Amukelo descended through the hole. He tried everything to stop his momentum, grabbing branches, or even ground as he neared the fall close to the hole he came out of. But his efforts were in vain. he fell to the fall sealing any possibility of saving his friends. Branches whipped past, tearing at his clothes and skin as he plummeted through the trees, each impact a brutal reminder of his helplessness. His heart was not in self-preservation but in returning to his friends, to the people who were like family to him.
Hitting the ground with a jarring force, pain exploded through his body. Bones cracked under the impact, and for a moment, the world swirled in a haze of agony and desperation, and the light from his sword started dimming even more faintly. Scrambling against the slope, he clawed at the earth, his voice hoarse as he screamed, "LET ME BACK... I NEED TO GO BACK... PLEASE..." Each word tore from his throat, raw and aching. But his efforts were in vain; the slope was too steep, the dirt slipping through his fingers as he continued to slide down.
Exhaustion and despair overtook him, and he collapsed, his cries dissolving into broken sobs, and his sword's light dying down entirely. "Please..." he whispered, the fight draining out of him as the adrenaline faded, leaving behind a sharp, biting pain from his injuries. Shaking and gasping, he fumbled for his healing potion. His hands, slick with blood and sweat, caused him to spill much of the liquid, but enough found its way to his lips to knit his bones back together and soothe the worst of his bruises.
Sitting there, amidst the underbrush, tears streamed down Amukelo's face as he replayed Pao's desperate act to save him, her final declaration of love. He murmured through sobs, "I love you too... Pao..." The words were a soft echo in the quiet forest, a stark contrast to the chaotic violence he had just escaped.
Just as the silence began to settle around him, a rustle from the bushes caught his attention. He looked up, his eyes red and swollen, to see three cloaked figures emerging from the shadows, not long after appearing even more.
One of them laughed cruelly, a harsh sound that cut through the quiet like a knife. "Hahaha... Look at him. How pathetic." Their eyes were greedy as they eyed the sword Amukelo clutched unconsciously. "But look at his sword. The ambush was worth it, hehe..." another sneered, stepping closer with evident malice.
Amukelo, gathering a semblance of composure, looked up at them, confusion mingling with dawning realization. "Huh... Did you... you do that... for this... sword..?" His voice was a mix of pain and incredulity, struggling to understand how such violence could have been motivated by mere greed for his weapon.
The man continued to mock him, "Do you even realize how much this blade can be worth? It's far more precious than the lives of a few naive fools. Our boss was right, you might be strong, but you are just a foolish idiot. Haha... "
Amukelo's grief and helplessness transformed into a cold, seething rage as he listened to the man's taunting words. Each mocking laugh, each dismissive comment about the blade, and the apparent triviality of his friends' lives fueled a simmering anger that welled up inside him.
"Your boss," Amukelo repeated, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing within. The taunting figure boasted proudly, unaware of the shift in the air, the dangerous calm that settled over Amukelo. "Yeah, our mighty boss, Neclord White. He's powerful. Even if your friends survived by some miracle, he probably by now end their lives." His laughter echoed off the trees, grating and harsh.
Another of the cloaked figures, perhaps a bit more cautious, hissed, "Hey, why are you telling him this?" The man who was mocking Amukelo answered, "Whatever man, once our reinforcement arrives it will be over for him anyway." But it was too late—the seeds of their downfall were already sown in their overconfidence.
Amukelo's response was simple, his voice low, almost a growl. "You won't be alive by then." It wasn't a threat. It was a statement. The mocker's eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his features as he attempted to continue his taunt. "Ha... You think you can defeat—"
But his words were cut off as swiftly as his life. Amukelo moved like a shadow, a blur of motion too quick to track. The man's head fell before his body even knew to collapse, his expression frozen in a grotesque mask of surprise. The sound of his body hitting the ground was a dull thud lost in the sudden tension.
The second man turned, his movements sluggish, his mind unable to process the speed of his foe. He reached for his weapon, a futile gesture as Amukelo's sword whispered through the air, a silver flash that sang of death. The man's head dropped beside his companion's, blood spattering the leaves like macabre rain.
Panic erupted among the remaining assailants. Their formation, meant for strength and intimidation, crumbled into chaos. Screams pierced the air, a discordant symphony to their fear.
Amukelo's movements were powered by his internal turmoil, each strike fueled by a heart seething with grief and rage. As he faced the next melee combatant, there was no hesitation. He swung his blade as he appeared next to him. The man tried to block, his sword raised in a desperate defense, but Amukelo's strength was overwhelming. With a powerful swing, he cleaved the man in half, the sound of rending armor and flesh chilling in its finality.
Turning swiftly, Amukelo spotted a mage conjuring an earth spell, the ground rumbling as a spike of rock aimed at him with lethal intent. With a dismissive slash, Amukelo cut through the spell as if it were mere air, the pieces crumbling to dust. He advanced on the mage, who barely had time to widen his eyes in fear before Amukelo's sword ended his life in a swift, clean stroke.
Beside him, another mage fell to his knees, his hands raised in a futile plea for mercy. "Please spare..." he began, but Amukelo was beyond hearing. With a cold detachment, he decapitated the mage mid-plea, his sword slicing through the air with a hiss.
Seeing their fellows fall so quickly, the remaining group's nerves broke. Panic set in as they realized they stood no chance against Amukelo. They turned to flee in all directions, scattering through the forest in desperate sprints. Amukelo pursued, his steps relentless. He managed to cut down a few more before the dense woods and their desperate fear lent speed to the survivors, allowing them to escape his immediate wrath.
After the adrenaline ebbed, Amukelo returned to the site of the massacre. He methodically removed any symbols of their guild from the bodies—necklaces, banners sewn into their cloaks, any distinctive marks that could identify them. His movements were robotic, his mind numb, yet driven by a need to find their boss and revenge for his friends.
With the grim task completed, he set off towards Llyn, haunted by the echoes of Pao's last words, the dreams they wished to accomplish.
Meanwhile, the survivor, his cloak torn and a face marred by fear, stumbled upon his boss. The stark fear in his eyes spoke volumes before words could form. Neclord asked, "What happened to you? Isd there another landwyrm down there? And what happened to the sword?"
"He... He killed our team, I escaped, but I'm not sure whether anyone else managed to escape," the man managed to gasp out between labored breaths.
Neclord's face contorted with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Killed your team!? There were ten of you. With the same rank as him! How the hell did he kill them!?" His voice was a venomous hiss, a sharp contrast to the panicked trembles of his underling.
The man paused, not knowing what to say. Seeing he will not get any information, Neclord said, "Whatever, let's finish him before he escapes. We need to get that sword."
"But..." the survivor began the objection dying in his throat under Neclord's piercing glare.
"But!!?" Neclord snapped, his patience frayed.
The man said nothing more, his shoulders slumped, his spirit broken, knowing that the quest for vengeance was far from over and the path ahead promised only more bloodshed.