Assassin Fate/stay の小説・ストーリー

9 Years Later Baylee’s POV He roars, slamming his fist into the warrior’s face one final time before the guy collapses to the ground, unconscious. The crowd erupts, pushing toward the bookies to collect their winnings. Caden pauses to catch his breath, his chest heaving. But then his eyes lift—and lock onto mine. A rumbling growl vibrates from deep in his chest. “Aw crap, he’s going to kill us,” May mutters, grabbing my arm and yanking me back.

See how my love was reduced to nothing. The first person to react was Caine. He shot up to his feet and looked at me with so much hatred as if I had just disrupted his favorite game. “What’s the meaning of this Aiden? Can’t you see that she’s about to be executed?” He barked. The way he said it made me want to deal with him at once.

An insult to me and everything I believed and stood for. It was foreign, annoying, and entirely impossible for me. Such a predicament only happened to weak men—and I damn right wasn’t weak I pressed the nozzle deeper into her neck. “I’m not falling for anyone," I snapped, “she’s a mission. Nothing more. When the time comes, I’ll finish it. I’ll off her and walk away without looking back.” It felt like I was talking more to myself than to her.

“I just don’t know if, in this life, you’ll still become the richest man in the country after being with me.” I meant it as a casual remark, but Mark lowered his head and kissed my hand. “I’ll work hard. Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone who hurt you go.” I nodded, then asked if what Lily said about him was true. He sighed and tapped my forehead. “You’re overthinking. I’m a law-abiding citizen.” I let out a breath of relief. As long as he was fine, that was enough. Less than two months later, news came from the prison that Jackson was dead.

"If he breathes, he dies." The figure didn't move. "Jack Sterling. Value: High. Threat: Moderate. Probability of survival: Zero." The assassin vanished. Active camouflage. He was gone instantly, blending perfectly with the gray rain and the white walls. "Back to back!" Jack ordered. They stood in the rain, weapons drawn, aiming at nothing. Jack strained his ears. The rain was his enemy now. It masked the assassin's footsteps. Swoosh. A displacement of air to the right. Jack swung his sword, a horizontal slash intended to decapitate.

“But we are what was left behind.” One of the others a tall, eyeless man whose skin shimmered like broken glass spoke in a voice that echoed with dozens of tones. “You killed the Quill.” “I did.” “You shattered the pen,” said a girl with birds instead of hair. “I had to.” “And now,” whispered the assassin twins in perfect harmony, “the stories must write themselves.” Ashen stepped closer, page extended. “Give me a name.” “What?” “A real one,” she said. “Not Ashen. That was your placeholder. Give me something meant to last.”

Lucian kicks him unconscious. I grin. “Don’t steal my fun.” Claws rip through his hands. I meet him head-on. He slashes my chest. Pain burns across my skin. I grab his throat and lift him clean off the ground. “You should have stayed home.” Then I slam him head-first into the asphalt. The ground cracks. He doesn’t move again. Three left. They hesitate now. Fear finally creeps into their scent. I slowly roll my neck. “You came to assassinate your king.”

“In fact, if you hadn’t released me, I would still be in that cell believing Bram was the best person in the world, without my wolf and waiting for death. I owe you everything.” “You made your own choices once you opened that cell door,” I said firmly, “you shape your destiny. People give too much power to Fate, but you look so much more like yourself.” We wound our way along the narrowing path until we came to a fork in the road, Bella appeared stumped, so we stood there waiting for a clue. It came in the form of a shout, a male’s raised voice to the left side of the gully. As we made our way down, I almost screamed as the huge form of the assassin appeared.

Gabriel said, “I didn’t much want to be alive. Ten years of waiting, not knowing if the pull would ever lead anywhere. So I found the most dangerous work I could.” She waited. “I was an assassin, Honor. A professional killer. I took contracts — targets — and I eliminated them. That was my life for the better part of a decade.” She stopped walking. He stopped too, hands in his pockets, and let her look at him. Let her take the time she needed to put it together, to decide what she thought of it. He’d learned enough about her to know that rushing her to a reaction she hadn’t fully formed would only make it worse.