The span of time just before dawn was always the loneliest. The night-life of the city would've died out not too long ago, yet morning still had not yet come. In the summer it would likely be first light by now, In the dead of winter, however, these scant hours were as cold and dark as it could possibly get. The only pokemon out at this time of night were either chronic insomniacs, eccentric sleepers, or just generally were up to no good.
It was no wonder that the city's most nefarious criminal would choose this time to walk along its snow-covered rooftops, deftly leaping from rafter to rafter while barely leaving a snowflake out of place. She was a shadow that walked, and she had a message between her talons.
The piece of paper Chenza held in her claws had only two things: a jagged three-line 'S' and an address located on the far side of East District. It was hardly useful information to most, but the intent was obvious if read by the right pair of eyes. They would know that this address wasn't in Shardurr's territory at all. They'd know that it was a jeweler, too, and one on the brink of the district far from any other shops. For all that expensive inventory being threatened, they'd batten down the hatches and tighten security just in case, only to find a little gift mixed in with the jewels that reminded them of why they couldn't call upon the city for help. All that from just an address and a symbol.
That's why Chenza had crawled up onto Persian's roof, after all. She knew which window was his bedroom, how to scale the side of the manor to reach it, and which side to slip the paper through so that it landed somewhere conspicuous. This wasn't the first time she'd done it, but if everything went right, this would be the last.
Unsatisfied, the Weavile flipped back onto the rooftop and put a claw to her lips. She strolled up to the chimney, dragged her claw over the points of her fangs, and began to chip her gang's symbol into the stone there as well. Now that the mark of death was in its proper place, she finally grinned and disappeared into the budding dawn.
...
The string of knocks at the door only grew more impatient by the passing second. Of the three Spinarak that fussed about in the back of the weaver shop, the eldest was the one that was forced to crawl along the webbing that covered the ceiling to answer it.
"We're closed, we're closed! Knock it off! Come back tomorrow!"
The next two knocks came delayed, and almost sounded like punches with the way the door reverberated. The Spinarak hissed and lowered themselves to a contraption nearby the entrance and started to fiddle with a series of levers and switches. Gears turned with a steady clicking sound inside the wall, unlocking the door with just a few minuscule motions.
"Alright, geez! What do you want?!"
A flurry of snow rushed in as the bell jingled. Persian stood in the doorway, flanked by four of his personal guards.
"A- Ah-" The Spinarak jumped back up onto the ceiling like their life depended on it. "Guildmaster Persian! Sir! I- I didn't know you were coming, I would've answered sooner! There wasn't any app- ah, haha! What brings you here?!"
The Persian glowered at the insect for a few seconds, then looked to the rest of the shop with a forward tilt of his head, signaling two of his four brutes to head deeper. All the while the Spinarak stammered, and their two siblings peered out from around the corner before a Swampert and Hitmonchan stormed past them into the back.
"The contract you signed that binds you as an affiliate to the Rusty Mountain Mercantile Guild explicitly states that any illegal contraband possessed by the business must be seized, with full liability falling onto the ownership of said business." A sidelong glare. "I've heard rumors, little Spinarak, that a certain Weavile might have visited your establishment several days ago. I pray that these rumors are only just that."
"Of course, of course! Only rumors! Don't even know where they came from! The silly things that travel from mouth to mouth these days, haha!" The Spinarak backed away even further from the Persian. They only had so much more ceiling to go.
The guildmaster strolled forward, eyeing the establishment with a fleeting interest. "Oh, I assure you that this is no laughing matter. Rusty Mountain is currently the victim of a horrid string of slanderous events. Businesses I thought I could trust, working on the real estate I graciously supplied them, smearing my good name through the mud with rehearsed lies."
"I know! It's awful, isn't it?" The Spinarak finally backed themselves into a corner. "Truly awful! But not us! No, we'd never do something like that! Rusty Mountain's only been good to us!"
The Swampert and Hitmonchan returned, and in the Hitmonchan's grasp was an innocuous, unmarked wooden box, which was placed down onto the floor with a great deal of care. The Swampert reached in, and with a fistful of sawdust came a cylindrical stick of packed powder. A bated breath gripped the room while Persian turned the slightest flicker of malice towards the Spnarak.
