Chris was taken aback by the information Mephistopheles told him. He felt terrible for mocking him about trying to get revenge on Balisarda Sumernor. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I had no idea what had happened to you. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
The feeling of silence began to fill the air as Mephistopheles stared intently at Chris with his eyes wide open. "Yes, leaving me alone," said Mephistopheles.
Balisarda Sumernor castle fortified wall
Bismark's arrival at the wall was heralded by a loud, steady thumping noise, which instantly caused a feeling of unease among the peaceful quiet that had pervaded moments before. Bismark stepped braced against the ground, preparing to make his way to Ahma to tell him Balisarda Sumernor demands Bismark addressed Ahma. "As lord Balisarda Sumernor has prescribed, you are to station the soldiers around the courtyard and a few on the fortified wall. Ensure that they can all see the area clearly. The number of soldiers is unimportant, do you understand, Ahma?"
The ringing of metal against metal echoed as Ahma turned to face Bismark. He was clad in full traditional Samurai armor, crafted from iron and leather plates. The plates covered his body from head to toe, with iron plates hanging from the front to the back of his chest. He had two curved swords strapped to his waist, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. "I understand that we will have 60,000 soldiers in position," said Ahma. "But if we are going to engage in war, shouldn't all of the other principals be prepared and ready to fight as a countermeasure?"
Bismark shook his head. "No, Ahma. This is not a war," he said. "It is an act of justice carried out by lord Balisarda Sumernor. We will not be stopping unless he says so."
As he took each step, his feet made a light tapping sound against the floor. The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed faintly throughout the fortified walls. Ahma walked away from Bismark, his steps getting softer and softer until he was out of earshot.
Bismark opened the door to the fortified wall and emerged into the darkness beyond, leaving the room behind. A creaking noise filled the room as the door closed, leaving Bismark in the darkness
Three hours later
As Mephistopheles progressed on his journey, he left Chris behind, striding alone in the shadows. With each step, he left an imprint of his foot in the earth, and a clanking noise resounded with his movement. His midnight-black armor produced a grating, metallic noise as he drew closer to Balisarda Sumernor's fortress.
A large contingent of Balisarda Sumernor forces was stationed on the fortified wall, the great majority of them being archers. This vantage point allowed them to see everything transpiring outside the castle. There were also several swordsmen positioned throughout the courtyard, with seventy-two at the entrances to the Balisarda Sumernor castle, poised to open the gate and repel any who dared attempt to infiltrate Their Majesty's castle
The wind at the castle gates intensified, and the faint sounds of footsteps became more urgent. A large figure in pitch-black armor, with a bit of dust on his sword, appeared from the shadows and approached the castle.
As the figure approached, the archers and men at the gate sounded the alarm to alert the others of the incoming danger. "Someone in dark black armor is walking toward the castle," one of the archers called out. "We need to take action," the order came from one of the men at the gate. In response one of Balisarda Sumernor's soldiers stationed in the courtyard nodded and ran to the bell, ringing it vigorously to summon help. The sound of the bell echoed through the courtyard, alerting everyone on the premises.
As Ahma surveyed the courtyard, he gestured to the archers to get ready. "Archers, prepare to fire your bows," he shouted.
The archers on the fortified wall grip their polished English longbows in their dominant hands, holding them out in front of their torsos. With their thumb, index finger and middle finger, they lightly grasp the feathered end of the wooden arrow sticking upright in their quiver. They then gently pluck the arrow from the quiver, raising it up to the bow.
The archers each notch an arrow and draw the bowstring back, their muscles flexing and straining against the natural strength of the longbow. The English oak bow creaks in protest as the leathery sinew of the bowstring pops and crackles under the enormous stress and pressure required to draw such a marvelous weapon to its full potential. The bowstring painfully bites into the fleshy parts of the archers' index and middle fingers.
The bowman's arm muscles bulge as they raise the bow, the veins thick and prominent as the tremble from the effort required to maintain the tension. They evaluate the target, considering range, distance, crosswinds and elevation, making the necessary adjustments to account for the estimated arch and drop of the arrow.
As the bowmen take aim with their polished English longbows, the soldiers by the gate huddle close together, waiting for someone to open it. With a resounding thud, a boot clad in leather collides with the ground as its owner approaches the gate mechanism. His hand closes tight around the sturdy cube, sinews popping and veins throbbing with the effort of pulling the lever down. The trembling from the effort of pulling the lever down produced a screeching noise. A screech of metal on metal pierces the air as the gate finally begins to open.
As the gate slowly opened, the sound of rustling loudly filled the air as the herd of men drew their swords from their leather scabbard straps around their waists. The blades glinted in the sunlight as the men let out a fierce war cry. As they drew their swords and moved forward in a menacing advance, their sword generated a whistles that cut through the air as they charged at Mephistopheles,
Mephistopheles's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he counted the number of enemies he faced. "Twenty...Thirty...Fifty? Honestly?" he said to himself, completely outnumbered. He tightened his grip on his sword, preparing himself for the fight to come.
