The moment the Curse mercenaries turned toward the spot where Garuz had fallen, Wynda pulled Nocten down with her. His breath came in ragged, frantic gasps until she pressed a firm hand over his mouth to keep him from giving them away their position. Nocten's eyes trailed toward Wynda's through his helmet, watching her press down upon his lips with her warm palm.
Domovoy leaned in with a harsh whisper. "Don't shout, you idiot. What kind of soldier are you?"
"Shut up." Wynda shot back under her breath.
"The hell did you say?!"
"Enough." Captain Freyd yanked Domovoy backward with his patience finally gone after the third reprimand. Without another word of complaint, he lifted his head just high enough to scan the clearing, tracking the Curse moving down below.
One by one, the others followed his lead. Nocten felt Wynda's hand slip away from his mouth at last, with the air still warm where she dragged away from.
Garuz pushed himself off of the crumbled rocks that dragged him down, appearing cut and bruised from his fallen helmet. His face was abnormally herculean, yet young. Although his brute-like stature would have made normal individuals frightened beyond disbelief, the Curse were fearless, which contributed to his less than normal response at the hands of the two that stood before him with their ravenous pets by their side. There was no escape.
"Well, well," One of the Curse mercenaries voiced out after studying Garuz from top to bottom. He relished in Garuz's frightful poise, taking advantage of his fear as a weakness. "Look at what the lot dragged from hell. Sancta insignia, watching from the heavens like a little spy, huh?"
"A spy?" The other Curse mercenary entered, chuckling after examining Garuz's larger than normal stature. He clung onto the chain inhabiting the Rot's hungry gurgle at the end with one hand, placing the other by his hip. "Well, I certainly hoped for someone more... fit."
"Where you going to run off to now, then, you fat fuck? Looks like you got more than a lot of weight on your shoulders."
As soon as one of the parasitic Rot sensed a waft of Garuz, a large hunk of meat, it divulged into rampaging toward him with arms flailing in need for food. Acid dripped from the Rot's gaping maw, salivating for sustenance.
"Hey!" The Curse mercenary holding the hungry Rot by chain seized them backward, tightening the grip on their mottled flesh. "Stay back, you stupid rat."
Garuz sighed, admitting surrender by placing his hands up.
"You can keep your hands down," One of the mercenaries pointed at his gesture. "What, you think we're the type of people to accept any terms of surrender? Someone like you should know we don't take kindly to spies like you. Certainly not from Sancta."
"How's the wrinkly old hag doing as prime minister?" The other mercenary pointed out. "Must be still upset he didn't take the deal from Ramsey!"
Garuz had enough of their insolent talk, spitting back upon hearing their insults against his home. "Shut your damn mouth," His deep voice rained through. "The prime would never-"
"Never what?" The mercenary interrupted. "You think you're the one who should be speaking for that coward? Remind me what he did once the Huntress died. The hint would be him scurrying into the shadows and leaving the less fortunate to die. But we took advantage of it all, bringing the beauty and strength from these monsters. And now... you'll do nicely for food for the others. Fresh meat's all they want."
Using the parasitic Rot as fear, the mercenary released his grip lightly enough just for the Rot to reach Garuz's arm span with its own claws. He pushed back and landed on his back.
"Well, then? Get up and get a move on!" The mercenary hounded before chuckling. "You wouldn't want a parasite in your gut now, would you, you fat fuck?"
"Oh no..." Nocten whispered as he watched Curse escort Garuz away into the unknown depths of the ravine. "Captain, what now!?"
"Trail them," Freyd ordered, shifting his gaze towards a shortcut through the path the Curse took. He bolted after them with a hefty step. "Quickly!"
Nocten nearly tripped upon watching Freyd sprint after them. Wynda's eyes widened as she shot upward with Domovoy by her side, clutching onto their sheathed blades firmly with their palms rested against them. Wynda watched as Freyd led the battalion, silently sprinting as his eyes shot toward the obscured position of the Curse.
As Nocten could not resist the urge to save the fallen soldier, his adrenaline spiked up as Freyd made a dangerously swift halt. Wynda's eyes glared at the two in suspicion as their collision sent them spiraling off of the cliffside, tumbling together as they reached the flank of the Curse soldiers. Wynda and Domovoy watched the Curse turn back around with the Rot in hand, chuckling as Garuz seemed to lose all of hope of rescue.
