Chapter 11: Assassin's Arrow
Shivan crashed into the first WWESBer and smote him to the ground. Behind him, the YSBers came like a flood, crying out in vindictive rage as they did so.
Shots rang out. Some YSBers fell, their bodies trampled. WWESBers fell in masses from the skill YSB's elite gunmen, led by Void and Temp.
Then they met, and there was a fire of passions: the YSBers were aroused by their leader's fury, and the WWESBers were dismayed at the fierceness of the defense. Many fell and were trampled in the attack.
Then a YSBer met the standard-bearer in the charge. Driger, dressed and hooded in a black cloak inlaid with a ghostly white silk, hewed the staff and impaled its bearer. Those in the YSB's horde that witnessed the banner falling gave a cheer and continued their charge.
The fire in the trees had done little to aid them, as more WWESBers poured out. Some bows sang among them, but the haunting terror of their melody was lost in the ferocity of Shivan's resolve. The darts missed their targets and clattered uselessly onto the trampled earth.
There was one weapon of the enemy the YSBers were not prepared to face. Fire-tipped pikes packed the emerging ranks. They waved in threat.
Shivan saw them first, and from the head of the charge he called back in absolute command.
"Void! Ready the guns!"
But it was not gunfire that answered his order, but bowstrings. At least fifty released white arrows of the YSB, and they plunged into enemy ranks like a blizzard. Pikes were dropped on other WWESBers who went mad from the fire.
Still there more. They continued to advance until they met the YSBers head- on. Guns could not compete with wildfire, and it spread throughout the packed horde.
"Break away!" Shivan called. His army heard him and dispersed, but it was no good for him. An arrow lit afire cut the air before him and lodged itself in his neck, severing his jugular. His sword slipped from his hand as he fell.
Shivan had been killed. Two yards away stood Wave, his bow still drawn before him, a wicked smile on his stupid face.
Shivan crashed into the first WWESBer and smote him to the ground. Behind him, the YSBers came like a flood, crying out in vindictive rage as they did so.
Shots rang out. Some YSBers fell, their bodies trampled. WWESBers fell in masses from the skill YSB's elite gunmen, led by Void and Temp.
Then they met, and there was a fire of passions: the YSBers were aroused by their leader's fury, and the WWESBers were dismayed at the fierceness of the defense. Many fell and were trampled in the attack.
Then a YSBer met the standard-bearer in the charge. Driger, dressed and hooded in a black cloak inlaid with a ghostly white silk, hewed the staff and impaled its bearer. Those in the YSB's horde that witnessed the banner falling gave a cheer and continued their charge.
The fire in the trees had done little to aid them, as more WWESBers poured out. Some bows sang among them, but the haunting terror of their melody was lost in the ferocity of Shivan's resolve. The darts missed their targets and clattered uselessly onto the trampled earth.
There was one weapon of the enemy the YSBers were not prepared to face. Fire-tipped pikes packed the emerging ranks. They waved in threat.
Shivan saw them first, and from the head of the charge he called back in absolute command.
"Void! Ready the guns!"
But it was not gunfire that answered his order, but bowstrings. At least fifty released white arrows of the YSB, and they plunged into enemy ranks like a blizzard. Pikes were dropped on other WWESBers who went mad from the fire.
Still there more. They continued to advance until they met the YSBers head- on. Guns could not compete with wildfire, and it spread throughout the packed horde.
"Break away!" Shivan called. His army heard him and dispersed, but it was no good for him. An arrow lit afire cut the air before him and lodged itself in his neck, severing his jugular. His sword slipped from his hand as he fell.
Shivan had been killed. Two yards away stood Wave, his bow still drawn before him, a wicked smile on his stupid face.