"Aaaahhh!! S... Save m—!" screamed a man as one of the assassins stabbed him repeatedly, each thrust of the blade brutal and merciless. He was one of the vendors Ren often visited, someone who had gradually become more than a casual acquaintance. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and unforgiving, as his screams were abruptly silenced.
The assassin's face twisted into something grotesque, saliva dripping from his mouth as he attacked, his eyes wide and unblinking. He looked less like a man and more like a beast starved beyond reason, relishing his kill.
"No. 264," barked a commanding voice. The middle-aged assassin stood tall, his presence suffocating. "I don't recall giving the order."
The younger assassin froze, his bloodied knife trembling in his hand. He backed away hastily, like a dog caught stealing scraps, his expression one of pure fear. The room felt heavy, charged with the palpable tension of suppressed violence.
The mercenaries who had lingered in the tavern grabbed their weapons, determination sparking in their eyes. They wouldn't die without a fight.
One mercenary, built like a bear, lunged at the nearest assassin. His massive arms wrapped around the killer in a crushing embrace. Despite his predicament, none of the other assassins even turned to help, their indifference chilling.
Krein, a scarred veteran with a longsword, seized the opportunity. With practiced precision, he appeared at the restrained assassin's side and slit his throat in a single, fluid motion. Blood sprayed across the tavern's grimy walls as the assassin's head lolled to the side. Garn, the bear-like mercenary, discarded the lifeless body like trash and turned to face the others, his face set like stone.
"How many can we take?" Krein asked, his voice steady despite the chaos.
"Five. Maybe six, if that one doesn't join." Garn nodded toward the assassin by the door. Unlike the others, this man exuded a different kind of menace, his very presence akin to staring down a Swordmaster. His silent observation was more unsettling than any attack.
The carnage unfolded in mere seconds, leaving Ren and Luna frozen in terror. Ren's mind raced, the gruesome image of the vendor's lifeless body burned into his memory. His legs felt like lead, his body paralyzed by the raw brutality surrounding him.
Luna, too, was paralyzed. Her knees gave way as she collapsed onto a nearby table, her wide eyes reflecting the horror she couldn't look away from.
But the assassins didn't care about their fear. The middle-aged leader advanced on Luna, his dagger gleaming ominously under the dim light. He moved with calculated slowness, savoring her terror.
A mercenary near her reacted swiftly, unsheathing his shortsword and throwing it toward the assassin. The blade was effortlessly deflected, clattering harmlessly to the floor.
"Ren! Snap out of it!" the mercenary shouted, his voice cutting through the fog of Ren's shock. He charged at the assassin, buying precious seconds for Luna.
The mercenary's cry jolted Ren back to reality. He blinked, the chaos of the tavern crashing down around him like a tidal wave. Dead bodies littered the floor, and the air reeked of blood and sweat.
'Where's Luna?' His heart pounded as he scanned the room. There she was, still frozen in place, terror anchoring her feet to the ground.
Adrenaline surged. Ren vaulted over the counter, grabbing Luna by the arm. "We need to go!" he rasped, dragging her toward the kitchen.
The mercenary's sacrifice had bought them time, but not much. The assassin struck the man down with chilling efficiency, his dagger slicing cleanly into his throat. Blood poured from the wound as the mercenary crumpled, lifeless.
Ren shoved Luna ahead of him, pushing her through the kitchen door. He was about to follow when a fiery pain seared across his back. He staggered, a diagonal gash blooming with crimson.
"Aaargh! Damn it!" he screamed, collapsing at the doorway. The pain was blinding, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
Through his blurred vision, he saw Luna rushing back toward him, tears streaming down her face. Her voice was frantic, but her words were lost to him. His ears rang, the world a muffled cacophony.
The assassin loomed over him, dagger poised for the killing blow. "Target elimination successful," he muttered, raising his blade.
But before the blade could fall, an axe whirled through the air, its deadly arc precise and unrelenting. The weapon cleaved through the assassin's skull with a grotesque crunch, and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been severed, blood pooling beneath him in silence.
Robert emerged from the kitchen, his presence dominating the room. His weathered face was a mask of grim determination. In his hand was a crimson potion, its glow vibrant and otherworldly.
He knelt beside Ren and poured the liquid over the wound. The flesh hissed and bubbled as it knitted itself back together.
"It burns!" Ren cried out, writhing in pain. The sensation was unbearable, but the wound closed rapidly, leaving only faint scars.
Robert's jaw tightened as he watched Ren suffer. His aura flared, the force of it suffocating. He stood, his gaze fixed on the assassins still standing.
"Luna, take him and leave. Now," Robert ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
Luna nodded, swallowing her fear. She helped Ren to his feet, his weight heavy on her shoulder. Together, they stumbled toward the back door, leaving the battle behind.
Ren clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath his pain. 'How can I ever stand tall if I crumble now?' he thought, the weight of his helplessness pressing down on him like a stone.
Outside, the town was in chaos. Flames devoured homes and shops, their orange glow casting eerie shadows. People screamed, their cries piercing the night. It was a nightmare brought to life.
Ren and Luna pressed on, their steps heavy with exhaustion and despair. But as they turned a corner, the sight before them made their hearts sink further.
The town—their home—was burning.
Screech. The grotesque sound of bone and flesh tearing apart echoed through the tavern as Robert retrieved his axe from the assassin's shattered skull. Blood and viscera dripped from the blade, staining the floor with crimson streaks. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of fear.
