19. Everyone Loves Crashing a Festival

Thwain and Pyro pulled their hoods up, careful not to look like they were concealing loot, and stepped through the portal. They appeared next to their two escorts, Sulky and Eye-Patch, following their lead. Pyro fought hard to suppress a grin at the sight of the square in front of him. There was a bare patch of earth that hadn’t been repaired where cobblestones had been ripped up when he had raised an earthen wall during the ambush.

They hurried out of the square. People tracked them with their eyes, a few lowlives slinking off into the darkness, but there was no outright firefight, which was a good sign. They quickly entered one of many empty, crumbling buildings. It looked like it might have once been a pastry shop, though it wouldn’t be passing inspection anytime soon. The wooden counter was rotting and the metal stools that were still upright were more rust than metal. Unless rust WAS still metal, then in that case they were more rust than nice, non-rusted metal.

“Wait here,” Sulky said. “We’ll get you some better disguises. You’re sticking out too much.”

Pyro and Thwain both nodded reluctantly. It was a good idea and a valid point, but they weren’t sure what disguises would be less conspicuous than just having their hoods up. Cool people always walked around with their hoods all the way up, obscuring their faces. Really, anyone who WASN’T walking around with their hood up was as suspicious as suspicious gets.

After a few minutes, the Sulky and Eye-Patch came back with festival masks.

“What’re these for?” Pyro asked in a stage whisper.

“They’re festival masks,” Eye-Patch replied, equally in a bad whisper, gesturing to the festival masks.

“They’re very… Festive,” Pyro said, pointing to the festive parts of the festival masks.

“It’s on purpose,” Eye-Patch whispered. “It’s for the festival that’s coming up. There's a stall that started selling them now, in case people want to get into the festive spirit. Start wishing for something good to happen, and all that.”

“Oh! Then they’re perfect,” Thwain said in a low voice that was pretty much synonymous with a whisper. “We’ll fit right in with all of the other festival goers that wear festival masks two weeks before the actual festival just to show that they’re excited that it’s coming up.”

“Exactly,” said Eye-Patch with a bright smile, deepening the wrinkles around his… Eye.

The two outlaws hastily put on their festival masks. Pyro chose the white wolf mask with red tribal markings. Thwain took the blue demon mask, marveling at how comfortable and breathable it was. He could almost forget that he was wearing it.

Just then, they heard two sets of footsteps walking by. Thwain peeked out of the abandoned building and into the side street. Two Blood Oats had come to investigate! He quickly made a hand gesture to Pyro, telling him nonverbally about the situation and to move in quickly, to encase the duo within a dome of earth to limit the noise, then to knock them out with his earth-encrusted fists. Pyro and Thwain weren’t just friends. They were blood brothers, a bond that was stronger than family. Stronger than friendship. It transcended their DNA, really. Having grown up and endured hardships together, as well as fought together, Pyro understood exactly what Thwain’s single, quick, and efficient hand signal meant.

A half-armored Pyro glided out of the building, pushed noiselessly by a sideways pillar of expanding stone, slowly manipulating a large rock in his left hand at the same time. When he was right behind the duo, one of them started turning around. Pyro didn’t have time for the plan, so he improvised. The Geomancer struck out with his right fist, catching the still-unaware second gang member in the back of the head. He crumpled like a red bag of bricks. Metaphorically, of course. Otherwise, he might have been able to manipulate the bricks with his skill.

Just as the first gang member opened his mouth to shout, Pyro’s other hand lashed out, manipulating the rock even as his arm moved. When the rock impacted the man’s face, it flowed like water for a moment, molding around the poor gangster’s face before hardening. He tried to scream. Of course he did. It was the logical choice, but it didn’t work. His face wasn’t fused with the rock or anything, but it was such a tight fit on his face and around his head that it didn’t really matter.

Pyro created a nice hole in the ground for both members of the Blood Oats, taking off their signature blood red robes before pushing them both in and closing the hole. He walked right back into the abandoned building, removing any traces of his scuffle as he went. He and Thwain slipped on the red robes, adding to their disguises.

“That was awesome!” Eye-Patch whispered enthusiastically.

“That was reckless,” Sulky said disapprovingly.

“We should move,” Thwain said, nodding. “We need to stir up the floor. Force people into farming the first floor. Who do we hit first?”

“We got blood robes, so we hit the Church and blame it on ‘em?” Pyro suggested. “They’re nuttier than a… Bag of nuts… But they feed a large chunk of the floor’s pop, so hittin’em would hurt.”

Thwain nodded. “Know any convenient scouting locations around the Church?”

Eye-Patch nodded. “I know just the place. This way!”

