Amukelo stood tall, as he took a sight of the scene before him. Most were men with haunted looks, as if they were forced into something they never wanted.
Amukelo's gaze fell back on the priest, and his voice was sharp, filled with righteous anger. "Surrender? To a mad scum like you, who abuses innocent women?" Amukelo's voice cut through the tension. "Go fuck yourself and your puppets!"
For a moment, silence blanketed the hall as those words sank in. The guards exchanged nervous glances, clearly unaccustomed to anyone defying the priest so openly. The monks, with their twisted sense of loyalty, looked to their leader for guidance, but even they seemed stunned at Amukelo's boldness.
The priest's expression shifted from mild amusement to a twisted mask of fury, though he tried to maintain his composure. He scanned the room, looking at the expression of his followers, then brought his eyes back to Amukelo, his face twitching with barely contained rage.
"In that case..." the priest muttered under his breath, raising his hand as if he were swatting an insect. Without a single word of incantation, the floor beneath his hand trembled, and suddenly, with a sharp grinding sound, an earth drill shot out of the ground, spiraling toward Amukelo with blinding speed. The drill was nearly upon Amukelo before he even had a chance to think.
Amukelo's eyes widened, but his instincts took over. With a fluid motion, he swung his elven blade, clashing against the drill and shattering it into a cloud of dust and debris. Dust hung in the air, and for a moment, it seemed to all watching that Amukelo must have been pierced through and defeated. But as the cloud settled, there he stood, sword raised, completely unharmed, his eyes blazing with resolve.
Gasps rippled through the hall. The guards took a step back in disbelief, and the monks froze, their mouths hanging open. The priest, however, only smirked, eyes narrowing with new interest. "Ohhh..." he said, a twisted delight in his voice.
He raised his hand again, and this time a barrage of earth drills shot from the ground—five, ten, twenty—all aimed at Amukelo in rapid succession. They came from every angle, drilling toward him with deadly precision, and each one could impale him in an instant.
Amukelo moved like the wind. Each time a drill reached him, his blade danced to meet it, deflecting it aside, shattering it, or sidestepping just as it passed, grazing his armor. Sparks flew as the metal of his sword clashed against stone, and the ground was torn up around him from the relentless assault.
But then, without warning, the drills ceased. The priest lowered his hand, and the dust cloud settled once more, a twisted grin on his face. "How long do you think you can—"
Suddenly, Amukelo bolted through the clearing dust like a flash of lightning, his sword raised high. He closed the distance between himself and the priest in the blink of an eye, and with one powerful, fluid motion, he swung his sword straight at the priest's face. The priest's eyes widened in shock, and he managed to stumble back just in time to avoid a fatal strike, but not before Amukelo's blade sliced across his cheek.
Blood sprayed from the cut, splattering onto the priest's immaculate robes, and for a split second, there was a horrified silence. The priest touched his face in disbelief, feeling the warm stream of blood trickling down his cheek and staining his fingers.
The guards around him, those who had been smiling and jeering at Amukelo moments before, now stood in stunned silence, staring at the defiant warrior who had managed to wound their master.
The priest's face twisted in unrestrained fury. His calm demeanor shattered, revealing a violent rage beneath. "YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!!!" he roared, the sound echoing through the church like thunder. "Get him! All of you, GET HIM!"
At his command, the monks sprang into action. A barrage of spells—wind blades, fireballs, and bolts of energy—flew toward Amukelo, forcing him to weave and dodge as best as he could. The soldiers hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances as they slowly began to close in on him. Some drew their swords reluctantly, and others shuffled forward with reluctance in their eyes, clearly torn between fear of the priest and hope for the change.
Amukelo's mind raced as he deflected spell after spell with his blade, narrowly avoiding the blasts that would have incinerated him. He saw the hesitation in the guards—the doubt in their eyes. He knew he could use this.
As he dodged another spell and sidestepped a lunging guard, Amukelo's voice rang out loud and clear, cutting through the chaos. "This is your chance!" he shouted, his voice strong and commanding. "This is your chance to break free from this madness and save your settlement! If you join me, we can take down this scum and restore peace!"
Some guards wavered, lowering their weapons, their eyes darting nervously between Amukelo and the furious priest. The priest, his face twisted in rage and blood dripping down his cheek, screamed, "What are you waiting for!? GET HIM!"
