Lady Amber instinctively pulled the children closer, as the cacophony of battle before them escalated into terrified screams. Their combined forces had initially swept through the town streets, swiftly overpowering the feeble resistance of the local guards.
With a precise and decisive strike, Fredrickson had incapacitated one of the event casters, severing his wrist and sparing them all from the onslaught of magic from the caster's blue tome.
“You, filthy peasant!” the event caster shouted, then suddenly fell silent as Fredrickson landed another blow to the man’s throat.
As soon as the man fell, a loud horn blew in the distance as the King’s army appeared all around them. The slave army consisted mainly of conscripted criminals and beggars had been changed into a formidable force to be reckoned with.
“Fredrickson, what now?” Lady Amber called out, shielding the children from the grisly sight of men being torn apart by the incoming army.
The King had expected their arrival, cunningly deploying a large regiment to lie in wait within the slums, hidden in darkened recesses. The mad King's paranoia had driven him to trap any and every enemy who dared enter the town, showing no regard for the innocent lives that would inevitably be lost.
In one fell swoop, the King had sought to crush every dissenting voice that remained alive and free.
The sight of rows upon rows of soldiers with blank, white-eyed stares advancing sent a chill down her spine. The bound slaves, stripped of their will and individuality, pushed forward with shields adorned with menacing spikes, and pikes poised between them, creating an impenetrable wall.
“We need to find an escape,” Fredrickson called out. “Back to the docks!”
The crew of Fredrickson's ship formed a protective circle around Lady Amber and the children, slowly retreating in the direction they had come, their eyes darting nervously, searching for any possible means of escape.
Ahead, the women, adorned in golden armour, bearing limbs of fearsome beasts, leaped into the midst of the conflict, darting in and out with remarkable agility. Despite their impressive skills and power, their efforts only managed to slightly slow the relentless advance of the soldiers.
Their individual prowess, overshadowed by the sheer number of the enemy force.
Amidst the chaotic scene, a familiar face flickered amidst the sea of faces, catching Fredrickson's attention.
He shouted the man's name in disbelief and recognition, "Maze, how in blazes?!" his voice strained amid the chaos.
The old storyteller appeared battered, covered in blood, and on the brink of exhaustion. Clutching a green and blue book tightly in his hands, he muttered under his breath, the words lost amidst the cacophony of sounds echoing through the alleys.
As he spoke, the ground beneath him shifted, and buildings crumbled in response. Although his actions didn't prove to be fatal for the soldiers, it significantly impeded their progress. The old man appeared desperate, searching for a way to secure an escape route, refusing to resort to the darker events that could easily overwhelm him.
Beneath the towering arches of the coliseum, a group of formidable warriors swiftly dispatched the threat there. Among them, a massive Wolvegren charged through the ranks of soldiers, wielding a green hammer with unparalleled precision. Each swing of the tool was executed with expert accuracy, sending attackers flying in all directions.
In perfect harmony, a black-haired woman engaged in a mesmerizing dance with what appeared to be an ancient warrior. Their movements were fluid and practiced, as if they had performed this deadly routine countless times before. Their synchronicity was awe-inspiring, allowing them to effortlessly fend off their adversaries.
Positioned behind the dynamic duo, a figure adorned in green armour stood tall, crafting spears out of thin air with masterful skill. Then, with calculated precision, he launched the spears in every direction, providing invaluable support to their companions from the rear. Together, these contrasting warriors formed a formidable force.
Suddenly, a cacophony of shouts and shrieks reverberated from within the massive structure of the coliseum. All heads swivelled, drawn to the source of the commotion, where a horde of silk-clad nobles burst forth in a frenzied scramble, trampling over one another in their desperate bid for escape. The four warriors barely had enough time to move out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding being swept up in the chaotic mass of bodies.
Lady Amber's breath caught in her throat as she recognised several familiar faces among the panicked nobles. These were the very individuals who had been notorious in Brancourt for their unwavering support of the mad king, having profited greatly from the wealth unjustly extracted from impoverished citizens. Anger welled within her as she witnessed the spineless cowards fleeing like rats.
Her jaw clenched with determination as she watched them scurrying away, the embodiment of their true nature revealed in their panicked flight.
Lady Amber vowed to herself that justice would be served, and those responsible for the suffering and inequality would not escape their rightful retribution.
Fredrickson turned to Lady Amber, his voice urgent. "Get back. We don't want to get caught up in that," he warned. Lady Amber nodded, understanding the need to avoid the chaotic stampede of panicked nobles. They cautiously stepped back, creating a safe distance to let the mass of silk-clad figures pass by, only to run directly into the menacing phalanx of the King's slave army.
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The orders given to these soldiers were clear and merciless: kill anything and everything that moved.
In a matter of seconds, the scene transformed into a brutal bloodbath, as the terrified screams of the silk-clad nobles clashed with the ruthless force of the slave army. The air filled with gut-wrenching sounds, reminiscent of the most horrifying nightmares imaginable.
"What the fuck?" A voice echoed above, filled with uncontrollable swearing, catching Lady Amber's attention.
She looked up to see the young man from the dock from before, his face filled with disbelief and shock. He had somehow managed to climb up the side of the building, accompanied by a young girl dressed in men's clothing. Their agility and familiarity with climbing were impressive as they swiftly landed on the rooftop, and without hesitation, leaped onto the adjacent building.
To Lady Amber's surprise, the watery creature that had saved them from the crash was now climbing after the two humans above. Its fluid form seemed to effortlessly navigate the obstacles, displaying an astonishing ability to traverse the structure.
