The two pushed through the crowded streets, weaving between startled civilians as the bells tolled across the city. The plaza ahead blazed with banners, the grand platform raised high in the center, ringed by guards and priests.
They tumbled into the edges of the gathering just as Elion had stepped forward, robed in crimson, his voice carrying with an almost unnatural clarity. "My friends," Elion began his speech, his tone calm, almost soothing.
"My brothers, my sisters of Emberlight. Children of fire and endurance." His hand swept slowly over the crowd. "You have borne much. For years, we have shared streets and walls with those who call themselves Concordists, those who preach unity but sow only division. You have bent under their weight, yet... still, you endure."
The crowd stirred, voices of agreement rising here and there Elion let the noise linger before continuing, his voice deepening, drawing them closer. "They called us zealots. They mocked our faith in the flame."
"But tell me, who lit the furnaces that rebuilt this city when these lands were nothing but ruins? Who worked tirelessly, until their backs broke and their blood stained the stone so that those of Emberlight could rise again? It was you. The citizens, not the Concordists. Never them."
The first cheers rippled through the square, cautious, but growing. Elion's smile widened. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to force the crowd to quiet and strain to hear him.
"And yet... we have tolerated them. We let them dine with us, trade with us, whisper lies in our halls, as if they were equals. We thought patience was strength. But patience, my friends..." his tone sharpened suddenly, "is no longer strength, but silent surrender."
The murmurs rose again, louder this time, sharper. Kael felt his stomach twist, the man's words cutting through the crowd like a blade honed to perfection. "Tomorrow," Elion thundered, lifting both hands skyward.
"We will surrender no more. Tomorrow, the Ember Pact shall stand alone. The Concordists will have no place in this city, no shadow in which to hide. Their false unity will be burned away, and only the true flame shall remain!"
The square erupted in chants, the ground vibrating under stomping feet. Elion didn't stop there. His voice only grew.
"And after tomorrow... After the city is cleansed of its weakness, we will not stop. No. We will take our flame to the very heart of the capital. To those who have forgotten what it means to fight, to bleed, to suffer for strength..."
"We will raise a new fire, and it will be seen across the land. A fire that none shall put out!" The crowd roared. Torches waved like stars in the darkness. Kael's hand tightened into a fist.
Elion stood at the peak of his fury, voice rising above the thunder of the crowd. Then suddenly, he lowered it, his tone almost intimate, drawing them in with conspirational gravity.
"Some of you," Elion said slowly, deliberately, "Still doubt. Some of you still cling to false hope, to false peace. Some of you... stand among us but do not belong."
The crowd quieted, unease rippling through the sea of faces. Elion raised a hand. The first piano note rang across the square, fragile but resonant, echoing as if the whole city were its instrument.
"Do you hear it?" Elion whispered, his voice carrying unnaturally clear. "That melody will sweep through every street, every chamber, every hidden corner of this city. It will close the eyes of all who dwell here."
The notes deepened, layered, weaving into the ears of those gathered. Already, people began to sway, blinking slowly. "And when you wake," Elion declared, his voice suddenly thunderous, "The flame will have judged you."
"Those who are true, who burn with Emberlight's fire, will rise stronger than ever! But those who belong to the Concordists, those who choose to only watch while others act... you will not wake. You will end up as fuel, as sacrifices to the flame!"
The square fractured in an instant. Some cried out in terror, realizing they had been condemned. Panic tore through those who had hidden their Concordist leanings, bodies pushing and shoving as they tried to escape the music that had already begun to drag them down.
But opposite them, The Ember Pact faithful erupted in an even greater ecstasy, arms raised, some collapsing to their knees as if in prayer, their chants of the pact mingling with the piano's relentless lullaby.
Kael staggered, his breath sharp. "Pheo... it's pulling me under," he muttered, his eyelids fluttering. His hand reached for his knife, then faltered. "I can't... I can't fight it–"
Then he collapsed, caught in the tide of falling bodies around him. "Kael!" Pheo dropped beside him, clutching his arm, but something strange coursed through him. The melody pressed at his skull, thick and heavy, but it did not drown him.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest, and though his limbs trembled, his eyes remained open. He looked around at the chaos, the screams of those marked as sacrifices, the fervent shouts of those embracing their faith, and at the center of it all, Elion. Standing untouched, triumphant.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While chaos consumed the square, the clash of steel and flame echoed in another quarter of the city. Don and Wing started through the narrow streets, following the faint roars of combat. As they turned the corner into a ruined plaza, the scene before them stopped them cold.
Adam was locked in a furious struggle against Sylira, his fists like paws as he fought off her savage strikes, each one carrying the predatory swiftness of a beast. While she pressed on, a shadowed figure of the Assassin loomed behind her, blades glinting in his hands like fangs ready to strike.
Adam's breath came ragged, his movements sharp but slowing. Blood smeared his shoulder from a near miss. Sylira lunged low, forcing him off balance, and in that split-second opening, the Assassin slipped forward with lethal precision, his dagger aimed straight for Adam's throat.
And then– steel met steel.
A pair of blades intercepted the strike with a crack of sparks. Don's sword pressed the Assassin back, the veteran's eyes hard with recognition and rage. Beside him, Wing's spear darted like lightning, forcing Sylira to stumble back a step.
