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DUMB RULE #1: No killing for mundane reasons, or because you feel like it, or because you're seriously irritated and need to take it out on some unlucky someone. It's apparently morally incorrect, not that I particularly care...

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In an aimless alleyway in a city that would not be named, wandered a figure who enjoyed wearing hoods too much for his own good.

Because, well, you know, hoods were mysterious, and often, being mysterious made people leave said figure alone, which he would really appreciate... since the self-proclaimed hood obsessed freak currently wanted to kill something, which, of course, wasn't much of a new feeling for the wandering assassin, and which is why he was wandering in the first place, cause he doubted any living being would appreciate being stabbed by flying icicles formed by his fingertips.

Not that he particularly cared whether someone appreciated whatever he did or not. Since, after all, he was more than happy to do precarious things that would most likely lead to his painful demise, and whether he got thanks for doing so didn't really matter, therefore.

Not that he would thank anyone for killing him, or, well, he would, but a normal person wouldn't.

He shook his head to clear his wayward thoughts before he stumbled purposefully towards the left with a tired sigh, turning the corner of the alleyway, all while ignoring the people behind him. They were probably irritating enough to kill, something which would not help his icy mood (well, it probably would help, but like his not really followed rulebook said, "no killing for... those reasons!").

"H-hey man, where ya goin'?"

Hood guy gritted his teeth, before with a slow outtake of breath, he turned around with a blank look on his face that would hopefully deter the stumbling fool who'd been unlucky enough to disturb him during an already foul day. He hoped, at least, but when he quickly put a face to the voice who had spoken, Hood guy decided that he'd undoubtfully be proven wrong since the man was obviously drunk out of his socks if that was the correct term for it.

He turned around once more, before, at a brisk pace, he continued on in the same direction as before, pleading with the gods that the bumbling idiot would leave him alone. Which, would, of course, do nothing, as the gods obviously had it out for him, and would probably do exactly what he was praying for them not to do just to irritate him.

The figure seriously needed to stop praying to the gods before the, said, gods meddled with his luck even more just for the heck of it.

"Come on, man," the idiot stumbled over his words, clumsily placing a hand on his hooded shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip.

Hood guy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It was a dangerously strong grip, that tightened viciously, as the not quite so idiotic idiot straightened, completely and much more sober than before.

"Fresh meat."

The man's voice cleared maliciously, with an ominous growl to it at the last syllable, and immediately, Hood guy cursed under his breath, barely dodging the clawed hand that flew speedily through the area where his head had been previously (He did not have time for this!). Then, with an annoyed snarl, he spun around carelessly to face his new foe, his sea green eyes flashing dangerously, as he pulled a gleaming knife with blood crusted at its tip from the vast pockets of his billowing cloak, expertly spinning it just to show that he knew how to use it.

The scaled figure let out an irritated hiss in response, its glowing amber eyes narrowing with a vicious hunger, as its newly formed tail spun towards him in an attempt to knock him off his feet. An attempt, that he leaped forward to avoid with practiced ease, before he slid towards the mucked ground with a swipe of his knife that made contact with the creature viciously, slicing through the scales with ease as if the armor were made of wrapping paper.

A loud cry (hiss?) of agony followed, ending the fight before it even truly began, before the scaly monster exploding into a cloud of golden dust, showering all over him much to his distaste.

He shook his head, coughing as the sand like substance managed to make its way into his throat before casually returned the knife to its usual place at his side.

He smiled.

Then, Percy Jackson spun around and continued on his merry way, mood improving drastically along the way.

"Not a human," he muttered under his breath with a smirk playing on his lips. "No blood."

He shook his cloak to get rid of any of the clinging dust left behind.

"And no going through the pains of cleaning bloody knives!"

Although, then again, the knife was already bloody.

He frowned childishly.

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The hooded figure in the billowing cloak lurked in the comfort of the shadows, flitting in between the ivy-covered trees with swift bursts of motion too quick to see. His light footsteps were silent as death, practically impossibly so, and every movement he made was made deliberately and dangerously, like a panther at the climax of its deadly hunt. He moved like only an assassin could, with a dangerous grace that some would describe as entrancing and elegant.

It was dark, as he had chosen to strike at the darkest hours of the night, and that only added to his stealth, the only illumination in sight being the small flecks of moonlight that shone through the leaves and branches that blocked the night sky from view. The assassin couldn't help but scoff silently at the choice of scenery. After all, his target must have known someone would be sent to kill him after what he had done, and yet, his first choice of action had been to pretty up his new, supposedly secure residence. His target was foolish to sacrifice such precious security for a view such as this, no matter how beautiful, especially since the man must have known who'd be send to kill him.

Darkness was his friend, and his friend was utilized well. Just like always.

For a moment, he stood in silence, pausing in contemplation once he had reached the edge of the trees. He watched his breath frost in the chill air, although it was almost too dark, even for him, with his enhanced vision, to see it. There were two guards standing together in the distance, and he couldn't help but be surprised by the vigilance they showed despite the lateness of the hour. One of them was a large man with a stance that only belonged to that of a soldier, while the other was a much smaller man with dangerous spelled all over him. The assassin quickly noted that he had to be careful around the two. They were doing their job well, and that made him wonder how much his target was paying them.

Ian Varszegi, a well-known human trafficker was often described as a man cruel to animals and humans alike. Most people would have assumed he was targeted for his terrible deeds, but he was on the assassin's hit list for different reasons. After all, if the assassin had targeted every bad person in the world, then the red on his ledger would be colossal. No, Varszegi was a traitor to his superiors and his master, and anyone who even thought of betraying his master ended up dead in some way or another, often or not disfigured to the point that they were unrecognizable.

His target deserved a painful death, both for his deeds and his betrayal, and the assassin was more than happy to give him one, along with a taste of his own medicine.

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Ian Varszegi's expensive shoes hit the ground with unnaturally loud footsteps. It was late, very late, and the man couldn't help but wonder why he was still awake despite the late hour. The sterile brightness of the fluorescent lights made his head ache, but he continued his rhythmic pacing, unable to stop his feet that moved subconsciously.

Nervousness gnawed in his stomach, making him weak in the knees, and his hands trembled as he looked around fearfully, as if he was expecting a figure to suddenly leap out of the shadows and shoot him in the temple execution style.

Then again, that was what he was expecting.

He sighed and ran his hand through his oily hair. It had been a long and tiring day, and it might as well have also been his last. He had betrayed them, after all, and that betrayal was perhaps the worst decision he had ever made because it was an inevitably lethal one. Although at the time, the decision had seemed like a good one.

"Ian Varszegi." A voice drawled behind him, a cold and angry undertone in the otherwise casual tone. He slowly turned around, although he didn't need to see what was behind him.

Varszegi already knew his fears had been confirmed.

The cloaked figure watching him smiled silkily, a katana in hand pointed directly at his throat.

"Goodbye, Varszegi. I hope Hades is feeling merciful tonight."

Ian's mutilated body was found by authorities the next day.