A cacophony of movement, shouts, and clashing steel filled the air. The mind struggled to differentiate between cause and effect in the whirlwind.
For Severin the world narrowed to a single point: the monstrous fist of the creature hurtling towards his chest. It wasn't the speed, though that was impressive for their bulk, but the sheer weight behind it.
Severin braced, his every muscle screaming in protest, but the impact slammed him into the ground, the air whooshing from his lungs. A spray of crimson erupted from his lips as he coughed, tasting iron and defeat.
Martia, knocked off balance by the tremor staggered back, momentarily stunned.
Severin saw his chance. Coughing, and spitting, he lunged, fueled by raw desperation, any pause any momentary respite would lead to him being surrounded. But before he could reach Martia, a guttural roar filled the air.
One of the creatures, seemingly sensing vulnerability, had turned on him. Its fist, the size of a melon, connected with Severin' side, the sickening crunch of bone audible.
Pain lanced through him, blinding, white-hot agony. Severin crumpled, his world tilting sideways.
Vindictive glee twisted Aulus's face as he limped with an old man's gait towards the fallen foe, relishing the sight of their downfall.
"Looks like the crafty Severin isn't so invincible after all," he spat, a cruel smile playing on his wrinkled old lips.
But his gloating was cut short by a chilling voice.
"Aulus, watch out!"
Severin's previous sequence endowed him with cunning, he is a Swindler, adept at weaving intricate illusions and manipulating mental inference to his advantage.
In this instance, Severin employed his mastery of deception to guide Aulus towards a specific part of Mythralis, subtly orchestrating the battlefield to his advantage.
While Aulus remained vigilant, monitoring the perimeter to thwart any potential interference, Severin's tactics obscured the true nature of the battlefield, leaving Aulus unaware of existing variables that could alter the course of the confrontation.
Aulus's gaze remained steady as he witnessed Martia's sudden apparition. Her eyes, ablaze with a righteous fury. With a fluidity born of instinct, her blade cleaved through the air, a gleaming silver arc slicing through.
Gunther materialized from a hidden crevice. His blade arced down, aimed not at Severin, but at Aulus' exposed back. Betrayal. Cold, venomous betrayal. But Martia wouldn't allow it. In a lightning-fast reflex, her blade whipped around severing the head of a charging silhouette with chilling finality, Gunther's head, detached from his body, spun through the air before landing with a thud.
Blood erupted in a crimson fountain, splattering the battleground with macabre intensity—a vivid tableau of violence and sacrifice.
The first illusion, crafted by Severin's manipulation, was the false perception of safety within the chosen battleground.
Unbeknownst to Aulus, the presence of an unseen ally lurking in the shadows posed a hidden threat—a variable that remained undetected.
The pursuit of new variables proved futile if one remained oblivious to the existence of those already in play.
In a cruel twist of fate, even as Gunther's blade found its mark, piercing Aulus's heart, his head became severed from his body by Martia's swift and decisive stroke.
The second illusion, though not a blatant falsehood, rested upon the misconception that Severin's impending demise spelt the end of his capacity to inflict harm.
While it was true that Severin faced the prospect of death, his cunning and resourcefulness remained undiminished.
By luring Aulus and Martia into a false sense of security, Severin exploited their lowered guard to seize upon the opportunity for one final gambit—a gambit that could potentially turn the tide of battle in his favour.
Severin watched, stunned, as his ally's arrival and dismissal happened in quick succession.
He could almost hear the gears in Martia's mind turning, calculating her next move. Hatred flared in his chest, urging him to finish her off. But then, a distant tremor reached his ears, faint but growing in intensity.
More footsteps!
He knew he couldn't linger. With a snarl, he scrambled to his feet, vanishing into the shadows just as new figures rushed in.
Aulus lay there, barely conscious, listening to the fading sounds of pursuit.
Was it victory or defeat? He couldn't tell.
All he knew was the searing pain, the taste of blood, and the faint hope that Martia had managed to kill that wretch Severin.
*********
******
***
Marcellus and Finn sprinted alongside Martia and the hulking nightmarish creatures; Aulus was dying, but these monstrous servants wouldn't discern their master's intent.
They wouldn't understand his waning life force, his impending demise. They were deaf to his dying wishes, bound only to the commands they'd received.
Their previous directive: kill Severin, and as Severin bolted for his life, the creature and Martia, instruments of blind obedience, pursued with relentless focus.
Previously, Severin had considered eliminating Martia when she was vulnerable and distracted by Gunther. The opportunity was tempting, but the rhythmic crunch of approaching footsteps forced him to abandon the thought.
The crunch of approaching footsteps resonated like a grim knell in Severin's ears.
It was Marcellus and Finn.
Had he known it was them, the choice might have been different.
A fleeting flicker of regret danced across his mind, but the opportunity was lost. Now, with their arrival echoing his dwindling options, Severin knew the true weight of his decision.
***
When Marcellus and Finn drew closer, the sound reached them before the scene itself: a scream splitting the air, raw and desperate. "...Aulus, watch out!"
It echoed around the battlefield, its urgency gnawing at their resolve.
Marcellus's stomach lurched.
