The Same Afternoon…
Across Hope, the main headquarters of The Garden's governing class, caution spread to the wind. Soldiers walked fully equipped around the complex, their hands always nearing their hilts. The watched and waited, waited for something, anything to assert their anger towards, but nothing reared its head. So they watched. They watched as the creeping fog crawled through their vision, watched as the shadows played tricks on their minds, deceiving them into seeing an enemy that didn't exist.
There was no alarm, no warning of danger, yet they were still on high alert. Just today, another two fights broke out, between the rebelling volunteer army and The Garden's highly trained special forces. Despite the difference in skill and pure strength, their numbers outweighed the far outnumbered soldiers, leaving three squads of guards massacred in the streets, stuck full of a thousand cuts. Shuddering images of blood spilling across the edge of the Olympia complex spread throughout the camp, the images catching the torrent of gore spilling into the void, a torrential downpour of sticky, gut-wrenching innards.
Whilst the soldiers stood on edge, their worries heightened to the maximum, another being slipped through the shadows. A man, clad in all black, equipped with a thick, heavy crown laced across his head, its gleaming luster evidence of its youth. It glistened as small traces of light whisked upon it, just small enough to prevent the soldiers from seeing it.
The man pushed through the muddled hallways of Hope, which had become largely abandoned since the death of nearly a fifth of their guard since the beginning of the war. He walked through the now-abandoned barracks with practiced ease, before slipping towards a slightly crooked portion of the yellow-speckled wall. Leaning towards the large, square-like panel, the man pushed against it, almost perpendicularly pushing along the wall, which now revealed itself to not even be a part of the wall itself, but a door. The panel slid past the wall itself, hanging into the air to expose a large, oversized air vent, perfectly tucked away from the prying eyes of The Garden's leadership.
Lunging into the vent, the man quickly replaced the panel, concealing himself within the vent, and locking himself into the darkness. He reached down, lighting up a small, glowing stone, which glowed faintly around him, and he began to move, slowly, yet quietly walking through the metal shaft, which was large enough to barely allow for him to stand upright.
Complexes sometimes had species features layered throughout the layer. Despite air conditioning not existing here, vents and air ducts would sometimes be found within complexes, forming along their structure as if they would properly fulfill their purpose. Sometimes, however, these unnoticeable features would be found to be much larger than previously thought, being able to fit entire groups of people within them. Even so, these were found to be unnecessary and were mostly covered up to prevent curious people from wandering in, their knowledge abandoned in pursuit of their own machinations.
The man waltzed cautiously, but carelessly through the vents, strolling through the maze of metal as if it were a long, greenery-filled walkway. Whilst his gait remained nonchalant, his eyes darted through the tunnels, observing the darkness, watching for some semblance of a sign of movement. As he moved further through the vents, he finally found what he was looking fo-
A small blink of movement appeared behind him, a shriek of metal on leather gently echoing throughout the vent.
"Who are you?" A meek yet firm voice rang out from the darkness, accompanied with a pointed sword, sharpened far past the point of being dangerous, its edge glowing with a small radiance of sword energy. "Answer me!"
"You know me well, Crowley," the mysterious man said, stepping under the blade, exposing his crown to a small ray of light that crept into the vents. His figure was vast and imposing, towering over the man even in such a small, tight space.
Crowley, the man's wartime general, meek as he was, grinned as he recognized the voice from the darkness. He quickly sheathed his weapon, bowing his head silently as the two relaxed. "My Lord," he began, his smile growing deeper. "Welcome to our humble abode~" He said, his tone becoming rather jolly as he began to walk backwards, before spinning completely, beckoning the man to follow.
"Preparations are complete!" He excitedly, yet still quietly stated. "Our men are in place around the complex, and we are ready to pounce once the time is ripe." His expression turned serious for a moment, his eyes glancing back to look at his liege. "You know-" he shrugged nonchalantly, "We probably don't need this much preparation. Without Matsuo, even if you showed up here alone, you'd likely slaughter them all without much effort. There's not much you can't do with weaklings like this, Lord Black~" He said, almost teasing the man. He sauntered across the ventilation shaft, taking a stark right turn, until finally reaching a dead end, the vent shooting upwards, making it rather impossible to traverse.
Despite the block, Remus Black continued forth, grabbing Crowley by the shoulder, his grip so incredibly tight that Crowley felt as if his body would break, before launching himself into the air, perfectly landing at another, slightly smaller layer of ventilation, with stood far above the last.
