The council was in an uproar.
"A slaughter of our own people? What in the world is the guard doing?
"We can not tolerate this wanton destruction! Innocent civilians have been slaughtered in the streets!"
"The guard were defending themselves! Those 'protesters' murdered two soldiers in cold blood!"
"And yet as the aggressors were justly taken care of, they continued their massacre, did they not?
Arguing echoed throughout the large meeting hall, the roughly twenty council members locked in a fervent shouting match, standing from their seats as they launched insults at each other. Several council members shook their fists angrily through the air, as if grasping some invisible hold.
Sarah looked on as she shivered. She felt something in the depths of the council room, the grasp of an invisible enemy taking hold of her heart and wrenching it like a rag. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she stepped forward, summoning one of her swords above her head. It glowed brightly, its vibrant, ethereal glow pulsing in the darkness of the oversized meeting room, enveloping the deliberating council in a warm yellow light.
"Calm yourselves!" Her hand shook for a moment, a flash of sorrow passing through her expression. It lasted for but only a moment, before her stoic expression regrew itself. She puffed her chest out high as she spoke, stepping forth atop the table, and raising herself above the others she called her peers.
"We've got enough on our plate, we can't squabble like idiots at the first sign of danger!" She said, her voice booming.
"First sign? Ever since Matsuo's death it's been nothing but disaster!" A dissenting voice jarred in.
Sarah turned her head towards the direction of the voice, unable to properly determine who it belonged to.
"We've been under attack from a foreign force. New incidents were inevitable." She said, her head shaking left and right as she turned towards the remainder of the group, who all had a mix of downtrodden expressions across their faces. "Our enemy is revealing their hand. Clearly, these protests are a result of their influence, and the attack on our caravans are certainly further proof of this." She opened her palms to the crowd. "I declare my intention to mobilize our scouting force with the purpose to discover this unseen enemy. If they are willing to influence our people from within, it's only proper we should seek them out." She said, raising her right hand into the air, and closing her fist tightly.
"We cannot tolerate their infallible actions. Their atrocities outnumber our patience, and it is time to slaughter them where they stand. War is inevitable, people, be it the second great war, or a petty squabble. The time has come to fight!" As she continued to speak, she summoned her swords to her side, all seven blades glinting in the air as they hovered around her body, each edge sheening with their razor sharp edge.
"And what comes after?" A lone voice cut through the silence of the watching councilmembers; a man Sarah had quickly come to learn within recent days. It was Evander. "Say we win this war-" He shrugged, nodding to himself at the same time. "Our people have been slaughtered like animals! We cannot recover from the crimes we have committed against our own citizens! What's your solution to lower the discontent?"
Sarah sighed, rolling her eyes. "Their discontent does not matter right now. Their actions were motivated by our enemy. We win this war, and they will calm down, simple as that. We will fight for them, and our actions will win their trust over."
Santiago, bearing a sarcastic frown, leveled his eyes upon the council, judging their reactions. "Bullshit!" He said, suddenly, standing upright. "You don't care for the people! You've made it clear through your actions today." His arm swept out around the council room, catching the many eyes of the people around it. "You've done nothing but make our situation worse! You expand us past our resources, you stretch our numbers thin, you allow this enemy inside our borders, not once, but twice, you slaughter our people and you have the audacity to say you have our best interests in mind? Ridiculous!" Spittle flies out of his mouth as his voice rises to a shout.
"You're not fit to be our leader, you're barely fit to be our second in command." He said, his arms widening out towards the council. "Why should we listen to her any longer? We've given her a good chance, time and time again." He said, earning a few nods from the listening council.
"Be careful what you say, Santiago" Sarah said, her swords spinning in the air imposingly, frustration evident on her face.
"Or what? You'll kill me?" He said, standing taller, his face jeering at hers.
"No." She said blankly.
"That sounds like a threat to m-"
Shirk~
Santiago was interrupted by someone throwing him to the side. He fell to the ground, hard, the side of his arms slamming into the carpeted flooring with a thud. He felt dizzy, his eyes spinning in his head as he struggled to understand what was going on. He lifted his head with difficulty as his vision blurred for a moment, before coming back into focus. A noise blared in his ears. It felt like some sort of alarm, or screaming, or something.
He turned back to where he'd stood, his eyes widening when finally seeing what had happened:
Evander lay in a pool of blood, clutching his waist desperately as more and more viscera spilled from his wound. A large knife lay placed within his gut, which was clearly thrown with such force that it ripped along his skin, spilling out a layer of organs onto the floor.
