L spit to the side, stretching out his sore back. Moving and unwinding the ropes on the bundle of weaponry took precious time and a big dose of his dwindling sanity. They laid to his side, along sides the ladder and bundles of rope. The rain did his moods no favors; at first pleasant, now turned incessant. It grew with unbinding intensity, plunging on his naked skin like tiny stones. They pounded the world and in turned hammered at his sensitive ears. But it would do him favors, soon enough. Everyone and everything eventually will.
Two bare daggers were attached to each forearm, held there by a firm string of, you guessed it, more fucking darkness. Above him was the wall, a couple feet shorter from this side. The raised stone covered the guards to their chests only from the outside, leaving them open to from where L resided. The timing had to be perfect, however. Three guards roamed each wall at the same time, with only a short repose before those on the other sides crossed the corner.
L jumped up, hooking his fingers over the raised wooden platform. He did not lift himself up, however. He stayed stasis, arms stretched out below them as the guards neared. They halted above him, nearly crushing L’s fingers under their boots.
“Gods be merciful, Thymo, I am wetter than your wife. A little bit more and I’ll swear off water for the rest of the week,” one of them said with a loud chuckle.
“At least now you know what it feels like to be wet, or to touch anything that’s wet, you tiny prick,” the other guard replied, venom clear in his voice.
“It looks like she likes my tiny thing better than your thing, Thymo. Bitter?”
“Bitter? More like overjoyed. You disgusted her so much that she swore off sleeping with other men. Now, she won't leave my side, always begging me to screw, just to wash over the memory of you flopping your limbs about like a crazed fool," Thymo replied, his voice rising with each raindrop.
“Bitter? Of course, you are. I always get the girl. Elma is no diff-
A sharp gust of wind interrupted the guard. His eyes popped as his brows narrowed down, uncomprehending as it realized a black distortion was now standing in front of it, within its claws two metal objects glimmering the moon's diminutive light. It was in the shape of a man, but the darkness slithered around its skin in such a way that it was much less human than a mass of black in human shape. The dark figure, however, was soon covered in a bright red liquid. Blood. It was blood, and it squirted massively from Thymo’s open neck. The guard wanted to say something, wanted to warn Thymo, who blankly stared in front of him and was unaware that his neck was leaking, and that he should cover it, but no words came out. No sounds came out.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Numbly, the guard’s free hand reached for his neck. It was wet and slightly warm. Liquid fell through his fingers. He tightened the spaces in between, wanting the precious liquid to stay inside, but it still sputtered out, slipping past his calloused skin. He pressed even harder, and then fingers went in.
He fell, gasping giant breaths through his severed windpipe and cut veins and arteries, gargling blood and coughing and spitting it out. It bubbled on his mouth, slipped through his nose, and fell down his chin. Seeing his rival descend limply into the ground, Thymo followed him, also smashing into the ground, holding his open neck in a likewise fashion, making the same inaudible noises.
The sky’s pour quickly washed off the blood from L’s darkin skin. He re-strung the daggers to his forearm and quickly snapped away the staffs from the dying men, taking no chances in them doing a heroic last action and spoiling his plans. He turned on both staffs at the same time, one for each hand, filling them with as much mana as their tiny storage reserves allowed, and then attached one to the battlements with a decent amount of sticky mana. The other he held in his hands slightly longer. He aimed it at the shrubs, moved it up and down, left and right, up and down, and then left and right, and then attached it near the other staff.
L then jumped backward, wasting no time. He flipped in the air and landed cleanly on his feet, and then bent down and aligned the ladder. He gathered as many bundles of rope on his shoulders as his figure and the wooden ladder allowed him to and climbed it up. The light staff flickered as L sprung forward, re-awakening them with his mana. He glanced to the sides, straining his eyes to see further. No one was alarmed. Yet. He heard mud splat beyond the walls but ignored it. Probably some rogue animals, no need to fret. He dropped the ropes below him, near the dying men, and began to tie them to the battlements, doing his very best to avoid the figures creeping up to the walls in his peripheral vision. He threw over four lines of rope, turning on the switch on the staffs every so often, and then snapped his head around.
A guard was about to turn the corner, far to his left. Far to his right, a guard was also coming. L cursed, grabbing a sword from one of the fallen guards. He began to walk to the left at a quick pace. He soon turned into a trot and then into a full on sprint. As the guard rounded the corner, and before he could turn his head around, a sword lodged itself inside and past his skull. He died instantly as L’s feet thumped against the stone battlement. It shook slightly, but stopped L instantly. He winced from the pain reverberating up his thighs, but did not stop his movement. He let the blade lodge itself inside the guards head, and instead snapped at the light staff before the body even fell, keeping it on the field as to not attract any attention. He turned it off and tossed it behind him, and then quickly followed it with the guard's body. They splashed in the mud, but no one was near to hear that either.
Taking a throbbing breath, L began sprinting back in the other direction, his lungs slightly protesting against the rest of his body. He jumped over the two bled out bodies, realizing he should have tossed them overboard, ignored the things climbing the ropes, and ran close enough until the guard, who stood stunned for a few seconds, his staff lighting up the field as a small army of monsters tiptoed to the walls, snapped his head towards L. He swung on impulse, releasing a yelp, but he was too slow. L dug his feet into the wood below him, twisting his body as the dagger pierced the guard's eye and impaled itself inside his brain. His other hand blocked the staff, keeping its blinding light on the field.
He tossed the light staff behind him and after pilfering the dead man's threw the body after it.
A beam of light fell on L from the other side, sizzling his skin. He looked back, bitting his lips. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, were blinded. Cursing, L threw himself over the battlement, falling into the mud outside the village walls.