Putting the man down, they continued their journey, catching glimpses of light as the ventilation ducts opened to reveal the ground far, far below. As they traveled, Remus watched as he caught glimpses of soldiers nervously training, a silent mess hall, and even a few of The Garden's lesser known ranks, the scouts, their headquarters rather quaint, though he chose to ignore them. The most important location lay ahead, and the ventilation opened up, revealing a small, but still sizable makeshift camp, a few smaller tents accompanied by dim, non-revealing lights shining upon the nearly one hundred soldiers that took refuge here, all adorned with the harsh S of the Strollo's. Remus clicked his tongue at that insignia, his mind fluttering back to the days they fought together as first and second in command, a small smile drifting onto his face, before settling back into the harsh, overwhelming frown that had previously adorned him.
"Are our little helpers in place?" He asked, earning a stark nod from Crowley, the shrewd man's eyes shining in the darkness. "Then there's nothing to do but wait." He said, sitting down silently along the small, makeshift camp. His men rushed around him, whispering orders to each other as they conversed. They continued on, as if he wasn't even there, their weapons glinting slightly in the soft light. Remus noticed a few unique individuals along the center of the camp, boasting the largest tent, which was to be his own residence. They stood out from the uniform soldiers, holding a variety of various weapons.
He got up from the ground, cursing himself for deciding to sit so soon, before making his way towards his tent, his gaze grazing over the forms of his elite soldiers, his lieutenants.
There were four in total.
The first, a younger woman, in her early twenties, boasting dark, black hair as black as the night, equipped with a large, double-sided scythe. The edge of the blade glowed a dark purple, her own unique energy swirling around her subtly, ready to be used like a blade at a moment's notice. She stood over six feet tall, her blade nearly just as large. She stood tall and proud, confident oozing from her every expression. Underneath her tight set of armor, she was deceptively strong.
Next, his gaze shone upon Rarga, his head warrior. The strongest of the four by far, the man was a towering seven feet tall, his back adorned with an indomitable, immense great sword, a weapon which even he wouldn't want to deal with. Remus smiled as he remembered their first meeting, the man's sword flashing towards his face with immense, incalculable speed. He'd barely escaped with his life, but in exchange, the man pledged himself to Remus himself.
The third member of the group was different. Looking rather regal, he wore a set of large black robes, adorned with a slight, purplish S, which matched his own insignia. The color of the symbol was barely different from his robe, the dark purple blending in neatly into the clothing. At his side, he held a large, silver wand, which glowed a deep, violent red as it pulsed with power. His head wore a large, circular hat, not unlike that of a cliché wizard, however instead of the typical pointed tip, it looked more like a traditional gat, its width highly exaggerated. He stood as his primary source of ranged weaponry, able to topple a small group by himself. He was Gazel, the silent demon.
Lastly, his favorite member of his elite, and the leader of his elite squad, stood in a hunched position, his back careening towards the sky. In his hands lay a set of large swords, curved along their edge. Despite his strange stature and demeanor, he was easily one of the deadliest members of his force. Darien stood around five and a half feet high; his clothes draped in darkness. A small, dark mist protruding from his footsteps as he walked, giving him the illusion of a ghost.
He'd trained them specifically for this day, for this victory.
He settled into his tent, finding his way through the dim camp, before resting for the evening, his hands twitching as he awaited the next morning. By dawn, things would be different. By dawn, he would claim his revenge. By dawn, his greatest enemy would be no more.
If only Matsuo was still alive to see it.
Zander awoke to the overwhelming smell of smoke.
He stirred slowly, leaning up from the couch he and Logham ended up falling asleep upon, the lengthy furniture providing them plenty of room to sleep. They typically didn't fall asleep in their own office, but with all of their members out in the field, they decided to make an exception just that once. He stretched his limbs, his mind slow and his thoughts slurred as he blinked away the sleepiness.
He sniffed the air.
Was something burning?
He frowned, his eyes opening wider as the smell hit him once more, this time more furious than before. His muscles tensed as he launched himself to his feet, running over to where Logham lay peacefully sleeping. He gripped the man's shoulders, his fingers poking into the man's skin with more force than he should've applied, and shook his frame violently, startling the man awake.
"Wha-what the hell man?" Logham asked, tired. His head pounded from the few drinks he'd managed to down the night prior. "The hurts like hell" He said, rubbing his shoulder, as if he didn't have superhuman endurance. He started again, his mouth opening in an attempt to tell Zander off, however he stopped suddenly, his face twisting into one of confusion, then concern, and finally, fear.
