attic. He wondered what the sound came from and looked out the frost-covered window. What he saw outside his window stopped him suddenly. He took a large step back, running towards his desk. When he reached his desk, he swiftly opened the drawer and pulled out a silver dagger. He turned back to the window, holding the dagger in defense.
Across the street, standing on Dr. River’s roof was a shadowed figure. It was human, but very tall and menacing. The figure threw something at the edge of the roof and there was a flash of flying sparks from the impact. Then the figure sprinted and thrust itself off of the roof in a ludicrous leap, but was equipped to swing back on a rope and was flung back at the house, blowing right passed the glass window and entering the house. The figure disappeared, but moments later, shadows appeared in Dr. River’s room. Seconds later, Artimus heard a scream, but this was coming from the house of Dr. Williams.
Another moment passed, and then came a figure in the window in front of Artimus. The figure shattered the window in seconds and entered the room. It spoke. “A dagger isn’t going to help you.”
Artimus was hesitant to respond, “Do you need some sleep?”
The figure stepped forward; it was a hooded man, and in his hand was a large blade. “Your wit won’t save you.”
“Be gone, assassin,” said Artimus. It was quick –he leaped forwards, driving the dagger into the hooded man’s body. They both stumbled towards the window. The assassin, struggling, obtained grasp of Artimus and pulled back, pulling them both through the shattering glass. They fell to the snowy ground and there was a loud cracking sound upon landing. The assassin had been stabbed in the lung and had a broken rib. He staggered when he tried to stand up, bleeding heavily from his injuries.
Artimus stood and picked up the dagger from the bloody snow. “Mr. Charlie shall receive a message from me,” he began. His breath was visible in the chilling moonlight.
Another voice came from the darkness. “Why not deliver the message yourself?” Coming forth from the shadowy mists was Mr. Charlie. He stood by the assassin with Edgar at his side. “Doctor!” shouted Mr. Charlie. He approached Artimus and stopped dreadfully close. “This world was always on the brink of its downfall,” he said.
“Why push it?” Asked Artimus. “Is there a purpose to all this madness?” He staggered.
“Purpose? Of course, Doctor.” Mr. Charlie wiped his hands on his coat, and spat in the snow, as if just finishing a distressing job. Another person came forward in the fog, Edgar. “But madness? Wrong word, I’m afraid. It’s an alleviation.”
“Why shouldn’t I kill you now?” Artimus asked, still holding a tight grip on his dagger, now standing fully.
“I’m curious, Doctor,” Mr. Charlie began, “How is your fear of death?”
Artimus looked directly into the enraged eyes of Mr. Charlie and replied. “I would not fear death, but what comes after.”
Mr. Charlie took a step back. “And what do you suppose that is?” He motioned with his hand telling the assassin to come forwards. As he did so, Artimus answered.
“I’m not certain, entirely.” He took a heavy breath, for the wind was cold. “But I can tell it will not be in your favor.”
Mr. Charlie raised his chin, in thought. Moments later, he turned to the assassin and said, “Kill him,” and stepped back, towards his chariot. Edgar followed, and started the engine. The assassin nodded and began to walk forwards towards Artimus.
Artimus gripped his dagger tighter and raised it. Suddenly, the assassin halted. His swift movements became rigid jerks, and he stood still in front of
Across the street, standing on Dr. River’s roof was a shadowed figure. It was human, but very tall and menacing. The figure threw something at the edge of the roof and there was a flash of flying sparks from the impact. Then the figure sprinted and thrust itself off of the roof in a ludicrous leap, but was equipped to swing back on a rope and was flung back at the house, blowing right passed the glass window and entering the house. The figure disappeared, but moments later, shadows appeared in Dr. River’s room. Seconds later, Artimus heard a scream, but this was coming from the house of Dr. Williams.
Another moment passed, and then came a figure in the window in front of Artimus. The figure shattered the window in seconds and entered the room. It spoke. “A dagger isn’t going to help you.”
Artimus was hesitant to respond, “Do you need some sleep?”
The figure stepped forward; it was a hooded man, and in his hand was a large blade. “Your wit won’t save you.”
“Be gone, assassin,” said Artimus. It was quick –he leaped forwards, driving the dagger into the hooded man’s body. They both stumbled towards the window. The assassin, struggling, obtained grasp of Artimus and pulled back, pulling them both through the shattering glass. They fell to the snowy ground and there was a loud cracking sound upon landing. The assassin had been stabbed in the lung and had a broken rib. He staggered when he tried to stand up, bleeding heavily from his injuries.
Artimus stood and picked up the dagger from the bloody snow. “Mr. Charlie shall receive a message from me,” he began. His breath was visible in the chilling moonlight.
Another voice came from the darkness. “Why not deliver the message yourself?” Coming forth from the shadowy mists was Mr. Charlie. He stood by the assassin with Edgar at his side. “Doctor!” shouted Mr. Charlie. He approached Artimus and stopped dreadfully close. “This world was always on the brink of its downfall,” he said.
“Why push it?” Asked Artimus. “Is there a purpose to all this madness?” He staggered.
“Purpose? Of course, Doctor.” Mr. Charlie wiped his hands on his coat, and spat in the snow, as if just finishing a distressing job. Another person came forward in the fog, Edgar. “But madness? Wrong word, I’m afraid. It’s an alleviation.”
“Why shouldn’t I kill you now?” Artimus asked, still holding a tight grip on his dagger, now standing fully.
“I’m curious, Doctor,” Mr. Charlie began, “How is your fear of death?”
Artimus looked directly into the enraged eyes of Mr. Charlie and replied. “I would not fear death, but what comes after.”
Mr. Charlie took a step back. “And what do you suppose that is?” He motioned with his hand telling the assassin to come forwards. As he did so, Artimus answered.
“I’m not certain, entirely.” He took a heavy breath, for the wind was cold. “But I can tell it will not be in your favor.”
Mr. Charlie raised his chin, in thought. Moments later, he turned to the assassin and said, “Kill him,” and stepped back, towards his chariot. Edgar followed, and started the engine. The assassin nodded and began to walk forwards towards Artimus.
Artimus gripped his dagger tighter and raised it. Suddenly, the assassin halted. His swift movements became rigid jerks, and he stood still in front of
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