AUTHOR'S POV
The two younger knights glanced at each other, reading who's next to take the bait. It's only been a year since they received the accolade for knighthood at a very ripe age. For a short while, they have weathered the storms and have hardened like steel. There are so much more to learn and more battles to fight and yet, here they are… playing with death, and no ways to hide.
In their heads, this shouldn't be difficult. They started to gauge the situation. Counted the visible knives and daggers there were. Measured the safe distance where they can run into and hide. Relaxed their legs despite the snapping pressure and icy stares threatening them. Yes, this should be easy. They convinced themselves, perpetually.
Protesting, Gallanthe greatly opposed the two knights who were about to swallow the bait whole. "You don't have to do this, there's clearly no way out.", he argued, while the blade pointed on his eyes stay close.
"We are not afraid, Sir Gallanthe", one knight asserted his courage. No ounce of fear marked his bruised face.
"We could at least die trying", the other one uttered, with an understanding that the fate of a knight shall always be in constant peril with a mix of uncertainties and surprises.
Gallanthe knew they would say such things. That's how Hesam knights were forged. No outward dangers should stop them, not even their inner demons menacing their minds. They should know no fear, and no limits to stop themselves in moving onwards.
The clock is ticking. The knights were rippled with high hopes to make a step, run for their lives, and if they get lucky… stay alive. Without any hints, they both bolted out with matching agile. Gallanthe clenched his fists as he gaze intently at his comrades. He stood on tenterhooks while the assassins snigger, picking out their blades from the drapes of their loose muted colored clothing.
Entertained, Raman stood up and roughly snatched the knives from one of the assassins' hands. "Give it here!! Hahaha!! Let me do it!! I'll do it!!", he exclaimed foolishly, pushing the assassins out of the line and aimed at their moving targets.
One.
Two.
Three…
The knights weaved the path in zigzag, dodging every dagger thrown at them. Raman continued to throw more knives and daggers, and hit nothing but dusts in the air. Frantically rummaging all the blades from the assassins, he continued to dart a few more... and still, he ended not hitting anyone, not even a graze on the knights' limbs. A waste of hits, the assassins thought.
Surprisingly, the knights were swift on their feet despite the exhaustion and heat spell. Each of them even grabbed some daggers on their way to their exit. Accelerating and slowing down in perfect timing, all projectile throws were missed. Every turn was unpredictable. Their shiftings never made them lose their balance, as they went flying in the air. When the assassins took over, the knights have already escaped.
"Those slippery fucks!! Get them!!", Raman ordered the assasins, pushing them away. Eyes wide, huffing his breaths while he cuss, Raman goggled his eyes from where the knights disappeared. However, not one assassin moved at his command. "Why aren't ya movin, assholes??".
The assassins rooted on their spots and seemed not to care, as if none was heard. Raman kept screaming his orders right into their expressionless faces. Calling them dumb for not doing anything, Raman shoved them off… circling the assasins in hurried pacing. Nonetheless, Talon's men rendered motionless with peering eyes at the exasperated sand soldier until the dead air filled in.
Suddenly, a hard blow bludgeoned Raman's head, splattering his blood all over the assassins' faces. His knees dropped on the ground after one heavy strike. It was followed by another forceful bang, then another. Repeatedly battering him until his eyes pop out and particles of his brain scatter, Raman's body shook violently like a fish out of water.
Raman never had a chance to fight back, nor let out a painful scream after that first strike. The sounds of constant squelching, mushy thuds, and Talon's heavy grunts disturbingly made a haunting rhythym.The assassins watched as if they have seen it before. Completely deadpan at every slam of Talon's mace directly only at Raman's head. One of them took a glance at Gallanthe, who's gaping at Talon's tireless, yet extreme brute blows at the already dead sand soldier.
Gallanthe never took his eyes off the violence he just witnessed. It was hard to pull away from such sight of gore. A thought came numbing Gallanthe's hands. That isn't the works of a man. That is of a devil who'd kill anyone, and knows no one.
Hammering Raman's head into a pulp with his mace over and over up to his heart's content, Talon kept an icy stare… feeling that electrifying, yet overwhelming satisfaction at every swing. "Ahhhhhh", Talon let out a very long sigh as he finally stop, with his bloodstained face looking up the sky. He then get rid of the mace, tossing it away as if he's already tired of it. "No one orders my men, but me", he licked his lips, as he catch his breath between his parted lips. "Get them, make sure they won't get to the palace", his men swiftly set off, running after the knights. Then, Talon turned to Gallanthe who's eyes are still fixedly staring at Raman's remains. "You… aren't you going to run?", he tilted his head at Gallanthe with that dark, uncanny gaze.
An undercurrent waft of anxiety crept up Gallanthe's spine being left alone with Talon. He's next… and there's no other way but to be next in line in the macabre series of deaths in the hands of Vierme's assassin. "I will go, where the princess of Nether goes", he thought that his duty as a knight to protect the royals of Nether would always come first, despite he's at death's door.
Talon scoffed, and furrowed his brows. He had this vexing feeling ticking the veins on his head when he heard those words from Gallanthe. Talon was beat into shape to become what he is now at a time when he had no other choice but swallow his pride. A personal choice that was never his, with a lost hope of not ever getting away from it. Seeing Gallanthe standing before him with those blazing eyes, prepared to fight for his life for the princess merely fueled Talon's ticks.They are all mad dogs of the monarchy, that they are willing to die no matter what circumstance as if their lives are no longer theirs. A knight without his sword, not even an armor, showing no fear of death. How stupidly insane that Gallanthe mirrors him in so many similar, yet different ways, Talon thought. "Let's see how much you get to protect that princess of yours ".