He walked through the crowded bar in Zylos, boots scraping against the glossy marbled tiles, wading through the sea of colours. Warm amber light trembled and radiated from the bartender as he smiled professionally at a patron, reminding them that drinks were not free. In the back, a drunkard drowned his muddy brown regret beneath waves of temporary sparkling lime green. Two lovers in a corner twisted together in rose and gold.
None of it touched him.
He felt nothing. Not the warmth of joy. Not the sting of scars across his body. Not the grief of loss. There was only the static vast, colourless calm inside his chest.
They call him the Voidborn.
Partly because he was the bringer of death, the one who consumed, the one who liberated. But mostly because he felt no emotion.
A seasoned mercenary who felt no fear. A steel-hearted warrior who felt no rage. A silent assassin who executed criminals as quietly as his heartbeat. He took any and every contract, killed when necessary, protected when required. Mission complete, he collected his payment and reached for the next bounty. Pleasure, glory, revenge — none of them mattered.
They were merely colours to observe.
Nothing more, nothing less.
He approached the bartender, sat down, and tapped his finger on the counter twice. The bartender approached.
“What drink would you like, sir?”
“Colourless, transparent water.”
The bartender didn’t even blink. He reached under the counter and pressed a button.
“You can approach the water cooler beside the storeroom for that.”
He nodded and stood up, walking over. The water cooler was located beside the storeroom as specified. He reached down and took a sip of the cool water, quenching his thirst a little.
Then he pressed the tap in a specific pattern. A soft whirr and click followed, and the storeroom door swung open.
He stepped inside.
A man stood behind a counter in the dimly lit room. A large scar cut diagonally across his right eye, and a prosthetic arm gleamed on his left. A steady blue laced with tired bronze radiated from him.
“Voidborn! You're back. I suppose the mission was a success this time as well?”
He stood silent and walked forward, dropping the bag in his hand onto the counter. The man opened it and poured out the contents — the grotesque head of an orc, eyes still open, neck cleanly sliced.
“Very nice. The head is in perfect condition. But…”
“What is it?”
“Would it hurt for you to even acknowledge me? I’m the one who always supplies you with jobs after all.”
“… Mr Kennedy.”
The man shook his head in exasperation. “Still the same as ever. I already told you to drop the formalities. Anyway, the payment will be sent to your account after I complete the verification with the client. Expect it by tomorrow.”
He nods.
“Next job.”
“Already? Well, not that I expected anything different. You should take some time to rest and relax. You know, enjoy life for a bit. Never know what will happen.”
“Next job.”
“Geez, I got it,” the man muttered, turning and pulling a request from the board behind him, sliding it to his table. “This one is an escort mission. She's the sole daughter of a tycoon and needs to attend a social networking session in Kandar. It will be a two week journey.”
“Possible enemies?”
“Anything. Assume that she will always be targeted. Assassins, monsters, jealous rivals. You name it. The mission starts tomorrow evening. I’ll send you the details in a bit.”
He nodded and grabbed the piece of paper, eyes settling on the woman in the picture.
Beautiful.
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