Splash.
One wave surged noisily up.
Splash.
There was another. The water rushed back and forth, declaring its presence loudly but measuredly.
Morgan's eyes remained shut. She was covered in salt from the water and sand from the shore that clung to her. Her thighs were chafing from swimming and treading water in her tight pants for so long. The sun was unforgivingly hot, baking the redhead in her clothes, despite the sea being mostly ice-cold. Birds squawked mockingly overhead, looking for their next meal on the cerulean blue. The young woman opened her eyes to a face-full of sand. That was what she had expected. With effort, she pushed herself off the ground and forward, raising her head. She became aware of her father doing the same.
Another waved rolled forward and swirled up the sediment beneath the thief, making her stomach and chest itch. She hastened forward, crawling on her elbows. At a sudden sensation, she opened her mouth and retched, spitting out at least an ounce of seawater. She shuddered as the bitter, sickly taste encroached on her tongue,"Gross."
"Eighty-seven," she heard her father mumble as he finally pushed himself into a crouched position, then stood, water and sand pouring down each side of his vestments, "I took that ship out on eighty-seven separate trips and never had an issue."
"I don't think I can share your love of the sea," the redhead mused, rubbing her head. There was even dried salt in her hair.
"Little help!" grumbled a man's voice insistently. Morgan knew her father wouldn't move and pushed herself up from the sand. Her husband clung loosely to the shore, hair looking ragged and eyes tired. She had forgotten about his leg; it was still limp.
"I gotcha," Morgan announced as she grabbed his arms and hoisted him out of the water with some difficulty, "Oof... You're heavier than you look, you know?"
"And after I work so hard to maintain my figure," he protested with a smirk. He sat up on the sand with her help.
"Father," Morgan looked to the former tactician, "Inigo needs help. We have to get him to a doctor before we do anything else."
"I know," he stretched his arms, sighing, "We'll get him there."
"Would you mind doing it today?!" Inigo barked, following a pause.
"Give me a moment," he cracked his neck, "Come, Morgan. Bring your husband along and we'll find him a physician."
Morgan resented having to carry the young man along, but then she couldn't really expect her father to do it: he was limping along the sand already. It didn't take the small group long to arrive at the colorful little fishing village that bordered the shore, only necessitating that they climb a moderately high stone wall. A small challenge for transporting Inigo, but they managed well enough. From that point, Robin began to consult individuals around the town for the location of a healer. No one seemed to know, greatly frustrating the tactician.
Eventually, they entered a merchant's general store, Robin seating himself at a stool by the counter provided for customers. The merchant greeted them with a general grunt of welcome. "Morning," Robin said in reply to him, "Mind if I ask you something?"
The man stared back hesitantly. His eyes shifted to each side.
Robin laughed, "Nothing sinister, I just want to know if there's a healer around."
"N-No..." the man quivered, "not a healer, just a merchant."
Robin rolled his eyes, "I know, but are there any healers around here?"
"Not my business," the man moved into the back of the store, "Not... can't talk about... Not my business." Robin stared at him as he hid himself.
"Something's wrong here," the former tactician whispered to his daughter.
"Well, what are we going to do?" the redhead shrugged irritably.
"They're scared of something," he nodded back to the disappeared merchant, "an authority, perhaps. Even if not, he might not be as afraid to speak up."
"And, pray, where will we find such an authority?" Morgan scowled.
"Big buildings are a good start," he noted, leading her and her husband out the door, "or anything that looks ostensibly newer than the rest of the town."
"What about that one?" Inigo pointed, "The gilded building, with the green roof." Robin nodded indicatively.
The trio marched toward the ornate office and entered casually, Robin leading the group. A clerk sat at a desk before them, busily tearing away at a page with a quill. "Excuse me," Robin announced, causing the man to look up, "whose office is this?"
"Bar'kim," the man replied curtly, dropping his head back down.
"And is he the local authority?" the former tactician pressed.
"Yes. Chief executive for the town," the clerk hadn't looked back up.
"Can we speak with him?" Robin continued, "We were just hoping to find a local physician."
"No," he spat.
Robin shut his eyes tightly, then drifted over the clerk's desk and slammed his hand on the wood, "Listen. I need a healer. You or Bar'kim are going to tell me where I can find one. Understand?"
That caught the clerk's attention, "Guards!"
Metal plating shifted from a hallway nearby. "It's always something," Robin rolled his eyes. A group of five men in full armor stared at the older man from behind masks. "Look here," Robin stepped toward them, "I just want to find a damn doctor!"
