"The Uncontrollable Fire"
Chapter 3
The city of Battleon burned. It burned for a long time. In the calamity, only a few were calm. Only a few stood unfaltering. The men who tore her open with flames…
The Assailants marched, all 200 completely silent. Faceless. Merciless. They marched through a street were the buildings burned. There was no sunlight, the smoke smothered the sun. The only light that could be seen was the glow of the fire in the darkness. The Assailants saw in the dim light their handiwork. The dead, the dying.
The streets ran red with blood and shame. The Assailants marched through their killing fields, looking down on upon the suffering with contempt. The dying would look up at them, begging for death to end the suffering from their wounds. The Assailants scoffed, the suffering were trivial to them.
The Captain looked down on a Dracomancer. The fool was chanting, trying to summon a dragon to his aid. The Captain crouched down, and decided to perform a maneuver on the man. He grabbed the Dracomancer by the neck, and slammed his head against the ground.
The Captain eyed him down, staring into the man's eyes and striking fear and desolation into his heart.
"Bite the curb…"
The Dracomancer looked at him, not understanding the command.
"I said, bite the curb, like you'd bite on a dick you stupid fuck!"
The Dracomancer was afraid, yet he complied with the order. He bit down on the curb on the side of the road. The Captain quickly stood up, and delivered a Curb stomp. He jammed a swift kick into the cap of the Dracomancer's head, and the curb acted like a wedge. The top of his skull was split from the bottom of his head, and blood and gore spurted everywhere. The Dracomancer was still alive for about a minute after the fatal injury. He writhed in agony, and attempted to scream, but all that could come out were jets of blood. The Captain walked away, allowing him to die painfully like all the others, totally ignoring the suffering of his fellow man.
The 200 continued to move forward. Death had no name in this place. The inferno here could appease all the death gods, across the billions of galaxies.
They trudged until they saw a large riot of civilians, attempting to burst through the gate. They were battling with the garrison, who had locked the gate down, and were attempting to defend it. The civilians were all desperate to escape the carnage behind them.
Units of X-Guardians were moving in from behind of the riot, attempting to quell it in a pincer attack. They would be an obstacle to a successful exit.
The Captain got a devilish idea. The rioters and X-Guardians were below them. The city inclined down to that gate with a decent slope. The Captain remembered that they still had two more carts of high-explosive manure…
The Captain gave the order, and one his men set a timer. They flung the cart down the hill with force. It rolled down the hill with speed. The cart impacted with the rear of the X-Guardian flank, and ran over several of them with its tremendous speed. The timer reached zero…
The Captain watched a mighty fireball engulf his enemies. Civilians and X-Guardians alike were blown away. There was devastation everywhere. The crowds of rioters had been vaporized, leaving behind a mist of blood and a stench of manure.
A large group soldiers still stood their ground. The civilians had taken the blast, shielding the soldiers with their flesh. The soldiers were in apparent shock, how could this small group of enemies be inflicting such losses on them?
The Assailants continued their death march. They walked toward the soldiers, unafraid of death. The soldiers were in a better position to defend themselves from a cart being thrown down a hill. Besides, all the blood and scorched flesh would prove an obstacle if they decided to launch a cart remotely.
"Captain, they're backed up against the gate. We'll have to engage them directly."
"Negative, I've got an idea…"
The Colonel of the garrison stared at the blank faces of his enemies. He looked at them hard, and looked their masks. A poker face so clean that they could've played a pair of 2's, and made it look a like a royal flush. The Colonel tried to get some sort of clue as to what their next tactic would be, but he couldn't get anything. General Patton couldn't have figured out what they were doing.
"General Matt, are you sure you're okay to fight? I mean, these guys look pretty dangerous."
He looked over to his right. There stood Matt, his entire body covered in 2nd degree burns, but his anger even greater than the pain he was in. A desire for vengeance more than anything else.
"I'll be fine once I bash all their skulls…"
"Okay, sir, just checking…"
On top of the hill, the Captain was giggling. The maneuver they were about to pull would get out, but it'd be pretty damn hilarious if everything went right.
"Okay, one… two… three."