"Never?" he murmured with a sarcastic flair. "Fools. Swampert, cover those up and see that they are disarmed and disposed of as quickly as possible. Answer no questions, leave no loose ends. As for the rest of you, see to it that this establishment and its assets are seized on paper, and that these Spinarak are invited to stay at our temporary housing units."
"No no no! Sir you can't just-"
"What can I not do?" Persian snapped. "Would you prefer to be arrested by the Order and thrown into an overpopulated dungeon like that Weavile intended? And just what did you expect would happen, making deals with two devils? What ran through your head as you intentionally signed the dotted line on every one of my blacklists? Be thankful I'm allowing you to leave here with any freedoms at all!"
The punctuation to his anger came with a buzzing sound as something flew in through the door. A Ninjask.
"Guildmaster Persian! Something has-"
"Why have you come to me now, of all times?! Do you even realize what it is you're interrupting?! If what you've brought me is anything close to trite, you're going to have a lot of trouble finding work in this town again!"
The Ninjask shuddered, but held up some sort of letter in its segmented legs. It had been folded into thirds, but part of the symbol that had been scribbled onto it was visible. The top half of the Weavile's mark.
"A servant found it in your room while it was being cleaned!"
Persian hissed and shot a wary glance over to the door, gesturing one of his guards to slam it shut. His ear raised to the Spinarak, but impatience got the better of him in the moment. "Well what does it say, then?! Spit it out already!"
"That's the problem, guildmaster," the Ninjask buzzed. "It's just the symbol and the address of one of our jewelers downtown. That's all that was written on it."
"And did you send someone to that business?!"
"There was nothing out of place there, sir. I checked personally, then ordered a handful of pokemon to survey it after I left. There's been no…" The insect glanced at the unmarked wooden box. "There's been no outside influences yet, sir. The owners claim not to have any idea what could be going on."
"Damn it! What's that cur plotting this time?"
A thoughtful silence fell for much too long, prompting the Ninjask to speak up just to end it. "Should I… Should I report it to the officials as a possible burglary?"
"What are you, daft?! Of course not! The Order has been far from 'cooperative' in regards to the narrative that the Weavile is trying to spin. It's in our best interest to keep to ourselves as much as possible. The game Shardurr's trying to play is one I've already been playing for decades. Make no mistake, my patience and ambition run far deeper than that child could ever know."
The insect held the note close to their abdomen. "Then what should our course of action be, guildmaster?"
Persian huffed. "We hold the course steady and brace for an impact. Heighten security, improve surveillance. Make sure we cannot be caught off-guard, but we must only defend. However it is the Weavile thinks she can challenge us, we cannot be made to look like the aggressors. The hysteria she points at us like a wand is more fleeting than she could ever know." The guildmaster took a look around the room. "And can we finish with this farce already?! This should have been over ages ago!"
...
The news was everywhere. The regular rowdiness that permeated the nameless tavern had become especially heated. Newspapers had been torn apart and burned, with the debris flitting through the air or littering tables and corners. More war-chants than tankards traveled over tabletops. Stomping feet, pounding fists, and cries for a black justice.
Rusty Mountain Mercantile Guild was declaring war, it seemed, and everybody was absolutely eating it up. There were already three caches of explosives discovered on the outskirts of the guild's area of influence. Three caches located suspiciously close to West District. It wasn't difficult for people to connect the dots, even if they generally weren't the brightest demographic.
Vallion kept to himself and his tea, merely watching as the hysteria unfolded around him, sparking the exact fire Chenza had hoped to light. New faces appeared in this miserable part of town, disillusioned by the integrity of the kingdom and heartened by the Weavile's revolutionary cause. Old faces spoke louder and with more vigor, spinning tales that made Shardurr seem to be much more than it really was. It all compounded on itself in real time as he took another somber sip from his cup.
