Tycon stood atop the fortress walls, well hidden in his snake form. The western fortress was built atop a tall, steep, narrow upward slope. On a clear sun, a few dozen archers, along with some well-placed traps could defend the fortress against several hundred.
Tycon's stealthy navigation through the fortress was far easier than the Tavor manor. His Enhanced Shadow Body allowed him to use his belly scales to grip onto the ceiling with a diagonal sidewinding undulation.
It felt ridiculous, stealthily sidewinding.
He had succeeded in setting fire to the armory, assassinated the highest rank in the fortress, and even found the kidnapped Tamaki alive in his cell. He had even found an escape route that their small group could use to sneak into the fortress.
All he had to do was slither down the side of the fortress and meet up with Guild Invictus.
Shadows were moving up the steep hill up to the fortress.
Tycon shook his head, denying it. No... It couldn't be his ever-so-patient allies. It was just... a coincidence, perhaps.
He squinted his snakey eyes to better see. A big shadow. A tall, thin shadow. A particularly small shadow? A shadow wearing far too much gear.
Tycon's fears were confirmed. Guild Invictus was quickly approach the front of the fortress.
No cover. No stealth.... No. plan.
Tycon heard lots of yelling from inside the fortress-- and soon arrows began flying towards his friends.
...
"Swords!" Pale yelled.
Barza knew better than to argue. He flipped his own blades, presenting the hilts towards Pale. The boy tossed his spear up and took Barza's swords as Barza caught Pale's spear.
Pale rushed forward, rapid blades slashing apart oncoming arrows while Barza and Wroe rushed behind him. Pale was... really good at stopping things thrown and shot at him.
"Dragan!! Get behind Pale!!" Barza yelled. An arrow whizzed past his face and slashed his cheek open.
"All risk!!" Dragan broke into a sprint with a hair-raising scream, "NO REWARD!!"
Wroe tapped Barza on the shoulder, "He'll be fine... probably."
...
It took Dragan over five minutes of full-speed sprinting to climb the steep hill.
Tycon's legs felt sore just watching him. He could do... maybe... one minute?
30 seconds, for sure.
Dragan performed a beautiful leap forward, lifting his greataxe behind his back. He nailed his axe into the massive double doors.
The axe stuck, of course. Unsticking the weapon from the wood, the giant man continued to hammer and chop away at the massive doors. Archers behind the door's murder-holes continued to fire arrows that would stick in his leather armor or were deflected by his axe blade.
Tycon put away the cast-iron bomb he was prepared to throw. He was quite tempted to kill his ineffective idiot-friend but... his usefulness outweighed his stupidity more often than it didn't.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?!"
Tycon turned to see that a couple of archers had finally climbed the inner stairs up to the front wall.
It took them long enough.
He held his palms open in a show of harmlessness and began to walk towards them, "Gentlemen, I appear to be lost."
[Vexing Gaze conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]
« Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. »
...
Pale demonstrated his extraordinary and boundless stamina, running up the hill while using Lone's swords to deflect all the arrows he could. As it neared its end, the Pale, Wroe, and Lone reached the fortress.
Pale took cover to catch his breath and massage his eyes. Seeing and reacting to so many arrows in the evening, with only the brazier fires to rely on, taxed his concentration to its limits.
None of the three took any direct arrow hits. Pale was a genius combatant. And now it was Lone's and Wroe's turn.
Lone took the magical red spear and thrust it through a murder-hole, stabbing a man in the throat. Power surged through him, surprising him and sharpening his senses-- the crimson spear's magical effect. Using only his peripheral vision, Lone used his bare hands to catch an arrow that had been fired at him. He turned to see his surprised attacker and rushed forward to stab his spear into the man's screaming teeth. The same sense-sharpening power surged through him, once again.
...Lone... really wanted a magic weapon of his own.
...
Wroe poured water from his canteen onto his hands, which misted outward in a rainbow of water vapor. In the same motion, he reached his sword hand forward, he grasped, and he pulled. A wide-bladed sword, ethereal white... formed out of mana in the mist. The sword's design was unapologetically Fae in nature, confusing, aesthetically pleasing. It looked elegant and fragile, but somehow deadly, all at once.
Tycon thought it looked stupid.
With each slash of Wroe's sword, the Daeva launched an eldritch crescent of magic power forward. With unerring accuracy, each eldritch blast took an archer's life through the fortress' small openings.
Tycon glared down from the top of the fortress wall, adjusting his seating upon the small pile of corpses he had arranged for his own comfort. Wroe looked upwards towards him-- the only Invictus member that had noticed him so far.
Wroe smiled, looking particularly foolish.
Tycon fired a crossbow bolt at him. Wroe dodged it.
Tycon read Wroe's lips as the Daeva yelled back, 'I'm so very foolish, you're very handsome, Sir Lord Tycon.'
Wroe went back to killing.
...
Tycon dropped down the front of the fortress wall, landing besides Dragan.
Mister Dragan didn't rely on magical attacks, like Mister Wroe. He did not have a spear, like Pale. He didn't have javelins, like Barza.
Tycon crossed his arms, watching Dragan... The Titanblood had reached through a murder-hole opening, grabbed an archer by the neck, and was repeatedly pulling-- slamming the human's face against the fortress stones.
"Mister Dragan."
"One second, Boss." Dragan continued to pull the poor fool against the stones, the sound like a sack of meat striking a chopping block.
"...Dragan."
"If you're here to yell at me, Boss, the plan was a stunning success!" The red-haired giant insisted.
Tycon frowned, "Mister Dragan, I'd like to ask you how many archers you've incapacitated in that manner."
Dragan reached forward deeply and with a final pull, a loud crunching sound emanated from beyond the wall. He turned with a grin and a show of bloody fingers, "Three!"
"And you couldn't have..."
There were many things Tycon could have advised... Utilizing stealth. Climbing the walls. Looking for a back door.
...Waiting for him to return.
Seven hells, they had Wroe, they could even have used trickery and deceit.
They could have pretended to be merchants.
Tycon waved his thoughts away as he walked off. There was no winning against Dragan at the current point in the battle, "Nevermind."
Tycon surveyed the outside of the fortress... no further attacks came. He assumed enough guards had died in its defense-- the remainder of them had likely collected and formed secondary defensive line. It would be a simple task to sweep the rest of the fortress, loot it for anything decent, and save Young Master Tamaki.
Guild Invictus gathered around him. Tycon casually inspected each of them and was glad to see no one was injured, though Pale looked very fatigued and Barza had gained a very nasty cut on his cheek-- it would scar later and make him look more of a grizzled veteran than he actually was.
Dragan jogged up with enthusiasm, "Oh, yeah, Boss! The door's pretty thick. I think we still gotta climb in."
Tycon grabbed the sturdy chain that served as a door handle. With a steady pull, the door slowly lurched open.
"I disabled the locking mechanism a quarter-bell ago," Tycon exhaled a deep sigh.
The group entered the fortress, each of Invictus smiling apologetically... save Dragan. The red-headed giant laughed shamelessly, the entire way.