Before Freyd and Nocten could arise, Nocten assaulted Freyd with a barrage of punches toward his armored chest, enraged by his carelessness.
"Why did you stop, damn it!?" Nocten shouted as each consecutive blow struck Freyd's armor deeper into his torso.
A sharp tug slinked Nocten backward, collapsing on his back before witnessing countless amounts of Curse surrounded the two of them atop the ravine. One by one, their heads popped out like moles, surrounding their perimeter. Before Wynda and Domovoy could retreat, the shining glint of a steel blade touched upon their shoulders, indicating that they were caught.
Without any sudden movements, Wynda and Domovoy surrendered themselves by placing their hands in the air. The armed Curse mercenaries confiscated their blades from their holsters and lined them up after shoving them into line.
"Fuck me..." Domovoy whispered to himself with his eyes shut in acceptance.
Wynda remained calm as the silent Curse shoved her into Domovoy, escorting them like prisoners down the ravine. Her mind was blank with worry or pain as she continued to fixate on her lost older sister. If she were to die here and now, it would prove nothing but beneficial to her to escape the sorrows of her sister's disappearance. She was tired and stricken with exhaustion. Nothing in her life truly mattered anymore.
By the time Wynda and Domovoy were escorted down to where the others were, all eyes from the Curse stared down upon them. The Curse shoved Wynda and Domovoy into a line of mercenaries without the Rot chained to their arms, aiming their blades against Nocten, Garuz, and Freyd's heads. All five of them kneeled down with their hands behind their heads while the original Curse mercenary who caught them stood in front, amused with their capture.
"Some party we've got here, folks," The mercenary began with a grin. "And who's this I see? Captain Freyd of Sancta, here in the flesh with four others playing dress-up soldier. Without the swords on your hips, you're all nothing but food for our pets. Especially the fat looking one!"
"HAHAHAHAHA!" The Curse surrounding the ravine laughed in unison, amused by the soldiers' presences.
"Ahh, Captain. It's good to see you again. Sleep well last night?"
"I did," Freyd remarked with a confident after tone. He lowered his arms and placed his palms on his knees in peace. "I've brought some goods over for Ramsey to share. I hope he doesn't mind." He finished his sentence with a purposeful expression toward Nocten, who finally uncovered the secret behind his abnormal behavior.
"You fuckin' trai-" Nocten wheezed as one of the Curse mercenaries behind him jutted the butt of their weapon against his armored gut, knocking him to the ground in a daze. They then bound his hands behind his back with rope, seizing him from moving any further.
"You shouldn't speak to your superior officer like that." The leading mercenary jested.
Wynda and the others witnessed Freyd stand up from his position and join the relaying Curse in their ranks beside them. Wynda caught his blank face expressing no regret or concern over his betrayal of Sancta. She never believed she would have been so foolish to fall for the trap of deception.
"HELMETS OFF!" A mercenary brute behind the four lined up commanded.
One by one, the Sancta soldiers removed their helmets, revealing their sweaty and grizzled faces. Domovoy was the first to remove his, revealing a much elderly man no less than forty years old with a locked jaw propped open. Garuz's face was more chubby but well-rounded, like a professional wrestler. The two placed their helmets in front of their knees in a polite manner.
Meanwhile, Nocten removed his helmet with a single hand, thumbing through the eye socket and tossing it behind him. The helmet crashed on the dirt with a thud, nearly hitting one of the Curse that stood behind him. Upon his irrational behavior and act of defiance, two of the Curse mercenaries locked his arms and shoved his head to the ground.
"Captain, permission to cut that one's tongue out?" The leading mercenary asked, drawing an iron dagger from their sheath.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, mercenary," Freyd immediately stopped him. "Lay a finger on any of them, and you answer to Ramsey. Unless you're prepared to cut out your own, I would stop acting so insubordinate," He approached Nocten and stared down at his jet black head before ramming his foot into his flank. "Just a simple nudge like that should suffice."
"You bastard." Nocten hissed.
"Take off your helmet." The same mercenary brute commanded, looking at Wynda.