Santiago gasped as he rushed over to the dying man, clutching him by his hand. "Evander?! Hold on!" He clasped his hand over the wound, but the blood kept flowing, pouring through the gaps in his fingers. He let out a sob as his longtime friend and colleague struggled for breath, wheezing a few, inaudible words from his lungs, before falling silent, his eyes going limp.
He held him there for a second, the council still erupted in chaos, their screaming and shouting was apparent now, the council members backing away from the murder. He looked on at Sarah, whose face was coated in shock, her hand clasped above her mouth.
"Murderer!" Santiago shouted, saliva spilling from his mouth as he launched himself to his feet, his finger pointed, outstretched towards Sarah, whose blades still sat at the ready. "You didn't come here to negotiate, you came her to kill us!" He said, his voice catching the attention of the rest of the council room, who managed to overcome their panic.
"I formally announce my secession from The Garden, alongside the Homestead Complex! We will no longer stand for your rule!" He said, his words catching a roar of agreement. He turned and, at a full sprint, leapt on top of the large table that acted as their meeting room, his fist raised into the air. "Who will join me?!"
"The Gremille Complex announces their secession from The Garden!"
"As does the Lunaris!"
The provincial leaders of the local complexes, newly added into the council, rose into an uproar. Seven complexes in total, The Homestead, Gremille, Lunaris, Eridanos, Neda, Tiber, and Olympia complexes, which comprised around half of The Garden's 15 total complexes, seceded from The Garden, Formally throwing their badge, which was comprised of an emblem emblazoned with their symbol of a golden leaf, to the floor.
The room fell silent as they declared themselves independent, and even Sarah did not make a sound until they had fully left the room cheering and roaring with adrenaline.
She twitched as they walked by, watching the silent and sly expression roll across their faces. Clearly they had been scheming something along these lines for a while, and just the thought of it filled her with a silent, churning rage. Her blades flickered for a moment, still floating around her as she felt her inner self beg for her to lunge towards them, to stop them from leaving, from-
Woah.
She caught herself, her eyes widening as she realized just what she had been thinking. Her hands shook as she raised her chin high, her chin pointing towards the sky. "You think The Garden will sit by and let you do this? Your people owe us for giving them a home. You cannot remain in the territory we provided if you wish to leave." She said, her gaze evening out and lingering on Santiago's.
The two eyed each other for a moment, their muscles clenching as they waited for someone, something to make a move, but none came.
"You…" Santiago started, his eyes narrowing. "You deny us our home?"
Sarah barked a laugh. "You dare to steal ours? Even if you're independent of us, you hold our territory. Vacate it at once, or you will be removed by force." Her blades rose above her head, floating vertically aloft as if they were being held by the hit. They began to rotate faster and faster in a tight circle, creating an illusion of power. Her voice was a tantalizing mixture of anger and frustration, creating a sense of undesirable, infallible nothingness, as if no emotion remained within her.
Santiago looked from side to side, his face scrunching slightly. "I'm afraid we can't do that." He said, his right hand lingering towards the hilt of a dagger that lay at his side, unnoticeable to all but the supporters who stood behind him.
Sarah watched as one of the seceding members blanched, their face turning pale as they noticed the weapon, and her eyes narrowed. "You…" She took a deep breath, but her nerves only increased as the tension grew rapidly, the two only a few feet away at this point in time. They had slowly been nudging themselves closer towards each other over the course of their conversation, yet once they were within arm's length, they had stopped completely.
"You BASTARD!" She shouted, lunging towards Santiago in a swift, unerring movement. Her blades launched outwards from her body, their razor sharp edges pointed downwards in a swift, decimating stab. All seven of the blades continued to spin, creating a deadly, rotating edge that spun faster than most of the council could even perceive. The colors of the weapons blended together in a smoothie of electrifying magic, moving immensely fast towards Santiago's waiting body.
Clang! Her blades bounced back all at once, and she gasped as her momentum was pushed back, sending her off her balance. Around Santiago sat a vibrant blue shield, pulsing around his body like a form of weapon energy. Her blades, once hitting the barrier, bounced backwards, the force of the blow sending a gust of air whooshing back at her, forcing her to leap away. Her face fell into an expression of shock, and she glanced back behind Santiago, discovering the face of Akari, her loyal treasurer. Her eyes shined with a bright blue light, and it was clear that she was the source of Santiago's sudden defense.
"Akari?!" She yelled, her attention turning towards the rest of the room, who all took a step back as her gaze fell upon them. "Explain yourself. NOW."