"Shit." He said, launching to his feet quicker than Zander had done just a few seconds ago. He leapt for his gear, which sat along the nearby table, neatly stacked and folded, and placed next to his armor. He slid across the tiled floor, grabbing his armor quickly as Zander began to do the same, placing the light armor over his body. Zander trembled as he attempted to arm himself, knowing just how thin this layer of armor truly was. It was made for quick movement, not for a direct assault.
As Zander and Logham finished arming themselves, they rushed to the door, pausing as they reached for the doorhandle. Zander took in a deep breath, air filling his lungs to the very brim, before releasing it in an overwhelming, worried sigh. He gripped the handle of the door, finding the handle scalding hot, burning into his flesh slightly before he reared back, jumping in fright.
"Hot!" He yelped. "Hot, hot hot!" He jumped around, cradling his hand for a moment, before the pain began to die away, and the two once again attempted to leave the room.
They nudged the door open with the side of Zander's sword, using the pommel to twist the handle downwards, then out, the door swinging open into the open air.
The chaos was terrifying,
Fire burned everywhere Zander looked, smoke filling the long halls of the complex. He gasped in shock, before breathing a deep, overwhelming breath. He held the air there, before launching himself through the door, weapon drawn and at the ready. At his side, Logham leapt through the door with him, their heightened sense of resistance make it almost impossible for the natural fire to burn them too much.
Although it was widespread, the fire seemed rather isolated to their section of the complex. They rushed over to a crowd of soldiers, who were accompanied by a lone citizen. Her hair was a bright blonde, and her face, innocent. Stranger than a non-government agent acting with the soldiers was the stream of water bursting from her fingertips, propelling itself towards the fire that ravaged the walls. The water splattered and splashed about the hallways, seeping into the carpet, but the fire was rapidly dissipating.
They ran over to the squad of soldiers, who jumped at their sudden arrival. One of the faceless knights gripped for their weapon, their muscles tense as they took a fighting stance.
"We're friendlies! Scouts!" Zander said, flashing a large necklace, engraved with a green leaf. It was the medallion he'd received for joining the scouts, a symbol of their rank. The sight calmed the knights, who continued to guard the woman, who had not stopped for even a moment as the two of them approached.
"You two-" She said, her voice was harsh and overpowering. "Got any water skills?" She asked, her speech hoarse, as if she'd been shouting for hours.
"Not at all" Zander shouted back, his voice raised loudly above the roaring flames.
"You need to find someone. I can handle the fire, go!" She shouted, barking an order to the pair. They looked at each other, their eyebrows perked up, before launching into a sprint, past the fire and into the heart of Hope.
The scout headquarters was located towards the far edge of Hope. Hope, being by far the largest complex in the nearby area, was the size of a large town. To get from their headquarters on the outskirts to the central hub of the complex would take at least an hour of walking, time which they didn't know if they had or not.
The pair sprinted towards the central part of the complex, dodging through uninhabited hallways, stained black with fire that had already gone out. Even the ash itself was gone, a wisp of dust sinking into the carpeted floor below. Another sign of the strangely alive nature of this strange layer.
The two ran for several minutes, barreling through the abandoned hallways.
"Where the hell is everyone?!" Zander shouted to Logham, the two men's voices piercing through the whooshing air. Even though their numbers had dwindled due to the fighting, the closer they approached to the center, the more people there should be. Despite this, there was no one in sight. No movement, no talking, not even tracks left behind.
Then they heard it.
An intense, piercing scream. It echoed from the surrounding walls and into the complex beyond, stopping Zander and Logham in their tracks. A small shiver wrestled its way down his spine as the two glanced at each other, before launching their way towards the source of the noise, their weapons drawn.
When they finally rounded the last corner, the hallway expanded into a large room, filled with training equipment. Instead of new recruits training for the effort however, Zander's eyes dropped at what was taking place.
A scarlet canvas decorated the room, a horde of men and women alike vehemently launching themselves towards each other. Clad in vibrant, silver armor, the two sides participated in the slaughter. On one end, a series of fresh faces, screamed in anger and fear as they launched into battle, their leaf insignia glinting in the natural light. On the other side, soldiers Zander had never seen before charged into the ranks, a similar emblem emblazoned upon their shoulders, though this insignia, unlike The Garden's, boasted a burning leaf, the familiar symbol burning into the air.