They walked down alleyways and along the main drag, purposefully announcing their presence. Now that they were wearing festive Blood Oats gear, it was better to be seen. The rumor mill would do the rest.

The main road led straight towards the Church’s biggest gated compound. Eye-Patch brought them to an alley that branched off but ended in a dead-end. There, they sat, watching and waiting for something to happen. After half an hour or so, Pyro decided that laying on top of buildings might be more comfortable, so he constructed a small set of stone stairs and climbed up onto the nearest roof. It was a very flat roof with a railing around it, perfect for hiding behind. There was a hatch that led down into the house, but he ignored it. Soon, the others joined him on the roof.

An hour passed, then another. And then another. When the sun had set completely, the gates to the compound squeaked open. A cart rumbled out, being drawn by two horses. Actual, living horses. Thwain gaped. He had only seen the majestic creatures a handful of times. Sadly, most of the horse population had fallen to food and glue shortages. It was a shame they would probably get hurt in the ambush.

“Is it a trap?” Sulky asked.

“Nah,” Pyro replied confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” Sulky hissed. “What are the chances that important cargo leaves the day we decide to stake out the place? It’s probably a trap.”

Pyro shook his head. “Don’t you know any Tower theory? It’s called deuce machines or something. Or a contrary coincidence.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Contrived coincidence,” Thwain corrected. “It’s the theory that explains that if we don’t get ourselves into position, we miss this opportunity. Now, shut up and stop drawing so much attention.”

At a hand signal from Thwain, the four rushed down off of the roof and into the alley below. He expertly laid out an absolutely genius plan with a few quick hand gestures. It was perfect. Flawless. Masterful.

Just as the cart was approaching, they initiated the plan.

Step 1: Distraction. Eye-Patch stumbled out of the alleyway, acting as drunk as possible. He overbalanced, falling right into the road. The driver on top of the carriage yelled out, pulling on the reins, making the horses skid to a stop.

Step 2: Chaos. While the carriage was decelerating, Pyro ran out from behind cover, racing towards the vehicle. He planted both hands into the cobblestone and channeled his mana, sending a pillar of stone spurting out, slamming into the carriage’s door. Instead of the expected crunching and splintering sounds of wood, however, it was the clang of stone on metal that rang out. Still, the carriage rocked precariously onto two wheels. Pyro gave it a little more of a shove with his stone pillar, sending the carriage tumbling onto its side, making a loud screeching noise as metal scraped against cobblestone.

Step 3: Eliminate the enemy. Thwain ran out of the alley, weapons raised. The tumbling carriage had thrown the driver and had toppled the horses, who were neighing and kicking up a storm. He quickly found the driver and pulled the trigger twice, punching two holes into the fancily dressed old man’s chest. Then, he tried the carriage door. It wouldn’t budge.

“Pyro! Open it,” he hissed.

Step 4: ??? Pyro ran over and tried prying the door open. It didn’t work. He coated his fists in stone and smashed a few times. Still nothing. At that moment, Sulky managed to detangle the horses and calm them a bit. It gave Pyro an idea. He ran over and detached the horses from the carriage, expertly attaching them to the door instead by passing a bowline through the handle. Then, he tugged on the rope. Good enough.

“Make the horses run,” he quickly said to Sulky. The man obeyed, using the driver’s whip to send the horses bolting. The line went taut, then the door of the carriage ripped off with a horrendous screech.

Eye-Patch, who had just been getting up after tripping, narrowly dodged the horses and barely missed being flattened by the door. He made his way to Sulky, then they both ran over to see what was in the carriage. Sulky craned his neck to get a better view of what was inside, when a hand gripped the frame from the inside and a man hauled himself out. He was wearing what used to be pristine white robes, but they were soaked in red wine.

“How DARE you assault a diplomatic envoy? Do you even know who I am? I’m-”

His speech was cut off as Thwain unloaded the rest of two pistols into his chest. Well, he tried. A magical force field appeared around the priest, deflecting each bullet.

“Attack! Don’t let him monologue! It gives them the upper hand,” Thwain yelled, strafing to the side and channeling mana into his next two guns.

The priest took out a gun from within his own robes. His was a bone white revolver. He pointed it at Sulky. “[Holy Judgment]!” He yelled, before pulling the trigger. Eye-Patch dove in from the side as the gun exploded with holy light.

“Hear that?” Pyro asked, running to flank the other side. “Boss move!”

“Watch out,” Thwain said. “That's a [very powerful skill]”

“Good point,” Pyro said, growing a pillar of stone so fast that it was almost like a projectile, sending it streaking towards the priest’s face.

Eye-Patch hit the ground, a giant hole blown straight through his chest.

