Chapter 217: End of the Theatrical Assassination and Dusk-Bound Massacre
"Amhain!" Barrafin roared out, as he immediately rushed to his friend’s side, but the one he was already battling stopped him, his blade just barely missing the Marquis of Madra, as the assassin fully capitalized on this sudden stroke of luck, despite his own obvious confusion at the unexpected aid of this unknown ally.
But if he thought this was the opportunity they desperately needed to salvage this increasingly unfavourable situation, or at the very least to guarantee their lives with an easier escape, then he was gravely mistaken; especially as the previously tame Barrafin lost all reason at being so insolently halted, causing him to lash out like a rabid dog against the one who stood in his way, with his strikes no longer seeking a clean kill, but simply to draw blood.
And if blood he sought, then blood he found, as he lopped off his opponents arm at the elbow, sliced open his thigh till you saw the bone, and then skewered his brain to end their macabre duel.
Though this was not without a price, as the blow that claimed his opponent’s arm, cost him a hefty gash just below his left collarbone, while his finishing strike forced him to endure a stab to the left side of his gut.
But nevertheless, victory was his, and they were wounds that could be easily be mended with the aid of a competent priest, something that could not be seemingly said about his friend though, as Barrafin continued his bolt to his side, with his opponents dagger still imbedded in his side.
"Take the heir of Enkada away from here!" I urgently yelled out in command, as I rushed at the two who were facing the now fallen Amhain, bringing my foes to five fifth rank assassins, as the shadow that struck down the whip wielding prince retreated back into the shadowed remains of the surrounding tents, vanishing from our sight as fast as it appeared.
"Understood!" Barrafin did not question the order, as he slung his friend’s bleeding body over his back, and rushed with the speed of the desperate from the devastated area.
Seeing him quickly depart, I lightly smiled, and said to seemingly no one, as I eased my stance, much to the confusion of those still around me "I think this should be enough."
And like a switch being flipped, the once, seemingly struggling Abraham immediately erupted in a tidal wave of golden might, forcing the five fifth rank assassins who stood before me on to their knees, while even stunning the three eighth rank assassins for a splinter of a second, that would prove to be all but disastrous for them.
As Abraham’s armoured boot shot forth like a spear towards the knee of the first of his slippery opponents, sending a shower of blood, bone and shredded tendons across the devastated dirt as the man’s entire calf completely disconnected from the rest of his body.
His scream was one of distilled nightmares, as he fell clutching the grizzly sight where his knee and leg once existed in harmony; but this went utterly unappreciated by the Golden Guardian, as his glaive blitzed it’s way to deliver sentence to it’s next target.
The sole female among them, who thought she was safe being behind his gargantuan back, quickly had to react as he twisted with almost impossible agility and attacked her, but she was far too late, as her hand she raised as a final, instinctive defence of her more vital organs, joined the rest of her head as they were ruthlessly severed within the blink of an eye.
"BASTARD!" The final attacker, a man of larger size and heft, rushed at him with a mad sprint, his voice straining to empower his courage, before he struck out with his sword at Abraham’s ribs; but like a dull practice blade against immovable steal, his strike stopped without even being able to bypass his golden aura.
Looking up trepidatiously, he saw the haunting sight of the Golden Guardian’s globes glowing in dismissive, arrogant gold, looking down at him, like one would glare at a foul smelling piece of discarded, rotting trash on the road.
Acting upon pure survival instinct, the muscle bound assassin tried to run, but unluckily for him, Abraham’s elbow was far faster, with the blow echoing out with a disgusting crunch, before he almost instantly collapsed to the ground, desperately clutching at his neck, trying to breathe through a throat that no longer functioned.
Finally returning his attention back to the first one he dismembered, he saw the lanky man pathetically trying to crawl away from him, but before he could halt his struggling prey, an ashen paw with blood red claws, descended forcefully upon his back, knocking the breath from him, pinning him in place, as the low, threatening growl of a terrifying beast, resonate in his ears.
"You better stay still." Abraham calmly, almost gently said to him, as though he was kindly advising him, which only helped to further chill him to the bone.
So much so, that he didn’t dare to even breathe, as he stayed in place, his entire body shivering not from pain, but from mind melting fear so extreme he didn’t even realize that he could easily escape the clutches of Bellerophon, since as he was still a juvenile Chimera King, he could only contest with a not particularly talented third rank martial artist, let alone an eighth rank master such as him, not that it would matter either way, as Abraham could cleave him in twine far faster than he could seriously harm Bell.
Turning back to the rest of the would-be assassins, he saw them all being apprehended by the rest of my Palace Guard, who emerged from their hiding spots nearby, and converged upon their kneeling forms as soon as my words were spoken.
"Excellent performance Abraham." I lightly said with a refreshed smile, as I came to his side, before I then began petting Bellerophon’s mane.
"Indeed, sire." He calmly replied. "I believe our act was more than satisfactory enough to achieve our intended ends."
"...Act?" The shadow of a half disbelieving, half confused whisper sounded out.
Turning down to the man still pinned beneath Bellerophon’s paws, I mockingly pointed out "Didn’t you find it even slightly odd that my ordinarily well protected tent was left so blatantly undefended, tonight?"
