Chapter 3: The Massacre of Darene

Garbed in her ebony leather and her hair tied back, Miria stood in the city square where she had skirmished with a member of the Army a week ago. She looked up at the sky, deep in thought, ignoring the glances of the men who passed by her in the marketplace. The grey clouds were gathering above the city. An ill omen? No. She should not believe in such superstition. Miria considered herself a pragmatist; or at least, a practical woman. She had survived this long and guided her comrades to a life of conscience not simply through her desire for justice, but her practical aspiration for a life untroubled by conflict: a desire common amongst most freethinkers, if she might say so herself.

A life of conscience? Free from the Organization, she confirmed silently to herself. Free from humans crueler than the monsters they seek to destroy.

And if we can do that, perhaps there'll no longer be any Yoma. Nor any Awakened Beings. Without the Organization pursuing us, we can restore the balance of power against Isley and Riful. We might be able to defeat them, and lay them to rest. And then… perhaps we can live somewhere quiet and secluded, enjoying our days in peace together.

Her mind had wandered onto the problem of the Dragon Tribes when Galatea's voice interrupted. "Why are you out here on such a dull afternoon?" said the older woman, who had come with Cynthia.

"I was allowing the others some time to themselves," replied Miria. "I don't want them to feel like they're being mothered." She closed her eyes briefly. "Can you sense the aura, even though it's so far away?"

They will come soon. But how they will approach us, I don't know.

Galatea nodded. "Yes. This powerful Yoki… could it be those soldiers…?"

"I believe so. It is far stronger than before. It is almost overwhelming. I'd say an entire battalion has been sent to attack us. And they're very near. Where are the others?" she asked. "I'll need all nine of you to help me – "

She didn't need to go further as the rapid pattering of black-booted feet could be heard. "Oi!" came Helen's voice. Miria turned to see her eight comrades hurrying towards her. "This is the strongest surge of auras we've ever felt! It's reverberating throughout the entire city!"

"They don't intend to raze the city just for us, do they?" said Clarice in disbelief, as they halted their sprint to stand beside Miria.

"I wouldn't be so sure," mumbled Yuma. "You saw the soldiers yesterday… they don't seem to care much for the people here."

"It's far more than just six," murmured Tabitha. "It seems that those who want us dead are now taking their mission most seriously."

"More…" mumbled Miata suddenly. Clarice glanced downwards, and saw Miata looking upwards at the sky. "More… coming… powerful… enemy…"

The other women looked up at the greying heavens. What awaited them was a most curious sight. The clouds were blocked by several large shapes, and although they were still far away, it was obvious that they were falling at a great speed.

As those objects became clearer, their true nature was discernible: they were boulders. The realization quickly dawned on the warriors as one those large boulders hurtled straight towards them.

"You're kidding," said Helen in disbelief.

"They're using catapults!" shouted Clare.

"Scatter!" commanded Miria, and the warriors dashed out of the boulder's way as it crashed into the ground, making a small crater. The ground shook as Miria looked up, her eyes wide in horrified anger.

The thundering from the distance was growing louder. She looked upwards as the sky darkened. "This… this can't be."

Several dozen more boulders from the unseen siege weapons were now flying into the city square and beyond, smashing indiscriminately into the buildings and markets, pounding the populated areas with stones carved to kill. Nearby, a man's quiet stall collapsed under the weight of a hurtling boulder, and he along with it. The rocks landed on the fragile tiles of the buildings that housed families and small businesses, burying them in the rubble of their own homes. Several fleeing people were themselves pulverized into oblivion as the falling boulders flattened them on the spot.

Moment by earth-quaking moment, the city became a grave for its own denizens.

"What the hell are they trying to do?" growled Helen. She found her answer very quickly. Another agonized pause of silence, and the whoosh of arrows shot from longbows could be heard. Her eyes widened. "Oh, shit – "

A hail of incendiary arrows cut into the city, igniting an almost instantaneous inferno. They could not have come at a worse time; at a worse place. The fire that had been initiated by the oil from the sharp metal tips spread quickly, consuming the marketplace in a rapidly spreading conflagration as the flames spread from parchments to inks, to oils, to wood, to tapestries. A boy and a girl stumbled out of a destroyed shack, their bodies on fire. An explosion nearby hurled shrieking bodies upwards into the air before they landed painfully back on the ground. Bedlam accompanied the Army assault, confused cries and screams of terror overwhelming the living denizens of the city. Merchants and commoners alike fell, pierced and burnt by the arrows or smothered by the choking smoke that had now closed in through the city, strangling the life out of Darene. Most simply dropped dead on the spot.

