The air always felt better in Greece, charged with... something. Isis had never quite been able to put a finger on just what made this country so very different for her, but it felt like power. A sleeping power that charged the air, sizzling and dancing and arcing and waiting to spark.
She langoured in it as she walked through the alleys of Monastiraki Square. Nestled beneath the rolling hill that lead to the ruins of the Acropolis, the marketplace bustled with activity. All sorts traveled its stalls, and you could find any trinket your heart was set on. Old coins, old paraphernelia, totems. Some sellers claimed to have artifacts, of the mystic or god-related variety. Some knew exactly what it was that they had, and others were hoping to sell some old clay to a sucker of a tourist.
However, the idyllic and bustling nature of the historic market had been marred in the past weeks. A string of murders had occurred within the loosely constructed boundaries of the market, in the shadow of the Acropolis. Nobody had put any of it together, not at first. But there were certain signs, certain calling cards, that Cardinals left.
And so, it had been only a matter of time before word reached Isis that some of Zeon's Cardinals had been set loose in the ancient city. It was a series of events that was starting to replicate over the world. It had been shown in the past that Cardinals shaped themselves in the image of the Liafador who lead the individual sects.
Zeon was mistress of rage and bloodlust. She had the same killer instinct that Isis did, but it was steeped in passion and rage and a quickness to action Isis' was cool, calm, calculated. Because deep under the surface of her icy exterior, she knew that she had the same capacity for violence that Zeon did.
But her Cardinals were Cardinals no more. She now headed the Ravens, a small elite sect that had broken off during the multiple Liafador upheavals. Their current mission involved hunting down and swiftly disposing of errant Cardinals. Cardinals that posed distinct danger to civilians, Cardinals that posed distinct danger to Liafadors. Cardinals that had lost their way from the flock.
Which brought her back to the reason she was here today. Zeon's Cardinals were developing her bloodlust, her rage, her thirst for violence. And innocent civilians were dying to sate these thirsts. It couldn't be tolerated any longer. And so, the hunt began.
The worn soles of her leather boots moved with an easy silence across the ground, as her calm stride ate up mileage. Her gaze wandered every now and then; a trinket that caught her eye, a street urchin casing potential marks, an errant child whose grabby hands were reaching for something.
Amber eyes scanned every nook, cranny, and crevice. The Cardinals were all trained with blending in, and so if there was one present in the market as she suspected, they would be nearly undetectable to all but the most discerning eye.
Children continued to run about, and Isis approached a table. There was a grey-haired, heavily wrinkled woman behind it. There was a slight hunch to her back, and she favored her left leg, but she was full of life. Her wares were little clay pots, statues, and effigies.
She approached, bantering back and forth with the crone-like woman, as throngs of people mulled around her, tourists and natives alike. Isis finally left the booth, her pocket a little lighter, and continued meandering about.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she paid apt attention to an instinct she had learned never to ignore. Three women dressed all in black were moving with a swiftness that was out of step with the lackadaisical nature that both tourists and natives perused the wares of the market.
They branched out instinctively as soon as Isis laid eyes on them, confirming that they were Cardinals and had felt her gaze. She looked around, trying to pinpoint who their current target was. Who would she choose for some joyful afternoon murdersports? The pretty little coed. By the looks of her, American. Short, blonde, alone. Silly, stupid girl.
If the Cardinals were smart, if they were logical, they would abandon their hunt and regroup. Isis suspected that Zeon's bloodlust was poisoning and infecting her Cardinals, but she had no idea how deeply it may have taken root.
She tracked the three Cardinals as they left the market. That answered that. They would retreat to their nest, wherever they had holed up, and regroup. The bloodlust didn't control them, not yet. But she feared that the lack of boundaries that had been set for them would lead to more frequent killings. They had to be stopped, and messages had to be sent.
---
A supermoon hung low in the sky, illuminating the exterior of the sinfully luxurious house that Zeon's Cardinals had utilized as their base of operations. A heavy air hung around it, one that had nothing to do with the natural power that Isis found in Greece's air and everything to do with darkness and death.
She moved with a silence and grace that a Cardinal would never be able to sense, let alone replicate. She'd wanted them to spot her earlier, wanted to spook them badly enough that they became careless. And some part of her, buried beneath her icy facade, had wanted them afraid. She'd wanted them to know that they were being hunted by the renegade Liafador. The one who killed the Cardinals.
And here she was, the daughter of death, about to bestow a final peace to the errant Cardinals. The security in the house was nonexistent, as she expected. A single Cardinal could take out entire troops hand to hand, and even armed if they were using proper tactics. An intruder in an unsecured house stood no chance at all, and so they hadn't bothered to wire an alarm.
She slipped onto the veranda and pulled open the French doors, lined with columns. The house was a pastiche of modern and ancient Greek and Roman architecture, and it was an eyesore to her. But she could see how the Cardinals had been attracted to it. Luxurious and secluded. The perfect murder nest.
She wandered from room to room, with purpose, her blade in hand. She could use any of her numerous powers to kill them, but had determined already that they weren't worth the expulsion of energy. This was a personal mission, a personal betrayal, and so a personal death was the final reward for each Cardinal.
A dagger, plunged straight into the heart, and then drawn across the carotid artery in their throats. Deadly, bloody, painful. Nothing less than what they deserved. Seventeen in total, all gone now.
She felt no remorse, no regret as she left the house. Instead, her head was held high and her heart lighter. The Cardinal Killer had left a clear message for her beloved cousin: She was coming for any Cardinal that strayed, and there would be no mercy left in her wake.
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