Amukelo calculated his next move with precise clarity. The rooftop archer was his primary threat; every moment he remained unchallenged increased the danger exponentially. With a burst of speed, Amukelo plunged into the fray, his movements a blend of practiced martial skill and raw survival instinct.
The cloaked swordsmen were quick but not quick enough to match Amukelo's desperate resolve. He ducked under a wide swing from the first attacker, feeling the wind of the blade close to his neck. The second attacker's strike met Amukelo's sword in a parry that rang sharply in the narrow street. Without missing a beat, Amukelo redirected his momentum, swinging his blade in a lethal arc that severed the swordsman's head from his shoulders. The body slumped to the ground in a growing pool of blood.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Amukelo used the brief chaos among the remaining melee fighters to assess his next move. He needed to disrupt the archer without exposing himself to further attacks. Spotting a momentary gap in the enemy's formation, he hurled a dagger towards the archer. The projectile didn't hit, but it caused the archer to falter, losing his balance momentarily.
Seizing the opportunity, Amukelo sprinted forward, dodging a desperate thrust from another swordsman and leaping over a fallen combatant. As he approached the building, the archer regained his footing and notched another arrow, releasing it just as Amukelo managed to twist his body in mid-air. Simultaneously, a mage launched a fireball, catching Amukelo off-guard. The explosion seared the side of his face, and the arrow embedded itself into his shoulder, but neither stopped him.
Landing heavily but undeterred, Amukelo climbed the rest of the way up to the rooftop. The archer frantically tried to reload, but before he could draw another arrow, Amukelo was upon him. With a single, fluid motion, he dispatched the archer, his blade slicing through the air and into the man's neck.
Bloodied and breathing heavily, Amukelo paused to assess his situation. The battlefield below was still chaotic, but his primary objective, the marked dagger, was down there—potentially within reach of the enemy. If they discovered its significance his plan would fail.
With a grimace of pain and determination, Amukelo steeled himself, took the arrow out of his shoulder, and leaped from the rooftop. As landed among the cloaked figures, Neclord's mocking laughter echoed around the narrow street, fuelling Amukelo's fury even further. "You had a chance to escape, and look how stupid you are. I guess you want to join your friends faster than you were supposed to," Neclord taunted, his voice dripping with contempt.
Amukelo's response was a primal roar as he launched himself into the fray, his every move driven by a wild, desperate need for vengeance. The cloaked men around Neclord moved to intercept him, their blades drawn and faces hidden. As he engaged them, Amukelo shouted back, "You are so brave that you just hide behind your puppets! I guess your scar is nothing more than just an attempt to look tough!"
"What did you say?!" Neclord barked, visibly angered by the taunt. As he stepped forward to engage, one of his underlings attempted to counsel caution, "My lord, please don't let him provoke you." But Neclord, fueled by rage and the need to assert his dominance, brushed off the warning and continued his slow, menacing approach.
As Amukelo cut down another opponent, Neclord finally charged, clashing swords with Amukelo. The impact sent a jolt through Amukelo's arms, but his resolve did not waver. His eyes lit up with a fierce, triumphant grin, realizing that Neclord had fallen into his pace.
Unexpecting the force of Neclord's attack, Amukelo quickly regrouped as other fighters joined the battle. Yet, Amukelo's ferocity only increased; the close proximity of Neclord invigorated him, turning his rage into a potent weapon. He fought with wild abandon, each swing of his sword cutting through the air with lethal precision, his laughter now mirroring the madness he felt inside.
Amukelo's relentless assault overwhelmed Neclord's underlings faster than they could regroup, his blade slicing through their ranks with ease. Even Neclord, backed by his followers, found it difficult to keep up. The confined space hindered the mages from casting without risking hitting their own, further tipping the scales in Amukelo's favor.
In the heated crescendo of their battle, Amukelo's relentless aggression forced Neclord into a defensive retreat. The air crackled with tension, punctuated by the clang of steel and the harsh breaths of the combatants. Just as Neclord began to falter under the onslaught, a cry from above shifted the tide. "My lord, they are coming!" shouted one of Neclord's underlings from a nearby rooftop, his voice cutting through the chaos of the fight.
The distraction proved fatal for Neclord's defense. Seizing the moment, Amukelo executed a ferocious maneuver, his blade sweeping aside Neclord's guard and slashing deeply across his arm. Blood spurted as Neclord staggered back, clutching his wounded limb, his face contorted in agony. Amukelo's laugh, maniacal and chilling, filled the air as he raised his sword for a killing blow.
But just as death seemed imminent for Neclord, a shadowy figure intervened. With a blur of movement, the figure interposed himself between the combatants, catching Amukelo's death stroke on his own blade. The impact sent a shiver through Amukelo's arms. Enraged, Amukelo bellowed, "Get away!!!" and delivered a brutal kick that sent the interloper reeling to the side.
However, this interruption allowed several more cloaked figures to engage, pushing Amukelo back with a coordinated assault. Amidst the fray, a healer rushed to Neclord's side, chanting quickly to weave a spell that closed the worst of the wounds of his missing arm. With a nod from Neclord, both vanished down an alley, slipping away from the battle.
Amukelo, left facing the fresh adversaries, roared in frustration and defiance. "YOU COWARD!! Come back here, you coward!" His voice echoed off the narrow walls, laden with fury and scorn. "You don't deserve to breathe! I'm fighting you all alone, and once a few more puppets appear, the first thing you do is escape! Fight me, you COWARD!!!"
Despite his overwhelming skill and rage, the newcomers' strength and coordination slowly overwhelmed Amukelo's efforts. Each attempt to break through was expertly countered, their fresh energy a stark contrast to his fatigue from the prolonged combat. Neclord disappeared in a small alley, leaving Amukelo snarling in helpless anger as his enemy escaped with his dark entourage.