An uproar started when Freak flew into the tavern. The Swellow's coming was heralded with an unintelligible degree of shouting. They cheered and praised The Matriarch's killer all the while, but the ruffians were thinking more of the future than of the past. When were they gonna take out Rusty Mountain, Freak? When were they gonna give those limp-wristed penny-pushers what was coming to them? Things they had already asked Vallion when he woke up an hour ago.
Freak ignored them all just as Vallion did, coming to perch on the back of a chair nearby the Serperior. He had to wait a solid minute before everyone got disinterested and went back to their own devices.
"Bright-eyes."
"Freak."
The Swellow puffed out his plumage and started to preen. "Chenza told me this morning that it's about time we started trouble. Just after noon, to be precise."
Was it already time to put that plan into motion? All the commotion had made him forget which day it was. Vallion took another sip of his tea, frowning at how cold it had gotten. "Where's she gone off to?"
"To plant more 'evidence' in the chaos. What else?"
"Hmph. Figures that she'd be off messing around while I'm forced to do all the hard work."
Freak shook out his green flight feathers and dug his beak into his wings. "She's the reason why there's as much pressure on Rusty Mountain as there is now. The kingdom's been riding Persian for all he's worth, and he doesn't have an answer. Chenza knows how to play that tension like a chord of strings."
"Ha. Very poetic of you. Perhaps you should write a book when this is all over."
"Be quiet. I get enough of that shit from Zoroark." Freak clicked his beak. "Just get the hell out of here and get ready. You're going to be doing a collection job to get there. Of course, you won't be completing it in the end. You do remember how to do those, right? Or did you outgrow that responsibility already?"
He waved a vine dismissively and finished off what remained of his tea. "I'd love to outgrow leaving my bed, but orders are orders I guess. There had better be a paycheck in it for me is all I'm saying."
"As long as you make it convincing enough!" the Swellow called out after him.
"I'll think about it."
Vallion always dreaded the part of the day when he'd have to leave the comfort of that lone furnace. It took mere moments for the air outside to sap what little heat he'd accrued. After a few minutes, his muscles inevitably started to cramp up and become rigid. By the time he had slithered through the dilapidated town and arrived at the grid of warehouses, his stomach had gone numb and his nostrils felt frozen and dry. It never got any easier around here, did it?
Just like the first time, the Serperior waited in front of the same warehouse's doors. A couple empty minutes passed before the lock jostled and clicked, and Roserade stepped out into the light. She sized him up for a minute, an incredulous look on her face.
"Oh son of a bitch. Not you again!"
He tilted his head. "Why not?"
Roserade threw her arms up, swinging the looting bag that was hanging from her shoulder. "Because you're trouble, you fate-forsaken snake! The only time I've ever worked with you was when Freak set us up to walk right into a trap! No good can come out of seeing you again!"
"Perhaps," Vallion said with a shrug. "But did I not get us out of that trap? And besides, I'm a higher rank than you this time around. You don't really have a choice."
"Yeah, yeah. Fuckin' higher-ups, I swear. Here I was hoping for that Metang again…" She searched around the immediate area for a moment, her expression only getting more annoyed. "And where the hell is Linoone?"
"Was he supposed to be here? I'm the only one around as far as I could tell."
Roserade scoffed and tossed the bag at him. "That slimy little- Well I'm not gonna be the one carrying the money around. You're supposed to be up there in authority with Freak and Brute now, aren't you? Make sure that punk gets his ass kicked later. Let's get this show on the road already."
The straps of the bag weren't really made to fit onto a creature of Vallion's shape. After trying and failing to fasten it onto himself, he simply held it from his vestigial hands and hurried after Roserase, who had already stormed ahead down the street. Linoone sure picked the right day to skip out on his duties, hadn't he? Good. Maybe he was actually making an attempt to stay out of trouble after all.
They passed through the same old crumbling neighborhood on their way east, trudging over increasingly steep declines until those hills finally became impassable cliffs that the roads had to snake around. The only consistently flat road was occupied by the wide passage that led out of town towards the quarries, but it was mostly empty now. The frigid weather prevented any worthwhile mining operations. It seemed Paradise's only long-term goal during the winter was to survive until the spring.