One drew a blade and swung at the former tactician.
He doubled back, a thread of his cloak being sliced by the steel, "Really? I don't have time for this."
Another swing. The sounds of the other guards withdrawing their blades from their scabbards sounded off the walls.
"You're making a mistake!" Robin continued back to the wall.
One of the guards leered at Morgan, who continued to support her husband, letting him lean on her as they stood in the doorway.
"Don't even think about it," Robin hissed.
Another thrust from the guards was aimed at the man in the Plegian cloak, but one trailed off closer to Morgan. "Father?" she called, "Can't reach my sword right now."
"Oh, for gods' sakes," he rolled his eyes. Robin reached into his cloak and unsheathed his blade, leaping into a strike that cut down the guard facing Morgan. The redhead exhaled uncomfortably as the blade sliced the wind near her ears. The remaining guards took the opportunity to strike haphazardly at the former tactician. He laughed in the face of the their strikes, or he would have, if it wouldn't likely mean his death. Their attack was uncoordinated; Robin moved easily from a parry and counterattack into a repost, then ducked out of the way of a third strike in time to preempt the fourth.
Morgan stared at the guards as they collapsed. Their suits of armor loosened as they fell. She felt something was missing.
Two guards left. One charged at Robin with a vertical slash. The former tactician stuck his foot out in line with the opponent, then hooked it around that of his foe to bring the guard crashing noisily to the floor. The other whipped a horizontal strike at Robin, but was halted when the tactician grabbed hold of his arm and twisted it. He disarmed the guard, but felt odd: no sound of bones snapping. That move was meant to break the foe's arm.
The guard on the floor grasped desperately at Robin's leg and caught him by surprise, halting him and knocking him off his footing. The guard whose arm he had seized now returned the favor by wrapping an icy iron grip around his throat.
"Get back!" Morgan kicked him to the floor. Inigo smiled as he rested against the wall. She was beautiful even as she fought.
Robin seized the chance and kicked at the guard clinging to his foot. Wrenching himself free, he pushed himself up and threw the entirety of his weight into a stomp on the floored guard's head. Unsure of the effect due to the helmet, Robin reclaimed his sword and plunged it into a slit near the throat of the fallen suit of armor.
The remaining guard had gotten back up in time to strike at Morgan. She held him back, but could gain no ground. Robin interjected, grabbing the man's attacking arm again, however, this time throwing him to the floor and repeating the process he had used on the other guard.
"Wait a minute..." Morgan declared aloud as the last guard fell, "That's it!"
"What's it?" her father grunted as he took a breath.
"Look," she indicated the fallen suits of armor, "no blood."
She was right. Robin looked down at the opponent he had just slain and attempted to remove his helmet. It came off easily: there was nothing beneath it. The entirety of the weighty suit was empty. The former tactician approached the now stricken clerk, "What in the hells is going on here?"
"Not... my business," the man perspired.
"Oh, for...!" Robin shook his fist, "Morgan, Inigo, we're going upstairs." They did as they were told and worked their way up the staircase past the quivering clerk. When Robin had fully ascended the stairs, he found a man in a teal cloak sitting behind a desk, "Knock, knock."
"What?" the man started, picking his head up.
"Bar'kim?" the former tactician supposed. The man nodded nervously, "What's the matter, didn't hear the scuffle downstairs?"
"What do you want?" he grunted in a display of resilience.
"I want a healer," he gestured forcibly to the Ylissean prince, "and I want to know who the hell those guards were, and why no one in this town seems willing to utter a word. Can you tell me that?"
The man stared cautiously at Robin a moment before reaching into his desk. "I don't think so," a knife flew from Morgan's hand and pinned Bar'kim's sleeve to the wall.
"Talk," Robin growled, making himself intimidating by lurching over the desk.
The cloaked man's composure broke, "Th-There... There are no healers here- ack! But... but... I don't know who the guards are! They're appointed by out sovereign, Lord Datura!"
"That's better," Robin sighed with finality, "Where can I meet Lord Datura?"
"He might still be in Hae're, the capital of this province, about three days' march to the southwest, but I'd heard he was headed to Ylisstol," Bar'kim continued to mumble.
Robin leered at the cloaked man, then reached over him and yankee the knife from the wall with a grunt. "We'll have to try," the former tactician declared, beckoning his daughter and son-in-law.