Zander paled as the two groups of around twenty soldiers locked themselves into a desperate melee, sword flashing betwixt one another as the sound of metal on metal clashed throughout the room. Zander looked back towards Logham, whose face was twisted into one of disgust, his eyes distant.
He wasn't looking at the soldiers.
Zander followed his gaze, and along the sides of the walls, piled into large, mountainous piles, lay dozens of corpses. Each body boasted the same, familiar armor, the golden leaf now stained red. They piled over each other, some still sporting the weapons that slew them. A pool of viscera and guts piled underneath them, seeping into the carpet below.
Zander hunched over at the sight, his eyes widened. He held his hand over his mouth as he watched the ongoing fight, the soldiers clashing with the utmost ferocity. Next to him, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Logham's fists clenching and unclenching, his face drenched in sweat. What was he going to do?
What could they do?
Zander had never fought a person before. During his time in the scouts, he'd only fought Thrall and the occasional buzzard, perhaps a trapper, though he'd only found one since his first encounter. He looked down at his hand, watching as it began to shake violently, the rattling of his metallic glaives ringing into his ears. Shit… He was panicking.
The insignia of the rebels. The burning leaf, a symbol of their fractured nation, seared its way into Zander's brain, his memories arising of the slaughters that had occurred over the past few weeks. After the initial slaughter, a number of similar battles had broken out, with the seceding complexes banding together to create their own, maintained army. The armor, stolen from their own armories, were emblazoned with the burning leaf, molding over the existing symbol to prove their defiance.
He paled. How could they have reached Hope? The nearest seceded complex was several complexes away, meaning… they'd gotten through them somehow.
That didn't matter. He needed to help. He pushed himself up, puffed out his chest, his heart beating rapidly, pumping increasingly faster as he moved. He placed his hand on his chest, just above his heart, feeling that beating pattern, before placing it once more along the hilt of his weapon, tensing his muscles to draw the blade.
And stopped.
His body couldn't move.
His body felt a lingering blanket of noise, tingling across his skin. He thought he'd been tazed, the pins and needles shooting across his body like a bolt of electricity. He breathed heavily, his throat feeling strained and dry as he lingered.
What could he do?
Logham would make the decision for him.
Charging straight into the onslaught, Logham clasped his palms together, a spark of vibrant lightning shooting between his palms. As his hands collided with a clap, the electric death expanded, swirling outward from his body. It shot forward, the now circular clump of magic shooting towards a small group of rebel soldiers. They panicked, diving to the side, but their fate was inevitable. The ball slammed into the ground in the center of the group, before exploding outward, millions of volts shooting through the bodies of the unfortunate soldiers, frying them on the spot.
One of the soldiers screamed, collapsing to their knees before falling to the ground, dead. Another, who'd dove along the ground, felt the electricity snake its way through their legs, causing them to fall limply to the ground with a sickening thump.
Zander's eyes shot wide, his gaze darting between the carnage before him and his trembling hands. He watched Logham fight, the man's eyes determined, yet saddened, that same, familiar expression he'd seen just the day before lingering with his every move. He was fighting against his own people, yet he still fought on.
He felt his breathing calm for just a moment, before his panic returned in full force, his body stilled. He watched as Logham fought on, the same, deadly lightning shooting from his fingertips.
He watched as Logham took down four, then another. The enemies fell before his feet, but not for long.
"Hold fast!" A voice shouted out from the back of the pack, a man clad in a bright white armor, glowing with light. A strange magic emanated from him, expanding towards his allies. It was shaped like rays of glowing light, expanding outward from the man. As they touched his allies, they stood higher, their chins raised, their confidence expanded. He clearly had some sort of leadership ability, something that emboldened their allies.
Logham stepped back, his face twisting into one of concern as he watched a group of nearly twenty soldiers clamber towards him, drawing swords of various lengths. A bead of sweat dripped down his face, yet he still moved without hesitation. Lightning sparked from the tips of his fingers, a thick bolt slamming into the head of the nearest soldier, killing them on the spot. A shout unleashed a roar of thunder, sending Zander and everyone else in the area reeling, clutching their ears. Before they recovered however, another three already had a bolt of lightning piercing their hearts.
It was then that Logham began to feel resistance.
