Ralina's fierce roar resonated throughout the building, sending shockwaves through the foundations after her transformation. Meanwhile, Hope, gripping the Akanam handle, had undergone a metamorphosis of her own. The living metal that now enveloped her body responded to her will, reshaping, and fortifying around her.
She had lived among the metal almost her entire life, yet there was a slight gap of understanding. The hours spent under Master Parlin's tutelage had not only deepened Hope's comprehension of the enigmatic material, but also helped cultivate her ability to sync with its inherent, synergetic nature. A grin spread across her face as she deftly manipulated the metal in her hand into razor-sharp skewers, ideal for combat within the tight confines of the corridors.
From above and below, the cries of the distraught reached her ears.
Hope's hand was already on the door handle when it was thrown open from the other side. The warden from below, Gregor stormed in, a glint of eager anticipation in his eyes, ready for his turn. But that glint vanished, replaced by stark terror.
The room was awash in the cold, eerie light from Hope's gleaming armour, highlighting the lifeless form of warden Barkley sprawled on the floor. The haunting green of her armour made the blood seem darker, more foreboding.
Gregor's eyes darted between the fallen warden and Hope, his face draining of colour. For a few heartbeats, the room was silent except for the distant roar and muffled screams. The contrast was stark—outside the room was chaos, but inside, it was the calm before the storm.
Hope took a step forward, the metal around her feet making soft, malleable sound. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet yet carried an undeniable edge. "You should've stayed downstairs."
He gulped, taking an involuntary step back, bumping into the doorframe. His confident attitude crumbled, replaced with dawning realization. "Wha- What are you?" he stammered, clambering for the weapon by his side.
"Not someone you want to mess with," she replied.
The sound of steel sliding against leather filled the room as Gregory fumbled, trying to draw his weapon, but Hope's reaction was faster. The twin skewers thrust forward, piercing through the spaces between Gregor's uniform and embedding him to the wooden wall behind. The force of the impact made the room's single lantern sway, casting eerie, dancing shadows.
Gregor's eyes widened in shock, his sword half-drawn and forgotten. A choked gurgle escaped his lips as he tried and failed to draw a breath. The only sound was the soft clink of his dropped sword, which echoed eerily in the silence.
With the cool precision that had been drilled into her by Bolgart, Hope withdrew the skewers, and Gregor's lifeless body slumped to the ground with a dull thud. His dark, pooling blood contrasted sharply with the vibrant green of Hope's armour.
Wiping her skewers clean, Hope turned to the door, leaving the grim scene behind. The corridor outside was filled with shouts and screams, a clear sign of Ralina's progress. They had a mission, and no warden nor soldier, no matter how confident, would stand in their way.
Hope's powerful, armoured form burst through the wooden doors with ease. Each impact created a cacophony, echoing through the narrow hallways. Every now and then, as she encountered an occupant, her swift movements ensured they were incapacitated before they could cause further harm. Many were simply too shocked to react, their expressions a mix of fear and disbelief.
Adrenaline sent Hope's heart pounding in her chest. As she flung open each door, she fervently wished to find more victims before it was too late. Every desperate scream resonated deep within her, driving her to push harder and move faster.
Yet, when a hauntingly familiar voice reached her ears, Hope hesitated. It was Marcella. Her terrified scream echoed eerily, bringing back unpleasant memories. Drawing nearer to the last door, a whirlwind of anger, satisfaction, and uncertainty gripped her.
With a determined kick, she forced the door open, revealing a sight that stirred a tumult of emotions within her. There lay Marcella, the very architect of their current predicament, half naked and pinned beneath a man. Marcella's tear-filled eyes locked onto Hope's, a glint of desperate recognition shining through.
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"Who are you?!" the man snarled, twisting to face Hope, while Marcella's voice trembled, "Help me."
Caught in her internal battle between vengeance and compassion, Hope acted. It wasn't sympathy for Marcella that drove her, but the instinct to protect the vulnerable. Guiding the strength of her armour, she seized the man and hurled him with such force that he slammed into a dresser, knocked out cold.
As Marcella scrambled to cover herself, she studied Hope, comprehension slowly settling in. An uneasy silence enveloped the room, a myriad of emotions swirling, yet neither woman spoke, each grappling with the weight of their shared past.