Bar'kim's head sank to the desk in relief. As the group left his office, however, he felt a cold, stinging sensation. Tears clung to his eyes as he murmured silently to himself before he collapsed back onto the desk loudly and his flesh turned blue.
"That... could've gone better," Morgan sighed, still supporting her husband's weight.
"Oof, that looks bad," chuckled a voice before them, "You look like you could use a little fixing up."
"Finally, a pleasant surprise," Robin exhaled, "I wondered where this all had landed you, Sylvia."
The performer drew up the sides of her baby blue cloak and giggled as she stroked aside a curly chestnut-colored bang that rested on her face, "No fear, daddy. I'm here to help." She raised her staff and, in an instant, a light enveloped the Ylissean prince as his flesh wound itself back together.
"Still hurts like a bastard," he grimaced.
"Sorry," she laughed, "Even magic has limits on its abilities."
"Just as long as you don't plan on sawing me in half... again," Inigo leered at the girl fearfully. Marrying Morgan had come with its fair share of perils.
"Quit your whining, lover boy," she dismissed him, "that was one time. Anyway, your leg should be about healed."
He tested it and nodded in relief, "Yes, that's better... I mean, ooh, oh no, I can't move! Morgan, my dear, you'll have to hold me some more..."
"In your dreams," she giggled as she pushed him off, "My feet are killing me."
"So, what's the plan, chief?" Sylvia glanced up at her father.
"After," he looked back to Bar'kim's office, "consulting the locals, we were planning on going to Hae're."
"Hmm..." the girl tapped her finger on her chin, "Nah, I don't think you wanna go there. The stars tell me that's a bad plan."
"Sylvia, honey," Robin kneeled to his daughter's height, "we've talked about this..."
"No, just trust me this one time," she insisted with more than a hint of embarrassment.
"Where else do you suppose we go?" he offered.
"Lieben," she announced grandly, "Another Valmese province altogether, near Rosanne."
"That's quite a ways..." Robin folded his arms and tapped his finger impatiently.
"Daddy," she insisted, hands on her hips, "I'm saying this for a reason."
"All right," he gave up, "I hope this works out."
"No doubt!" she assured the wearied party, who grimaced at her enthusiasm, "Now, let's move, soldiers! Left, left, left, right, left! Left, left..."
They buried their heads.
[...]
The men had assembled around their commander, forming a ring to watch the challenger as he played with his sword, staring down the length of it at the reflection of his foe.
"Going to make a move?" the Tenebrous Hero puffed out his chest.
"I'm just wondering if I should stab you in the chest and let you bleed a lot, or in the leg so you can't walk without a limp ever again," the man with the leaf-green hair replied coolly, his eyes not acknowledging his adversary.
"Big talk," Arc brandished his axe, "I think I might shatter your kneecaps for that."
"Tell me, Arc, why have you got to be such a bastard?" the Storm Blade snickered.
"You understand better than most of them, Cyrus," the blue-haired man cleared his throat, "Nihilus can preach his pretty purple prose about the way the world needs to work all day, as long as it keeps me on the field of battle, killing, I can do it for the rest of my life. I don't care what he wants."
"Clearly," Cyrus nodded, "but he might like you a bit better if you at least showed a hint of restraint now and then."
"That's your problem, Cyrus," he grunted, "you talk too much. If you just fought, like me, we could be as thick as thieves."
"Too bad," the swordsman smiled, "I suppose some things are simply meant to be."
"On that, we can agree," Arc got into his stance to receive his opponent.
[...]
"Are we prepared, Frederick?" the princess wondered aloud, staring through the brush at the front gate.
"Lady Lucina, we have our weapons," the knight sighed, "but there is simply no way I can advise launching an attack before knowing our enemies' number."
"There's no way a full-scale invasion could have found landfall yet," Lucina asserted, "They can't be more than a gaggle of mercenaries. Look at the rags on that one."
"This purported gaggle of mercenaries has managed to seize the Ylissean throne from very capable hands, milady," Frederick argued, "We must approach them with caution, lest we be destroyed."
"Attacking the enemy at this time is... a poor decision," reported a gravelly voice from behind.
Both Ylisseans drew their weapons and faced the sound. "And what are you, that usurps the silence of night?" Lucina leered.
The man's face was veiled by a faded red hood, "My name matters not. I bring you news that will spare you your folly."
