This story is rated ( NC-17/R ) M for violence, language and sexual content.
Disclaimer: Intelligent Systems owns Fire Emblem. I own this fanfic.
Authors Note: Sincerest apologies for the loooonng delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it.
Fire Emblem: Legend Of The Chaos Hero
Book One: In The Grip Of Hatred
By Chaos Hero Mark
Chapter VII: Karel's Trial
The Regallas elite made his way to a particular manse and banged on the door. A middle aged man opened the door, slightly. He saw who it was and opened up for him. As he entered, the man closed the door behind him. The house inside had simple, wooden furniture. A table and three chairs rested in the middle of the room. There stood a lantern upon the table and an open pouch of large coins. There was a set of stairs, leading up to the top floor of the house. The host of the manse, the middle aged man, was dressed in a gold and dark red, clergy uniform with a white cloth around his neck. The man's shoulder length, orange hair was neatly combed back his slightly plump face had a facial beard. The Saint noticed his broken nose and bruised face. He flashed a smile at him as Bersk stared with his usual arrogant demeanor.
"Tis quite a beating you took there. What poor fool di -"
"Enough of your rheohetics, Jazmal! I didn't come here for that!"
"Oh. Then what is you -"
The Saint found himself interrupted when a half naked Tauz, came down the stairs barking. "Whose there?!" He noticed Jazmal speaking to Bersk, much to his chagrin.
"Ah, Tauz." Jazmal began. "I believe you've alread -"
"I know who he is." Tauz waved his hand passively. "What the Hell's he doing here?"
The Regallas elite sneered at Tauz. "I have business with the Bishop. Tis no concern of yours."
The Marshall noticed his sneer and responded in his arrogant tone. "Yes, it is now."
"Are you trying to goad me into a fight?" The Hero spat angrily. "If so, I'll happily oblige!"
Before a fight could break out, the reasonable Saint intervened at that point. He stood between them shouting. "Ladies please! Do not turn the manse into an arena!"
At hearing that insult, they both stared at Jazmal for a moment. Tauz then decided to go upstairs, leaving the two alone for a moment. Jazmal waited patiently for the elite to speak his business.
"I assume you've heard of one, called Gary Stu?" Bersk finally spoke.
"Ah, yes." The Saint waved his hand dismissively. "The king's apprentice, or some such nonsense. Honestly, I couldn't care less abo -"
Jazmal stopped short of completing his sentence as they heard Tauz screaming at someone using his foulest insults. Bersk looked to the Saint for an answer as all he said was. "His whore."
Moments later, a barely dressed young woman, with shoulder length, black hair, hastened out the manse. The two caught a glimpse of her, crying hysterically. When she left, Tauz came downstairs, still dressed only in a pair of turquoise pants. "Useless bitch." He mumbled.
"Come now, Tauz." Jazmal half-attempted to chastise him. "Addressing that young girl in such an ungodly manner."
Tauz sneered at that remark. "Don't talk to me about God when you're as crooked as the rest of us, bishop!"
"I didn't come to hear this nonsense!" Bersk spat, interrupting them.
Jazmal motioned for them to take their seats before another fight could break out. For personal reasons, the two elites didn't bother hiding their hatred of each other. Although both complied with Jazmal, Tauz felt the urge to take a verbal jab at Regallas's elite.
"Tell me Bersk" The Marshall smirked. "Who do I thank for re-arranging your face? I find your new look... quite pleasing to the eye."
Before Bersk could say anything, Jazmal rebuked his right-hand man. "That's enough Tauz! Not another insult... from either of you!"
As the tension settled, they waited for an angry Bersk to speak. The pair were also curious as to where his brother was. Getting himself together, the Hero finally spoke. "Saint Jazmal, you have connections, no?"
Narrowing his eyes, the elder man responded. "What connections do you speak of?"
Bersk hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should speak further in front of a man he despise so much. Jazmal saw this and said. "This will stay between the three of us. Isn't that so, Tauz?"