"Not on my watch," Don growled, shoving the Assassin off Adam. Wing planted himself at Adam's side, stance steady. "You'll have to go through us first."
The Assassin's eyes narrowed at the sight of the two. The brief advantage he held had been torn from him, and the battlefield shifted once more. Sylira hesitated, torn between the Assassin's order and the sudden arrival of the people she once called allies.
Adam straightened, blood dripping down his arm, but his grin returned. "Took you long enough." The Assassin steadied himself, his blades low at his sides. "Well, well," he said, his tone dripping with venom.
"How long has it been since that day?" He asked the two, "I've been waiting for this moment, waiting to carve scars of the two who escaped from me that day." With a sudden motion, he pulled back his sleeve.
The firelight revealed his arm, riddled with old wounds. Deep burns that had blistered and warped the skin, with long, jagged scars that crisscrossed his flesh. He touched his jawline, where twisted lines of scar tissue clawed up to his cheek.
"These burns came from your dead comrade," the Assassin hissed. "The scars, from the shrapnel he buried deep in me. I tore each and every piece out using the same blade I used to slice the head of the previous Don."
Don's grip on his blade tightened. For the first time, his composure faltered, a grim shadow settling over his features. "I always knew you were alive," he said slowly, a storm in his eyes. "I searched for you. I knew there was something wrong with the accounts I'd heard of that day."
Wing looked towards Don, "Is it really him from that day?" Don turned, his eyes with fury. "Do you still delude yourself when he's right in front of you, Wing? I was supposed to tell you Wing, those tunnels, they were all to catch him."
"All this time? There's no way..." Wing tried to reach a realization. "But even so, how does this explain why you've enslaved children? Why did you end up working with other criminals?"
"If only you had listened to what I was going to say back at the interrogation room, this would've ended differently. Those tunnels were supposed to be used as a way to enter the city while hiding from the Pact's eyes."
Wing's chest tightened, for years he had called Don mad, that he was fixing his old partners mistakes. It turns out that he was just sticking to what he knew was right, and his partner, the one who was supposed to help him through it all, ended up being the one who constantly dragged him down.
The Assassin laughed, the sound jagged and cruel. "Oh Wing. So quick to doubt. So quick to bury me in the ground just so you could sleep at night." He dragged his fingers along his burned skin. "Your guilt is delicious. It tastes even better than Don's obsession."
Wing's grip tightened, his knuckles white. The weight of years pressed down on him, a pit of guilt opening in his chest. "I told him he was mad..." he whispered, almost to himself. "I left him alone with this, made him carry it all while I denied it."
The Assassin leaned forward, his voice a hiss. "You didn't just deny him, Wing. You betrayed him, that partner you've fought with for so long. You made Don fight two battles. One against me, and one against you."
He chuckled, it sounded guttural. He dragged his clawed hand across the burns on his neck. "Stone by stone, was it? How poetic. All that work, all that digging all for me. And here I thought Elion was the only one obsessed enough to keep me leashed."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to something venomous. "You should have let Wheel's death mean something. Instead, you both ended up going around in circles, back to me."
Wing's eyes burned with grief, his voice straining. "Wheel did mean something! His sacrifice's worth couldn't possibly be understood by someone like you–"
"His sacrifice was meaningless," the Assassin spat, stepping closer. His scars twisted with his grin. "You've been clinging to a lie, Wing. He didn't save you. He delayed me. And now–" He gestured at Don with a mocking bow. "You've gone and done it again, ruining Don's years of work, his efforts to avenge his friend."
Don roared, blade sparking as it clashed against the Assassin's weapon, fury erupting like the very blasts that scarred the man. The square shook with their battle, Adam cutting in, striking a fierce blow whenever the Assassin had time to rest.
"You failed once, old man. You'll fail again." His eyes slid toward Wing, almost lazily. "And you... still dragging your chains of guilt? How many times did you tell him he was mad? That his vengeance was hollow?"
Wing's jaw tightened before raising his hand. The air began to shimmer, his gun materializing from nothing. Without a word, Wing pulled the trigger. The bullet whistled, then bent, curving around Don and Adam and slicing across the Assassin's cheek.
Gunfire erupted, each bullet twisting in impossible arcs, ricocheting against walls, curving through the air like serpents. The Assassin flicked his blade to deflect, but the angles were unpredictable, forcing him to move with frantic precision.
Don continued to press from the front, steel slashing in a storm of sparks. Adam charged from the side, roaring as he raked with his strikes as heavy as a bear's. And above them all was Wing's frontal assault of bullets, stitching the assassin's escape routes.
For a heartbeat, it seemed that it would only be a matter of time before the fight would end. That was, until the notes came. The piano's haunting melody slid into the air, each tone heavy as lead.
Adam's movements became sluggish. Don's sword dipped as his knees buckled, breath coming thick and sluggish. While Wing's eyes began to droop, his vision blurring just like his thoughts.
The assassin straightened, untouched by the melody, his grin splitting wide. "Sleep, little ghosts," he whispered, blade glinting as he advanced. "I'll make sure to finish what I started."