Hope sprinted toward the open doors of the Colosseum, her heart pounding with dread. However, in the midst of her haste, she felt the unmistakable tug of the book, a familiar sensation that warning her to pause. Heeding the book's silent warning, she abruptly came to a halt, her breath ragged as she scanned her surroundings.
As she stood there, a sense of foreboding filled the air. A haunting echo of heavy iron boots resonated from within the Colosseum, sending a chilling wave of fear coursing through her veins. The sound grew louder, drawing closer with each passing moment, and she could sense danger lurking ahead.
Feeling trapped, Hope took a step back, her eyes darting anxiously. Suddenly, a symphony of echoing footsteps reached her ears, this time emanating from behind. Panic surged within her as she realised, she was now surrounded.
Caught between the ominous echoes ahead and the encroaching steps from behind, Hope's mind raced, desperately searching for an escape route. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to find a way out of this predicament. Yet, the unyielding walls and the advancing footsteps left her feeling trapped, her options dwindling with every passing second.
She spun around to see an old man before her standing tall, his hunched form wrapped in an air of sinister power. A long, flowing dark navy hood concealed much of his face, casting an ominous shadow over his features. The hood itself seemed to possess a life of its own, billowing softly with an eerie, ethereal energy that mirrored the mage's nefarious presence.
Beneath the hood, a glimpse of pale, wrinkled skin could be seen, marked by the passage of time and etched with the deep lines of a life steeped in darkness. His sunken eyes glimmered with a malevolent gleam, infused with dark knowledge that surpassed the boundaries of mortality.
"Gotcha, little bitch," he sneered, his words laced with contempt and triumph.
His restless posture and laboured breathing made it clear that he had been relentlessly tailing her for a considerable time.
Suppressing the urge to snap back, she tightened her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder.
"You can't carry something so powerful, something that literally oozes magic like a beacon, and expect to go unnoticed," he taunted, a smug smirk playing across his face. "Now, be a good little girl and hand it over."
As her gaze shifted towards the soldiers obediently following the event casters' every command, she could discern the telltale signs of enslavement within their eyes. Even the soldiers behind her, who were swiftly forming a rigid formation, appeared to be under the same sinister tonic.
Panic surged within her as she realised, she had no escape. She couldn't rely on the book's unpredictable powers, and fleeing seemed equally pointless.
Gritting her teeth, Hope reached for the small block of living metal secured at her side. With practiced speed, she pulled it out, feeling its cool surface against her fingertips. The moment she held it in her hand, the living metal responded, expanding and enveloping her body in a protective casing. The material formed a formidable barrier, sturdy and resilient, but doubts gnawed at her. She couldn't be certain if it would be enough to withstand the imminent danger that surrounded her.
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The old man advanced, taking a step closer, as he brandished a blue book aloft, poised and ready for use. The air crackled with anticipation, and an aura of malevolent energy surrounded the book in his hand.
She tensed up, bracing herself for the impending confrontation, fully aware that she was defenceless against the formidable man standing before her.
Suddenly, a ripple of wind swept through the ranks of the soldiers positioned behind the event caster. Amidst the commotion, Maze, blood streaming down his forehead, emerged into view. He held not one, but two books, one blue and one green, firmly clasped in his hands.
His arms quickly flew up, dropping the books mid-air only for them to float before him. As the books hovered before him, they emanated a formidable aura of power. With a dangerous glint in his eyes and a trickle of blood marking his mouth, Maze eyed the soldiers, then spoke with a commanding voice. "Gust."
From both flanking sides of the street, whirlwinds appeared, growing in intensity and closing in with each passing moment. They converged just before the line of soldiers, who quickly turned to face the new threat. Raising their shields, they braced themselves against the battering winds, their clothes billowing around them as they fought to maintain their footing.
"Hah, is that all?" sneered the wicked man in his ominous blue robes. “Useless.”
A triumphant grin spread across Maze's lips, his plan unfolding as intended.
"Charge!" the event caster bellowed, pointing toward the resolute old storyteller who stood his ground, an unwavering smile on his face.
Just as the soldiers took a few more steps forward, a glimmer of golden metal caught Hope's peripheral vision. The Feldreken women, swift and deadly, pounced from above, catching the men off guard. It took the soldiers a few moments to realise that their back line was already dead. As they turned to face the unexpected attackers, they found themselves trapped between two formidable forces, their lives hanging by a thread.
Meanwhile, drained of all colour, the event caster desperately dug his hand into the folds of his book, desperately searching for an event that would annihilate them all.
However, precisely at that moment, a group of seafaring people, clad in distinctive earthy attire, emerged on the scene from a nearby alleyway. Their leader, a poised gentleman sporting an absurdly large feather in his wide-brimmed hat, spotted the event caster and, with a swift flash of razor thin steel, sliced the man's wrist, causing him to drop the book.
Hope's mind raced to keep up with the rapid turn of events, her eyes darting between the unfolding chaos and the astonishing display of skill before her. The soldiers behind her sprang into action, their movements a flurry of precision and coordination. A striking woman with flowing raven hair effortlessly vaulted over the bewildered soldiers under the eve of the Colosseum with a cobalt blade in hand, aided by a weathered old man who matched her agility wielding a long-rusted pole. Their speed surpassed even that of the formidable Feldreken warriors, leaving Hope in awe and curiosity.
Who are these people? She wondered.
Just then, a massive figure, covered in coarse brown fur, charged towards the soldiers with an unstoppable force. Swinging a crude hammer in his hand, he effortlessly batted them aside like mere children. Hope gasped. It was a Wolvegren, one of the legendary bear men she had heard tales of. As her eyes focused on the hue of the living metal in his grasp, recognition dawned upon her, and her eyes widened with realisation.
“Roven?” she called out.
Behind the hulking bear-like man, she caught sight of the familiar face, his form adorned with living armour she was all too familiar with. He unleashed a barrage of living spears upon the helpless soldiers, each strike finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The combined onslaught of these four newcomers left the soldiers reeling, overwhelmed and powerless against the relentless assault.
Amidst the chaos, a new voice pierced through the clamour. "Maze? Hope?" The words resonated with familiarity, drawing her attention.
Two heads cautiously emerged from behind the storyteller, revealing themselves to be none other than Charles and Ellie. Their faces displayed a mix of relief and concern as they surveyed the unfolding scene, their eyes locking with hers.