A group of four burly men rushed Logham, uncaring of their safety as their comrades fell back, clutching their ears in pain. They all wielded giant great swords, the weapons swinging across open air, cutting through the space as they leapt towards Logham. Panicking at the sight of the deadly cleave, Logham lowered his palms to the ground, before unleashing a wave of lightning directly below him. In an instant, the ground exploded, sending him flying upwards into the sky. He soared above the weapons, barely managing to escape their clutches, before slamming into the ground, the explosion just carrying him above the death that awaited below, but not for long.
He landed awkwardly along the carpeted ground, his elbow sinking into the thin carpet, before feeling it twist. The bone skewered outward, turning Logham's attempt to break his fall into a nightmare. He launched his head back, letting out a grunt of pain as he clenched his teeth, his muscles clenched. He cradled his arm in pain, until a shadow fell above him.
The four soldiers had not given up after just a single attack. They'd quickly moved together to form into a wedge shape, before the front man launched himself back towards the fallen man, intent on ending him then and there. Logham raised his injured arm, closing his eyes as he waited for death to come.
It would not come.
Shnnnk~
Logham blinked. He opened his eyes after no pain came. In the place of the massive, monstrous man that seemed impenetrable in the face of his magic, there stood Zander, his blade alight with sword energy that danced along the blade, which currently sat embedded in the man's neck. Blood pooled around the edge, spilling onto the carpet below as Zander himself stood in shock, his breath caught in his throat.
What did I just do?
His hands shook more violently, his breath catching as he watched the man fall to his knees, clutching the hole in his neck. Zander pulled out the weapon with a vomit-inducing Shrhrk, his head suddenly feeling light. He watched, wide eyed, as the man turned back towards his companions, who stood still in concern.
"Marco!" One of them, the smallest of the four, shouted. His voice was hoarse but filled with unease. The squad rushed to the fallen man, the smaller one tearing the helmet off his head, revealing a patch of bright tan hair. "No… no no nonononoNO!" His voice accelerated as he spoke, his fists clenching as he held his friend. His bottom lip quivered.
Zander stood back, the spark of sword energy falling from his weapon, the soft glow imbued into the weapon fading away, leaving them in the soft light, almost spotlighting the group. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked at the pool of blood sitting below the now dying man. He had done this. He had killed a man. He'd slit his throat. Why? Why did he do such a thing?
He was going to kill Logham.
He internalized a scream as his emotions swayed like a tree in the wind. He could've done it differently. He could've incapacitated him, slashed his legs, no? What justification did he have to kill another human?
"Marco… brother." The smaller man's voice softened as he watched the dying man grasp for air. "Stay with us, please!" He clasped his hands together, as if in prayer. "By the order…" the rest of his words were lost in a furious whisper, launching into a sermon of some sorts.
"You…" one of the two soldiers besides them looked at Zander, their voice filled with primal, seeping anger. "YOU DID THIS!" He stood on his feet, his hands gripping the hilt of his massive sword. "I'll kill you—KILL YOU—Like you did Marco." His last words came out like an escaped breath, exhaling as he spoke. At those final, resolute words, he launched himself at Zander, his sword swinging above his head, readied to slash downward into his skull.
Zander watched, unmoving as the sword descended upon him, the path to his death trickling down. He unwillingly counted down the milliseconds, each one ringing down through his very being, stinging. Pricks and needles cascaded down his skin, his breath slowing, his thoughts perfectly empty. There was peace, in the silence that reigned, the moment before the blade collided with him, before it would pierce his skin, and leave him tumbling to the ground.
Flashes of faces flew through his sight.
Maia. Her death took them too soon.
Xavier. A sacrifice for his brothers and sisters in arms.
Reginald. A man overtaken by his grief.
Carlos. Murdered where he stood, defending his people.
Michael. Taken before he could make a name for himself. Taken by this cruel world.
He paused, time still eternally slow.
A new face emerged in his mind.
Sarah. She sat stressed and worried, a row of wrinkles lining her face as she downed a shot of alcohol. Another flash showed her in chains, tears flowing down her face as Zander scrambled to free her.
Logham. Curled closely, legs to his chest. Tears flowed down his face as he spilled his troubles aloud. His hands quivered as he spoke of what he had done, of what he had to do.
Bernard. A laugh stuck on his face as he clapped Zander across the back. An apple sat in his hands, rolling around his palms. He threw the fruit from one hand to the other, that smile beaming like a ray of light.
Another face, one he hadn't seen in quite a while.
Jiwoo. His brother. His kind face lingered in his mind. A smile adorned his face, filling Zander with an overwhelming love. His brother. Zander's body shook. His brother.