The Captain and about of dozen of his strongest men began to push the cart down the slope. It flew down just like the one before it. Except for one little twist.
"Wheeeeeeeee!!!" Screamed the rider.
An Assailant had mounted upon the cart, and was riding and controlling its movements as it zoomed. The carts contents, the manure, were currently slow burning. The cart was now basically a flaming bag of cow shit on wheels. The Assailant stood above the flames, balancing on it as if it were a surfboard.
The Colonel was in disbelief, "What in the Hell is this crap? And why does it smell like cow farts?"
The Assailant rode the cart to the bottom, before throwing a strange bottle into the flaming cart. He jumped off, doing a flip through the air, and brought his feet out into a kicking stance beneath him. He landed a hard kick onto the Colonel's breastplate, knocking him down.
Meanwhile, the cart exploded. Only instead of becoming a fireball, it became a flamethrower. Hundreds of pounds of flaming manure rained onto the enemy formation, and stuck like napalm. It lit men on fire right and left, and their heavy metal armor became like ovens, broiling the wearers.
The Assailant, having knocked over the Colonel, turned his attention to Matt. Matt began to draw his claymore, but the Assailant popped him in the lower jaw with his elbow before he could bring out his weapon. Matt stumbled, the blow's typical pain amplified by the burns.
The Assailant turned his attention back to the Colonel. He began to dance, starting with his arms perpendicular to his body. He then took down his forearms and they became a right angle. He began to do the robot. The man jumped in the air, landing on his bottom, and began to do a break-dance spin. He left the spin flawlessly, jumping up and landing on his feet. The Colonel sat up to watch the spectacle. He was met with a ballistic dart to the forehead.
As Matt and the surviving Battleonian soldiers regrouped, they watched the Assailant run off toward his comrades. He screamed an insult to them, "You suck!" before dashing off, laughing all the way. The Assailants marching down the hill even seemed to be in good spirits, chuckling at the stunt.
Matt looked behind him. The gate had caught fire, and the metal reinforcements had expanded from the heat and fell off the door. It seemed pointless to defend the gate, it was collapsing on itself, and the enemy probably had enough explosives to take it down anyway. Matt ordered an advance toward the Assailants. However, a lot of people were burned, and not everyone shared Matt's determination.
Many collapsed in agony before they could even reach the area Matt had instructed. The others were the ones who only had minor burns, but weren't so enthusiastic to fight such an odd foe.
The Captain was excited and anxious. He was about to piss his pants that's how enthusiastic he was. He wanted to kill so badly.
"Men, lets show them our stuff!"
The Assailants divided. Half began to mix in with buildings and cover, hiding. The other half began to charge Matt's line.
Matt ran to the front. He wanted a kill so badly. He had been deprived of kills for so long. He needed to get one now.
"Everyone, brace for impact!"
Matt's formation became tight. They were ready for the assailants to collide with them. They were desperate.
The Assailants leapt, into the air. Yet they did not fall. They soared majestically over the heads of Matt's men. They landed right behind Matt's force, in the rear of the formation. They began to slash the exposed backs of soldiers. The formation was too tight. Men could not maneuver to protect themselves from behind. They were being slaughtered. The formation slowly began to turn around, however, and soon the line was able to defend itself.
The second half of Assailants was still at large though. Matt had turned around with the formation, and was slapping himself mentally for choosing to take this position. Now he'd had to sit out to whole fight. Or at least he thought he would. He heard war cries, and turn to see where they were coming from. A soldier in front of him took a boot to the face, and was knocked back toppling both him and Matt.
Matt knew they'd been attacked from the rear again, this time by the second half of enemies. He struggled to stand up. He saw the soldier in front of him attempt to get up, but his throat was slashed before he could do anything. The man gurgled, and fell over on Matt's legs. Pain shot through him.
As Matt winced, he saw the soldier's formation buckle. They'd taken way too much abuse, and were being attacked from both sides. The formation was abandoned, and one-on-one battles ensue.