"If we share the same enemy, then yes." The Marshall muttered nonchalantly. He was surprised to see his nemesis speak so freely about this matter, but the Regallas elite wasn't sure if he should speak so boldly. His desire for vengeance however, clouded his reasoning and spoke without caution. "I want your assassins to kill someone."
Tauz raised an eyebrow at this, while Jazmal eyed him carefully asking. "Who?"
"Stu." Bersk whispered venomously.
"Gary Stu." The Marshall mused. "Light brown skin, dark brown hair, glasses and a green cloak. Is he the one?"
Judging by the Hero's look of contempt, the Marshall had hit the spot. The Saint was not liking where this went.
"And why in God's name do I want to kill a foreign noble?!"
"That pig disrespected me, a Cornerstone elite! He threw a fit and broke my nose! That... that mongrel killed my brother!!" He spat that last sentence with all the contempt he could muster.
"I don't give a shit if he violated Elimine herself!" The Saint's tone was filled with irritation. "I will not use my assassins for something as silly as this!"
The Regallas elite felt his blood boiling with rage. Even though he was hot tempered, an outburst would do him no good. Mention of his brother's death did not surprise either men, considering how fast news travelled. Tauz had his arms folded one side, listening and thinking to himself. He finally decided to intervene.
"I say we use them." This caught their attention as he continued. "Up to now, God's Assassins has yet to fail. This Stu cocky may be a cocky bastard, but his influence with the king is growing. I do not know of his majesty's intentions for this country's future, but why fix what isn't broken?" The Marshall gritted his teeth while speaking his next few words. "I've a gut feeling he's going to cause us problems. Because of him, the king may have me demoted!"
Bersk eagerly raised an eyebrow. It was his turn to take a verbel jab at Tauz. "I thought your demotion was due to your incompetence. At least I have an excuse to kill him."
At hearing this, Tauz rapidly stood from his seat, followed by Bersk. Both men were seething with anger. Jazmal slammed his hand against the table to quell their dispute. "Enough of this!!" The outburst brought both men in line as the older man calmed down. He gave Bersk a grim look and said. "7000 gold... "
"7000 gold?" That caught the Hero off guard. "A bit much, but I'm prepar -"
"Per blade." Jazmal finished. This appeared to have angered the Hero greatly.
"What?!!" He fumed. "That's outrageous!! No sellsword is worth that much!"
Jazmal reasoned with him in a calm demeanor. "Regular mercenaries, yes. But mine are very good at what they do, and they don't come cheap. They leave no trace of their presence and even the king is unaware of their existence."
"In other words." Tauz interrupted. "They kill their targets and all possible witnesses. These assassins are extremely loyal to the Saint Jazmal and have yet to fail. Also, it be wise if you not speak of this to any man."
"Is that so?" The Hero mused slightly, although still angry. He found the price extorting to say the least. His lust for vengeance, however soon clouded his mind and chose to accept the offer. All of his brothers earnings plus his own were barely able to cover the full amount.
"Half now and the rest when the job is finished." The Saint murmured.
"Fine." He said in a flat tone. "When can you get this done?"
"Two days after the deathmatch." The Saint replied.
"Deathmatch?" Tauz asked. "Any particular prisoners fighting?"
"Some crazy swordsman Knarvet arrested." Jazmal waved his hand passively and chuckled. "I must say, for a revered elite, Knarvet's certainly getting out of practice."
Bersk however, was very impatient to see this job done, but all he said was. "I'll bring you the gold before the hour is late."
As he left, the Marshall sneered in disgust as he returned to his seat. Jazmal could see the contempt for Bersk on Tauz's face. The elder man was glad that was done with. When the Marshall spoke, it became an entirely different matter.
"You wont believe whose coming in a month or two."
"Oh God, no." The muttering Saint covered his head over his hands, and both elbows rested on the table. He guessed who Tauz was talking about. "What have we done to deserve his torturing presence?"
"Yes." Tauz said. "That peacock-sniveling bastard. Being disowned from his father wasn't enough, so he had to run to mommy's bosom. Bah!" The Marshall made a face. "His mother's even worse."