The remaining assassins and mercenaries froze, their eyes locked on Robert. He stood tall, his presence an unyielding storm. "Stay out of it," growled the assassin by the door, finally stepping forward. His slender frame belied his lethality, and his aura crackled with sharp intensity.
Despite the warning, Robert remained unmoved, his eyes narrowing. He began wiping the blood from his axe with a cloth, his movements deliberate, dismissive. "I'll only ask once," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Who's your target?"
The assassin didn't respond. His daggers gleamed, etched with glowing runes that pulsed an eerie violet. The room seemed to darken as the assassin's aura expanded, oppressive and suffocating.
"Fine," Robert muttered, his grip tightening on the axe. "Leaving one of you alive should be enough."
The room erupted into chaos. Robert's axe cleaved through one assassin, the force of his swing shattering bone. The leader lunged, his speed blinding. He appeared above Robert in an instant, his twin daggers aimed for Robert's neck.
But Robert was faster. With a guttural roar, he parried the strike, the clash of weapons sending shockwaves through the room. The assassin's agility was matched by Robert's sheer strength and precision. They traded blows, their movements a deadly dance of experience and raw power.
"Haah! You're telling me someone like him was running a tavern?" the assassin thought, his focus unwavering despite Robert's overwhelming aura.
The fight escalated with a ferocity that shook the very foundation of the tavern. Robert's axe began to glow faintly, his aura condensing around the blade in waves of palpable energy. Each swing of the weapon sent a shockwave rippling through the air, heavy and precise, forcing the assassin to evade with calculated precision.
The assassin countered with blinding bursts of speed, his twin daggers weaving intricate arcs of violet light as they slashed toward Robert. One dagger sliced toward Robert's torso, only to meet the unyielding haft of the axe. Sparks flew as their weapons collided, the clang of steel reverberating like thunder.
The assassin darted to the side, aiming for Robert's flank. But Robert anticipated the move, swinging his axe in a wide arc that barely missed the assassin's midsection. The sheer force of the swing split the nearby table in two, scattering debris across the room.
Undeterred, the assassin used the momentum to vault off the wall, descending on Robert from above with both daggers aimed for his shoulders. Robert stepped back just in time, the daggers slicing harmlessly through the air where he had stood. Without missing a beat, he retaliated with a powerful upward swing, the energy-infused blade creating a searing trail of light.
The assassin flipped mid-air, narrowly evading the strike, and landed with feline grace. His lips twisted into a smug smirk as he surged forward once more, his movements almost a blur. One dagger managed to graze Robert's arm, drawing a thin line of crimson. But Robert's expression remained unyielding, his grip tightening on his axe.
"Enough of this," Robert growled, his aura intensifying to a near-unbearable level. The air itself seemed to tremble under the weight of his power. His next swing came down with the force of a falling mountain, the axe splitting the floorboards as the assassin barely rolled away in time.
Realizing the growing disparity in their power, the assassin's smirk faltered. He infused his daggers with a dark flame, the violet glow now a furious blaze. His strikes became more erratic, desperate, yet no less deadly. Robert met each attack with calm precision, his every movement deliberate and efficient.
As the assassin lunged for a final desperate blow, Robert sidestepped smoothly, twisting his axe to catch the assassin's arm mid-strike. With a swift, brutal motion, he disarmed the dagger and sent it clattering to the ground. The assassin staggered back, his breath ragged, as Robert's axe came to rest just inches from his neck.
The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating. "You've lost," Robert said, his voice low and unrelenting. But the assassin's eyes gleamed with something dangerous, and he whispered, "Not yet…" before launching one final, reckless charge.
Robert swung his axe one last time, the blade carving through the assassin's aura-infused daggers and splitting them in half. The force of the blow hurled the assassin across the room, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. As he crumpled to the floor, his once-blazing aura flickered out like a dying flame.
"Let's end this," Robert growled. His aura flared, the pressure in the room becoming unbearable. His axe seemed to hum with anticipation as he raised it high, the condensed energy crackling like thunder.
The assassin smirked, his own aura flaring to meet Robert's. The runes on his daggers pulsed brighter, and a strange, dark flame ignited along their edges.
They clashed one final time.
The resulting explosion shook the tavern, a deafening roar that obliterated everything within a hundred-meter radius. The flames consuming the town were extinguished by the sheer force of the shockwave, leaving only smoke and debris in its wake.
As the dust settled, Robert stood amidst the ruins, blood dripping from a deep wound in his side. He wrenched one of the assassin's daggers from his abdomen, his teeth gritted against the pain.
The assassin lay crumpled on the ground, one arm shattered and useless. He coughed, blood spilling from his lips. "The… the boy… he's… cursed…" he rasped, but before he could finish, Robert's axe silenced him forever.
Robert exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging. He surveyed the destruction, the smoldering remains of the tavern he once called home. "Luna's going to kill me for this," he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the carnage.
By the time the fires had been quelled, the town was a shadow of its former self. The survivors gathered in the streets, their faces etched with despair. Healers worked tirelessly, but there were too many wounded and too few hands.
Ren stumbled through the chaos, a small boy cradled in his arms. The child's breath was shallow, his face streaked with soot. Ren's legs gave out as he reached the healers' makeshift station, collapsing to his knees.
A sharp pain shot through his ankles. He looked down, horrified to see blood pooling around his feet, tendons severed with surgical precision. His vision blurred as darkness closed in.
As Ren's vision blurred, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy figure retreating into the chaos. Pain exploded through his ankles where precise, deliberate strikes had severed his tendons. 'Who…?' he thought weakly, his mind racing as the world tilted. Darkness surged forward, and his final thought was not of weakness but suspicion and dread.