"Milady, we need to retreat further back," Fredrickson urgently advised, his eyes scanning the chaos unfolding around them. The remnants of the silken mob were scattering in disarray, and the approaching soldiers were steadily closing in.
Lady Amber nodded, her mind racing with the need to find a safer position. She quickly assessed their surroundings, searching for a route of escape. The clamour of battle filled the air, mingling with the cries of the wounded and the clash of weapons.
"Follow me," Fredrickson instructed, his voice filled with determination. She followed closely behind with the children, as Fredrickson led them through the labyrinthine streets, manoeuvring carefully to avoid the most intense areas of fighting. The sounds of violence and devastation echoed around them, a constant reminder of the imminent danger they faced.
“Fuck!” Fredrickson's curse mingled with the echoing footsteps that had surrounded them.
Lady Amber's heart sank as she turned to behold a new regiment of soldiers approaching—a sight she had anticipated but had hoped to avoid. Around three hundred heavily armed men stood before her with their weapons drawn. At the head of the procession, was her husband.
The familiarity of the situation did nothing to ease the anguish that gripped her.
Her husband, now enslaved by the cursed tonic stood at the ready, his once-loving gaze replaced by a cold, distant stare. There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, only the relentless determination to fulfill his sole directive—to spill blood.
A mix of fear and sorrow washed over Lady Amber, but she refused to succumb to despair. She tightened her grip on her children, drawing them closer to her for protection. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and met her husband's gaze, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.
"We must find a way to escape," she whispered, her words carrying a mixture of sadness and determination. "Stay close and be prepared to run."
As the approaching soldiers closed in, Lady Amber and her companions braced themselves for the inevitable.
With unwavering resolve, Fredrickson surged forward, leading the way for Lady Amber and her children. His crew of only around forty men, fuelled by his courageous example, followed suit, their blades slashing through the ranks of soldiers who had once been comrades. The clash of metal filled the air as they fought with a fierce determination.
Amidst the chaos, Fredrickson's skill with a blade shone brightly. His movements were swift and precise, his strikes finding their mark with deadly accuracy. He parried a vicious blow aimed at one of his crew, deflecting it skilfully to spare a life that would have otherwise been lost.
The battlefield became a whirlwind of clashes and counterattacks as the former allies clashed in a desperate struggle for survival. The scene was filled with both the cries of those fighting for their lives and the thuds of fallen bodies hitting the ground.
Amid the confrontation, the line between friend and foe blurred, as men on both sides fell under the weight of the relentless battle. Lady Amber watched with a look of horror, knowing that their survival hung in the balance.
Her husband stepped forward and entered the fight. The clash of steel rang out as the two commanders engaged in a fierce duel. Fredrickson's slender sabre danced with agility, his movements swift and calculated. In contrast, the general wielded a broadsword, its weight and power clear in every swing.
Sparks erupted from their blades as they clashed, their weapons a blur of motion. Fredrickson fought with skill and finesse, his sabre finding openings in the general's defences.
However, no matter how well Fredrickson’s crew fought, they were still outnumbered.
Despite his best efforts, Fredrickson struggled to hold his ground against the relentless assault. The larger regiment closed in, their combined strength overwhelming him. He deflected blow after blow, his movements becoming more defensive as he fought to protect himself and his crew.
The odds were stacked against them.
As the final moments of desperation unfolded, the dwindling crew fought valiantly against the encroaching soldiers. Each passing second claimed more lives, until only a handful remained standing, their resolve unyielding.
With a swift and powerful strike, the General forcefully battered Fredrickson's blade aside, leaving him vulnerable. Lady Amber's cry of despair echoed through the chaos.
"No!" she cried out, her voice filled with anguish.
Fredrickson, who had fought with unwavering bravery, found himself unarmed before the General. The broad sword fell, striking him squarely in the chest. Fredrickson tumbled to the ground, his body covered in blood and breath laboured.
As the soldiers closed in, encircling the survivors and sealing off any possible escape, Lady Amber's heart sank.
She wept, her tears mingling with her pleas. "William, please! Come to your senses!" Her words carried the weight of knowing that the response she longed for was unlikely to come.
A tremor shook the ground beneath their feet, a wave of force rippling through the earth itself. Lady Amber and her children cried out in terror, their voices merging with the sounds of chaos surrounding them.
They knew of the inevitable fate that awaited them, by the hands of their husband and father, consumed by the curse that enslaved him.
With his blade raised high in the air, covered in blood, her husband prepared for the final, devastating strike.
The weight of despair settled upon her soul, a crushing burden that consumed her.
But in that critical moment, Fredrickson jumped from the ground, appearing out of nowhere. With unparalleled bravery, he stood himself between husband and wife.
“No!” she cried.
The blade descended, and blood splattered everywhere.
The children, their eyes squeezed shut in fear, let out piercing screams as the world seemed to break around them as Fredrickson fell dead.
As the General kicked Fredrickson aside, his gaze fixated on the defenceless figures begging before him.
The ground rumbled once more, and a shattering echoed filled the air.
In that pivotal moment, the white clouds that had obstructed his eyes shifted, revealing a glimpse of clarity within the storm. A shuddering breath escaped his lips, causing his chest to rise and fall in a moment of profound realisation.
He released his grip on the hilt of his sword, allowing it to slip from his hand and clatter to the ground. His unwavering focus shifted entirely to the woman standing before him. The weight of his past actions and the magnitude of the present situation weighed heavily upon him, as if a floodgate of memories and suppressed emotions had suddenly been unlocked.
The air crackled with tension as his hardened expression softened, revealing a mix of sorrow, regret, and a glimmer of recognition.
“Jocelyne?”