"Sweet Elimine." Jazmal closed his eyes as he rubbed his temples. "They're the Devil's family I tell you. I'm tempted to fall on a sword than listen to his drivel."
Tauz stood from his seat slowly. "His drivel's not even the worst of it. That pompous pig thinks I'm some common guard. I'm more tempted to throw HIM on a sword."
Before Tauz made his way upstairs, Jazmal stopped him by issued an order. "I want you to get Viper and have him meet me in the church."
Although Tauz hated being an errand boy, Jazmal was the boss and it wasn't wise for him to go against his senior. He simply said. "Yes sir." As the Marshall made his way upstairs; leaving Jazmal to his thoughts, the Saint had much bigger matters at hand. Knarvet was giving him much trouble for the last three years, even though they were the same rank. He wondered what's the Lancer's connection to the king. Should they succeed, Jazmal contemplates his next target to be Knarvet himself.
- X -
"The young lass will be fine." Knarvet's tone was weary as he spoke. He took a seat near Mark in the throne room. As the captives were seen to, the Lancer felt gut wrenched, to the point where he wasn't in the mood to bark orders as he normally would. They learned of the horrors that Gathian inflicted upon the captives. The ones under his oppression were worse off. Their torn clothing and poverty stricken faces was an unpleasant sight. One of Bersk soldiers had beaten a small girl for being unable to restrain her tears. Seeing this caused Mark to lose himself and attacked Bersk for arrogantly barking that order. It was very rare for anyone to see him terribly angry as he displayed earlier. As the Tactician found himself slumped on the throne; head bowed, his bandaged, right hand was covered with blood; partially from his reopened wounds.
Concern for the state of his mind, Knarvet asked. "Will you be alright?"
Before Mark could answer, the door opened up. A lance Soldier stood at the door with a little girl in tow.
"She wishes to see you, Lord Stu." The guard said.
As he carefully surveyed her, Mark recognized the girl. It was the same child he rescued earlier from Bersk's soldier. As he stood to his feet and made his was to them, Mark gave his permission to let the child see him. The Soldier stood one side and kindly beckoned for the girl to go through, then went about his business. Mark stopped a few feet away from them, knelt down to shorten his length and looked at her carefully. The girl had been outfitted with a yellow dress in place of the rags she wore earlier. Her natural, right eye was black in color while her swollen left was completely gray; damaged as a result of the abuse she endured. Her short, red hair was brushed carefully back, as he noticed a chunk of her right ear was missing. Her face was slightly swollen and her hands were bandaged to cover the burning scars. This girl was barely six years old and already had to endure the nightmares of slavery.
Knarvet averted his gaze from the pale skinned girl. Just looking at her facial scars became too painful for him. As a father of one daughter, he felt his heart aching for this girl. She hesitated for a moment as she stared at Mark's face. The Tactician looked at her with sincerity and a hint of sorrow in his eyes while the girl slowly made her way towards him. He held out his arms in order to slowly embrace her, to tell her that things will be okay from now on.
As he held her gently, the sadness in Mark's tone was evident. The only thing he could whisper in her ear was. "I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you again."
It was difficult for Mark not to be moved by the girl's crying. Her tears stained his shirt as she buried her face in his chest. "She can stay with Florine." Knarvet suggested. Mark said nothing, but understood that she is safest with Knarvet's wife and daughter. When the girl stopped crying Mark beckoned for her to wait for him near the door. She fearfully hesitated, so Mark smiled as best as he could to put her at ease. As she waited by the door, Knarvet briefed Mark about the child. "I learned from the captives that her mother and father were killed some time ago. She has no other relatives, though. Gods, I can't imagine what she's been through. Others like them are waiting... and praying for liberation."
The Tactician knew what he needed to do. Assuming Karel survived, he then had to get the poison and make his way to Regallas. Little did Mark realize how much more difficult it would be.