"What is there to explain?" Akari said, her voice soft, yet confident. Her black hair spilled around her, tied into a small ponytail that fell behind her head. "Your actions are dooming our populace, and now you're threatening a dissenting citizen, a council member, no less, with deadly force." She said, her small stature somehow seemed to loom over them all. She seemed to not be surprised whatsoever, and she replied to each one of Sarah's words without even hesitating. "My loyalties lie to the people. I will resign from my position at once." She said, walking next to Santiago, whose pair of daggers now lay within his hands, his breathing rushed and panicked. He nodded to her, before turning back towards Sarah.
"It seems you're nothing but a tyrant, and we will stand for it no longer! If you are so bold as to aim for my life without deliberation, then it will be war, then." He said, before turning back towards the large door that served as the exit.
Sarah slumped against her chair, her swords fizzling out of existence. Her expression was frozen in a snarling, terrifying scowl, yet she only said a few words.
"So it's war, then."
__
The Next Morning…
A chorus of shouts rang out around the entrance to the Olympia complex, the closest seceding complex to Hope. Hundreds of newly naturalized citizens gathered around the narrow passage that connected to the glass bridge from hope, interrupting the highway towards the center of their territory.
"Get back! By orders of The Garden, get back!" an angry cry rose above the horde of protesters, all of whom were armed with simple weaponry. The cry originated from a man clad in a bright silver armor, emblazoned with a singular, golden leaf. He was equipped with a long, pointed spear which stood taller than himself when placed upright. Using his massive frame, he pushed through the group of angry people, managing to send them staggering back, a few of them falling clumsily on their backside.
"Anyone who claims to be under the rule of the Confederacy of United Complexes will be forcefully removed from the territory of The Garden. Resist, and you shall be arrested forcefully!" His voice peaked in volume as he made himself bigger, puffing out his chest, which was layered in connecting armor pieces. He was a burly man, with a large goatee placed upon his chin, accompanied by a thick, curling mustache. His face was scrunched in a scowl, his anger evident across his face.
The crowd roared in response, raising their tools high above their head. The noise was overpowering to the soldiers, bleating against their ears like the ringing of metal.
"We demand our homes!" One of the people in the front proclaimed.
"We refuse to live in this fascist regime!" said another, clearly one of the newly awakened. Freshly awakened from democratic leaning countries usually didn't work well with the autocracies that were common along the outskirts of the outer territories. It was due to this that many of the newly awakened migrated to the Skyscraper as soon as possible, seeking haven in the great powers that gave a much fairer representation to its citizens.
"Down with dictatorship!" Another voice rang out, accompanied by a few others echoing the same sentiment. Their every move floated through the rest of the crowd like a wave, one person affecting the next. At this point, there were hundreds of angry people standing in front of the smaller group of soldiers, their wall of bodies causing the soldiers to shy away, their hands on the hilt of their weapons.
The heavily armored commander, named Rorick, stepped forward unhesitatingly, shouting his orders over the angry mob's overpowering collective voice. Despite his extreme level of sound, his soldiers shrugged at him, unable to ascertain what he was saying. Grunting, he annoyedly leaned to his second in command's ear, a man clad in similarly shiny white armor, however unlike Rorick's overly built, warrior-like garb, his gear fit loosely around his body, allowing for more flexible movements. He was much smaller than Rorick, but his hair sported a much more regal-looking beard, poking out from underneath a part of his face covering. From the top of his helmet, Rorick could see a speck of speckled black hair.
"Art- ART!" Rorick roared in the man's ear, managing to catch his attention. "We need a [Bestial Roar] right about now" His face was puckered in a slight scowl, biting the inner part of his cheek as he found himself lost in thought. He and Art had been awakened in the same group some four years ago. They met in the Refugee camp, and they'd quickly became friends. Art was shy at first, but they worked their way into forming a bodyguard service, braving some of the dangers of weaker thrall for quick essence, eventually using their stronger abilities to get strong enough to hold their own. After being caught in the midst of the first Great War, they'd joined up with The Garden, where they'd became local commanders for regiments of The Garden's official military, using their experience to prevent unnecessary deaths. With the addition of Matsuo's overpowering strength, their lives became easy. Of course, that didn't last long.
Art nodded back towards Rorick, before reaching his palm up to the front of his face and closing his fist. A small blob of magic formed before his face, obscuring his mouth in a translucent, glowing clear orb of magic.