Matt saw one of his soldiers squaring off against an Assailant. The soldier brought down his long sword in a vertical swing, but the bloodstained daggers of the Assailant caught it. The Assailant launched a kick, catching the soldier in the lower gut. The soldier let down his guard by grabbing his lower torso. The Assailant immediately capitalized, and finished him off by slashing his neck with both daggers. Matt watched at the Assailant put away his daggers, jumped onto and off of the shoulders of his victim and drew a long sword in mid air. And Matt watched as the Assailant swooped down to bring his long sword down upon the back of a hapless soldier.
The Captain of the Assailants stood, long sword drawn, slashing his way through opponents, taking advantage of every moment of weakness. He killed at least 4 with no effort. Then he heard a scream, but it was muffled. It was on of his men. He looked to see an injured man on the ground, with a soldier raising a sword upon him. The Captain threw a dart at the men, hitting him in the back of the head. He ran to the wounded man. His leg had been slashed, he could not walk.
As the Captain pulled him up, and placed the wounded man's arm on his shoulder, a brute-like Guardian attacked him. The Captain parried a few attacks with his long sword. The Guardian swung, never letting up. The Captain was using his left hand; he could not keep up his defense. The Guardian yelped out in pain, and stumbled. The Captain was startled, but he realized that his own wounded man had stabbed the Guardian with his dagger at close quarters.
"I'm still in the fight, sir."
The Captain was proud of his soldier, but he was preoccupied. He pulled what appeared to be a healing potion out of his cloak, and pressed down on the top. He tossed it to the wounded Guardian, who caught it.
"Wow, you'd give me your healing potion, instead of giving to your friend? That's touching. I'll make sure to give you a quick, painless death. I know you won't like it mu-"
The Captain had watched the whole time as the trigger ran out of time. The trigger was to a sinister device. It was a timer-based explosive, disguised as a healing potion. The brute had had fallen for the trick, and now paid the price.
The Captain carried his man to the edge of the street, and placed his back against the wall. The Captain stood in front of him, long sword drawn and at fighting stance. He looked around, and he a soldier charge at him. He swung his sword out to meet a blow from his rival's blade. The enemy soldier backed off after his attack missed, but he whistled. 4 other soldiers walked over, forming a circle around the Captain and the wounded man.
They began to close in. The Captain was unafraid; he kept alert and ready to fight. One enemy attacked too early. He charged straight at the Captain, expect to bring him down with a swift blow. The Captain caught the attack with a sharp horizontal swing, knocking his foe's sword the to the side. The Captain reached to his belt, and pulled out a throwing dagger. He drove it into the area between the man's neck and his right shoulder.
As the Captain stepped back, he found a swing aimed for his head. He quickly brought his long sword around to block. He successfully blocked the sword's swing, but the enemy soldier lunged forward, bashing the Captain in the chest with his shield. The Captain fell against the wall. Now he was backed into a corner, and outnumbered.
He heard a war cry, yet it had a distinct, muffled sound. It was one of his men. He looked to his left to see one of his men running. The man did not go straight; he began to run on the side of the wall. As he ran over the Captain's head, he jumped over the wall and did a back flip through the air. He landed on his feet, behind two enemy soldiers. The Assailant pulled out his daggers, and slit both of their throats simultaneously. Both men fell to the ground, trying to hold in the blood leaking from their wounds.
The other two soldiers were in shock. One turned around to face the Assailant. The Captain seized the moment, and swung a diagonal strike from his right shoulder to the man's back. As the second soldier turned to attack the Captain, he dove headfirst into the ground. The Captain brought around his sword, attempting to block. But there was no attack. The Captain would have been struck if there had been an attack. He realized that someone had killed the poor bastard. He saw a throwing dagger in the man's neck, and realized that the wounded man had killed in him. He looked to his wounded friend, lying against the building. The man looked back, nodding.
The Captain picked up the wounded man, and began to jog to the gate. Much of the fighting had subsided. Many men were already at the gate, the rest of the Assailants were finishing off what few enemies remained. The Captain gave the order, and his men knocked down the burning gates with explosives.
They marched away, into the countryside. About a mile from the city, they stopped. The Captain assessed the day's work. He had suffering one injury, the man he had carried out of the fort, and no fatalities. They killed 416 enemies defending the gate. They killed some 2,300 while burning the city. The three bombs they had used had killed a total of nearly 5,600 people. They had burned some 87 percent of Battleon. 42 percent of the city was damaged beyond repair. Their expectation had only been 30 percent. Today went very well, in retrospect.