- X -
Below the Colosseum lied a dungeon. It simply consisted of a large wide space and one stairway wide enough for two people to walk in and out. The walls surrounding the center was covered with cells, closing any gap. The walls were of a dark, earth brown and the soil was covered with corrosive, light gray tiles. A few tiles were missing and many were half broken. Four tall poles were spaciously buried in the ground and on each pole was a torch as the only source of light. In the center was a whipping post with hand binds built in. The post itself reeked from the stench of blood and rotting flesh, staining it. A man slumped before the post was beaten profusely. His entire body was riddled with gaping scars, torn flesh and overflowing blood splashed everywhere, near him. The soldier who had beaten the man made an example to the other prisoners, specifically Karel.
Each cell hosted prisoners of various classes; some criminals worse than others. Karel's cell was in the center, opposite the stairs. Sleep eluded him, thanks to the deafening screams of the tortured man on the whipping post. Coupled with the prisoners rowdiness, it was nearly impossible to get even a few hours of sleep in. The Sword Demon sat against the wall with chains binding his hands and feet, eyes shut, trying to meditate. The prisoner in the left cell, next to his was caused the most noise, by merely flapping his gums. This seven feet, large Berserker wore a magenta, open vest shirt, dark brown shorts and sandals. The man was in his thirties and had gruff features.
He gave Karel a dirty look and spat. "Ay, fresh meet!"
The Sacaen didn't care if the man was addressing him or not and continued meditating. A man also in his thirties in the right cell next to Karel's was mumbling nervously. Being in that cell for seven years made him lose his mind. "I-I don't bel-long he-here." He sprinted up and gripped the bars screaming. "Guard, please lemme out!!" Other prisoners were trying to sleep, while a few were crying due to the deathmatch in the morrow.
Ignoring the scared prisoner, the Berserker continued to bark at Karel. "Ya de'f, 'ittle peeco'k?! I'm talkin' ta ya! Ya t'ink yasa touf guy now?!" He still ignored him, much to the Berserkers chagrin. The large man sniffed his nose back and spat on Karel's boot. The Sacaen opened his eyes and noticed the mucus trailing down his feet. He stared murderously at the man as the Berserker flashed a smile.
"'Morrow, me an' ya arr guna git betta aquented!" He turned around and barked at the other prisoners, trying to strike fear into them. "I'll gut All'i'ya lik' pigs!!"
As the large man continued to spout drivel, Karel tried to return to his meditating which was difficult in these circumstances. The prisoners wailing and the screams from their cells kept him awake most of the time. When the first rays of sunlight had dawned over the city of Hera, five soldiers and a Paladin made their way to the dungeon to get some of the murderers and rapists picked out for the deathmatch. The Paladin made his way to Karel's cell, opened it and barked. "You! On your feet!" As the Swordmaster exited the cell and dungeon, he whispered. "My brother was among the three soldiers you killed. You better pray they kill you out there to save me the trouble. Move!!" That last word was barked with much anger as Karel stood behind another prisoner. The seven prisoners were walking in a single file with the soldiers to keep them in line. After traversing through the long hallway, they came to the center of the Colosseum.
- X -
The Colosseum was an open air arena. The high walls enclosing the center was painted in snow white. There was also twelve small holding cells encased within the walls. The cells themselves were very limited in space and were used to get the prisoners into position. The firm, red ground barely had any dust sifting upon it. In the audience seat, there stood two statues, one on each side. One was a virtuous man and the other, a carnal man, each holding an open book. The statues were carved with much skill, making it very lifelike. The stone used to carve the two statues was a rare white and gray, alexandrite alloy, found only in Mount Nemesis. The virtuous being had a turban and veil tied back, hiding his whole face and revealing only his eyes. His clothing was a cloak covering his royal robes and scarf. A belt cloak, tied around his waist covered his rear all the way to his lower legs. The same clothing applied to the gray carnal statue. In the middle, above the wall, stood a throne and a handful of other seats, next to it. There was a gate beneath the throne and opposite was another from where the prisoners came from.