The man’s eyes widened in sudden, horrific realization, as if suddenly gaining the grace of a blasphemous epiphany, as I then disappointedly continued "Well, I suppose that’s all one could hope to expect from some rabble pretending to be professional assassins."
"Oh? You seem surprised?" I amusedly said, before I apathetically pointed out "No real, self-respecting assassin would ever remain after their first attack failed so miserably, you utter simpletons." I then finished with a ruthlessly sadistic smirk "But to think that playing the arrogant fool for a few weeks was enough for you to lower your guard to such a degree. It seems invading your middle lands will be even easier than the north, if the rest of your leaders are all as stupid as you the lot of you."
The lanky man glared at me with bloodshot eyes full of hate, as he mustered every last semblance of sanity in him to spit out with all the venom he could gather, as though he was wanting to curse me with all his might, but all that trickled out of his dry lips was a mere, squeaking "You damned monster!"
***
But while the curtains were shutting on the closing scene of the play on my side, the bloody work across the camp was only just reaching it’s climax.
"These craven scum!" Hasdrubal irritably said, as his serrated dual sabres ripped through the sinew of two unfortunate fools.
"What has you so angry my friend?" Horus calmly asked, as he hauntingly appeared before one terror stricken deserter, who was trying to abandon his supposed comrades.
"Nothing much." Hasdrubal replied, his black lightning like aura rumbling around him as he dispatched another wannabe rebel to my ancestor’s kingdom. "I just dislike dealing with these worthless worms."
"Why?" Horus asked, his spear casually piercing through the heart of another suicidal fool.
Sighing, he explained "Unlike the lucky you, I’ve been stuck on the northern border for three years now, and the first order I was given since then was dealing with these unworthy curs, who only know how to bark and beg." He then looked to his bloodied right hand, still wrapped around his sword’s handle, before he then nonchalantly swung his blade to the side with an aura slash, striking right at the feet of another gaggle of traitors, forcing them to turn around, fleeing the horrifying presence of these two devils, who stood so comfortably upon a crimson carpet of blood and gore.
Sighing again, Hasdrubal lamented "Those Luminous dogs weren’t much, but they at least showed the pride of warriors, at least in the beginning. My sword will grow rusted at this rate."
Chuckling, Horus amusedly replied "If that’s the problem then you only need to be patient and there will be more than enough warriors for you to feast on in a few weeks at most, after all, this is our emperor we are talking about, who even makes the Grand Marshal seem less blood thirsty as he some days."
"...That’s true." Hasdrubal relented, as he lightly smirked and shrugged.
"Now come on, we just need to push them a little farther towards the Eighth Army, and our task would be done." Horus then commented, refocusing their attention on the matter at hand.
"Hmm?" Hasdrubal casually hummed, as he looked over his shoulder, while casually wiping away the blood stains that had splattered themselves on his face. "Seems like the Artillery Corps have begun their fun."
"Indeed." Horus calmly replied, as he strongly whipped Iridescent Ideal to the side, removing any trace of blood from his beloved silver spear.
Then, before either of them could say anything else, a mass of shadows apparated next to them, before a distinctly proud and cold feminine voice eerily echoed out from the coiling umbra "The Grand Marshal along with the Enkada Duchess have joined the fight, so you no longer need to keep herding them, but another group has splintered away from the main mob, in fear of their presence. Deal with them."
"Understood, your majesty." The two instantly responded, before they immediately vanished from their place, ready to cleave a new bloody path.
***
Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the fractured show, Leonid stood transfixed upon the battle he’d been tasked with directing with a look of stunned speechlessness, as he’d honestly never once in his long martial career, whether be it in his days as a lone mercenary, or when he was in Luminous service, or even in the Eclipse Military, ever beheld such a blatant massacre, masquerading as a battle.
"Lord Orhan..." He called out to the man by his side, but before he could ask what he desired.
"I ain’t no lord boy, just call me by my name." The eccentric cannoneer interruptingly corrected him.
"Sir Orhan, then." Leonid righted himself, before asking in the same dry tone as before "Is this normal?"
"’Course it is! What? You think my darlings aren’ good ’nough to stop a bunch of idiots who want to scuffle with the boss!" The old man yelled out.
"I stood before your cannons on the Melting Mist Plains." Leonid suddenly mentioned, "But even I did not expect such effectiveness." He said as he beheld the infamous Hydra Cannons belch one salvo after salvo, tearing the enemy ranks into bloody sieves, while those ravenous wolves mimicking humans, that were known as the Demon Born, fought with the brutality of beasts.
Slapping his chest with blatant pride and genuine concern, he said "My darlings ’ve been itchin’ for a chance like this. I was even stratin’ to worry that they’d lose their voices after such a long time!"
"Well either way, I am glad I’m no longer on the barrel end of your creations." Leonid said, as he kept his eyes on the field before him.
"Hehehehe! ’Course you are!" Orhan cacklingly said.
But if he had to be honest, he was far more stunned by Archon and his Demon Born, as he also finally understood why the man was called the Bloody Handed, as he beheld him now, with his spiked gauntlets dripping with the viscera of his foes, despite him just barely entering the fray a moment ago.