The remaining humans in the annihilated marketplace fled with difficulty, not even looking back at the corpses of their loved ones.

Screams and cries of the dying saturated the burning plaza, a horrific nightmare of the bustling crowds that Miria had witnessed only several hours ago.

Clarice bit her teeth in tearful anger. "What in the world are they trying to do?!"

Clare had drawn her sword and was expecting a third wave of rocks or arrows to come, but when nothing could be heard save the fires and the cries of the wounded, she glared at the city gates. "It seems to have stopped."

"What a pointless, disgusting way to root us out," spat Deneve.

Cynthia clutched at Galatea. "Just… why did they… do that?"

Miria clenched her teeth. Damn them. "I know why. They're going to charge the gates. They wanted to flush us out of the gates; but we didn't leave the city. They must be gathering the soldiers to attack the city proper."

"Let's go out and cut them down," said Helen furiously, drawing her sword.

Miria turned to Galatea. "Please help tend to the survivors. For now, we'll fight. And if possible, return with your weapon."

Galatea hesitated for a moment, before nodding and running towards the devastated markets as Cynthia pulled out her Claymore.

Miria slid her sword from the strap on her back as well. She looked upwards at the ramparts of the city walls. The walkway up there had not been destroyed yet…

We do not follow the Organization anymore. We will fight those who commit atrocities – human or not.

She turned back to her friends. "Let's go. They're going to break down the gates. And when they do, we'll fight, and we'll make them pay for this barbarity," she growled.

*

"Welcome to Darene, Your Excellency." The soldier's voice was terse as he reported to the colossus riding beside him. Behind the two men shone the dazzling platinum armour characteristic of the nation's Army. Several flags of the Western Gate's emblem fluttered in the cold wind as the soldiers stood at attention, five hundred glaiveblades pointing upwards at the darkening sky. Beside the marching infantry, two divisions of cavalry trotted alongside them, riding on massive, masked warhorses trained in the fires of battle against the Descendants of the Dragons.

"The warriors of seven years past are here, according to the Organization," said the scout, as the armoured titan reined in his horse briefly. "They must be hiding in the city somewhere, waiting for the balance of power to shift between the Claymores and the Awakened Ones. Yet they seem unfazed by our initial challenge. The city should be heavily damaged by now by our arrows and boulders, but none of them have died given the surge of Yoki that remains within the city gates."

"Not surprising, given their tenacity up to now," said the Marshal, stroking his thick, brown goatee. His narrow, emerald eyes flashed as he glanced at the massive catapults that had been transported back to the nation from the frontlines. "That they could have evaded us for so long… we have underestimated these warriors," he declared. "For the sake of this nation, I refuse to make that same mistake."

"Yes, your Excellency. Shall our archers fire another volley into the city? Surely they will flee the city eventually – "

"No. Prepare the Knights and pikemen. I shall lead them into the city."

"But your Excellency, a charge into the city will – "

"Petty artillery will not flush them out of the city. It will, however, draw them out from their little hiding holes inside Darene. I will corner them with my own hand. Either way, they shall fall." The Marshal spurred his horse. "Summon the men! We attack – now!" He roared a command, and the Knights on horseback broke off from the left and right flanks, and began to initiate their unstoppable charge, lances aimed at the gate.

"So, it begins," murmured the Western Gate Marshal. "A formal war waged in the name of destroying these spectres. Very well, then… Reduce these women to dust!" roared, pointing towards the rising columns of smoke from the city.

The path to the city became obscured by sand and dirt from the surrounding plains as the hooves of the Knights' mounts increased in speed. The horses whinnied as the thundering from the charge grew deafening. The duststorm kicked up by the Knights rose upwards as they neared the gate that stood under the towering stone of Darene's walls. The giant doors, although a massive twenty-feet tall and fifteen-feet wide, was made of wood, and was no impediment to the metal weapons of the Knights. Wood splintered and collapsed as the the Knights broke through, their warhorses thundering into the destroyed city plaza. They reined in their horses, moving into the arrow-littered slaughterhouse.