And so he did not open his eyes with acceptance. He did not witness the final stroke of the sword with eagerness and peace. He twisted his body, watching slowly, seemingly in slow motion as it cleaved towards him. Yet he had taken too long. He was doomed.
Until he wasn't.
Crackle.
A palm of lightning slammed into the man's armor, the electricity spreading quickly throughout their armor. Their body shook as the whole world seemed to pause, silence overwhelming them as the would be killer writhed in place. A small, gasping scream erupted from the prone man, as silent as a whisper.
Zander whipped his head back, staring at the source of the magic. His gaze landed on Logham, who'd managed to regain his footing, his left elbow sitting uselessly besides him. Logham's eyes met Zander's, lingering there for but a moment before turning back towards the remaining soldiers, who'd now all redrawn their weapons.
"No mercy for traitors." He muttered; his voice smothered with spite. He extended his palm, his magic bursting forth like a rabbit from a cage, piercing the remaining soldiers' necks, killing them on the spot.
The two stood, gasping for air as they gripped their knees with their hands. The silence perpetuated further.
Six rebels remained. They cowered away; their eyes planted on Logham with hatred. Some clutched their ears, unable to process the lack of sound around them, a small trickle of blood emerging from their earlobes.
Logham approached Zander, placing his hand along his shoulder. "You ok?" He asked. His words were simple.
Zander shook his head. He was still trembling, the guilt overwhelming him.
"It's gonna be fine." He said, sporting a soft smile. "You saved my life. You're not a murderer." He said, pulling Zander close. He held him there, arms around him, his chin placed gently above his head. His smile died as a few racking sobs burst from Zander's lips.
"You saved me. You saved me." He paused as he repeated himself.
He pulled Zander away, looking into his eyes. "You saved me. Do you understand that?"
Zander nodded his head, his breath calming for the first time in several minutes.
"I'm sorry it had to be this way, but you made the best decision with what you had. It was inevitable, here on the second layer." he said. Those words didn't make Zander feel better. They weren't meant to.
The world stood still as Zander breathed. He placed his hand over his heart, that familiar beating ceasing its acceleration.
"Good." Logham broke the silence. "We've got some more to deal with. Can you continue?" He asked, his eyes flickering to the small posse of enemies that looked desperately for an escape.
Zander nodded. His fingers dashed to his blade, gripping it firmly in his hands. He squeezed his palms against the length of the hilt, his grip so tight it pained him. "Let's get this over with."
Just as he took the first step, an overwhelming whoosh swept over the miniature battlefield. The lights flickered, then petered out, washing the enclosed room in pure darkness. A thick, black fog settled into the darkness, resting over the ground before rising upwards, covering the area in a thick mist.
Clack.
A footstep resounded through the room.
Clack.
Zander looked around with concern, alighting his blade with sword energy, layering the area in a soft, blue glow. He held his blade aloft, the light bouncing off the nearby surfaces, before resting upon a towering beast of a man. He was draped in a pitch black cloak- no, a robe. A small, unnoticeable purple S sat embedded along the length of his robe, blending in with the darkness around them. Atop his head sat a large hat, covering his eyes.
The man's head was angled towards the floor, concealing his face. Zander took a step forward, which shot the man's head upward, his face… surprisingly beautiful. He was dazzling, like an idol or superstar at a concert. His stark black hair draped over most of his face, drooping down from his hat. In his hands however, he held a large want, a small cloud of shadow resting above the terrifying weapon. Zander hadn't been around here for long, but he understood how much damage a magic user could do.
"T-thank goodness!" One of the rebels exclaimed, sprinting towards the man faster than Zander could react. "You've come to save us! These traitors to the people stand in our way. Please, take care of them for us!" An older man, in his late forties landed on his knees in front of the mysterious stranger, his face alight with happiness. "I-"
Dink.
A small, unfamiliar noise rung out through the darkness, and the rebel stilled. Zander thought he'd just frozen up, but before he could say anything, the rebel teetered over, his legs giving away as he fell to the ground.
At the same time, his head fell backwards, detaching itself from his neck.
"What the fu-" One of the remaining five rebels started.
Dink!
Dink!
Dink!
Dink!
Dink!
Five noises, and five heads went rolling. Zander couldn't help but watched as they collapsed to the ground, blood spilling around their now dead bodies. What the hell is this?! He thought to himself, his muscles tensed.
"I suppose it's time I introduce myself." The stranger finally spoke, he voice deep, yet energetic.
"I am Gazel, your executioner."