"And why should we trust one who has emerged from the shadows thusly?" Frederick moved forward to stand slightly in front of the princess.
"I come bearing no weapons," he explained, "and I ask nothing great of you, only that you wait a few minutes more. A league will join you from the south in short order, and the beast, you will see, is afflicted with plague. It will soon be weakened."
"Beast? Explain yourself, sir," Lucina demanded.
"There is no time," insisted their visitor, "you must heed my word. Only stay your blade until you find a familiar face, then may you collapse upon your foe together."
"But whom?" Frederick demanded. He was ignored; the figure had taken off into the murky shadows from whence he had emerged.
Lucina trailed her eyes at lightning speed in searching for him, but found nothing. She resigned and stared at her protector, "What do you make of that, Frederick?"
"I am... uncertain, milady. His presence fills me with unease, yet..." the knight shrugged, "I see little hazard that might befall us in heeding a measure of extra caution."
"Very well," she nodded, lying on her stomach to peer beneath the brush, "We will wait a bit longer."
[...]
"Hrah!" Arc shouted as he swiped his axe.
"Too slow!" his foe laughed, rolling out of the way. He loosed a retaliatory slash, deflected at the last moment by the Tenebrous Hero in a spark of steel.
"Where you goin'?" Arc laughed, breaking Cyrus's attack with another push and seizing the swordsman's arm.
"How about here?" came the response as he Storm Blade spun over his opponent's back, flinging him to the ground and breaking his hold.
"Bah!" Arc roared, swinging his axe wildly at Cyrus's feet from the floor.
"Pitiful," the man with the leaf-green hair taunted as he danced away from the onslaught.
"You're mine!" the blue-haired man persisted, rising to charge at his foe again.
Cyrus planted a boot in his face to stop him, "Get back!" A kick caused the Tenebrous Hero to stumble backward. His nose bled.
"Gonna kill you!" Arc affirmed, rushing once more.
Cyrus swung to block him, but his eyes jumped open in surprise as the Tenbrous Hero halted his blade with his bare hand. Crimson life ebbed from the blue-haired man's fingers as he grinned viciously. "Arc, you crazed sonuvabitch!" the Storm Blade grunted.
"Gotcha!" he announced, raising his axe over their heads.
Cyrus frowned and let go of his blade, rolling out of the way once more.
[...]
"It can't be m-much further...! Th-This way!" Kellam huffed, hurrying ahead in his full armor.
"This is going to mean trouble..." Stahl grimaced to himself, "We don't have much of a force to go up against the same guys who managed to seize Ylisstol. They must be some sort of beasts to have gotten this far."
"Ocular determination registers the object of our pursuit to be within requisite range to manufacture a coordination by which to strike," Miriel observed
"In real words, Miriel," Stahl pleaded.
"She means she can see Ylisstol castle, and that we have enough time to form a plan of attack," Maribelle translated.
"Thank you, Maribelle," Stahl nodded.
"...Well?" the noblewoman waited.
"'Well' what?" Stahl looked back.
"We need a plan," she repeated.
"And?" the paladin hesitated.
"And you're the best commander we've got," Cordelia suggested.
"What?" he jumped, "No, I'm no strategist! I can't lead an army! I just serve in one!"
"Then perhaps you'll let me try?" hoped a woman's tenor.
"Gods above..." Stahl was stricken, "Lucina?"
"Milord's parley went awry," Frederick summarized, "Suffice it to say we are prepared to join our strength to yours."
"That's perfect!" Stahl wiped his forehead, "Now we have a real commander. My sword is yours, milady."
"You honor me with your fealty, Stahl, but the last thing I need is dissent: are any of you unwilling to accept me as your commanding officer?" Lucina looked out among the gathered former Shepherds.
"I will always serve House Ylisse," Cordelia pledged.
"Gregor already in debt to Ylisse. This time, he pay you," the mercenary replied.
"Maybe I'll just stay to the back..." Gaius began. Maribelle smacked him on the head with her staff, "Ouch! I mean, yeah, sure. I can't wait. I'm all yours, Bluebird."
"And of course I'll protect your house, dear," Maribelle smiled.
"If you can see me, I'm with you," Kellam chuckled.
"It would be highly discourteous to disengage in my tenured profession and consented covenant at so critical a juncture," Miriel concluded with a nod.
"Thank you all," she bowed, "Now, let's discuss movements."
Stahl exhaled. They had a chance.
[...]
