As the dust began to settle around the crumbled wall, the enemies gathered eager to see Amukelo crushed and vulnerable. Their movements were slow, confident, almost mocking. The archer perched high above them was the first to speak, narrowing his eyes and pointing toward the faint silhouette coming out of the cloud of debris.
"He's there," the archer announced smugly, pulling back the string of his bow and releasing an arrow with swift precision. The arrow sliced through the air and hit its mark, or so they thought. But as the dust cleared a little bit more, the arrow was revealed to have pierced nothing more than Amukelo's cloak, which now fluttered limply from the wreckage.
The assassin was the only one who realized that it was only a trick. He spun around, instinctively raising his daggers just in time to meet Amukelo's blade as it descended with lethal force. Sparks flew as metal clashed with metal, the assassin gritting his teeth in frustration as he barely managed to block the strike. The others were too slow to react, still stunned by the sudden turn of events.
Amukelo pressed forward, surprised by the assassin's ability to halt his strike. The man was skilled, far more than Amukelo had anticipated for someone specializing in stealth and ambush tactics. Most assassins wouldn't have the strength to meet a swordsman head-on, yet this one had a technique that countered raw force with fluidity and momentum, redirecting Amukelo's power in subtle ways that slowed his advance. But Amukelo wasn't done. He assessed the situation in a fraction of a second and made a choice. He had to take a gamble.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and pushed harder, channeling every ounce of strength he had to overpower the assassin. The assassin's eyes flickered with alarm as he realized what was happening. His defenses were not built to withstand raw power like this. With a grunt, Amukelo shoved his blade forward, breaking the assassin's technique. The assassin faltered, his stance breaking under the pressure. Amukelo's sword slowly began to press against the assassin's chest.
But in the corner of Amukelo's eye, a flash of movement caught his attention. The ground beneath him shifted unnaturally, and before he could fully register what was happening, jagged ice spikes erupted from the earth, shooting toward him with deadly intent. Amukelo had no choice but to abandon his attack. He threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding the ice spikes as they shattered the ground where he had just stood.
"Don't underestimate him," the assassin warned through gritted teeth, clutching the small wound on his chest. "He's stronger than we thought."
The others regrouped, replacing their arrogance with cooperation. The archer above, still with his bow trained on Amukelo, nocked another arrow, waiting for the perfect moment to release it.
The situation was dire. The assassin, though wounded, was still dangerous, and the others, including the mage, seemed prepared for a prolonged fight.
Amukelo's mind raced. He knew he couldn't hold out for long against five of them at once. He looked around looking for the best way out, but as soon as he did that, probably sensing his intentions, the mage cast earth walls that blocked all his escape routes. The earth's walls were thick and solid. Amukelo couldn't break them on time before the enemies would strike.
The group converged on Amukelo in a synchronized assault. The archer, perched above, released his arrows with precision, while the mage behind cast a thick earth wall, making it impossible for Amukelo to step back.
The first to attack was the axe-wielder, a hulking figure whose massive frame seemed to dominate the space around him. He raised his axe high above his head and brought it crashing down with brutal force. Amukelo, with a split-second reaction, sidestepped just as the axe sliced through the air, narrowly missing his body by a hair's breadth. The sound of the axe slamming into the ground echoed through the street, sending vibrations through the earth.
Before Amukelo could recover, another arrow grazed past his ear, barely scratching it. Giving Amukelo no time to breathe the assassin charged in next, capitalizing on the opening created by the axe wielder's attack. The assassin's movements were swift, precise, and deadly. His dagger, aimed directly at Amukelo's abdomen, was too fast to avoid entirely. Amukelo twisted his body, managing to avoid a fatal blow, but the blade still sliced through his side, drawing blood
The assassin surged past Amukelo, his momentum carrying him forward and leaving him momentarily vulnerable. Amukelo saw the opportunity. With a quick shift of his weight, he raised his sword high above his head, preparing to bring it down with all his strength and finish the assassin in one devastating blow.
But just as the blade was about to descend on the assassin, a sharp clash of metal rang out, and Amukelo's sword stopped dead in its tracks. His eyes widened in surprise as he looked up, meeting the gaze of the swordsman who had blocked his attack. The swordsman's blade held firm against Amukelo's strike as if it were made of unbreakable stone. The sheer force behind the block caused Amukelo to grit his teeth in frustration. He tried to push harder, to force his way through, but the swordsman's defense was unyielding.
Before Amukelo could react further, the assassin, recovering from his stumble, turned with lightning speed and slashed at Amukelo's torso. Amukelo barely had time to jump back, narrowly avoiding the dagger's deadly edge. He could feel the sharp pain from his earlier wound in his side, the blood soaking into his clothes, but he couldn't afford to be distracted.
Amukelo could see how well-coordinated they were. Each member of this squad worked in perfect unison, their movements timed and calculated to support one another. The assassin's reckless charges were not as uncoordinated as they seemed—each one was designed to bait Amukelo into making a mistake, while the swordsman and the others covered his vulnerabilities. They were a well-oiled machine, and Amukelo was their target.
They charged at him again, this time with even more ferocity. Amukelo found himself forced onto the defensive, his sword clashing with the axe-wielder's brutal strikes while simultaneously dodging arrows from above and avoiding the assassin's relentless lunges. His muscles burned, and his breath became ragged as he realized just how outmatched he was. He couldn't keep this up for long.
His mind raced, searching for a solution, for a way to turn the tide of the battle. It was then that an idea formed, a desperate plan that just might work. He glanced around quickly, noting the thick earth wall that the mage had created behind him. If he could somehow direct the flow of the fight toward that wall, he might be able to trick the axe-wielder or the mage into destroying it, opening a path for him to escape.
Amukelo began to shift his position subtly, directing his movements closer to the wall without drawing too much attention. The axe-wielder swung his massive weapon again, and this time, Amukelo deflected it with more intention, allowing the force of the blow to push him toward the wall. His feet slid across the ground as he angled himself, keeping the assassin and swordsman at bay with precise parries while simultaneously allowing the larger foe to push him closer to his goal.
Another arrow flew from above, forcing Amukelo to dodge and roll. He felt the cut on his stomach tug painfully, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on, each movement bringing him closer to the wall. The mage stood at a distance, watching the fight with a cold, calculating gaze. He didn't act when he saw no reason for, but he was watching and analyzing Amukelo's moves.
"Come on, you fool," Amukelo muttered under his breath, goading the axe-wielder into making a critical mistake.