Wynda stood still in silent refusal, placing her hands behind her back.
"HEY! Did you hear me, or are you deaf!? Take off your damn helmet!"
Nocten's eyes fidgeted and shot toward Wynda, whose face was adamant and fearless. He was worried that she would perish in front of him, but chose not to speak out in fear of being struck again.
"You must have a death wish," The leading mercenary kneeled down to face Wynda, playing with his iron dagger by balancing it with his fingertips. "Take off... your helmet."
"No." Wynda sternly stated.
Nocten's eyes flashed in worry as Garuz and Domovoy eyed Wynda with deep concern. All of the other Curse chuckled in amusement to Wynda's defiance. Some of them whistled upon realization that a female was in their presence, cold-calling her in a flirtatious manner and gesturing inappropriately their interest.
"Step aside, mercenary," Freyd commanded, shoving the leading mercenary aside. He kneeled down to face Wynda with a calm and stern expression, deadly underneath his facade. "It'll take you far too long to convince this one."
Without another word, Freyd stepped in and slowly removed Wynda's sweaty helmet, which slipped off with ease. For a moment, everything around her felt completely still. Her neck‑length dark‑blonde hair clung to her skin, and her bright sapphire eyes stood out against her clear and striking face.
Underneath all the bravado was a soldier with absolutely nothing to lose, streaked with a singular intention to survive for her significant other. Her face showed grit, impatience, but intellect beyond the wisest comparison. She stared at Freyd with a cold bloodlust beneath a calm and indecipherable surface.
Nocten could only stare, stunned by how different Wynda looked without her helmet. The others didn't move a muscle.
Suddenly, Freyd jabbed his clenched first forward toward Wynda's gut, knocking the wind out of her lungs. He paid no amusement in it, as his face remained neutral and collected.
"I never wanted more than to be free, just like you," Freyd's low voice brimmed, placing his hand below her chin to angle her face upward. "Then I realized that you were the one that I'd been searching for this entire time. You're the key to my freedom for Curse. Your specialties. Your talents. Your background and history, and for some odd reason, Ramsey delights in such a thing. But I won't question it. You'll have to accept this, sooner or later."
"And... when will you accept the fact that you're a coward?" Wynda whispered, coughing to clear her system. "Fighting with loyalty and honor for my sister... is all I ever wanted."
"Hmm," Freyd smirked, appearing as if to be moved by her statement. "What exactly is there to fight for anymore in a time like this?" Freyd asked. "There is no hope. Only survival. And we must embrace it."
Wynda stayed silent, locking eyes with Freyd in quiet complacence, before she uttered a single phrase: "You're right." She said.
After the two glared at each other for several seconds, Freyd stood up from his knelt position and looked back at the Curse mercenaries surrounding him, groveling in laughter at the resistance the Sancta soldiers made for the rest of them. They fixated on Wynda, whom they were eager to execute despite Freyd's orders not to.
"Take them," Freyd strolled through the Curse mercenaries, armor clattering with each confident stride and step. "Keep them alive for Ramsey."
"Fuck you," Nocten spat. "Sending me to die... without even looking at me in the eye? You coward!"
Freyd ignored him, approaching the infantry mercenaries. He gestured toward them to take his place. "I expect a solid report from Ramsey once the goods have been delivered," He said. "In exchange for my immunity... and my home to take place in Curse territory."
"Of course, captain," The leading mercenary bowed in respect. "Sorry for the rough play."
"Control yourself. Otherwise, it'll be your head on his platter tonight." Freyd said. He shifted his gaze back toward the Sancta soldiers he betrayed, silently thrilled by his brightened future at the cost of his own dignity. He tried to muster a smile, but could not. Instead of dwelling on it any further, he vanished into the shadows of the dawned skies with Nocten's eyes trailed upon a seething and wrathful vengeance should they meet again.
But the odds were against him. Nocten slouched forward, bound by Curse and their unknowing fate. Wynda heard the mercenaries sound the march ahead from Garuz's perspective, striking his flank to make him rise. From across her view, Domovoy taunted the mercenaries, by muttering underneath his breath, forcing them to knock the back of his head down to the ground. At last, Wynda and Nocten exchanged glances, with the latter being beyond astonished by her calm demeanor. It was a future of infinite imprisonment, but nothing seemed to shatter the hopelessness of Wynda's destiny.