Arc panted, his broad, muscular shoulders heaving, "You're a slippery bastard, there's no getting around that. But bein' slick only gets you so far, whereas my strength means I can pressuring you 'til those nimble legs run outta room to hide."
Cyrus shook his head and laughed, "The thing I love best about you, Arc, is that you never even realize how wrong you are." The Storm Blade landed two quick, successive punches on the blue-haired man, "You may be stronger than I, but greater speed means I can still dole out more damage."
"You're nothing!" the Tenebrous Hero lunged, missing.
"Couple that with the fact that I'm obviously more clever than you," the green-haired swordsman laughed.
"Shut up!" his compatriot roared, swinging his axe. Another blind miss.
"And," Cyrus picked up his sword, staring at the veins of blood stained onto its steel, "don't you know anything, Arc? Swords beat axes any day of the week."
"I'll crush you!" he roared wearily in answer, flailing again.
"Tell me, Arc, how does it feel to know you're beaten in every category?" Cyrus cackled.
"DIE!" the cry rang out. A sound of metal sliding into flesh reverberated through the castle halls. The Storm Blade stood still as his blade protruded through the Tenebrous Hero's side.
"What an idiot," the man with the leaf-green hair scoffed, retrieving his blade. Arc slumped to the floor and grunted in anger and pain. "He'll live," Cyrus announced, assuaging the fears of his followers, watching dumbly.
"Lord Arc, sir!" shouted a young man as he burst through the castle doors, "A group's headed this way! I hear they've got Ylissean royalty among them!"
"Impossible," Arc propped himself up on his knee.
"Oh, this is too good," the swordsman with the leaf-green hair smiled, rubbing his palms together, "Well, you can take care of this little trifle, can't you, Mr. Tenebrous Hero?"
"You would leave me to die?" he growled.
"Oh, no," Cyrus feigned indignation, "I only feel that I'd be getting in the way of the mastery of the great Tenebrous Hero. I'll just see myself out."
"If I get out of this..." the blue-haired man struggled, "I'm gonna have that smug smile of yours served to me on a silver platter."
"I look forward to it," he grinned, sauntering out.
[...]
"Someone's coming out," Cordelia announced warily, watching the gates, "A man with green hair, looks a bit worn out. He's headed this direction."
"Shall we ready our weapons?" Stahl consulted his commander.
"No, I know that guy," reported a voice, "just some traveller looking to meet with Chrom. Probably got attacked by whoever's in there now and is seeing himself out. Oh, incidentally, how are you guys?"
"Anna!" Stahl rejoiced, "Wow, Lady Luck's really piling the gifts at our feet today; first Lucina, and now you."
"Is Robin there?" Anna pointed.
"I don't know," the viridian knight sighed, "I was just mean to gather the other Shepherds, but when I found out the castle was being occupied, I figured I couldn't just let it slide."
"I guess it can't hurt either way," the merchant shrugged.
"Will you join us, Lady Anna?" the princess inquired.
"For now, why not?" she smiled, "But my top priority is finding my husband and kids."
"Fair enough. I'll take as much assistance as you're willing to give," Lucina nodded.
The attack began at Lucina's command: Stahl rode down into the first line of the enemy forces, which was weak: a group of novice swordsmen who were utterly unprepared for the lance-wielding cavalier, who swept them aside with ease.
This blitz was complimented by Maribelle, who took advantage of the enemy's apparent unfamiliarity with magic to blast a hole in their guard with a burst of magic. Miriel followed behind more slowly and held back the bulk of the infantry with her own pillars of flame and bolts of lightning.
A guard held fast at the castle gates, but was brushed aside by Cordelia's impeccable lancework as her husband flung himself through the massive doors. He girded himself and bore the brunt of their attacks, meeting axes with axes and swords with swords as best he was able.
Anna kept up the rally by sporadically reinforcing their wounded numbers as they ripped along the open field, stopping to swipe aside several foes with her own blade, of course.
Momentum was already shifting as Lucina and Frederick pushed their way past Gregor, grateful for the relief, and began the attack on the forces inside the castle. The princess was no slouch: her rapier knocked aside those mercenaries who took after her with axes, and Frederick made productive use of his lance by outreaching and preempting those Lucina could not fell herself.
Stahl heard the clang of metal and the cracking of bones as he swept his lance over again and toppled another assailant. Suddenly, before the paladin could react, a man wielding an axe, too close to be brushed aside with his lance, leapt toward the knight. He yelped in fright, but was then equally shocked as the man halted in mid-air. A glimmer drew away from his chest and he sank, revealing a sheen of red armor behind him. "Sully!" her husband cheered.
