Olimpia

Kathren felt her heart skip a beat at Redgenald's pronouncement as their reality crashed down on her. They had run out of time.

Then, Centurion Borment's voice bellowed out, scattering the sudden tension like it didn't exist while giving a path for everyone to follow. "Kormarat, get your squad on my ass right now! You two, follow me! Everyone else, hold your positions and watch your brothers' backs in case some of the bastards get by us! This is gonna be a rough one, boys, but I have faith we'll make it!"

There was some confusion on the faces of the legionaries as Centurion Borment turned and headed deeper into the manor, but the uncertain emotions quickly passed. They knew their jobs were to stand in place and hold the line, and that was all they needed to know. Let those of a higher rank worry about the other details. All they should be caring about is avoiding the shame and consequences that would come down on their heads if they were found to be the weakest link in the defenses.

If things continued as they were, some detachment in the manor would inevitably be the first to be pushed back from their windows, doors, or gaping holes in the wall and break the defensive line. It was only a matter of time. But Kathren could only pity these men directly under the centurion's command if they were the first to be pushed back. It didn't matter if they held one of the most demanding positions, had a third of their force just taken away, and no longer had their commander to lead them.

Those all sounded like excuses to her, and as every centurion would tell you, excuses only existed as failed opportunities to prove your dedication, problem-solving abilities, and martial skills to the legion. And such failures were obviously due to a lack of training.

The crackling rips of Centurion Borment's steadfast footsteps filled the blood-stained foyer. As Kathren watched his back move away, she could imagine that even if they had to walk over a mountain and drown it in blood along the way, she could trust that figure to lead them over it and return home. Or, at the very least, give her the opportunity to jam her knife into the eye of their foe. Sometimes, hurting an enemy was all you could ask for.

Before he could take more than four steps, his men squeezed their weapons as their resolve built, causing audible creaks of leather and wood in the room. Shouts drowned out the other noise in the room as the men jumped to follow Borment's orders. Suddenly, all Kathren could hear were the stomps of footsteps hitting the wood floor and the creaking of armor and clanking of steel as men moved to the hallway after their leader or manned their posts.

Stepping off from her perch with Redgenald, they turned away from the outside world and followed after the group. As they moved into the hallway and the legionaries fell into a marching rhythm, a couple lanterns leading the way, Kathren noticed they were following a crimson trail.

It wasn't that the dead lined the passage, their life's blood spilling onto and staining the wood. No, it was dozens, if not hundreds, of crimson footprints layered upon each other.

Those who were wounded beyond the ability to fight, their lives slowly dripping out of them, were moved down this passage. And whether it was their own or the soles of those helping them move, their boots imprinted themselves in the blood.

Kathren found it a rather appropriate symbol, if unhygienic. These legionaries were literally willing to walk through blood for their brothers. There wasn't much more you could ask from the person standing beside you in a shield wall.

With the path marked so well, there was no need for anyone to issue commands, and as a result, the only sound was the thuds of feet falling and a ripping squelch as they were pulled back up.

As the group rounded the last corner, they saw five men, three spearmen and two swordsmen, their weapons drawn, guarding the passage halfway down its length. Kathren could see their shoulders droop in relief as what they must have feared was the sound of advancing puppets was proven to be Legionaries.

The moment Centurion Borment's eyes landed on the men and their unwitting situation, he thundered, "Legionaries, enemy rear!" As he was anticipating an attack at any moment.

Kathren could see in their eyes that their bodies were moving before their minds processed the command. But even that instant response was already too late because the enemy was already in motion.

The hallway continued past the group blocking it, leading to another section of the manor, but that wasn't where the threat came from. It was the door a couple feet to the five legionaries' backs, bursting apart, that signaled the start of the fight.

The legionaries were nearing the end of their turn at that moment, their spears lowering in unison, but their formation shattered as they stumbled back a step and turned their heads to the sides on instinct when the door splinters peppered them. In that critical moment, two figures in dark cloaks came out of the doorway, sliding along the length of the spear shafts.