The Captain began to ask about Matt's fate. When he heard what happened, he felt remorse. He instructed his men to proceed onward, and eliminate any threat in their way. The Captain turned back to the city, removing his gothic attire.
Frementus Laviat, Fort Applesworth
Frementus stared into the sunset. Another boring day at Applesworth. Applesworth was a garrisoned outpost, a checkpoint in the roads of Lore. Applesworth was better defended than most forts, though. It was positioned along the river, at the shallowest point, where groups of enemies could potentially cross. However, Applesworth's archers kept any enemies at bay.
Frementus stared into the sunset, wondering if anything had really happened today. Intrivus had told him a rumor that Battleon had been attacked, but Frementus had frequently fallen for Intivus's stories, and wasn't gullible enough to believe another one.
As Frementus looked to the west, he heard people talking. He looked toward the southern wall. The men there appeared puzzled. There was some sort of hook on the wall's edge. As one man leaned over the wall to look down, a black hand reached up, and grabbed the startled man. The hand pulled him over the 50-foot walls, and the man plummeted.
The other men were in shock. Then something flew over the wall. A man in a silver facemask and dark clothing jumped over the wall's battlements, and drove a kick into an archer's face. The man brandished two daggers, and brought them into the archer's chest. More odd men, dressed the same way, began to climb over the ways, wielding daggers and long swords. The hook had been a diversion, for silver masked men began to jump over unguarded sections of wall.
Frementus was quivering. He brandished his bastard sword. Two archers who stood next to him fired arrows into the crowd of enemies on the southern wall. The archers's arrows were deflected, and what appeared to be a healing potion was flung at the archers. It flew through the air while the archers looked on in shock. The healing potion landed at their feet. Frementus watched as the healing potion became a fireball that engulfed the archers.
As Frementus's eyes turned to the battlefield on the southern wall, he noticed that the defenders there were all dead. A silver masked man jumped through the air with uncanny acrobatic skill, jumping 30 feet into the air onto a tower. The battlements blocked Frementus's field of vision, but he heard slashing noises, and screams of agony.
Frementus saw another enemy who sprinted across the southern wall. He was headed to the west wall, where Frementus stood. The enemy soldier made a diagonal jump, from the south wall to the west wall. The masked man brought back his sword to his right shoulder, and swung it forward as he flew. The sword collided with a man next to Frementus, killing him. The enemy continued to sweep in an arc, bringing down a second soldier, an archer. The enemy recovered, and turned toward Frementus, his silver mask gleaming, scaring Frementus.
Frementus was too scared to fight. He threw down his sword and shield and began to say to the man, "You don't have to do this. You really don't. I give, you don't have to kill me."
The man lunged forward, head butting Frementus. As Frementus began to step back to regain balance, his throat was caught by the glove of the masked man. The masked man raised Frementus to his feet, and stared into his eyes. Frementus quivered, and attempted to break eye-contact. He looked over the man's shoulder, to see 6 Battleonians charging across the walls. 2 masked men charged the other direction, and engaged them. The 2 masked men made short work of their 6 foes. Frementus looked behind him in the courtyard. Many enemies were in the courtyard, slaughtering the defenders there.
Frementus began to beg, "Please, why are you doing this? Please don't kill me. I don't want to die. Why?"
The Masked Man thought about it, "I'm going to kill you, because I hate you. I hate your kind. I kill MOSSIL like you, because you took my father and mother, who I cared about deeply. You took my two younger brothers, who always had my back and were my best friends. And my King, a good man, who advised us not to go to war with you MOSSIL so we could live in peace. Did you honor that peace?"
The Masked Man then tossed him off the wall, into the courtyard. The whole 50-feet down, the man watched as Frementus screamed in terror. His screams were cut off with a thud. He hit the ground, hard. The Man looked at Frementus's corpse, lying there bug-eyed. As he watched a puddle of blood form around Frementus's back, underneath his mask a cruel smile began to form on his face…