“NO!” Sulky yelled. “Not like this!” He clutched at his friend, trying to will the life to stay within.

The priest sidestepped the pillar of stone, tapping it with a golden staff. Rocks tumbled to the floor, inert.

“Hey! No fair!” Pyro yelled, bending down and sending two more pillars shooting his way. The priest easily sidestepped the first, neatly fitting in the gap between the stones.

“Gotchya!” Pyro yelled, pumping a fist into the air. “Now, prepare for my final technique! [Pillar Cascade]!” He slammed both hands into the ground, raising a wall of stone in front of himself. Nothing special seemed to happen, though. However, Teralak Cruz, son of Meladan Cruz, Bishop of the Church and enjoyer of lukewarm red wine, did not fuck around to find out.

The priest, panicking, vaulted over the horizontal pillar that was trapping him from behind, sending a powerful [Holy Judgment] in Pyro’s skill’s direction. He watched over his shoulder as the bullet easily blasted a hole in the middle of the single wall of stone. As he landed on the other side of the pillar, he felt something press against his chest. He turned to look at what it was, but before the priest of the Church could see the menacingly glowing gun pointed at his chest, Thwain pulled the trigger. The empowered bullet ripped straight through his chest. His shield flared, but it extended a few inches away from his skin, too far to stop a point-blank shot. And then a second. A third… A seventh…

Step 5: Profit. Thwain stood above the massacred body of the priest, breathing hard. The sudden and overwhelming mana drain from so many empowered shots in a row took a lot out of him. He quickly cut a piece from his red robe, leaving it on the scene, then took as many of the priest’s possessions as he could.

Pyro, for his part, was still tamping out the embers in his dark hair, having barely been missed by the holy mana-infused bullet. He scrambled over to the carriage, boosting himself up with his earth manipulation.

“Yo, Thwain, got any bags?” He yelled, searching the carriage for anything valuable.

“Not really,” Thwain replied. “Want to use this guy’s robes? They’re a little holy holey, but they’re big enough that we can tie them to make some sort of sack.”

“Yeah, double time,” Pyro replied, throwing boxes out of the sideways carriage and onto an earthen platform that he had raised to use as a table. A ruckus could be heard from the Church’s compound. Between the gunshots, the carriage crash and Sulky’s wailing, it wasn’t the subtlest of smash and grabs.

Makeshift bag in hand, they looted what they could and sped off, dragging a resisting Sulky behind them.

The three bandits pretended to flee the scene, only to double back and hide at the end of an alley, hidden by mega inconspicuous earthen walls.

“I need to go back,” Sulky sobbed. “I need to avenge Joe. Please, he was my best friend. We swore to each other that we would fight and die together, no matter the odds. That we wouldn’t let our lack of classes stop us from making a difference.”

“Look, just take a moment to--” Thwain started saying before Pyro cut him off.

“I say we let ‘em,” the Geomancer said with a shrug. “If that’s the way he wants to go out, he should go. Long as he knows he’s dead, give’m two guns and let ‘em.”

“That’s a little hasty, Pyro,” Thwain said.

“No, it’s practical,” Pyro argued. “Put ‘em in a red dress, give’m some guns and let’em go ham. You tellin’ me you’d wanna stop us from avenging you? Or you from getting revenge for your family? This is war and we’ve got a willing soldier. Give’m a gun.”

Thwain scoffed. “It’s brash, but I won’t stop you from being an idiot.” With that, he took off his red robe and passed it to Sulky, along with two pistols. “Are you sure about this?” He asked.

Sulky nodded once, a bit of steel in his gaze. “The Church took him from me. The Tower’s curse took Irene from me. They take and take and it’s not fair. It’s not right. With his power, that priest could have helped clear the floor. Helped get some food. Instead, he was, what? Running away? Sitting in luxury? Doing whatever a ‘diplomatic’ whatever does? The Church pretends to be helping everyone so much, but what’s with the shipment of goods? I’ve never seen so much wealth. Imagine the good they could do… I sat on my ass, hoping, praying while Irene withered and it was the worst decision of my life. No. Not anymore. We promised each other. I’m taking some of these bastards down with me.”

Pyro nodded repeatedly throughout the speech, clapping Sulky on the shoulder afterwards. “I’d prob do the same in your position. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Thwain reached over and infused both guns with mana. “Not sure if it works like this, but good luck,” he said. Sulky, dressed in his red robes, scribbled into a book for a bit before taking both pistols and storming out of the alley. Pyro let him pass, lowering the stone wall.

“Might be fucked up, but we needed a distraction. Plus, the more people die, the easier our job gets,” Pyro said, shrugging. He picked up their loot bag and waited for gunshots to sound out before heading out, a frowning Thwain in tow.