"Citizens of The Garden" Art began, the voices of the crowd dying down nearly instantly as his booming voice ripped through their ears. A few of the nearest dissenters fell to the ground, clutching their ears as blood began to run down the side of their head, their eardrums bursting instantly.
"Step back from our path or be placed under arrest. We have no intention of violence, however we will use force if necessary." His voice reverberated in their ears, echoing throughout the complex, as if he were standing amid a crowded stadium. He was using an ability called [Bestial Roar], which let Art expand his voice, as if talking into an adjustable megaphone. While it was typically used for combat, abilities like this could be used to a lesser degree for crowd control.
A few people staggered back, but their anger came back with a vengeance, pushing closer towards the soldiers once more. Rorick growled in anger as he motioned for his soldiers, holding a clasped fist behind his back. Slowly and inconspicuously, they unsheathed their weapons as Rorick took their attention.
"There's no need for violence! Calm down, people. I know things are a bit tight with the attacks, and our new leader has some… controversial ideas, but this is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. Put down your weapons, and all will be forgiven." He said, raising his hands above his head, his palms spread wide. He put a brutish smile across his face, and his weapon remained in its sheath.
Clink!
As he stepped forward, a sharpened piece of pipe dashed towards him, poking into the side of his armor, but not pierced through. His eyes widened and he reactively swatted the weapon away, drawing the small sword he held at his side with a harsh, metallic shhink~!
"BACK!" He yelled, making himself bigger. He attempted to scurry back, but another makeshift weapon poked at him, luckily still not piercing through the armor.
A million thought ran through his head, of danger, of the consequences of fighting these people, of the ruin The Garden had seemed to fall upon in just a few days. Fight or flight began to kick in, and his eyes dilated, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his head.
He needed to do something.
He swung his weapon in a large, wide arc towards his first attacker, cleaving through the flesh of the man's stomach. A long, dark red line exploded from the man's skin, spilling a heap of organs out onto the floor below. The man said nothing, only looking down towards his piled innards, then back at Rorick, a blank expression laid plainly across his face as he finally lurched over, his knees giving way as he fell, forcing him to fall face-first onto the ground.
The body landed in the pile of his own organs with a sickening splurch, leaving behind a deafening silence.
The two groups of people stared at the dead man that lay before them in silence, their previous uproar lost to the winds of death. A few of the leading protesters paled, their expressions rising in fear, then anger, then resilience.
Without a direction, or whim of organization, a man clad in layers of navy blue clothing launched himself at Rorick, a large machete in his hands. He roared at the top of his lungs, causing Rorick to jump in surprise as he turned to face the new threat.
Time seemed to slow down for Rorick as he watched the man approach, the two of them moving at seemingly a snail's pace. The weapon edged towards his armor, inching closer and closer to him. He realized that it was aimed perfectly between the gap in his armor, doomed to pierce his arm, but it was too late to prevent it.
"Get Back!" Art's [Bestial Roar] sent the man flying to the ground, clutching his ears as tears flowed down his face. He rushed to Rorick's side as he breathed heavily, watching as the other protesters began to charge towards him, weapons drawn.
There was no longer any time for hesitation.
The two unsheathed their weapons fully, Rorick grabbing long spear, and Art pulling his own short sword out alongside a small, floating grimoire that floated above the palm of his left hand. The book rose and fell with Art's movements, and its pages flickered across its content with just a thought.
In a split second, Rorick's spear had already pierced the body of an attacker, impaling them on the blade, before pulling back, moving in one swift yet smooth motion. Blood splayed across the ground in a streak of red, yet he ignored it an pushed on.
Art unleashed a wave of wind towards a group of attackers, sending them flying backwards with an unseeable force, the effects of which managed to launch a few off of the edge of the complex, sending them tumbling to the void below. He flinched briefly as their screams slowly echoed away, yet his grimoire remained open, and he moved into his next attack.
A half-armored berserker slashed a rusted axe in his direction, but he managed to barely deflect it with the blade of his weapon, pushing the momentum of the strike past his body and into the carpet floor. Without skipping a beat, his other hand sparked, small bolt of lightning towards the man's body.
The current of the magic had a deadly effect. He fell over instantly, the lightning arcing through his body, his own armor acting as a conductor for the deadly bolt, killing the man instantly, unable to even scream.
As Art moved to find his next opponent, a small piece of pipe flew through the air, slamming into the side of his head, sending him tumbling to the floor with a thump. He staggered and struggled to regain his footing, dropping the sword in his hand as he clutched the side of his head, grunting in pain.