It wasn't long before the Colosseum was packed with people. Merchants, shopkeepers and farmers were the majority of the crowd, mixed in with prostitutes, gamblers, hawkers and a handful of beggars. The crowd was so large that a number of soldiers were trying to contain them and keep order. In the front rows, Karel could see most of the Legion who came to show their support. He silently acknowledged their presence, then turned his attention to the throne as each of the prisoners were unshackled and led to a corner. Bets were being placed on a victor and surprisingly, the majority waged on Nerth. Nerth was the Berserker who taunted Karel yesterday as he raised his arms to bask in the glory. The nervous man was a common villager who took part in a murder. The other four prisoners consisted of a crazy Myrmidon, a fat Brigand, a scared, disgraced Monk and an angry Vanguard.
Knarvet and Mark were seated near the throne, along with a handful of advisers. Knarvet was dressed in his usual uniform while Mark, at Rugal's request, was outfitted in a blue royal tunic. The gold patterns stood out near the cuff of his long sleeves and the cloak was dark blue, with the Trivalon symbol engraved on it. He was also outfitted with dark green pants and black boots. Mark believed he didn't fit well with royal clothing, but he had to blend in if he wanted everyone to buy into the 'Gary Stu story.' As they awaited their king, Saint Jazmal arrived and took a quick note of all the faces present. He noticed Mark and fixed his eyes upon him. Seeing that the Tactician never met the Saint, he stood to his feet and gave a short bow. "Reverend." He muttered. This agitated a few of the advisers, believing Mark to be ignorant of who Jazmal was. Knarvet noticed their glares, alongside the lack of seats and intercepted.
"Adviser Shirl was about to offer his seat to you, good bishop." Knarvet flashed a smile at Jazmal as he motioned to the man. This caught the aged adviser off guard as he barely suppressed his chagrin. As he stood from his seat, Adviser Shirl shot the Superb Mind a glare. Mark countered with a stare of his own. His sharp eyes bore into the man with nothing short of malice intent. The advisor became intimidated by this youth's eyes and sought to escape his presence. As the Saint took his seat, the other advisers just shrugged at that arkward moment. Jazmal then, turned his attention to Mark with curiosity.
"Are you the Lord Stu I've heard about? Apprentice of his majesty, Rugal?"
"Yes I am, reverend."
One adviser addressed Knarvet. "Tell me, commander, and I don't mean to offend you. But you do know the laws of our nations, do you not?"
Knarvet held his hand up, cutting the man short. "Before you go any further, I personally think that some of our laws are silly and groundless."
"Silly and groundless?!" One thin advisor sneered. "I don't care who you think you are, but our laws are of God himself!!"
Mark raised an eyebrow at hearing this. These guys were certainly not afraid to show their hostility towards each other.
"And besides." A fat adviser spoke up. "We've heard you retired, so you don't have a say in how we conduct our affairs."
Mark took the time to intervene, choosing his words carefully. "Revered advisers, be that as it may, Captain Knarvet raises a valid point." Most of the advisers stared at Mark with a mix of disdain and contempt as he continued. "In the two months here, I've studied your laws and regulations. Some of it has to go."
"And which laws would those be, Lord Stu?" Jazmal finally spoke up.
"Laws that place the poor at difficult ends. I feel the new tax proposition is going to hurt them more than the aristocrats. Also..." Mark leaned forward, scouting their faces thoroughly. "I think we should be more lenient on the calling for soldiers. Many of them are children whom has no business in warfare. Some of them are too young to even be holding a spear, much less carry the weight of their own armor."
"You speak garbage!" An elderly noble rebuked Mark. "We have to prepare ourselves for war at any moment! ALL men are required to fight for their country!"
"Really?" Mark shot him a look of bafflement. Before he could answer, Jazmal surprisingly came to his defense. "Then why don't your lot pick up weapons and throw yourselves into the thick of danger. As a man of God, I cannot approve of sending young ones to fight wars when it should be the elders." At hearing this the king's advisers managed to restrain their contempt because of Jazmal. The Saint turned to Mark and said. "I apologize for this rude display. Those in authority seemed to have thrown their manners in the loo. please forgive them, Lord... "
"Stu." Mark finished for him. "Gary Stu, your excellency."
"Gary Stu." The Saint gave a warm smile. "Tell me a bit about yourself."