Vallion's presence did not go unnoticed. His very passing was enough to instill a sense of fear in the townsfolk. Anyone on the street with him and Roserade gave them an especially wide berth. Pokemon that could typically ducked into establishments or changed their routes away from him. Shuttered windows were shut and doors were closed and locked. He even saw a duo of young Lotad get pulled back into their home by their parents. He was one of Shardurr's right hands, after all.
"Sheesh," Roserade finally spoke up about it. "Aren't you popular?"
"At least we won't have to worry about getting bothered by anyone."
She glanced over her shoulder at a Doduo who sped past at what was barely below running speed. "I think the problem's more that you stick out like a sore thumb, and I'm forced to stand right next to you. Just watch out for patrols of guards so that I know when to get as far away from you as possible."
"...Shouldn't there be more patrols out?" Vallion said. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen a single guard this whole way."
"And that's a good thing. Quit trying to jinx us before we even make it across town. We're still only halfway to East District's bazaar. There's absolutely going to be trouble around there, but as long as you keep your head low and your mouth shut we might just be able to make it through this without any problems."
...Something wasn't right. Granted, there usually wasn't much civil presence in these parts to begin with, but that was before everything that had happened. These days West District was practically crawling with the king's eyes and swords, so much so that Shardurr had almost no trouble at all conducting business on the other side of the city. By all rights, Vallion should've been witnessed, noted, and reported to command within a few blocks after leaving his gang's territory.
Hmm.
The rest of the journey into East District was uncannily tense and ultimately uneventful. The main foothold of the Rusty Mountain Guild on this side of the city came into view before long. The bazaar was a single lane stretched out farther than the eye could see. Rows of shops went on either side of the street, and a majority of the open market was sheltered beneath a long covered area. The slanted roof had no walls but the buildings themselves, propped up with a central line of pillars, and seemed to continue on for an unreasonable length.
It was also exceptionally empty, apart from a few desperate traders and a trickling of customers. This came as no surprise, considering how many firebomb caches Chenza had planted around here in the last few weeks. There were few places more dangerous to be than the market where the shops on either side of the road hailed to a different gang.
"Hah. Looks like we lucked out," Roserade spoke up, peering over a planter of scraggly bushes. "I don't see the king's lackeys anywhere. Just some Rusty Mountain numbskulls. They won't bother us as long as we steer clear of their side."
The group of former mercenaries that Persian had integrated into his guild identified themselves using red and black striped cowls. Vallion spotted a few almost immediately. There was no doubt in his mind that they had spotted him, too. How was this going to work, then? Did Chenza steal a few of those hoods and put them on her own pokemon, or did she pay off a few of them to set this in motion?
The exact details of the plan still weren't apparent by the time Roserade made it to their first stop. The Serperior actually recognized this business despite having never been here before. Or rather, the business next to it. A blacksmith with boarded-up windows and no sign that was once a passage into an underground gambling hall. That is, until the Order and Rusty Mountain came down on it like a bolt of lightning and put every occupant into chains. A lot of people's brothers and sisters got swept up in that bust. The emotions still ran hot.
"How badly do you need me down there?" Vallion asked, his eyes ceaselessly scanning the horizons of the bazaar.
"Hm? Not much, I guess. This is our own place after all. You know what, you're right. I don't need you down there making everyone nervous and making my job harder. Just throw me the bag and I'll go get it myself."
He gladly relinquished his extra responsibility and went back to glaring down the street. Roserade huffed, pulled the bag over her narrow shoulder like a purse, and pushed through the front doors of the business. The soft chatter that permeated the market only seemed to make his nerves worse, as if the conversations was somehow about him but he couldn't quite make out what was being said. It wasn't just that he knew fighting was about to break out. Something was still horribly off about all this.
Not that he had time to figure it out. Wired as he was, Vallion knew right away when the guild's mercenaries had their eyes set on him. A Hitmonchan leaning over to whisper something in the ear of a Swampert. That Swampert made a slow, calculated movement towards a Morgrem and passed it on. They, in turn, shuffled off down the lengthy marketplace to presumably find reinforcements. Then, the Hitmonchan and Swampert started towards him.