"Agh- Rorick! I need help!" Art yelled, falling to a knee as he slammed his fist into the ground, a small shockwave of lightning shooting from the center of his fist, and into the crowd around him. Whoever the bolts touched, they found themselves frozen in place, the lightning coursing throughout their bodies. While Art's [Thunderslam] wouldn't physically harm his opponents, it would easily incapacitate them for several seconds.
"Wrrrraaaah~!" Rorick roared as he slammed into the group of immobilized fighters, his spear swiftly swinging across in a wide arc, slicing open the necks of the many unsuspecting fighters. A wave of gore fell in Rorick's wake, sending tens of bodies tumbling to the ground in an instant.
Rorick shouted to the sky, his voice growing several times in volume. As his voice reached the ears of the still hundreds of opponents before him, they all collectively turned to him, their eyes glowing a blood red as rage overtook them. They grunted and groaned in anger as they sprinted towards him , their weapons slamming against his armor, unable to find a way through.
It was now that the small group of guards behind them finally got to their senses, shaking themselves out of the shock, and throwing themselves into the fray. A palette of shimmering light and magical abilities shone from their figures as they entered the slaughter. As they drew their blades, a series of small sparks of sword energy could be seen radiating from their respective weapons.
Unlike that of a typical military or medieval-like force, each soldier was equipped with different weapons that fit their abilities. While it ruined uniformity and the capacity to plan around mass-scale fighting styles, it boosted their potential if they understood their abilities and worked in tandem.
And work together they did, carving through the swath of people before them like a hurricane of gore, splattering the remains of the enemy across the carpeted floor. As they fought, a single thought persisted through their minds, ticking away internally at their actions. Is this right?
Yet it seemed it did not matter much to Rorick, who steadfastly held the line, preventing his soldiers from further harm. His mind was screaming at him at the ruthless slaughter of what once were their citizens, but it was now a time of war, and the enemy army lay wasted before him. He pulled the pit that was forming in his stomach inwards, and kept moving.
Until something went wrong.
"Argh!" A grunt echoed throughout the complex, and Rorick spun around to catch one of his soldiers falling to the ground, a streak of blood streaming from a wound in his arm. Standing before him was a crazed-looking, heavily clad man, a veteran of the Great War, equipped with a falchion and a shield. The presence around the man radiated with power, causing a ripple of fear throughout his body, and sending a violent shiver down his spine.
He shuddered as he stepped forward, banging his weapon on his breastplate. It seemed to catch his attention, because the man turned back, a feral expression in his eyes. Drool fell from the man's mouth as a freakish smile placed itself upon his face.
"Thousands burned… gone to the ashes. We fight!" The man said incoherently, his voice peaking into a harsh scream.
"Remember The Bastion."
He leapt forward with a rallying cry, his weapon pointed towards Rorick. It blazed with a violent sword energy, flickering around like a ball of living lightning. He held a long, curved sword in his hand, stained a dark red, giving the impression of blood.
Rorick's eyes widened as the man's blade moved faster than he could comprehend, stabbing into the chip in his shoulder. It didn't penetrate deep, but a shockwave of red lightning erupted from the weapon, digging into his skin. It bounced around throughout his body, sending him tumbling to the ground, rolling violently as it swept through him, then disappeared quicker than it arrived.
Yet it still was not done.
The lightning arced to the next soldier behind him, killing the man instantly, his body leaving the smell of burning flesh in its wake. It continued to jump, taking out a few further soldiers, until the lightning could not find another to leap to, and fizzled out in the air.
Art's eyes widened as he watched the carnage, instinctively taking a step back from the man, who looked around with furious, unadulterated rage. Spotting Art, he slammed his blade to the ground, his sword energy sparking on the carpet with a vibrant, orange flame, before charging towards Art, his movement swift and unstoppable. The presence around the man made it feel like a train was charging towards Art, a train without tracks.
He internally shrieked as he scrambled to get away, his palm flexing as he ran. His grimoire fluttered open, shooting a gust of wind directly downward, using his [Wind Manipulation] to propel himself upwards, launching into the sky like a bird in flight. He shot into the air, pushing himself away from the charging man, but it seemed that he was far too fast. The last thing Art witnessed was the downward cleave of the sparking sword into his exposed chest.
Rorick screamed from the ground, just barely recovering from the onslaught of lightning that ravaged him prior. He slowly managed to get to his feet, observing the tens of soldiers that lay dying with him on the ground. In just a few seconds, their entire squad had been annihilated, leaving nothing but shuddering, burned corpses in their wake. Even the rebels had been slaughtered, murdered in cold blood by their fellow compatriot.