Mark saw the Lancer staring at Jazmal. His expression was serious as he tried to discern the Saint. Mark turned his attention back to Jazmal and began. "I hail from the continent of Akaneia and I am vassal for King Marth of Altea. His majesty granted me leave to explore and learn from other nations. I've been to continents like Magvel, Tellius and Elibe. Each one is very different in their own way. This one however is very different... yet familiar."
Jazmal listened with interest when Knarvet interrupted. He features showed irritation. "Excellency, may I ask what caused you to 'grace' us with your presence?" He motioned with his right hand the arena and added. "This is a deathmatch arena, where criminals hack each other to death and crowds ramble wildly and such."
"As a man of God, I despise these barbaric acts, but the king's word is law." The middle aged Saint shooked his head in sadness as he opened his bible. "At the very least, I am permitted to grant these unfortunate souls a proper eulogy."
Dumbfounded by what he heard, Knarvet calmly rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the crowd. He wasn't much of a religious man, but one of Elimines requirements was not to lie. Something which followers of this religion, in his view, failed to do. In short, Knarvet wasn't buying any of Jazmal's bullshit, but he kept that to himself. Mark however, didn't care for religion or God after the incident. He believes God to be inadequate and unreliable. The genius was trying to discern Jazmal as the Saint was reading a passage of Elimine. This man appeared to be somewhat friendly for a high ranked clergy, something rarely seen in the Elimine Church. Knarvet didn't think the same, however. The elite couldn't find much about this man. Perhaps, he read too much into it, but he had a nagging feeling that Jazmal may be a wolf in sheep's clothing.
- X -
Lyndis barely saw a glimpse of Mark from a distance in the crowd section, even though he didn't notice her or the others. Lucius was praying for the participants in the deathmatch. He disapproved of these events and has taken this into account for his next meeting with Mark. Raven was paying attention to the fighters, and only the Vanguard, Karel and Berserker appeared to be formidable. The others didn't stand much of a chance in his view, but since he never heard of how they conduct deathmatches, he wondered how Karel would fare. Dart and Geitz were placing bets on Karel, while Kent, Fiora and Rath were scouting the crowd as they stayed close to Lyn.
As the trumpet sounded, Mark went to the front balcony. The advisers were shocked at what he was doing and sought to stop him. Knarvet simply said. "His highness won't be joining us, so he asked Lord Stu to speak in his place. From there, I'll oversee things here."
"We didn't hear about this!" One elderly adviser fumed.
"Of course you didn't." Knarvet glared at him. "He told us himself, now shut up! The event's about to start!" As the elite grabbed his chair and pulled it closer to the balcony, he ignored the advisers; especially the elderly one. As the crowd became quiet, Mark's expression became unreadable as he began to address them.
"People of Hera! As you know, the deathmatch events in Trivalon are strictly reserved for criminals! Criminals who murder and violate our brethren! Men who forfeited their rights, when they chose to trample the rights of those beneath them!" He looked at the seven prisoners, including Karel. "To the seven participants! You are here because of your doing and no one else! In this match, only one may survive! That survivor will have the honor of his freedom, if deemed necessary!" A servant brought Mark a glass of water, while he finished his speech. "Guards! Take the prisoners to their designated corners while we wait for everyone to get in place!"
With that, Mark downed the water and turned to leave. The fat advisor called after him. "Are you not going to oversee the deathmatch?!"
"The captain will handle it, whereas I have other matters to attend to. Good day to you." He made his way out, leaving the rest in Knarvet's hands. Within the crowd, Karel could hear shouts of various monsters, like 'Hydra' and 'Leo'. He was very curious as to what kind of fight this would be. Knarvet came to the front and explained the rules.
"You'll be given fifteen minutes to slay your opponents! When the timer runs out, the gates will open and set the monster loose! The majority have chosen to go with 'Leo' this time! At my signal, the wyvern rider will take to the sky and drop your weapons! When this happens, the match begins!" The elite motioned for the rider as his wyvern began taking to the sky. Raven saw the Bishops eyes were shut as he prayed the prayer of Elimine, over the prisoners.