On his side of the street, Vallion was still getting stares-only this time he knew it was from his own people. Rugged faces giving him respectful, curious looks from around corners or through windows. They were seeing the same thing he was-probably felt the same electricity in the air, too. Were they in on it, or was this always on the precipice of happening and he was simply the catalyst to force it over the edge?
"Hey! You!" the Swampert shouted across the way. "Stay right there!"
The striped cowl over the water type's head had been specifically tailored to move around their fins. It was the same story with the Hitmonchan's head crest. Probably not stolen, then.
"Why should I?" Vallion finally responded.
The two mercenaries exchanged another quick word with one another before shooting him a pair of smirks. The Hitmonchan snorted. "You know, I can't think of many Serperior that live around these parts. Certainly none with your eyes, either. That makes you Chenza's hound, don't it? What the fuck's your problem, walking out in broad daylight like you are?"
The Serperior hummed. "What? A pokemon's not entitled to stand outside nearby your shops anymore? Or did I have to purchase a license from your guild to have that honor?"
"Cut the shit!" spat the Swampert. "Are we supposed to pretend that we don't know why you're here? One of Shardurr's big three just happens to show up on the day that a robbery's rumored to happen? Yeah, too late for that shit, ain't it? You two-bit wildlings are done."
So that's how she did it. Vallion glanced around him, and there were already many eyes glancing back. As slow of a day as it surely was, people would notice even the slightest disturbance. They'd definitely be drawn to the wave of striped mercenaries all moving somewhere. He just had to make it louder.
"Really? That's the first I've heard of it. Are you sure it's us doing the robbing, because I'm fairly certain you've mistaken me for someone else. I've got errands to attend to, so why don't you run along and go catch your crooks before they get away?"
The Hitmonchan gave a cruel laugh. "Shut the hell up! It doesn't even matter why you're here. You're coming with us either way. Just make it easy and we won't have to make a scene."
"You're not serious, are you?" Vallion said, shaking his head. "Listen to yourselves. You know who I am. It's obvious that there's one way this is going to go as soon as you lay a hand on me. Start a scene if you wish, but that's on you."
"Ah-" The Swampert actually took a step back, indecision crossing their face as they looked to their approaching comrades. They didn't seem to notice that pokemon aligned with Shardurr were also starting to emerge from the crowds and shops, sensing blood in the water. "You- You aren't getting out of this. You wanna start shit on our turf, then you're in for it!"
"I believe this side of the street is actually my turf! If you wanted to get particular about it, that is. I'm getting the feeling that this whole robbery thing is just an excuse you made up to sic your neighborhood justice on me."
The Hitmonchan cracked their knuckles and started forward. "Oh to hell with this. You're-!"
Vallion lunged first, his vines moving to bind the mercenary's wrists so that he could safely bring their faces close and snarl.
"Whoops. Looks like I made it a scene."
He knocked the Hitmonchan away with a sweep of his tail. The Swampert responded immediately and launched forward to grapple at the Serperior, only to be wound up in his coils and vines moments later. The water type thrashed against Vallion's grasp while he yanked their arms backwards into submission. During the test of strength, the Hitmonchan scrambled to their feet and moved in to assist, and was subsequently forced to block against the flying kick of a Hawlucha who emerged from one of Shardurr's shops earlier.
In the end, it was barely a nudge that set off the whole street. By the time Vallion had strangled the Swampert into unconsciousness, there were three points of conflict that had erupted along the bazaar's narrow alleys, and more pokemon had yet to charge into the fray. Three red-cowls that attempted to get at Vallion were intercepted by five more Shardurr. The next four met with two. More and more piled in by the second.
Vallion didn't have to do much from there. Slurs and jeers flew through the air just as often as punches and fireballs. The concussive booms of blasting wands and thunderbolts exploded across the road and echoed into the distance. Before he could make his timely exit, a Fraxure and a Luxray managed to slip through the chaos and confront the Serperior. Unfortunately, it seemed he couldn't wash his hands of this mess yet.