It was deserted. One of Knights looked around. "What the – "

"Hey, you clumsy kids! I'm up here!" Several men looked up in surprise to see Helen descending into their ranks. She landed in the middle of the shocked Knights and roared, her Drill Arm shooting into one of them and impaling him. Blood spattered his comrades as they quickly drew their longswords, while others prepared to charge. "Too slow!" she pivoted and swung, and their arms hurtled upwards into the sky. They screamed and fell back, stabbed to death by their comrades' own charging lances.

It was a good move. The Knights could not fight at full strength; not when their horses were cramped by their own allies and the far more energetic movements of the women they sought to kill. The horses had hesitated, confused and frightened by the not-completely-human enemies of their masters, and the sudden halt had only indicated to the soldiers behind that the city was safe to occupy. Therefore they charged, and therefore they fell before Helen.

As the Knights struggled to regain their footing from her wild ambush, the other spectres leaped down from the walkway of the gate's ramparts and began to tear their way through the enemy horde. Clare's Quicksword easily sliced apart the pikes of the first line of infantry. The men were powerful; well-trained, and this time, far more well-prepared than the six soldiers of the past week. Nevertheless, they staggered back as she cut a swathe through the soldiers, Irene's arm more than a match for human strength, while Miria's New Mirage shredded three Knights into ribbons, along with their steeds.

Clare glanced up as two men brought their glaives down in a downwards slash. She calmly blocked both swords as Deneve appeared from behind and eviscerated the men with several strokes of her Claymore. "You're not even fit to share this battlefield with us," said Deneve coolly, as she turned around and decapitated two of the Knights in one stroke.

Cynthia and Tabitha hacked and cut their way determinedly through the throng of soldiers. They parried the blows of three pikemen and countered, their heightened strength and speed outmatching the rigorous training of the men. Cynthia turned just in time to intercept a swing from a Knight. For a moment, their wild eyes met. "We didn't kill your six friends because although we are no longer part of the Organization, we do not want to kill humans," gritted Cynthia regretfully. "But your cruelty leaves us no choice." This city cries for vengeance, she thought, as the man fell to her blade, bleeding from his chest. She had killed him as painlessly as possible, although the blood of a human on her hands, no matter how much of an antagonist, almost distracted her from countering another assault by a pikeman.

Clarice and Miata had broken through another crowd of infantry. They aimed their pikes at Clarice, jabbing at her as one. In response, Miata somersaulted forwards, bringing her sword down and splitting a pikeman in half. The two pieces of meat fell to the ground before his comrades, who turned and charged, aiming their weapons at her. Clarice blocked one sword, but was pushed back by the finesse of the others. She gritted her teeth. These men have strategy. She managed to slide her blade under the men who had intercepted Miata, and in one stroke, hurled their weapons away. Seeing opportunity, Miata lunged, her speed blindingly fast, and as she landed into another group of soldiers, the men behind her had already collapsed onto the bloodsoaked, their lives carved away by her Claymore.

For the moment, the former warriors had held back the horde of soldiers. Despite the initial destruction they had inflicted, the women were more than a match for the Army members who had now flooded and spread out across the city square and the gate. But Yuma was struggling. She had been surrounded by several Knights who had dismounted and were preparing to charge her. She ducked a swing from one of their longswords and rolled forward, her sword piercing into her assailant's chest. He gurgled inside his helm and folded. But just as she had pulled her sword out his chest, she felt her back twist. She cried out as a sharp sting momentarily paralyzed her body.

She had been shot by an arrow.

The archers had arrived.

"Yuma!" cried Tabitha, glancing at the fallen city gates, where soldiers of the Western Gate continued to flood through. They poured into the gates, wild in zealous fervour, determined to finish the women off. She felt a surge of pain as another arrow dug itself into her waist, causing an angry wound near her stomach. Helen roared in frustration, avenging Tabitha's wound by kicking its inflicter away, hurling him into a host of his own comrades.