The arms of the two black figures slashed out, their hands holding black knives that seemed to shimmer like a pool of dark water when exposed to the light. After the flashing darkness of the attacks, two of the three spearmen dropped their weapons and started to slowly fall to the ground as they clutched at their necks in an attempt to hold in their lifeblood.

Before his comrades had started to crumple, the third and furthest to the left, and thus furthest from the door, spearman had recognized his primary weapon was now useless. He dropped his spear and started stepping back to create distance from the attackers while his hands went to his belt.

A moment before his hands had reached his waist, the closest cloaked figure had continued with his momentum while slightly stepping to the side to arrive next to the man. With a casual grace as if it was a motion he had performed a thousand times, the cloaked figure lashed out with their right arm, slicing open the legionary's throat without slowing.

The crimson blood of the soon-to-be-dead man sprayed across the hallway, splattering against the wall, but his face twisted with a determined, vindictive snarl. The figure was moving to step past the legionary, assuming he would collapse to the ground as he focused on the meaningless task of holding in his life for one more second like the others.

That assumption was wrong. The legionary already knew he was dead, and he wasn't planning on dying alone. Whipping out his seven-inch legion knife, the man fully extended his arm before curling it around the other body to drive it up and into the figure's chest with his right arm.

With a roar of effort, the legionary twisted the knife and gouged it down, ripping open the black-cloaked figure's stomach and spilling his entrails onto the floor. A high-pitched screech of primal pain, like an animal trapped at the bottom of a spike pit, originated from the depths of the figure's hood as they turned and lashed at with a retaliatory attack for the legionary's audacity.

One of the cloaked figure's knives came up from his hip and drove through the legionary's leather brigandine chest piece before the blade's hilt bottomed out, and the cloaked figure used the leverage to force the legionary into the wall. The figure's other hand slashed across the legionary's neck, severing everything but the smallest piece of skin behind the spine. Even as the man's head flopped to the side in death, the figure continued to hack and stab at the legionary's upper body, but they couldn't remove the satisfied smile curling his lips.

After a fifth rapid strike, the knives fell from the cloaked figure's hands, and they collapsed to the floor, quickly followed by the legionary's body.

As the two were killing each other, the other cloaked figure moved forward and engaged the swordsmen. They had danced in place with a rapid series of half lunges and feints for a couple seconds, but that all ended when the screech of the cloaked figure's dying companion distracted him for an instant.

Recognizing that they were so far outmatched that they were only being toyed with like a child, one of the legionaries took that moment to lunge forward, wrapping up the cloaked figure with his arms and trapping them.

The black figure was able to break the hold of the legionary in an instant, but he was held in place for the moment the second swordsman needed to sheath his sword into the chest of the trapped figure. Even as the legionary was pulling his sword out and moving to hack at the figure's neck, one of the cloaked figure's hands lashed out, impacting their retreating captor before falling to the ground with the second blow.

Staggering backward, the first swordsman turned so that he hit a wall and slumped down it. The legionary breathed heavily, his face pale as he clutched at the knife sticking out of his gut.

Even with a tunnel in their chest and a slash in the neck, the cloaked figure was fumbling over his body as if searching for another weapon. It was as if they thought they could still get up and kill them all. A delusion the second swordsman was happy to leave them with as he moved to check on his friend.

Finally getting into range of the short and brutal fight, Kathren brought an end to the cloaked figure's futile effort by bringing one of her spikes down into their head, throwing back their hood at the impact as the weapon caved in their skull.

Gasps of surprise sounded in the hallway as the legionaries finally got a look at the dark elf man, but Kathren simply moved past the body, a tendril lashing out of her hand to slip through the loop at the base of the spike's hilt. As soon as she saw the black full-body cloaks, she knew who and what they were. Seeing it again didn't matter.