Then the shouting changed tone from accusatory to commanding, with cries of confusion scattered in between. Something inside Vallion's gut lurched, and judging from how his two opponents paused, they felt the same thing. At first it had just seemed like a fresh wave of combatants had stormed out of nearby buildings and descended from rooftops, until he saw the green and blue of Paradise draped over their shoulders.
The Serperior watched as the flood of guards and knights alike burst out into the open and started to break up the skirmish. It wasn't just Shardurr getting thrown to the ground, either. Rusty Mountain was getting the same treatment, including the two distracted foes who were attempting to halt Vallion's escape. His defensive posture and whipping vines were all that kept him from being immediately overrun.
"Get on the ground already! You're all under arrest. Resisting's the last thing you want to do."
The oppression in the air had a source. A four legged pokemon that Vallion had never seen before strode out into the open, trailed closely by the Kommo-o knight captain. They were presumably a female judging from the sound of their voice, and fairly elderly if their ragged fur and wrinkled features weren't commonplace for their species, but the horned quadruped was otherwise a mystery.
"Leave him!" she barked to the soldiers that had surrounded Vallion. "You won't win, anyway. I can already tell. Go round up the rest of the stragglers."
The knights flashed a round of salutes and hurried off to join the rest of the raid. The Kommo-o was next to step up, a clanging following in the wake of their every movement. "Then allow me."
"No, captain." The strange pokemon stuck her hoof out in front of the knight without so much as sparing them a glance. "Go with your men and finish this like I ordered you to. I'll handle the Serperior."
Though the Kommo-o huffed in protest, they brought a fist to their chest and straightened their back before running off into the mayhem. Now it was just the two of them.
"Who are you?" Vallion asked.
The pokemon grumbled and started to circle around him, hooves methodically clapping against the stone. She spoke up above the din in a gravelly voice. "You must be that Serperior who's been causing so much trouble in my absence. I'll have to give you a former welcome to my city once you're safely inside a cell."
"Speak. Unless you're fine with being one of the faceless goons that Rusty Mountain called to sic on us."
"That's where you'd be mistaken. Rusty Mountain Guild didn't call the guard, oh no. We were already here and waiting for the fighting to start. Unlike certain other members of the high court, I don't let vital intelligence lie and rot." She punctuated her words with a stamp of her pointed hoof. "I am the Sword of Justice to the Aegis of Paradise. I fill the role of the Master of War. I am Virizion, and you're under arrest."
Intelligence? This didn't have anything to do with the fake robbery? Vallion swiveled his body to keep facing Virizion, locked in a battle of glares. "If you're the Master of War, then you must be in close contact with Alexander, yes? I'm sure he's told you all about me by now."
"Oh, yes. He has."
"Then you understand why attempting to arrest me is a bad idea, right?"
She laughed. "There's something you're not understanding here, but I'll fill you in since you're new to the city. I don't give a damn about Alex's pet projects, and I most certainly don't give a damn about scum like you. Criminals who meet the Sword of Justice all face judgement. You will be no exception."
A shuddering breath left Vallion's throat. He replaced that space in his lungs in a battle-ready rhythm. This pokemon was clearly quite old. Looks were deceiving, but not that deceiving, right? "Well then. I choose to resist and take my leave."
"Hmph. Typical Serperior. Show me a good time at least."
Virizion came like a bolt of lightning. There was nothing in her appearance that could've betrayed how quickly she moved until she was already upon him. Coiled like a spring, Vallion jumped backwards to avoid being gored by her horns. She pressed the attack without mercy, forcing him to launch his vines in retaliation. With a flick of her neck, she brought the front corners of her horns down and knocked the vines away, pain erupting from where they'd been cut. Any more force and she'd have severed them outright.
There wasn't a second to register what had happened. The dance quickened, putting Vallion on the defensive regardless of whether he wanted to be or not. Virizion alternated between slashing with her deceptively sharp horns and nearly delivering bone-shattering kicks. She seemed completely unfazed by his serpentine movements-used to it, even. She offered not one shred of opportunity.