"How'd I know I'd find you here?" she chuckled.
"Your leg," Stahl indicated, noticing it slightly twisted and wrapped with gauze.
"'Salright. I'll get it set and fixed proper once we take the castle back," she nodded confidently.
"Right behind you," he smiled, now able to empathize, "Oh, and Kjelle?"
Sully grinned and thumbed to her right, "Having fun."
Armor clanged with a thunderous noise as Kellam and the girl with the olive hair shoved effortlessly through the waves of troops in tandem.
"We need to hurry," Anna noted, using her staff once more. It was close to degrading, "We can't spend all our time on the small potatoes."
"Right," Lucina nodded, "We have to take down their commander. That should at least make the novices or noncommitals flee, which may be many among mercenaries."
"But where is their commander?" Frederick scanned the hordes of advancing soldiers, careful not to let himself become too distracted.
"He's up there," noted a voice plainly, "didn't'cha see him?"
"Leo?" Anna's jaw dropped.
"Hey! Mom!" he jumped forward, "I... I heard what happened, and I kinda thought... Well, I didn't wanna think about it, but..."
"It's okay, sweetie," she sympathized, embracing him, his salmon ensemble wrinkling in her grasp, "Momma's here now."
He composed himself, wiping his eyes, "Er, but now's not the time.
I was watching from the rafters: their leader's a blue-haired guy called 'Arc.' The 'Tenebrous Hero,' I heard a few call him. At any rate, he's a real monster, but he had a fight with this guy, a real slick swordsman called 'Cyrus...' Guy knocked him flat on his back no prob."
"So, what are you saying?" Lucina ascertained.
"We need someone fast on his feet and good with a blade to beat that sucker. And we'd best do it fast: he's wounded," the young man with the auburn hair provided.
"And that someone should be you?" the princess gleaned.
"Well, if you insist," he grinned.
Lucina rolled her eyes, "Just hurry."
"I'm going with you," Anna determined.
"Uh, I don't think you should, mom," he rubbed his neck.
"Well, that's too bad," she dismissed, "I'll be damned if I let some two-bit thug hurt my son. Let's go."
"Yes, ma'am," he bowed.
With every bit of agility he had, the young man skipped deftly between his opponents as the princess and her guardian knight cleared a path. A crop of ginger hair appeared to throw the last brigade out of their way, "You owe me big for this job, Bluebird!"
The young man had he first chance to size up the Tenebrous Hero, who held himself up mostly on one leg and growled gutturally and viciously. "Yikes, bad dog," quipped the assassin.
"You think you can talk to me like that?!" he snarled, "I'll turn you into a stain on my floor, boy!"
"Not likely," the young man with the auburn hair persisted, loosing a trail of arrows at the blue haired man.
He endured them without flinching, "I'll break you with one hand." The Tenebrous Hero lifted his axe and swung at the assassin.
"Not gonna happen!" called the young man's mother, blocking the attack, "Told you I should be here."
"You're both dead!" screamed the wounded warrior.
"Oh, shut it," dismissed the young man, firing another arrow. This one stuck Arc's already wounded side. He toppled and grimaced.
"Little insects, all'o ya...!" he gasped as the wound bled afresh. "You can't kill me!"
"Doubting it," Leo smiled.
"You don't get it, kid," he rose, to their surprise, "I'm just like every other faceless asshole in this army... I get thrown where the brass are too scared to fight for themselves. I fight until I'm dead, and no one gives a shit either way. You can't kill me off: I just keep comin' back 'till you're dead, and then I loot your corpse." He laughed morosely, "So you wanna tell me just what in the hell you're gonna do to the bastard who wins no matter what?"
"I'm gonna start with one and clear my way through the rest as they come," smirked the assassin, training his bow.
"Hah!" the blue-haired man scoffed, bull rushing the young man. In a heartbeat, the assassin dropped his bow and whipped out his blade. His mother stood astride him and they slashed in unison, backing out of the way of the leaping Tenebrous Hero as they cut at his head together.
He fell with an earth-shaking thud.
"Can't... die... Another fifty take my place. I'm within your ranks. I'm the enemy. I'm you. I... never die! Haha...!"
"Scratch one Tenebrous Hero," Leo twirled his blade in his hand and slid it back into its sheath.