Version 2.0
As the final breath escaped Aloe's twisted form, Brandon finally got a look at the killer. The mercenary stood over Aloe's crumpled body, panting, the glow of battle in his eyes. A sharp, wolfish grin broke across his face, framed by a halo of dishevelled dark hair.
The corners of his lips curled upward into that familiar, smooth smile. His fine features seemed almost out of place amidst the dirt and blood splattered across his face, but the mirth in his eyes carried a wildness that matched the chaos surrounding him. A trickle of blood traced its way down, passing his eyes and down his jaw, cutting a stark crimson line, yet he paid it no mind, keeping his gaze fixed on Brandon. "Connell!" Brandon snarled.
The monsters around them let out a deafening chorus of howls, roars, and snarls. They shuffled and thrashed, momentarily disoriented, their instincts torn. The ground trembled beneath their feet as the cries echoed off the cliffs, as the men warily readied their weapons.
Connell eyes sparkled like embers caught in the moonlight. "Looks like I was just in time," he sarcastically smiled. It broadened as he met Brandon's and the other King's furious gaze.
Brandon's chest heaved. The air crackled between them, as the monsters' howls turned into a frenzied retreat, causing them to stampede over one another and disappear into the wilds, leaving the humans, alone in a battlefield strewn with bodies and snow-soaked in red, to deal with their argument.
The ravine fell into a sudden, unnatural silence as the monsters, guttural growls and shrieks faded into a low murmur, then into nothing. For a heartbeat, the world frozen, every breath held in collective suspense.
Connell placed his foot on Aloe's lifeless body, the cheeky glint still in his eyes. The mercenaries erupted first, raising their weapons high and shouting with triumph. "To a mercenary victory!" they called, voices full of pride. The cheer spread through their ranks, a wave of celebration that tasted of a long-awaited victory.
But among the kings and their men, the elation was quickly doused with rage. Brandon's face was fuming, smeared with dirt and blood, eyes narrowed beneath the furrow of his brow. The Umbar King stepped forward staring down at Connell. The Frost King's pale eyes were sharp as ice, and the Slate King clenched his jaw, muscles taut under a blood-streaked helm.
"Are we to celebrate a stolen kill?" Edric barked, his voice cutting through the noise like the crack of a whip. He was bloodied, an open wound across his temple, but his eyes were alive with fury. "This was no mere hunt, Connell. You robbed us of justice!"
Connell smiled before he raised an eyebrow, shrugging as if the matter were trivial. "Justice? Or glory? Does it matter when the threat is ended?" His tone was sharp, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he scanned the kings and their men.
Edwyn, still catching his breath gripped his sword. "You've got some balls showing your face here again. We fought, bled, and nearly died for this, and you claim the kill like it was yours to take," he said, voice low but trembling with restrained anger.
The mercenaries bristled, their fingers tightening around the hilts of their swords and axes. One stepped forward, a broad-shouldered man with a beard caked in grime and sweat. "Connell did what needed to be done! While you kings hesitated, he acted!"
The arguing grew louder, voices overlapping in a cacophony of accusation and defence. Men on both sides shifted restlessly, some glancing at the cliffs and hills where the retreating monsters were still disappearing into the distance, others at each other with soldering anger. The sharp scent of blood and sweat filled the air, mingling with the cold, biting wind that swept through the ravine.
Brandon's deep voice cut through the noise. "Enough!" The word boomed, and silence fell again, tense and expectant. He took a step toward Connell, eyes locking onto the mercenaries with a look of simmering rage getting a feel of their remaining numbers. "Your 'friends' won't always be there to protect you, Connell."
Connell's smile returned, as he spread his arms around. The kings and their men exchanged glances, as the wind whispered around them. Brandon's eyes tracked Connell as he moved through the crowd of mercenaries, his stride confident and assured. The mercenary's cheeky grin flashed as he glanced back at Brandon, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Connell raised his voice, loud and clear so that all could hear, "See how they glare, these mighty kings? Jealous that it wasn't their blade that ended the mad one. It took honest men to finish what they could not!"
The mercenaries around him laughed, a rough, rolling sound that sent a shiver of tension through the air. Connell spun around; arms outstretched as if welcoming an embrace. "Let it be known that it wasn't crowns or titles that silenced Aloe, but the hands of those who fight for the people, for their protection and betterment."
A murmur swept through the gathered men, the kings' soldiers shifting uneasily, hands tightening on the hilts of their swords. The mercenaries, emboldened by Connell's words, straightened, eyes glistening with a dangerous pride. One of them, a wiry man with a scar cutting across his nose, raised his axe and shouted, "Aye! For the glory of the Ice Dogs." Quickly other mercenaries joined it shouting out their mercenary party names.
The kings' guards bristled at the jibe, some taking half-steps forward, jaws clenched, eyes burning with indignation. Edric's voice came out in a low growl, directed at Brandon. "We need to put a stop to this before it turns into bloodshed."
But before any could act, Connell stepped closer, his smile twisting into something sharper. "What's the matter? Afraid of losing face before your men? Seems your crowns have taken you too far away from the common people, you're out of touch." He spat the last word like a challenge, eyes locked on Brandon.
Brandon's heart thundered in his chest, anger coiling tight in his stomach. Around him, the tension was palpable, a storm about to break. The Frost King's fingers twitched on the pommel of his sword, and the Slate King's expression hardened into a look of cold, calculating fury. The Umbar King, leaning on his bloodied spear, scowled beneath the weight of exhaustion and rage.
The mercenaries edged forward, their boots scuffing against the stone, weapons bristling in a line of defiance. The kings' men mirrored them, shields and blades raised, breath misting in the frigid air as they awaited the inevitable spark.
Connell's grin widened, eyes dancing with the anticipation of chaos, as silence fell once more—a silence so tight that the very wind seemed to hold its breath.