way.”

The clanking of a guard came down the hallway. One appeared from out of the shadows. It froze instantly, an image and message being telepathically conveyed to the castle guard. Then the guard rushed forward silently with his sword drawn, for false humans do not need to yell. Blodwyn flicked her finger with a giggle and the humanoid creature exploded into bits. The glowing core’s shards sliding about the pathway and fading to a permanent dullness.

“I haven't had a chance to stretch in so long,” Blodwyn said. Her fingers flexed out and the earth around them erupted in fissures. The thief staggered back from the resulting earthquake, cowering behind the General. “Don’t worry, little one, I can reduce this entire mountain to Ash if I need to.” She grasped the hand of the much taller woman. “I think I hear more targets down the pathway. They aren’t as fun to pop as a person, but enjoyable enough.” Blodwyn went skipping along, dragging her savior with her. The night air filled with the exploding bodies of the guards and the shattering of Wood Tombs. No one was as lethal as she, but no one is suspended in an eternal prison without good reason.