Theresa sprinted down the road in a panic, the war-cries of the Bandits emulating behind her. When she had reached the town square, she began screaming frantically, "BANDITS! BANDITS ARE HERE!"
The townsfolk froze for a brief moment, as the weight of those words laid on them. It took an arrow whizzing pass Theresa's head to spark the simultaneous shrieks and screams. Widespread panic engulfed the villagers, as they scurried everywhere. Some tried to calm the lot down, but they only managed to hurt their throats screaming. Most of the villagers headed for the woods, but some were cut down by the hidden Bandits.
Theresa, meanwhile, cut through the wave of panicked villagers, and made her way to her house, where she found her mother and father.
"Quick, Theresa!" her mother shrieked. "Take my ha…where's your brother?"
"He's…in...hiding" Theresa said, breathing hard."
"No…I've got to find him. Honey," She turned to Brom, "take Theresa and go. I'll look for Michael."
"No." Brom said flatly. "He's my son too."
Theresa could now here the nearby laughter of the Bandits.
"You can't stay." Theresa's mother shook Brom. "You have to leave. Here." She handed him a circular object that Theresa couldn't see properly.
"Just shout out the name," she explained, "and you'll be tele…"
"You really think I would let you escape that easily?"
Theresa let out a scream as the object her father was holding burst into flames.
"Ow!" her father yelled. "What the...no…""
Brom suddenly froze. Theresa's mother turned around and also froze. Theresa looked out from under her father's arm.
There, standing in front of them, were a group of Bandits. In front of them was a red-cloaked figure, from which a deep, menacing voice greeted them.
"Hello."
Meanwhile, down the road, what remained of the town guard prepared for their last-ditch defense. On orders from the Guild of Heroes', they were to protect the Thatcher family at all costs.
The remaining 5 guards hastily formed a firing line. The Bandits, beginning to burn the town, noticed the meager attempt to hold them back, and started to advance slowly towards the guards.
The leader of the small group, the Chief Guard, prepared his men for what would be their final battle.
"You are the guard of Oakvale!" he yelled. "Whatever evil plagues this town, you will strike it down with all of your might!"
The advancing Bandits, twenty strong, were now within range of the guards' crossbows.
The Chief unsheathed his longsword and said fiercely, "Send them to the hells of Skorm. Fire!"
Four crossbows twanged, four arrows were shot, and four Bandits fell.
The mob, un-phased by the arrows, still pushed on.
"Fire at will!"
Another barrage of arrows, but the Bandits still advanced
"Charge!"
There was never any hope for the guards, even as they drew their swords and charged valiantly into battle, They only managed to fell 2 bandits before falling themselves.
With the meager threat of the town guard down, the Bandits charged onward. Eventually, they met the other squad, leader, and their objective.
Screams erupted from the Thatcher house, and then, silence
The Thatcher's never had a chance.
Nightfall had come. Nearby, Michael could hear the screams of the townsfolk being murdered by the Bandits, the crackling of the fires engulfing Oakvale, the laughter of the murderers, playing with their prey, and other frightening sounds. Standing up from behind the fence, he left the field and tried to continue down the road, but it'd been barricaded, either to keep help from coming, or to keep the victims from escaping their demise.
Unable to take the main route, Michael took the side road that led to the bridge. It was here when Michael discovered that the road was littered with the dead.
Michael screamed, muffling it with his hands. He'd never seen a dead body before, let alone many. Among the dead he spotted the wife of the weapon store owner. She was sprawled on the ground, a arrow lodged in her chest. Michael noticed she was still breathing, and ran to her side.
"Miss…" he began. The sight of the helpless woman nearly brought Michael to tears.
The woman opened her eyes. "Mi…Michael, dear. You sh…sh…should get out of he…here."
"Please, let me help you. I can get help and…"
"No!" she yelled. Michael, surprised, stepped back.
"You can't help…me. Le…" the woman struggled with the last word. "Leave."
She let out her final breath, a death rattle. The life from her body seeped out, and she died.
Michael closed her eyes, and carefully navigated the road, taking care to avoid any Bandits.
Luckily, the bridge was clear, meaning he can get back to his house and his family, where they would be safe.
But what if… he began to think.
"No, they are not." he said to himself. "They are not. They are not..."
He had rounded the corner, when he spotted a body laying outside his house. A expression of horror emerged on Michael's face.
"No…" Michael whispered. He knew who it was even before he approached the corpse. He was trying to suppress the thought until he came face-to-face with it.
The corpse bore no lie.
Brom Thatcher was dead
Michael collapsed on the floor, next to his lifeless father. He stared into the unmoving face of his father, stuck in a pain-struck expression. "Please Dad, wake up." Michael whispered, as he shook the corpse.
There was nothing he could do.
Michael's grief finally got the better of him. Silently, he laid his head on his father's chest, as he'd done many times when he was sad, and his dad alive, and began to cry.
The cries and screams of Oakvale ceased.
"A boy! ARGH!"
The scream startled Michael. Looking up, he saw a Bandit emerge from the burning wreck that was Mrs. Amberden's house. Spotting Michael, the Bandit now started sprinting towards Michael. Michael stumbled back, but he could not outrun the older, stronger Bandit. Michael braced himself.
CRRRRRRRRACK!
A bolt of lightning sped through the air, hitting the Bandit in his back. He stood there, paralyzed. Michael could smell his burnt flesh.
The Bandit finally fell to the ground in a heap, dead. Behind him stood a tall, old man, who Michael had never seen before. He was clad in purple robes, and he bore strange, embedded blue marks on his face.
"Come," the old man commanded, approaching Michael, "it's not safe here."
Michael crawled back, apparently not trusting the man.
"They're all dead." The man motioned towards the dead Brom. "You don't want to end up like them, do you?"
Michael looked at his dead father, the grief returning. No, he didn't want to die, but for some reason, he felt he should.
Michael looked back to the man. "No, I don't" he said.
"Then, give me your hand."
The man held out his hand to Michael. Michael hesitated, unsure if he can trust the man. War-cries erupted from the village, which persuaded Michael fully.
Michael took the hand of the old man. The man took something from his belt, and muttered something.
"What are…" Michael began, but he was interrupted by a blue light that surrounded him. Suddenly, he felt himself leaving his body, and soon, he was engulfed in darkness.