Amukelo knew that if he did nothing to turn the tide of battle quickly, the overwhelming number of soldiers and monks would close in on him, trapping him with no room to maneuver. The soldiers were closing in from all sides, driven by the priest's command, and while many were hesitant, some were not—they sprinted toward them with their swords drawn.
He took a quick, steadying breath and assessed his surroundings. The closest group of soldiers were two guards directly in front of him. They stood between him and one of the monks, who seemed to be readying another spell to pin him down. The soldiers were hesitant, clearly conflicted, but the monk behind them was yelling furiously, his voice shrill and desperate. "What are you doing, you fools!? Stop him!"
The monk was vulnerable, but if the gamble failed and he got caught up in a scuffle with the soldiers, he'd lose his only chance to turn the hesitant soldiers to his sife. A part of him wondered if these soldiers would step aside if he moved quickly enough. He tightened his grip on his sword, braced himself, and sprinted toward the soldiers with all the speed he could muster.
The two soldiers, seeing Amukelo barrel toward them, exchanged a look of panic. Their swords trembled in their hands, and they glanced back at the yelling monk, then back at Amukelo, clearly unsure of what to do. That moment of hesitation was all Amukelo needed. He dashed between them, his form a blur of motion. Before they could even raise their swords to strike, Amukelo was already past them.
The monk's face twisted into one of utter terror as he realized that the soldiers had failed to block Amukelo's path. He raised his hands to cast a spell, but it was too late. Amukelo's blade arced through the air like lightning, and with a single clean slash, he severed the monk's head from his body. The head tumbled to the ground, and the monk's lifeless body followed soon after, collapsing in a heap.
Amukelo seized the moment. He turned to the two guards who had hesitated and spoke, his voice low but filled with conviction, "Join me. Together, we can take them down!" The two guards, visibly shaking, looked around nervously, weighing their options. Amukelo could see the conflict in their eyes: torn between the fear of disobeying the priest and the hope of escaping this living nightmare.
The tide of uncertainty was strong, but not everyone was swayed. The commander of the guards—the one that escorted Ammukelo earlier—stormed over with fury in his eyes. "You traitors!" he bellowed, raising his sword to strike at the two soldiers who hesitated.
One of the soldiers stumbled back, too afraid to react, but before the commander's blade could fall, Amukelo dashed in front of them. He intercepted the blow with his sword, blocking it with a sharp clang that reverberated through the church's stone walls. The commander's eyes widened in surprise, and before he could react, Amukelo followed up with a forceful kick to the chest. The commander staggered back from the impact, thrown off balance, and crashed into a nearby monk, sending them both sprawling to the ground.
Amukelo didn't let up. He turned back to the two hesitant soldiers, urgency and fire burning in his eyes. "Come! This is your only chance!" His words rang out with such conviction that the guards' resolve finally broke. They glanced at one another, a silent understanding passing between them, and then they both nodded. With a roar of newfound determination, they raised their weapons and charged toward the nearest group of soldiers, attacking their former comrades.
The dam had burst. Seeing the courage of their fellows, other hesitant soldiers began to peel away from the formation, rallying to Amukelo's side. Their voices joined in a defiant battle cry as they charged at the priests' forces, and the tide of the battle shifted. The rebels struck out against their oppressors, and in the surprise and confusion, several monks were quickly overwhelmed. One was stabbed in the chest before he could cast a spell; another was knocked to the ground and trampled as the fight spread throughout the hall like wildfire.
The priest's face contorted in rage as he watched the rebellion unfold before his eyes. "You fools! I will make you regret this!" He raised his hand, a ball of flame forming in his palm, and with a shout, he hurled a fireball at the closest rebel soldier. The fireball struck true, and the unfortunate man was consumed in flames, his body turning to ash in a matter of seconds. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and a scream of agony echoed through the hall.
But even as the fallen soldier's ashes settled to the ground, the rebellion did not falter. The remaining guards, spurred on by the hope of freedom, fought with renewed strength. The element of surprise was on their side, and as they clashed with the priest's forces, they managed to cut down several more monks, breaking through their ranks with ferocity. Amukelo fought at the front, his sword a blur of motion as he parried blows, struck down his enemies, and rallied his newfound allies to press the advantage.