He had to make his chance. The Serperior ducked only partially past an upwards slash, trading some scales and a few centimeters of flesh for the ability to strike at Virizion's neck with his fangs. The Master of War stumbled from the force of the blow, affording him the chance to to swing his body weight into a bind in an attempt to bring her down. The struggle went on for a heated moment, yet Virizion broke free by threatening a more serious gash and thrashing him off in his hesitance. She ended his attempt with a terrible kick that connected with his lower body and sent him sliding across the snow.
"By the Hollow, you're a wily one," wheezed Virizion, rolling her joints as a fresh line of blood trailed down her neck. "Interesting technique, too. Not one I've seen before. Shame that it's so ineffective against mine. You ran out of luck the moment you were destined to face me."
Vallion shivered and drew his vines, compensating for the oozing cuts near the tips by extending them further than usual. "Oh, you're not so bad. I'm sure Alexander's much nastier."
"Hah! Who do you think taught Alex his swordplay?"
The break in the action ended with a resounding stamp of her hooves. He was plunged back into the maelstrom of near-misses and shallow cuts. The two factions and their quarrel had long since died out around them, cuffed and bound to lay in the cold streets, and now the forces of Paradise were simply looking on. He'd been made into a demonstration. It was clear that Virizion didn't care about Vallion's mission from within Shardurr. The only way out of this was directly through her.
The Serperior used the brick planters to his advantage, slithering backwards out of the Master of War's range and using his newfound height to give his feints more weight. Her horns still carved through the stone with ease, spilling half-frozen dirt and chunks of roots across the plaza. The debris passed in front of her eyes and gave Vallion the chance to land two successive jabs. More importantly, it brought him several meters closer to the alleys.
He had to fight for mere inches. Fleeing outright from this distance was suicide, yet he couldn't completely commit to fighting her without getting much too close. And even then, what would stop the guards watching all this unfold from taking him in if he did win? Blocking a backwards kick, he barely had the time to shoot a glance behind him at the chance of freedom. A dumpster and a rickety fire escape were his only hope.
Closing in on the alley, Vallion pivoted on his chest to launch a wide swing with his tail. Virizion ducked out of the way, only to be struck by a barrage of sharpened leaves that he'd launched from his spine. She shrugged the cuts off with ease, but not quickly enough to catch him before he slid up to the lid of the garbage bin and began to stretch his neck for the metal scaffolding. In his peripheral vision, he saw Virizion's horns begin to glow, and from them came a crescent of light that sliced through the air. The attack barely missed his head, but did a chilling amount of damage to the fire escape itself, which started to collapse from his weight.
The Serperior shot his vines upwards before he could fall. The severed part of the structure crashed into him and tumbled to the earth, but he held on to the few supports that remained. Dazed and frantic, he put the length of his body flat against the wall and began to pull himself up towards the roof. Above the shouting of the civil protection who were watching, he heard another illusory slash begin to charge. Vallion pushed off the wall and jumped to the opposite building just as the crescent carved a wide hole into solid stone.
Finally, he came to the lip of the roof and crawled over. His whole world was buzzing with adrenaline, each ragged breath forcing more cold air to scrape against his throat. He wasn't even close to freedom yet. Avian knights took to the air behind him, and anyone that could scale the side of the building almost certainly did the moment he left their field of view. There wasn't even time to catch his breath.
The icy, slanted shingles had terrible traction. Within the first few jumps Vallion had already nearly fallen off twice. He didn't even know where he was going-just west. The city could chase him all they wanted, but it'd be suicidal to charge after him directly into the thick of Shardurr's territory without the rest of the guard.
When Vallion finally did decide to stop, he slipped below the lip of a rooftop and nestled himself into a cranny just above somebody's balcony. He stifled his wheezing and listened intently to the sounds of the city, but nothing sounded out of the ordinary. He didn't even know if he was still being followed. After a few minutes of empty noise, it was safe to say he wasn't.
It was only in that brief window that Vallion registered all that had just happened. His dread only deepened thinking of how Chenza was going to react. What was he going to say? It seemed that the guard knew about the fight and were lying in wait for it to break out. If Rusty Mountain hadn't called them, somebody else had to have.
Linoone.