Marcella had clearly wandered into this den of vice, driven by a morbid curiosity to witness the suffering she'd instigated. Hope contemplated whether this harrowing ordeal might instil in Marcella a newfound sense of compassion or empathy. Yet, as Marcella shot her a disdainful glare and bolted from the room, Hope couldn't help but feel disheartened. The girl's stubbornness seemed almost tragic. Evidently, not even such a stark confrontation with danger could shake Marcella's obstinate ways.
Hope momentarily felt bad for Marcella, but she quickly re-centred her focus. The sparse occupancy of the rooms suggested that this vile establishment was a recent development. The true horror struck her then – if the soldiers had just begun this operation, it meant that there would be many more innocents to come.
The unsettling silence in the corridor was short-lived. Faint sounds reached her ears: the distant shouts of men and the echoing footsteps of soldiers approaching. A chilling realization washed over her; the two of them would soon be face to face with the very architects of this den of misery. The soldiers were likely expecting a warm welcome from their captives, not anticipating the storm that awaited them.
⚔
The dim corridors of the Grimhold Bastion echoed the soft, uneven footsteps from three figures, two supporting the third. Maze and Ellie, each with one of Master Waverly's arms draped over their shoulders, tried to steady their pace as they navigated the labyrinthine halls of the ancient prison. Every so often, Master Waverly would grimace, but he soldiered on, unwilling to show any more signs of vulnerability.
“They’re not here, none of them are,” Ellie said in a strained whisper.
“Blast it,” swore Maze.
They halted in a less confined area, the muted torchlight casting long shadows on the walls. The trio used this brief respite to catch their breath. Waverly's eyes settled on Maze's worn leather satchel, which held the Book of Events. "Maze," he rasped, "your book. I can send a message with it. My fellow Masters... they might be able to help."
Maze looked uneasy, clearly protective of the book. But after a brief hesitation, he unfastened the satchel and handed it over. "Be quick," he warned.
Master Waverly muttered a series of words, weaving lines on its open pages in intricate gestures. Maze and Ellie watched, entranced, as runes from the Book glowed momentarily and then dimmed. The message was sent.
As they continued their escape, the empty cells and deserted halls gave the group an eerie feeling. "This place," Maze whispered, "it used to be brimming with prisoners..."
Waverly nodded. "The last King... he poisoned the water supply. Turned prisoners into mindless followers. That's how he bolstered his ranks."
Ellie shivered at the thought. It was a chilling reminder of the lengths the corrupt King would go to maintain power.
After what seemed hours, the three emerged into the early daylight, the trio was greeted by the sight of two familiar faces from the University. Ellie's face brightened at the sight of Master Scoff, a middle-aged gentleman with wise, twinkling eyes. Beside him stood a tall, striking blonde man with an almost ethereal aura.
"Master Marden Rin," Ellie whispered to Maze. "He teaches Alchemy.”
Master Scoff stepped forward. "Waverly," he said, relief evident in his voice. "We got your message. What’s going on?"
Master Waverly managed a weak smile. "It's good to see you too. We can talk when its safe."
Marden Rin's gaze fell upon Ellie, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "We have much to discuss," he said, extending a hand to help the group. "But you’re right, let's get out of the open."
With the combined strength of the two Masters, the group quickly made their way away from the entrance of the Grimhold Bastion, seeking refuge by a nearby series of timber crates. Voices echoed all around them as soldier walked the streets ready for the new day.
As they stealthily navigated the streets, the group was met with the unsettling noise of distant crowds. The murmurs grew louder and more distinct, until they could clearly make out excited chatter and the occasional cheer. Drawing closer, they hid behind a dilapidated building, eavesdropping on a couple of city guards who were talking enthusiastically.
"Can't believe they caught 'em," one guard said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Heard it's going to be quite the spectacle!"
"Ha! And here I thought the Kings servants managed to escape justice. Seems the noose has other plans for them," the other guard replied with a snicker.
Ellie's heart sank, her face paling. She shared a horrified look with Maze.
Master Waverly's expression was one of dismay. "This isn't just any execution. It's a display, a message. The Norcases wants to show their authority."
"We have to help them," Ellie whispered urgently.
Master Scoff interjected, "Rushing in blindly will only get us caught or killed. We need a plan."
Master Marden Rin nodded, his mind already racing. "Distraction, perhaps something alchemical? A smoke screen, or a flashbang?"
Ellie's eyes lit up.
"That, combined with our event casting expertise, could be our ticket."
Maze grinned, "Let's give them a show they won't forget."