As the men rushed forward, their swords whipped through the air. The blades of their swords glittered in the sunlight, and bits of masonry, dust, leaves, and dirt flew up as they ran towards Mephistopheles, who was standing outside the castle entrance. The two men who ran forward with confidence were quickly struck down, their attempts to score hits thwarted by Mephistopheles' quick swings of his sword. The first man, a bearded man, had a large gash torn into his chest and his neck was sliced open. His face showed shock as his blood began to soak into his clothing and spread across the leather of his gloves. He collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling around him. As he collapsed to the ground, his blood-soaked clothing and a large wet spot began to spread rapidly through the crevices in the leather of his gloves. He died slowly, his mouth agape, his eyes wide, and blood still leaking from his gaping wound as he collapsed into a heap of splattered, stained, screaming terror.
The second man, a thin man wearing a long coat that reached his ankles, was fatally wounded by a sharp carbon steel swing from Mephistopheles. Blood was splattered against the wall behind him as his arms shook and sweat poured down his face. He cried out in agony before collapsing onto the ground.
The other men charged forward, only to be met with the horror of Mephistopheles' sword piercing the chest of their comrade. Mephistopheles calmly withdrew his blade and flung it to the side, where it collided with the stone wall and sent up a shower of sparks. The man's body convulsed and he let out a feral scream, seemingly in pain, as his hot blood soaked through his tattered clothing. Mephistopheles strode forward to the corpse and retrieved his sword, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had just killed someone who was far too young to be on the battlefield.
In the midst of the fighting, Mephistopheles sliced through the man's legs with his sword, severing his femur. Mephistopheles then whipped his arm in a deadly motion, causing the sword to spin in an arc. This caused the sword to land a blow to the back of the head of the soldier next to the man he had taken out. The man sunk to the ground with a sickening crunch as his skull broke apart. Blood oozed from the wound, staining the rocky ground. His brother stood there, horrified, witnessing the gruesome scene.
Mephistopheles brutally killed his brother right in front of him, and the man was consumed with grief, anger, and hatred. He attacked Mephistopheles in an attempt to get revenge, but he was no match for the demon. Mephistopheles punched him hard in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain. Then he was sent flying into the wall, where his skull cracked open and he bled to death.
As the herd of men continued to charge, Mephistopheles felt a surge of fear and anxiety from them. He stomped out his sabaton and swung his heel, sending the sharp heel of his sabaton into the side of the head of a ectomorph man with gray hair. The man was sent to the ground with a sickening thud, and his narrow tawny eyes fell out of his head as it was squished all the way to the brain. Blood quickly pooled around his head, staining the ground caused by the impact of Mephistopheles' kick. As the last few men backed away, their swords clattering to the ground, Mephistopheles' eyes glowed a deep red through his helmet. The men screamed in terror. "He's a demon! Get out of here!" They scrambled towards the castle gate, desperate to escape.
From atop the fortified wall, the archers remain steadfast and observant. They see the bodies of their fallen comrades, bloodied and strewn across the battlefield. The enemy is getting closer, but the archers do not falter. They continue to raise their English longbows, the bowstrings cutting into their fingers. Their muscles bulge with the effort, but they does not waver. They take aim at Mephistopheles, and prepare to unleash a barrage of arrows.
As a soft noise began to resound in the archers' ears, it abruptly turned into a loud, high pitch noise coming from Aham. He called out to the archers, telling them to direct their arrows at the hostile target and for the men in the courtyard to assaulted him with full force. "He is hostile! Archers, shoot your arrows at him now! Don't let him get inside the castle! Men, attack him with full force!"
The groups of archers perched atop the fortified wall let their arrows fly with a snapping sound that echoed through the clearing. The shafts flew from the longbows with great speed, arching high into the sky. They hung there for a moment before beginning their descent, plunging toward Mephistopheles with lethal force.
As the arrow neared Mephistopheles, he grabbed it and spinning his body, hurled it back at the archer. The arrow sailed through the air and lodged itself in the brain of the average height, frizzy haired, long tunic-wearing woman. blood began to squirt out of the arrow and the woman's head detached from her neck. She crumpled to the ground with a drugged, twitching expression on her face
As various arrows pelted the sky and landed near Mephistopheles, his feet dug into the dirt below, leaving imprints of his sabatons in the earth, as he jumped up off the ground, zipping through the air and landing atop the fortified wall, causing a dent in the floor. Mephistopheles was confident that he would get his revenge on Balisarda Sumernor. Little did he know that there was more that awaited him before he could get his revenge on Balisarda Sumernor.