Jessamine and her squad, which included Hope Masterson and two other Societie members, walked briskly but aimlessly though the north gate of the Academy. They stopped and made small talk with members of the Societie patrolling the town, explaining their absence as having checked in on the Research Groups assigned to the perimeter of the island—but something felt wrong.
"There seem to be too many people here," said Jessamine. "The Academy is under lockdown; only the Societie Royale and our deputized Research Groups are allowed to break curfew. Why are there so many students milling about?"
"One of the campus security officers cancelled the curfew," one student replied. "Apparently the island isn't in any danger after all. The Research Groups are on their way back."
Jessamine glanced sideways at Hope, who returned the gesture.
The enemies want to slow us down, or discourage conflict… they're holding the entire school hostage.
At the same time…
This makes it easier for us to slip in.
The squad said their goodbyes and proceeded further through the mazelike streets of the Academy Town, making an extra effort to appear harmless and purposeless. They couldn't raise any suspicion just in case the enemy's spies were watching them; given the amount of people in the town, it was indeed likely that spies were mixed in among the crowds.
Upon reaching the town square, Jessamine's group noticed another squad enter from a road on the opposite side, but they completely ignored their comrades. Navigating the square would prove difficult enough: they wove through the crowded space, being sociable and friendly, while slowly moving towards the road to the Academy Keep. Acquaintances and adoring fans—Jessamine's public image to blame—drew their attention at every turn, but the group pressed on.
There were a total of eight squads in play, each with at least four and at most seven students. Three had been assigned the west gate, the main entrance; two to the south and east gates, and only Jessamine's squad from the north gate.
Three squads, but pretending to be a few groups of friends. They should be able to pass through the western gate without raising suspicion…
The two from the eastern gate will have the hardest time. It's behind the Keep, it'll be subject to increased observation. Basic psychology—the instinct to be overprotective of one's weaknesses.
But even then, that would suit our purposes.
Their forces would converge on the southern district, and we would catch them from behind.
Before she knew it, Jessamine and her group had crossed the threshold and entered the Academy Keep.
She looked to the side and identified a member of a squad from the south gate, having arrived previously and now milling about the entrance hall with a deliberate sense of aimlessness.
Two members of their group split off, each heading towards a staircase in different wings of the building while Hope and Jessamine continued alone to the main elevator bank.
The pair entered an elevator and pressed the button for the sub-basement, which Jessamine had discovered via her mother was the floor which contained the entrance to the Ravensleigh Vault, the King's designated shelter.
"So, you and Caspian, huh?" asked Hope, breaking the minute-long silence.
"It's not what you're thinking," Jessamine replied. "We have an… arrangement. No strings attached."
"Sure you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Hope raised an eyebrow at Jessamine, her expression dripping with unspoken sarcasm.
"What?!"
"Are you sure your emotions are healthy enough to make decisions like that?"
"That's none of your concern, Hope," said Jessamine sternly, frowning at her friend with a commanding presence. "Focus on the mission at hand, and don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"If you say so," Hope muttered.
The deceleration and small chime! of the elevator notified them that they had arrived on the sub-basement floor, but before the elevator doors could open, the small space exploded in a chorus of magically-accelerated bullets.
***
Arthur called the bloodied blade to him, and within seconds it was within his grasp. Only one enemy remained: the one guarding Morgan's unconscious body.
I can deal with one man, he thought.
Flicking his fingers upward to send Excalibur skyward once more, Arthur began descending the dirt and stone-clad mountainside on which he had taken refuge. His plan had worked perfectly; he had been able to distract and eliminate his would-be assassins, all while doing his best to protect his cousin.
Now that I think about it, this could be my first stepping stone towards Kingship…
And it felt so natural.
I wonder if they'll tell stories about this night to kids one day?
King Arthur Pendragon… the Knight of Britannia…
As he approached the overturned semi truck, Arthur retrained his thoughts towards combat. It wouldn't do to be distracted right before the outcome of battle is decided.
He peered through a gap in the truck's carriage: he couldn't see Morgan, maybe her body had been moved while he was dealing with the others? But the lone assassin stood in the middle of the road a dozen meters away, frantically scanning his surroundings through his crosshairs.
I can get him from here.
Arthur called Excalibur to hover about five feet above the pavement and five hundred feet in front of his opponent, far beyond what was visible in the early morning darkness. He then commanded the sword to come to him as fast as possible, remaining horizontal with its blade facing the assassin's neck.
Three seconds later, the unfortunate soldier's head and body fell to the ground simultaneously as blood soaked the asphalt.
Victory is mine.