"You insane bastard…" he breathed, using his spear to catch a breath. He turned back towards the man, who lay panting above Art's corpse, causing Rorick's eye to twitch. "I'll… Kill you…" He said, between large breaths, his chest rising heavily as he spoke.
The two said nothing more, merely launching into a flurry of attacks, a seemingly infinite series of quick, rapid strikes, that accompanied extremely deadly force.
Clang! Clank! Crshh!
Their weapons rattled together as they deflected each other's blows, neither able to gain the upper hand. Rorick kept all pressure on the attack, forcing the man to give up his tactic of oppressive lightning in favor of immense defense, hoping it would force him into a situation where he'd make a mistake.
Just like that, it happened.
In a desperate, impatient attempt to gain some sense of freedom in the fight, the man went for a hail mary. Instead of blocking Rorick's heavy cleave, he instead stabbed forward into Rorick's attack, impaling himself along Rorick's spear whilst driving his own sword towards Rorick's waiting heart.
Panicking, he desperately tried to rear back and roll away from the weapon, but it was far too late. The man gripped the pole of the spear, using it to push himself further towards Rorick, finally piercing the skin. While the man internally celebrated, the spear was still half-way into him, and his eyes quickly rolled into the back of his head as he fell over, unconscious and certain of death. He fell next to the lying body of Rorick, who convulsed as small shocks of lightning still passed through him.
Rorick was still alive, clutching the wound that had pierced him. It seemed he had turned just quickly enough to stop it from reaching his heart, but he could barely move. He tried to push himself to his feet, but collapsed half-way through, falling onto his side, before rolling onto his back. His eyes watched the void expanse beyond the edge of the complex, watching as the coursing fog churned and twisted in the darkness. He'd long grown accustomed to their unnatural movements, and often found a sense of comfort in their harmless aesthetic. I made it… he thought to himself, an image of Art's charred corpse flashing through his mind as his brief smile was replaced with a harrowing scowl.
I… made it?
"Well, well, well." A voice interrupted his thoughts as his head snapped to the side, looking for the source of the voice.
The man wore a long, harsh black cloak, adorned with jagged, triangular edges that looked like spikes pointed towards the ground. A devilish grin highlighted the man's grizzled chin, a small layer of stubble lining the side of his face. "And here I thought you'd all be dead" The man said, his voice deep and imposing.
"Who… are you?" Rorick managed to mutter, his fist clenching as he lay back, blood spilling onto the now-stained carpet.
The man simply ignored him. "Invasion plans are complete, it seems." He said, smiling whilst placing his open palms in his pocket. An aura even stronger than the warrior Rorick had just slain poured out from this man, his body refusing to move.
"Yes, sir. It seems they've devolved into outright civil war. I believe stoking the flames was the correct decision, Lord Black" another man, a squeamish, cowardly looking being, held a few documents in his hand, accompanied by layers of pitch black armor, and a similarly colored sword.
Lord Black? Rorick's eyes widened as the familiar name presented itself before him, his eyebrows furrowing in anger as he looked at the man responsible for the deaths of so many.
"Ah yes, Darren. It's quite a show, is it not?" Lord Black asked with a chuckle, his palms outstretched towards the carnage. "Shows just how easy a well-timed knife in the wrong place can destroy a society." He smiled brightly, looking down towards Rorick, but not turning his attention to him. "Did one survive?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. A messenger from the guardsmen left as soon as the violence sparked. They saw none of us." Darren said as a strand of his hair fell in front of his face, forcing him to brush it to the side.
"Good. Let them fuel their war. It's what they get for relying on Matsuo's strength for their own survival." He said, scoffing at the corpses emblazoned with the symbol of the golden leaf. He kicked Art's corpse as he walked by, sending it flying to the side, the casual kick filled with enough force to punt a body. "We'll sweep in soon enough and clean up." He said, his smile growing wider, an act that Rorick thought was impossible. "Clean the place up, I want this to look like two opposing armies taking each other out, not the work of one murderous, strangely powerful madman." At the click of his fingers, a series of warriors became visible in front of Rorick's very eyes.
"And as for you…" Lord Black turned to Rorick finally, whose wounds began to fill the ground around him with blood.
"You'll be the perfect villain" He said, his hand flashing to his sword, before dashing out, the light glinting off the tip of the blade which glowed with sword energy, something Rorick had never even seen befo-
And it all went black.