Sasha shot through the stunned crowd, a blur of motion fueled by instinct. Her ability to sense 'Desire' now screamed with a discordant chorus of malice. She locked onto the fading remnants of that cold, malevolent desire, tracing its tendrils as they snaked away through the panicked crowd. There were too many of them to handle while protecting the crowd. They were scattering like startled birds, each a phantom limb of the original, hateful intent.
Her mind raced.
Her first impulse was to shout warnings to the assembled nobles and citizens, to urge them to scatter, to find cover. But then she realized that these attackers had bombs. Any sudden, uncontrolled movement from the crowd—a stampede, a surge of fear—could trigger an explosion prematurely, turning a potential threat into a devastating reality. Casualties would be immense. Her jaw tightened, a grim line.
With a grunt, Sasha launched herself into the air, soaring above the growing agitation. From that vantage point, the celebrating plaza transformed into a swirling ant-colony of confusion and burgeoning fear. She pinpointed more of the shadowy figures, now almost invisible amongst the elegant dresses and suits below, each one a tiny, dark node of destructive intent. Yet, as she tried to focus on them, to understand their motives, all she perceived was a vague, unsettling desire to destroy, a pure, unthinking malice. It was unsettlingly hollow, almost as if they were puppets, acting on pre-programmed orders, devoid of personal will. There was no rage, no fanaticism, just an emptiness behind the intent.
A wave of reluctance washed over her, but she pushed it down. Her priority was the innocents below. With a deep breath, Sasha turned her attention from the attackers to the crowd itself. She could feel their rising anxiety, their collective fear, a palpable desire for safety that pulsed like a frantic heartbeat. This was it. This was what she had to control.
Drawing upon her Supreme Enchantment, Desire, Sasha extended her consciousness, tapping into that raw, universal yearning for security. It was a delicate dance, not true mind control in the aggressive sense; Sasha didn't want to go that far. Instead, she subtly redirected the minds of all gathered, a gentle guiding hand on the reins of collective emotion.
She wouldn't force them into specific actions, but rather, she would amplify their inherent desire for calm and safety, directing it into an orderly evacuation. She projected a mental image, a clear, unmistakable path to safety, implanting it in their minds not as a command, but as an intuitive, undeniable urge. People wouldn't feel forced; they'd simply feel a sudden, overwhelming clarity about where they needed to go. The chaotic murmurs became organized whispers of direction, the aimless milling replaced by a purposeful, swift flow towards the exits, like water finding its path. She became the quiet conductor of their collective instinct for survival, turning potential disaster into a controlled retreat.
As the crowd began to flow, Sasha descended, landing lightly inside the crowd. Her sword was already in her hand. She moved with impossible speed, a blur of motion. One of the shadowy figures, confused by the collectivity of the crowd, saw her and lunged, a glint of metal in his hand. The crowd parted, and Sasha met him, her blade a whisper of spatial magic. She didn't just parry; she shifted the space around his attack, causing his knife to harmlessly pass through an empty void where her body should have been. With a swift, precise movement, she struck him down, the flat side of her blade against his temple, knocking him unconscious.
As he crumpled, her mind brushed against his, reading the fading intent. A jolt of pure dread shot through her. Among the assailants was a man with the remote detonator for all the planted bombs. And worse, there were bombs strategically placed where the nobles were sitting, around the train, and at several of the main exits, designed to create maximum carnage during evacuation. The vague desire to destroy now had a terrifyingly concrete target.
Her head snapped up, her eyes sweeping across the nobles' seating area. Another shadowy figure, more purposeful than the rest, was already there, lunging towards the startled Queen Morgaine. But before Sasha could even think of intervening, Kamau, who had been sitting with an air of profound boredom moments before, moved. With a casual, almost dismissive flick of his leg, he sent the assailant flying across the platform, crashing into a decorative pillar with a sickening thud. The Goblin King then settled back into his seat, resuming his bored expression as if nothing had happened, though a faint, satisfied smirk played on his lips.
Meanwhile, Koniko, having left the first bomber for the guards, had already engaged two more. Her bow hummed as she drew back the string. Instead of arrows, shafts of pure flame magic coalesced on the string, whistling through the air. One assailant dodged, but the arrow exploded against a nearby stall, sending splinters and smoke everywhere. The other, less fortunate, took a fiery arrow to the shoulder, screaming as the magical flames began to consume his dark clothing. Koniko moved relentlessly, her movements precise, her eyes scanning for more threats.
Then, a new, more urgent alarm blared. A figure, faster and more desperate than the others, had managed to breach the security around the newly unveiled train. He scrambled into the driver's compartment, his intent clear: to hijack the train and blow it up, even while the crowd was still evacuating. Panic, a real, uncontrolled wave this time, threatened to swamp Sasha's subtle mental guidance.
Koniko, seeing the imminent catastrophe, acted. Her eyes narrowed, focusing not on the man, nor the train, but on the cause and effect of the situation. She calculated the intricate web of events, the countless possibilities, the specific chain reactions that would lead to the bomb's detonation with her ability 'Predictive Modelling'.
With a surge of her unique power, Koniko fired an arrow into the air. It would have dissipated harmlessly, but she exchanged that effect with the bomb's detonation.
So it was the arrow rather blew up like a firework, while the bomb simply crumpled, a muffled THUMP rather than a deafening roar, and a plume of smoke billowed harmlessly from the train's roof. The exploding arrow startled everyone but caused no widespread damage or casualties.
Koniko was already moving, vaulting into the train and tackling the assailant before he could recover from the surprise of the firework earlier. Her hand reached for his arm, aiming to secure and interrogate him. But before her fingers could close around his wrist, his eyes, still filled with that vacant, puppet-like intent, widened in a sudden, horrifying realization. A faint, almost imperceptible click echoed from within his jaw. A thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his lips. He convulsed once, a silent, violent spasm, and then went utterly limp, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling of the train car. He had bitten down on a hidden poison capsule, committing suicide on the spot.
Minutes later, the plaza was a scene of controlled chaos. Guards apprehended the remaining disoriented attackers, while healers tended to a few minor injuries caused by the initial panic. Sasha and Koniko stood over the laid-out bodies of their assailants, their faces grim. The lack of resistance, the sheer emptiness behind their eyes, and now the suicide, left a chilling void.
"They were... empty," Sasha murmured, her spatial magic still humming faintly around her.
"Like husks. No real will."
Koniko knelt, examining one of the fallen figures. Her sharp eyes caught something. "Sasha, look." She pointed to a small, intricately embroidered emblem on the inner lining of one assailant's cloak, barely visible against the dark fabric. It was a star-shaped gear with a knight's helmet shaped like a skull in the middle.
Duke Mikael, having rushed over, his face etched with annoyance at the disruption of the function, saw the emblem. His expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "That's... that's the symbol of the Empire," he stated, his voice low and dangerous. He looked from the emblem to the dead assailant, then back to the guards at the plaza who were retrieving the various bombs.
"But why? What could be the reason behind this... this lousy attempt at an attack?"
A heavy silence descended, thick with uncertainty.
The Empire of Adonis? It made no sense. Not with such an amateurish, yet sinister, approach.
The true nature of the threat remained shrouded in shadow.