The others could only watch as Karel gave his psychotic smile and muttered. "This may be entertaining."
The moment the weapons hit the earth, Knarvet inverted the hourglass, commencing the match. The weapons consisted of Karel's blood-red Wo Dao, a Shamshir, a Swordslayer, Killer Axe, Divine and Thunder tomes. As the cell to the prisoners opened, the crowds began cheering loudly. Not waiting for it to fully open, Karel made a mad dash for his Wo Dao. He was surprised to see how fast the Berserker, Nerth, actually was, not noticing the mentally insane, villager intercepting him. As the Sacaen struggled to shake the villager off him, Nerth grabbed what Karel despised with a passion: The Swordslayer. The Swordslayer was a large axe forged with the thickest quality metal, making it very difficult to bend or break. What made this axe more dangerous against a sword user, was the sword slots built in the axe. Nerth's eye caught a glimpse of Karel and with reaver axe in hand, he made his way towards him. The Vanguard grabbed the Silver Blade and a Killer Axe, while the Mage snatched the Thunder tome and backtracked before the Myrmidon could attack him with his Shamshir. The Monk dashed for the Divine tome but found himself knocked back by the fat Brigand, who grabbed the tome out of desperation.
Karel managed to shake himself free of the insane villager and made a dash for his sword. Lyndis's Legion were trying to shout something to Karel's attention, amidst the booming crowd, but to no avail. The villager tried to run after Karel, much to his annoyance. Nerth released a chuckle at the villager's poor display and, with aim, threw his Swordslayer at the man, killing him instantly. Some of the people turned their eyes from the horrific sight, including Fiora, Raven and Geitz. The sickening sight of the man's bloodied head, caused a few people in the crowd to hurl. Nerth came to the corpse and yanked his axe off the man's skull, split nearly in two. Kent could see the brain entrails visibly from the head and pulled a face as he saw the Berserker lick the blood off the axe, with the pieces of flesh and all.
"These people are insane." The Crimson Shield thought to himself. "Thank God Priscilla and Florina declined to be here. This barbariacy would mentally scar them."
The other prisoners weren't faring any better as the fat Brigand tried to use the tome as a weapon, to no avail. This elect some laughter from the crowd, but Lyn felt disgusted as the Vanguard drove his Silver Blade through the bandits chest. As the angry man removed his blade while kicking the corpse back, the disgraced Monk was trying to outrun the Myrmidon. His pursuer was thinking the Monk to be an easy kill. What he didn't see coming from his right was the Vanguard's Killer Axe, striking him horizontally across the face, killing him instantly. The Myrmidon fell over, body shaking momentarily before it stopped. His face carved with a big gash across his right, upper cheek, all the way to his ear. Meanwhile, Karel was searching for his sword frantically as the Berserker whistled for his attention.
"Ay, fresh meet!!" He held up Karel's Wo Dao and waved it playfully. His large size made the Wo Dao look like a dog stick. "Ya laking fer ya los' trinkit?!"
Karel found himself in trouble. On his left was the Nerth, his right, the Monk scrambling for his tome, and in front was the Vanguard. He had to stay calm and look for an opening. The Vanguard saw Karel defenseless and took the chance of attacking him. Little did any of them know was that the timer ran out and Knarvet signaled for them to bring out the Leo. As the Legion were watching anxiously, only taking their eyes off at the gruesome parts, they only wondered what the Hell was Leo. The gates below Knarvet lifted, the crowd were cheering for the coming carnage and the fighters heard a roar that sounded animalistic and demonic. This caught even the Vanguards attention as they saw witness as to what came out of the gate.
Authors Notes: Hope this chapter was enjoyable in the least and feel free to tell me if I've exceeded the rating. I'm not sure how well I handled the violence in this chapter.
Trivia
Altea - Is Marth's home country, I believe. Your welcome to correct me on this.
Hydra - The Hydra I referenced in this chapter is based on the Lernaean Hydra of Greek Mythology. A creature with many serpent heads on one body.
Leo - By name, yes. I'll tell you next chapter.