He wriggled his way through the wreck, pausing for a moment as he sensed a familiar feeling originating from within the trailer—but he couldn't identify it, so his mind dismissed the concern in favor of more immediate matters, like finding Morgan.
Her body, still unconscious and handcuffed, had been dragged towards the mountainside just beyond their car, likely to keep her from interfering in the battle should she wake.
Arthur ran over to her and checked her pulse: she was alive, and as far as he could tell, she was stable.
He then checked her aura, which is often a good way for magicians to profile each other; her aura was undiminished, and whenever she woke up, her magic would be as potent as ever.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen her cast much magic.
I guess that's because she focuses so much on physical skills…
As he felt her aura, though, he realized what had felt familiar about the capsized truck trailer just a few feet behind him.
The aura of magicians.
Not one—many.
It's a trap.
In an instant, Arthur appraised the situation: Morgan was safe where she was, but there was a second, hidden force of assassins who were waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
His back was turned.
That moment—is now.
He leapt backwards as the first magically-accelerated rounds punctured the truck's bed and decimated the air where his head had been not a second earlier. He was close enough to feel the shockwave of the projectile as it hurled into the mountainside beyond him.
Without thinking, he continued moving backwards until he was in the shadow of Morgan's car.
The trunk.
My gear—I can get it now.
He looked up, only to see that Morgan's car was still on fire from its previous explosion.
Guess the ammo is no good, then.
What about the shield generator?
Peeking into the trunk as gunfire began erupting around him, he saw a twisted hunk of metal where his shield generator used to be.
No good, huh?
That was Arthur's last thought before a magically-accelerated round blew his left foot to smithereens.
***
The operatives in the Academy Keep sub-basement kept their rifles trained on the elevator as its doors staggered open, the machinery clearly struggling due to the damage it had endured. But when the slabs of perforated metal were finally gone, the men were able to confirm their suspicions:
There, laying in a pool of blood, were the bodies of two female Academy students.
"Their shields ran out of juice," said one operative, relaxing his posture. "Radio Command. Tell them their info was on the mark—the Societie is moving against us, but they don't pose much threat."
"On it," replied one of his colleagues.
"Well, well, well," the first continued, moving towards the elevator. "Let's see how much of those pretty little thangs are in one piece, shall we?"
His comrades chuckled menacingly.
The man reached the elevator and stepped inside, prodding the bodies with his feet and occasionally using the barrel of his rifle to reposition what remained of their limbs.
"Hey, this one's assets are in pretty good shape!" he cried, gesturing to Hope. "'Long as you don't mind fraternizing with some swiss cheese, she might still provide a good time!"
Suddenly, a knife appeared before the man and slit this throat, slicing both his carotid artery as well as his vocal chords. As he clutched at his neck in vain to stem the tide of blood, a girl dropped from the ceiling and grabbed hold of his lapel.
To the man's horror, it was the same girl he had just recommended for necrophilia.
With the last of his strength, he looked down and confirmed that the girl was truly dead at his feet—What is this? A phantom? A clone? A body double?
He never learned the answer before his consciousness departed his husk.
The girl maintained her hold on his lapels and used it to keep him upright, as another girl dropped from the ceiling.
"Hey, you okay in there?" shouted one of his men. "Don't be gettin' busy, now! We have a job to do."
When their brother-in-arms didn't reply, two operatives readied their weapons and moved towards the elevator.
The sub-basement of the Academy keep was mostly used for utility work, and thus was designed as a liminal space of load-bearing columns intertwined with various pipes, vents, and machinery. The elevator bank was in the center, and the Vault was in the lower-left corner—in other words, there was no clear line of sight between the Vault entrance and the elevator bank.
A small detachment remained by the elevator to protect against incursions, while the main force stood in defense of the Vault entrance.
"We have an unresponsive friendly at the elevator," one of them whispered into a throat mic. "Potentially KIA. Be ready."
The men strained to hear a sound coming from the elevator: "Omnia, quae sub sole sunt, regnum meum sunt; Omnia magica discutiantur!"
It was the counter-magic spell Jessamine had used at the Maldives.
The enemy operatives didn't realize what had happened, but their personal shield generators had ceased functioning.
Hope and Jessamine, each holding one of the dead man's lapels, began running as fast as they could towards the oncoming agents.
"Hostiles confirmed, open fire!" the man cried, emptying what remained in his magazine into the corpse.
In tandem, the Societie members reached around their human shield and opened fire with submachine guns, tearing through their surprised opponents like butter.
The men dropped to the ground, dead, and the girls allowed the corpse to rejoin his unit.
"They'll be on us soon," said Jessamine. "Remember: we need to draw this out as long as possible."
"I've got your back."
"Let's go."