She accepted her demise with profound doom, closing her eyes as her shoulders slumped forward. The dirt stained her golden locks as her cheeks pressed against the sandy dirt, eyes drifting to the side like a freshly gathered corpse. Her ears suddenly shrilled and blotted all noise around her, muffling as she began to fall to a deep sleep at her acceptance.
"Sir," A mercenary beside Wynda called, approaching the leading soldier with his spear anchored to his side. "Second patrol hasn't reported back yet. It's been five minutes past deadline."
The leading mercenary sighed. "I told those fucking cretins for the third time to ignore the south," He angrily stated. "They never listen."
"About that, sir..." The worried mercenary's voice faltered into a hurried fear. "Fourth patrol attempted to locate them, but they were unsuccessful. Should we send in Third?"
"No, we move out under Ramsey and Freyd's orders. Let the Rot devour them. Those foolish enlisters deserve whatever gets to them out there. And where the hell is-"
"SIR!" A frightened outcry beyond their wildest imagination spoke out, forcing them to turn entirely toward the direction of the mercenary who spoke. Upon glance, the crying mercenary's eyes pinpointed towards their flank, witnessing a freed parasitic mottled Rot devouring the face of a helmetless mercenary laid flat on the ground. Their faces shattered in cold horror, losing all control of their smug personality that they had inflicted on the Sancta prisoners mere minutes ago.
They watched in agony as the mercenary's eyes and nose were blotted by waves of unending blood, surging down their ears as they cried out in mercy. The tops of his upper lips and teeth were torn out as flesh became sustenance for the hungered Rot. As he choked on his own blood, observant mercenaries caught immediately that the chain used to tether the Rot in control had been severed, with metal links serving as evidence of its escape.
Before the leading mercenary could react in time, another panicked screech behind a low mountainous path stopped them from doing so. Blood curdling sounds of the lives of men being devoured sent shivers down the spines of all those across the ravine. It wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this, they all thought.
"Everyone get to the-"
But the leading mercenary's voice suddenly halted. Nocten watched as the fleshy nape of his neck, the weakest part of his armor, imbued itself in scarlet blood, rapidly expanding as seconds passed. His heart raced, perceiving it as if death had come to fruition in front of his very eyes. His eyes widened in astonishment as the leading mercenary crumpled to the ground with a pool of blood leaking and lingering beside him. He held his breath as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, void of all life.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" A mercenary cried, beckoning for the mercenaries to follow with his rallied gestures. "CURSE, GET TO THE COAST! TO THE COAST!"
As Nocten turned to face the rallying mercenaries and their escape, an electrifying explosion terrorized the ravine, narrowly missing him by an inch. A torrent of sand whisked his vision as his ears rang in response to thunderous claps of explosives detonating across the perimeter. He watched as two fleeing mercenaries combust into pieces, left for food for the Rot that they imprisoned.
While the sands continued to spiral all around him, he began to take notice of the faintest glimpse of people around his vicinity die in mere seconds. He watched in stillness as Domovoy had miraculously escaped his capture, fending off the surrounding Curse mercenaries with his life with his blade. Yet in mere seconds, the mercenaries overwhelmed him with their sharp spears, skewering him into a symphony of a thousand stabs to bring him down.
He turned to the side, unveiling in a brief moment Garuz being devoured by the Rot alongside his attackers; the original mercenaries who had caught him in the act as a spy. He watched as their flesh peeled from their very bones, sucked up from the parasitic mouths like an elephant's trunk. Their faces were barely recognizable, and now, the weight of the world was winding down upon his shoulders as he waited for his inevitable death.
However, a jolt from behind his clutch freed his binds as the sandstorm left his perimeter. Rallying cries of mercenaries caught Nocten's attention to the north. Those still left standing to escape had all met death in an untimely fate, crowded against each other as a rain of nothingness descended from the skies to eliminate them. The gurgling sounds of their deaths forced Nocten to panic, rushing toward cover to dodge the incoming fire.
Yet his eyes lingered the moment he laid eyes on Wynda, who refused to move despite her freed position. His heart dragged his body out from the cover of an overpass of rocks, lunging toward the back of shoulders with his hands gripped firmly on them.
