"Let's go, Agren!" Mark shouted, his voice echoing through the air as he charged forward. With swift motion, he lunged at Agren with his scythe, the dark, ethereal blade slicing through the air with a menacing whoosh.
Agren attempted to dodge to the side, but Mark twisted his body in mid air, his scythe flashing in a deadly arc. Agren was forced to react quickly, he raised his chain hands to block the attack. The scythe bit deep into the hands, the metal links screaming in protest as they struggled to hold back the blade's dark power.
The two fighters clashed in a maelstrom of steel and chain, their movements a barely visible as they exchanged blow after blow. Mark's scythe sliced through the air with deadly precision, its ethereal blade seeming to hunger for Agren's very soul, his strikes were rapid and intense. Agren's chain like hands struggled to keep pace, his movements become increasingly desperate as he tried to fend off the onslaught. He jumped back, attempting to create some distance between them, but Mark was relentless, he pursued Agren, his scythe flashing in the light.
Zico watched in awe as Mark single handedly overpowered the Level 2 Knight, Agren.
"He doesn't need my help, he's got this," Zico said to himself, but his words were short lived. With a swift and unexpected move, Agren's chains with sharp ends struck Mark's legs and hands, pulled and pinned marl to the ground. Mark's scythe fell from his grasp, hitting the ground with a loud clanking sound that echoed through the air. Zico's eyes widened in surprise, his initial confidence in Mark's abilities now replaced with worry.
'To hell with control, why should I be polite if he slaughtered my brother?' Agren's thoughts seethed with rage, his anger unleashing a maelstrom of fury as he summoned his full power. Chains erupted from the earth below, like skeletal fingers grasping for the sky, their metallic links glinting with killing intent. Agren seemed to have control of all the chains, some of them pierced through Mark's body like spears, their ends emerging from the ground like a forest of steel spikes. Zico dodged the initial onslaught with a nimbleness born of desperation, but the chains proved too hard, too unyielding, and he stumbled back, his arms trembling with the effort of trying to slash through the unrelenting barrage with his daggers.
"I'll kill you, Aknaili!" Agren's voice thundered, his chain hand rising like a executioner's axe, ready to strike the final blow. Chains burst from the ground, wrapping around his arm like a living shackle, and then he punched at Mark with a force that could shatter stone. Zico leapt forward quickly before Agren could land his punch on mark, and blocked the attack with a strength. The impact was immense, the force of the blow sending Zico stumbling back, his transformation faltering, his body reverting to its human form. Yet, he refused to go down, his arms still raised in defence still holding his daggers, blocking each successive punch from Agren's relentless assault, his eyes blazing with fierce determination.
"Are you going to stay down there, cowering in the dirt, while I take the brunt of this onslaught and keep smiling like a fool?" Zico's voice crackled with frustration, his words dripping with anger as he blocked each of Agren's relentless punches. Mark, meanwhile, writhed in agony, his body pinned to the ground by the chains that had pierced his flesh like skewers. With a pained smile, he gritted his teeth and began to pull the chains out of his body, one by one, each removal accompanied by a sickening squelch and a fresh wave of crimson blood. As the last chain was yanked free, Mark sprang to his feet with a pained smile, his eyes blazing with a hunger. He sprinted towards his scythe, lying abandoned on the ground, its dark blade seeming to hum. Just as Mark was about to grasp the haft of his scythe, Agren unleashed a vicious punch, aiming to crush Mark's skull. But Mark was nolonger a stranger to combat's deadly dance, with fluid grace, he flipped himself sideways, avoiding the blow by a hair's breadth. As he twirled through the air, his hand shot out like a striking snake, closing around the scythe's handle with a grasp that was familiar. The weapon seemed to leap into his hand, its dark blade shimmered with an eager malevolence.
Zico collapsed to the ground, his body exhausted from the relentless barrage of chain attacks. The chains had stopped attacking him and we're now focused on mark alone. The young warrior lay there, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his eyes closed as he sought to replenish his dwindling energy.
Old Man Ginger led the villagers through the ravaged landscape, his voice ringing out clear and urgent as he exhorted them to hurry.
"No one must be left behind!" he shouted, his eyes scanning the crowd as they trudged forward. The villagers were armed and ready, some carrying children on their shoulders, while others walked with swords at the ready. Emily and Asami walked side by side behind everyone, their swords held tightly in their hands, their eyes fixed on the path ahead. Infront, the Second Level Village Chief and Old Man Ginger led the way, their faces set with determination.
As they walked, the villagers found themselves on a battle scarred path, the trees cut down and bloody, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. But to their surprise, the Sword Rain that had once threatened to devour them whole was now still, the blades stuck in mid air like a frozen waterfall. Old Man Ginger's face creased with worry as he gazed upon the sight, his eyes narrowing as he searched for any sign of danger.
"Keep moving forward!" he ordered, his voice firm and commanding. Some of the villagers couldn't help but gawk at the eerie spectacle, but those who knew better felt a shiver run down their spines. They knew that only someone or something incredibly powerful could have halted the Sword Rain in its tracks, and that meant they were walking into a potentially deadly trap.
Old Man Ginger's eyes swept back over his shoulder, his gaze meeting the faces of his fellow Village Chiefs, their expressions grim and resolute. His mind raced with the weight of their situation, the unspoken dangers that lurked ahead, and the uncharted territories they were about to enter:
'The pril we may encounter is not the only peril,' he thought to himself, his eyes clouding with concern
'We have four Level Three villages and their Chiefs to consider, each with their own strengths and weaknesses, their own agendas and motivations.' The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, the complexity of their situation unfolding like a tapestry of uncertainty:
'Will we find allies or enemies among them?' he wondered.