One of the reinforcing legionaries moved to check on the wounded man and his friend while Kathren, Redgenald, and Centurion Broment moved to the top of the stairs, the rest of the legionaries close behind, radiating a cold rage as they moved past their dead.

As she moved to poke her head around the door, Kathren felt and accepted an invitation to a Union, immediately feeling a warning from Redgenald of all people to be careful. Which was a rather annoying message.

Kathren was already moving silently and taking a moment to listen and hear at the edge of the door before poking her head around the frame and looking into the stairwell. How much more careful could she really be?

Not hearing anything, Kathren moved forward, only to instantly jerk back and swing two spikes around the corner at chest height. A blade chipped the wood of the doorframe where her head was a moment before, slicing off the clump of her hair that got caught between the blade's edge and the wood.

Heart thumping at how close she came to having her brains bashed in, Kathren couldn't stop a pleased smile from spreading over her lips as she heard a grunt of pain a moment after a chink of impacting steel sounded.

Redgenald stepped past her as she pulled back, rounding the frame of the door, sword in hand. Instead of lashing out with his weapon, which might not make it through the chainmail the distracted dark elf was wearing, he leaned back and put his body behind a heel kick before he moved to the side, regaining his balance.

Though she could not see the events with her own eyes, she and everyone else saw the scene play out through the Union. However, Kathren didn't even need to look at the images Redgenald sent to know everything was going as he wanted, as she only needed to feel the smug air coming off him.

She still looked at them anyway, but she didn't need to.

The dark elf, who almost cracked her head open, was kicked off his feet when Redgenald's foot landed in his upper chest, his face twisting with shock as he looked up. As he was pushed back, it looked like the dark elf's arms and legs remained rooted in place until they were forced to follow along by his torso.

As the dark elf's face twisted from shock to outrage, Kathren couldn't stop a quiet snicker of amusement from coming out. The stupid elf deserved everything that happened to him.

Instead of tumbling all the way down the stairs, the man didn't go more than a couple feet before he hit the upper body of the next dark elf in line. From there, things progressed as you would imagine. Kathren could clearly hear the sounds of the four dark elves' grunts and bangs as they started tumbling over each other down the stairs. With every sound, her smile twisted, becoming more vicious until it became little more than a baring of her teeth.

Brushing past Redgenald while he was still recovering from his kick, Centurion Borment charged down the stairs, a roar of challenge thrumming his throat. On his heels, with not a waiver of doubt in their minds, the legionaries followed into the welcoming depths of the basement.

The first dark elf on the stairs the centurion met was trying to raise what looked like a long knife more than a sword in a mixture of a threat and a challenge, but it was less than intimidating. The elf was lying with his head lower than his feet on the stairs, and the blade was wildly wavering in the air as if he couldn't muster the focus to hold it steady.

With a simple swipe of his shield, Borment knocked the weapon and hand of the dark elf to the side without even bothering to finish him off as he continued down the steps. It was the third legionary in the charge who was the one to drive his blade into the gap between his neck and shoulder before he could get his long knife into position to pose a threat to anyone again.

Borment continued down the stairs, smashing his sword's pummel into the back of the head of a dark elf who was pushing himself to all fours before he had the chance to look up, causing a sharp crack of breaking bone and making the man crumple.

Then, with a leap, he smashed into the side of the next elf as he was getting his feet under him, and before he could raise his narrow sword with a weird half-circle pommel.

Bouncing back from the impact, Centurion Borment's backside thudded onto a step. Even though he was disorientated from the impacts, the centurion was able to pull his body to the side enough to allow the following legionaries to charge past him to attack the once again tumbling dark elves.

With a clammer of feet quickly beating against the stairs, the first two legionaries covered the last steps of the staircase before dashing the short distance to where the two dark elves landed. With quick, brutal hacks, the throats of the dark elves were split open, pouring blood onto the floor. As the two stood over the bodies, a third legionary moved to take up guard between them, scanning the room.