"Get up, Wynda!" He cried, eyes fixated on the skies as the mercenaries around him dropped like flies. "Get up, damn it!"
"No," Wynda whispered. "This isn't happening..."
"Damn it, come on!" Nocten's voice denied her claim, lifting her with all his might.
"DIE!" A bloodcurdling howl of a mercenary's final decree split the deafening battlefield with death. A mercenary with a deathly wound inflicted upon their flank charged toward Nocten with a flurry of mindless slashes with their blade, hoping to take him down before his own untimely death. Nocten bellowed in uncertainty as the mercenary's right hand went limp, dropping their blade on the dirt as they toppled on top of him. After a significant loss of blood, the mercenary's eyes rolled to the back of their head.
Nocten shouted in horror as he slugged the mercenary off to his side. His lower torso was soaked in overflowing pungent blood, trudging and sludging each time he made a movement. He blinked rapidly as he lost control of his breath, left aghast at the sight of how much there was on him.
Wynda watched him lose control of himself. Her hands shivered in cold silence, quivering at the sight of the deceased. The heir to a marveled warrior who was hailed for her bravery, strength, and service, was reduced to nothing but a shell of her sister's former self. It wasn't right. There was nothing to fight for anymore, other than her legacy.
"Get behind the mountains!" A leading mercenary cried in command of the other survivors. Piles of corpses laid in their wake behind them, attempting to escape to safety. But they were all met with their demise one by one from the whizzing sounds cascading from the air, striking their vitals with pinpoint accuracy.
Nocten leaned to his side and seized Wynda's shoulder, leaving his bloody handprint on her. "If you die here, everything you once lived for will all be for nothing!" He cried, attempting to pull her back. He stood up. "We have to go-"
Before he could finish his sentence, another desperate and fleeing mercenary slammed into Nocten and dragged him to the ground. The wounded mercenary had a sharp blade lodged in the side of his neck, clawed Nocten's throat with his battle-hardened hands. Nocten struck down upon the mercenary's shielded forearms, diverging towards gouging and scratching their eyes out in the process. He had only seconds before he would be overpowered to death.
A shadow then cut across them, severing the grasp on Nocten's throat.
It was Wynda, who dropped to one knee beside the mercenary's flank. She seized the blade lodged in the mercenary's neck and pulled it upward, executing him in a single motion before yanking it out of his neck. He fell backward as Nocten sucked in ragged breaths to rush back to focus.
Wynda stood over the fallen mercenary with the blade hanging loosely from her hand. Blood dripped down upon it. She didn't move, nor did she question what had happened. No thought in her head pressured her as to why she had stepped in. It was not instinct, nor habit. All she knew was that it had happened, and her empty mind questioned nothing further.
"I don't..." She muttered, more to herself than to him. She dropped the bloodied blade and glanced down at the mercenary's corpse. "I don't..."
Nocten pushed himself upright, eyes wide with shock, yet filled with gratitude. He let out a final cough. "You... you did good," He said, extending his hand upward. "Get me up."
Wynda pulled him up, eyes drawn to the soaked blood on his tunic. He collapsed forward and clutched Wynda's shoulders, dragging her toward him. "What's the matter with you?" Nocten hissed in a low whisper, changing attitudes immediately. "Pull yourself together before we all die!"
She could only respond with heavy and uneven breaths, looking past his direction toward the chaos that unveiled. Yet in that moment, it had suddenly became too silent for the predicament they were in. The agonizing cries of the fleeing soldiers, along with the Rot's presence had withdrawn entirely. Only the wind remained, sweeping dust across the rows of fallen bodies as an eerie silence settled over the field.
"Is it... over?" Nocten whispered.
Wynda remained quiet. The two clutched each other tightly, their breaths synced in tandem as the only sign of life on the battlefield. A whirlwind of dust and fog came their way, obscuring their eyes for a brief moment. Nocten shielded her with his arm and kept her low to avoid detection.
When the dust had finally settled, a singular figure approached the center of the battlefield. Their boots crushed the grit underneath, marking a threat for the two hidden underneath the rocks. Nocten snatched the blade Wynda used to save him clutched it firmly in front of him, ready to fight back.