Yet for every man she defeated, at least three more replaced him. For the first time, she was backing away, defending more than attacking thanks to the far superior numbers of the Army. Another rain of arrows fell upon her, and she barely managed to roll away from them. "There's too many of these guys," she gritted. "I've lost count of how many I've taken down, but there seems to be hundreds of them."

I can't let them shoot us from a safe distance. I can't take anymore chances. "Hey, ladies," she smirked, as her eyes turned yellow. "What say we open our bag of tricks on these lovely young men?" And with that, she disappeared. The soldiers blinked, but in that heartbeat, she had reappeared behind them. Five heads flew up into the sky as Helen's Yoki stirred into action. Her arm elongated into a vertiable whip as she sent it flying towards the archers. In panic, they raised their longbows to shoot at her arm, but it was far quicker than their human reflexes, and her Claymore tore into them, mauling them into unrecognizable pieces of flesh and bones. The second wave of archers released their arrows, but they were blocked by Clare's sword. Her right hand trembled for a moment, before tightening.

"You're all going to die." The archers backed away, the eyes under their helmets slightly fearful, as Clare raised her sword. Her eyes flashed yellow.

"Windcutter."

Screams from the soldiers were quickly silenced as the air itself was sliced apart. Clare dashed forward, moving onto the advancing Knights even as the victims from her attack toppled forwards past her. They pointed their glaives at her even as she charged into them, heedless.

As the women continued to fight off wave after wave of inside and outside the city walls, Miria led Deneve towards the gates and advanced past the roaring multitude of Knights, slicing through any who attempted to block her way. Sweat dripped down her face and her heart pounded heavily in her chest as she cut down a horseman who tried to thrust his glaive at her. Work my way towards the commander. Ignore the rest, she thought calmly to herself, as men continued to fall around her. She could not help her mind slipping back in time, back to the past seven years of her investigations, when she discovered that the entire purpose of the land was to function as a laboratory for controllable Awakened Beings, to have 'test subjects' experimented on to create a perfect soldier against the Dragon Tribes.

Now, this twisted nightmare of the realm was one step closer to being eradicated.

As another Knight lost his head at the stroke of her sword, she raised her face, her gaze falling upon a goliath of a man, with a broad, square-jawed, wind-weathered countenance. He looked at her with a mixture of hatred, fury, and grudging respect. "I'm impressed," admitted the burly man. "You've cut your way past the troops whom I ordered to attack this city. You have earned your reputation as dark spectres of the past; who persist in troubling the living."

Miria could not help her shock.

At last, she was looking upon one of the men who had orchestrated the strategies of the hated Organization.

*

There was no other word to describe the commander of the Western Gate. He was… simply huge. With flowing brown hair and a goatee matching in colour, he towered over Miria by four feet, with a giant curved sword comparable in size to a Claymore. Unlike his subordinates, he wore sparse armour, consisting of large steel greaves and gauntlets, and shoulderplates. The rest of his dark garments were protected by light padding around his chest and thighs. "At last, you reveal yourselves," snarled the Marshal, as the battle continued to rage around them. "I understand that you're not part of the Organization; and that the law to abstain from human death is no longer relevant. So you've incapacitated six of my boys; and gone ahead to kill many more. But it is not for their sake, but for the nation's ultimate survival, that I will kill you."

"There are many things worse than dying in battle, and your support of the Organization's systematic evil is proof of that," said Miria calmly. "I'm going to end that – not just against you, but against all the leaders of the Army the Organization serves."

"Enough babble. Have at you, silver-eyed witch," challenged the giant, his garbled voice turning into a roar. He unfolded his massive arms and unsheathed his equally broad blade, pointing its tip at Miria. She raised her sword up in an offensive stance, her eyes fearless.

And at an accord, they charged towards one another, swords raised. Their blades met and sent a shockwave through the city walls, hurling several unprepared Knights and pikemen upwards and sending them crashing into the battling throng. The edges of the two leaders' blades shrieked, sparks flying from the screeching metal as they struggled to overpower one another, the hateful gaze of silver eyes meeting a wild, feral stare of emerald.

A new war; a rebellion, had now begun.

Miria against the Western Gate Marshal.

The former Number Six against the supreme leaders of the Army.

Commander against commander.

Winner take all!