He recognized the raw terror in that scream; it belonged to Martia. Fear warred with determination as he met Finn's gaze, both dreading what they might find.
Their arrival painted a tableau of horror even the scream hadn't prepared them for.
Old Man Aulus sprawled on his side, a sword protruding from his back, staining the ground crimson.
Beside him, Martia stood like a whirlwind, blood splattering from her blade, the headless corpse of a bulky man at her feet.
And then there was Severin, rising from the dust, a feral glint in his eyes.
Two choices hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Save Aulus, their mentor, their friend, bleeding out on the ground. Or strike down Severin, the source of their current predicament, while he was vulnerable.
But the decision wasn't theirs to make.
As if on cue, Martia, regaining her balance in a blur of motion, pivoted and lunged towards Severin. Her choice, swift and irrevocable, echoed the finality of the rising sun. Now, they were bound to its trajectory, caught in the current of Martia's vengeance.
In the current of Martia's vengeance, they surged forward.
While sadness for Aulus wasn't prominent, a different kind of anger flickered within them.
Martia felt cheated – robbed of a decisive victory.
For her, it was a sour note in the symphony of conflict.
Marcellus, however, bore a heavier burden. Grief for his mentor mingled with a deeper frustration. Aulus was gone, taking with him invaluable knowledge and guidance, Marcellus felt he had been grieving the entire night.
They were both robbed but in vastly different ways.
Finn, unlike the others, didn't feel robbed. He felt cheated, a prickling sense of injustice crawling up his spine.
Not long ago, this same villain had goaded someone he knew all his life dear to their death and had now struck down Aulus, another lifelong acquaintance. The audacity of it burned.
Of all the people he'd known all his life, only Livius remained, thankfully safe, unknown to this demon, he thought.
Finn chased not out of confidence, for he knew he couldn't outmatch a wanted criminal like Severin.
Yet, here, with Martia's vengeful fury and Marcellus's grief fueling their charge, Finn felt it was safer with people falling left and right, yet he was no coward he was prepared to do his part.
A desperate chase unfolded.
Severin, a lithe figure, surged ahead, Martia and Marcellus, fuelled by grief and duty, matched his pace, their blades glinting in the light. The creatures of the night, silent and relentless, followed a step behind, their inhuman incoherent movements blurring the line between life and accursed.
Only Finn lagged, lungs burning, muscles screaming in protest struggling to stay in the game.
Severin glanced back, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Why not save the old fool, puppets? Show some mercy, or did your masters tire of him too?" His words hung heavy in the air, dripping with venom and aimed to sow discord among his pursuers.
"I'll kill you no matter what," Martia began, her voice firm and determined. But then, her gaze flickered, and a different emotion flashed across her face. "No, I kill you not just for Aulus, but for everyone you've hurt. For every life you've taken, this too is justice no?." Her voice hardened the promise of vengeance morphing into a broader fight for justice.
A flicker of doubt marred Severin's features as he stole a glance back. "Damn you all! Couldn't you save the old man? Was there no chance?"
A jolt of realization struck him, and Severin cursed again mentally.
He hadn't forgotten – no, he'd simply dismissed the possibility.
With Mythralis firmly under the control of the Church of Storms, assuming Martia was just another Aspiring Sailor came naturally. Their brief interactions hadn't given him enough to decipher her true nature, her fighting style, or the source of her power.
One crucial detail had blinded him: Sailors, while obvious at sea, were typically just marginally stronger than average Knight. But Martia, the raw power she unleashed, her decision-making, her rationale and justification solidified a chilling realization – she wasn't a sailor. She was a warrior.
Vindictiveness ran as deep as the ocean, but a Sailor wouldn't abandon a mate, not even one they despised. (unlike a shark with its own blood)
Severin's mind raced.
Martia's relentless pursuit confirmed his worst fears – she wouldn't let up.
A swift recalibration of his plans was in order. He spun around, abruptly halting his flight. While the prospect of a larger, unknown threat had initially spurred his retreat, he reasoned that dealing with Marcellus and Finn wouldn't be insurmountable.
He was outnumbered, yes, but he was a Sequence 7!
Mere numbers couldn't bridge that gap, or so he believed. With a predatory glint in his eyes, Severin spun, his movements blurring as he flicked his wrist, Severin unleashed a combination of stabs and thrusts with his dirk, tearing apart two humanoid creatures of the night from their joints.
The creature of the night, accustomed to Aulus's precise commands, faltered in its response. Severin exploited the opening, his dirk finding its mark with deadly precision. The creature crumpled, dissolving into corpses of flesh and bone.
But the victory was short-lived. Martia and Marcellus charged forward. Their combined onslaught was a formidable force, forcing Severin to abandon his pursuit of the remaining creature. He parried Martia's furious blows, Marcellus landed a blow that sent a jolt of pain through Severin's shoulder.
Despite the pain, a cruel smile twisted Severin's lips. "Foolish puppets," he spat, his voice dripping with 'venom'. "You think your rage can defeat me? I am a storm, and you are leaves!"
Suddenly, his veins bulged like writhing serpents beneath his skin. With a surge of inhuman power, he launched himself four meters into the air!
Something was different about Severin; Martia's lips twitched, 'he suddenly became stronger.'