Kathren, from where she was following Redgenald at the back of the line, felt a spike of impotent fury laced with fear shoot through the mental network from the third legionary to reach the cellar. Borment demanded the man report in response to the intense feelings, but it was unnecessary. An image of short black-skinned creatures holding what looked like small bows turned on their sides was already burning its way into everyone's mind.

Then, there was a loud reverberating twang, and the three legionaries in the cellar were thrown off their feet. The men landed at the base of the stairs face up, hovering a few inches off the ground, as the arrows had gone so deep that the tips poking out the legionaries back were enough to make a platform.

Fear filled the network at the power of the creature's weapons, but Centurion Borment's iron willpower urged the legionaries forward even as they were freezing. "Move your asses, lads!" Borment's mental voice boomed, "Before they can get another volley off, charge!"

Instead of freezing in place and resigning themself to being cut down one at a time as they exited the stairwell, the legionaries appeared to jitter in place before they charged forward with a roar. Though the fear still remained, screaming it into the faces of their enemy helped them move forward, embracing the ideal of victory or death.

Kathren's ears rang from the collective shouts, and her abused throat felt like it was being ripped apart as she joined in on the battlecry, stomping forward.

As her feet touched upon the stairs' landing, she saw the creatures with her own eyes. Hunched and covered with cloth that was only a few frayed edges from being moved over the border of being called clothing into the category of rags. But her eyes were drawn over their black skin to the grinning fang-filled mouths of the beings.

Kathren saw the vicious glee in their black eyes at killing the three legionaries shift to apprehension as they witnessed the legionaries rushing forward. The apprehension started shifting to fear and confusion as they just couldn't understand why the legionaries were still attacking.

Centurion Borment led the charge, his voice carrying over the chaos filling the room. "Cut the bastards down, boys! Let none live!" The nine people following behind him shouted their agreement as they pumped their legs with abandon to close the distance.

Most of the creatures looked like their heads were convulsing between the legionaries' charge and where they were trying to pull on the string of their weird bows. A few of the creatures had pulled the string all the way back, locking it in place, but none of the twenty creatures could place the shaft of an arrow onto the sting before their death arrived.

Centurion Borment loomed above the creature at the center of their formation as it frantically tried to raise its weapon and put a shaft against the string simultaneously, doing neither well. Before the creature could pose a threat, Borment thrust his sword forward and up, almost like an uppercut, as he effortlessly parted the creature's clothes and chest.

Lifting the small creature from the ground, the centurion held it above his head before flinging his arm to the side and throwing the creature off his blade into more of its kind. Turning, he hacked down, nearly chopping another of the creatures in half.

When the rest of the legionaries hit their line, each following the centurion's example, the creatures broke. Fear overwhelmed their thoughts as they dropped their weapons and scrambled to get away from their butcher.

But Kathren would have none of that as she darted forward, ignoring the twinges of pain in her knee, slipping into the wild melee. With her spikes spinning around her, Kathren drove them into the legs of the creatures to slow them down, sometimes puncturing all the way through their limbs before she switched to another target.

At the same time, Kathren lashed out with her sword at anything around her. She might not have killed many of them, but she left quite a few lying helpless and waiting for another legionary to finish them off.

With the overwhelming ferocity of their charge, the legionaries tore through the creatures, creating a score of bodies around them in a matter of seconds.

Her chest heaving from the sudden exertion, Kathren started to look around and noticed racks holding barrels and crates farther into the cellar. More than that, she noticed bodies.

It was the bodies of the dozens of wounded legionaries they thought were being sheltered here safely. Some had their throats slit, while others had their chests punctured with multiple shafts of those weird bows.

A fresh wave of wrath began to build within the Union, only for a silky voice to cut through the emotion, sending a shiver of instinctual fear down everyone's spine, “Well… that is unfortunate.”