Fiction Teens & Young Adult Science Fiction

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

Peregrine is equal to a general or commander, depending on the person's original status, they could also be the King or Queen, depending on how many battles they’ve been in, and how many they’ve won. A Peregrinez is (usually) the advisor of the Peregrine.

"You did it. Finally."  

My hands tremble as I look down at my hands. I see massive claws, dosed in blood. Why did I do this? How did I do this? I force myself not to look at my hands, and I look at the uneven floor.

 I feel bile rising up in the back of my mouth. Around me are multiple bodies littered, all at different stages of being dismembered, but still ripped apart enough you can't tell what they look like, and who they are.

"Ugh, you're supposed to be an assassin! Not a weakling!" I look up at the person that talked to me. It was the Peregrine! I averted my eyes, and I bow my head.

"Peregrine." I murmur. I didn't expect the Peregrine to be here!

 "Assassin Yvanna," They snap. "I expect you to clean up after the kill, and not just stand there! Hurry!" I don't need you to tell me that! I bite back my snarky remark.

"Aye, Peregrine." I mutter, and start mopping up the blood with the mop leaning on the cobbled wall. I make a mental note to thank whomever put it there, so I didn't have to clean up the blood with my shirt again. I shudder at the thought.


After cleaning up the mess, I finally get a good look at where I am.   

I'm in an unfinished cellar, and notice that the Peregrine left. I sigh with relief. At least I don't have to deal with them.

I shiver. I hurry out, feeling like they can see me. 


I open the battered but polished mahogany doors, leading to a massive hall, with a glittering gold and red carpet. Great glass windows indicated that it was currently dusk. Laid out in neat rows were long and battered tables, which were currently filled with boisterous dukes, and tittering duchesses. At the back was another long table, this one laid out to face the other rows. It was inlaid with gold, and was not battered like the other tables. 

It had a three intricately woven thrones, one for the Peregrine, one for the Prince, and one for the Peregrinez. The Peregrine’s throne was the biggest and was pure ruby, and was a mass of vines, tipped with razor-sharp thorns. The Prince’s was the darkest of onyx, and was a writhing group of snakes, and intwined at the top was a shimmering black opal. The Peregrinez’ throne was the smallest, and was made out of a massive gleaming amethyst, with opals studded throughout the throne. Next to the thrones were smaller chairs, for the people who caught their fancy. 

As I stalk into the hall, I notice that the Prince was looking at me. Don’t look at me! Find someone else to stare at! My eyes widen in horror as he waves me over. I slowly walk over, unsure if this was a trap or not. As I sit down, he leans forwards, and grins at my discomfort. 

“Who was the poor chap this time?” I grimace. No need to be blunt! 

“Sammael Meadowhall, and his family.” He nods. “Never liked ‘em.” He replied, and then grinned again. 

“So, what are you doing tonight?” He asks. I’m stunned into silence. Did he just ask me out? What is wrong with him? 

“Training, like always.” I answered coldly. His face clouds over. 

“Well, then. I guess I should get going now.” He gets up and leaves, leaving me staring after him, worrying thoughts swirling around my mind. Did he want me to giggle and blush like the other girls? He should know by now that I’m not exactly a normal girl, I’m an assassin. I scowl. He needs to grow up.

 I pick at my food, the urge to eat suddenly gone. That urge has turned into the urge to train, and to take all this pent-up energy on something. I stand up, ignoring all the curious and ogling stares, and I walk out, banging the massive mahogany doors out of the way, and through the throngs of people, itching to get a glimpse of the revered Peregrine’s assassin. I glare and leer at all of them, seeing their shocked faces. Didn’t think I was a 16 year old girl, huh? Think again. When I finally reach the end, I cut into another long mahogany hall, carpeted with a rich red carpet, and beautiful oil paintings blanketed the walls. Probably some rich aristocrat that painted it. I suddenly felt repulsed by the paintings, and I stepped away from them, quickly hurrying on. 


I kick open the stone door, frustrated and tired of all the stares. Inside was the training room. It had cobbled walls, smoothed down by all the years of wear. The ground was covered with foam, with multiple punching bags hanging down. There was a selection of weapons for combat training on the side, the weapons gleaming in the light.

I walk into the massive room, and run over to the punching bag. I start to punch it repeatedly, and the pun

ches start to quicken. Soon my fists are flying through the air, and I only see blurs. 

A chuckle sounds throughout the room. I falter, and find the source of the noise. 

“Prince? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping away from the bag. He emerges from the dark corner. 

“I wanted to see you.” He stares at me as if I was stupid. 

“I didn’t think you really meant that.” I said dubiously. He sighed and rubbed his face with his palm. 

“I didn’t make that really clear, huh?” Shaked my head. Another chuckle escapes his mouth, and he walks over to the punching bag. 

“I don’t think you punch faster than me.” He smirks. I fake being shocked. 

“Why, I think I am faster than you.” He doesn’t answer, and he starts to punch it multiple times, each getting more and more sloppy. I start to form a plan. I can use him. 

                        Part 2 coming soon!

March 10, 2022 23:14

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