Smoke and dust churned above Elloria as the city came under assault.
Chaos erupted everywhere—screams cut through the ringing of metal, the roar of bandits pushing through the gates shaking loose roof tiles. Citizens fled, overturning crates and barrels in their panic, their footsteps echoing against the wet cobblestones. The Elloria knights formed lines, shields scraping against each other, as they parried relentless swings. Sparks flew where swords met stone or steel, and the air carried the acrid stench of smoke, blood, sweat, and scorched wood. A discarded torch smoldered in a puddle, hissing as it touched the wet stone.
Arven pushed through the chaos with Skele at his side, eyes flicking from shadowed alleyways to rooftops littered with loose tiles.
He traced the ᛉ – Algiz rune in the air with precise, practiced motions. Faint blue sigils ignited along the streets, vibrating softly, giving fleeing civilians a moment's protection against the pressing tide of bandits.
A stray arrow glanced off a ward, fizzing like a firefly trapped in glass—enough to warn him the defense wouldn't hold forever.
"Spread!" Arven shouted. Skele's chest rose and fell as he exhaled a thick, ghostly mist. It rolled over the cobblestones, curling into cracks and gaps, swallowing bandits' feet in a chilling fog. Tiny droplets clung to their boots, steam rising where the mist touched heated metal.
Arven then Rune-weaved a combination of two runes into the mist, feeling the faint pull of magic against his fingertips. The runes glimmered briefly before embedding themselves into the swirling fog, sending subtle pulses that made the bandits' limbs tighten as though invisible chains gripped them.
ᛟ ᛇ (Othala • Eihwaz) - Ancestral Bind
The moment the mist thickened, the bandits felt a crushing weight drive them toward the ground, as if invisible chains had coiled around their limbs. Each step grew heavier, the air itself clinging like a swamp. They stumbled on the slick cobblestones, boots sliding, swords flailing into the air. The slowed advance gave civilians a precious window to escape.
Crates, carts, and toppled barrels turned into makeshift barricades. A baker lashed out with a rolling pin, catching a bandit in the ribs and sending him stumbling. Nearby, a blacksmith's apprentice raised a spare shield to block a blade, then shoved a crate hard into his attacker. Metal rang, wood splintered, and the air filled with the sharp scent of smoke, sweat, and something singed.
Happy darted into the gap, undaunted by his small frame. Each kick landed with surprising force, toppling bandits twice his weight.
When one charged at him, he swept low, then spun in midair and drove his heel into the man's chest. The bandit staggered back, crashing into a stack of crates as dust billowed around him. Using a nearby overturned cart for momentum, Happy vaulted again, knocking two more bandits aside in a blur of motion.
For someone his age, he fought like a veteran. Arven couldn't help feeling proud.
Meanwhile, Joy was giving support, acting as the team's radar and calling out threats. She crouched behind a toppled cart, eyes scanning the battlefield. "Left alley! Three incoming!" she shouted, pointing. Arven adjusted the wards, signaling Skele to intercept. The skeletal hound's claws scraped against the cobblestones as he lunged, teeth snapping at anyone who stumbled into the mist. Joy ducked lower, guiding civilians to safer pockets while calling out enemy positions, her sharp eyes catching raiders attempting to flank from side streets and rooftops.
Lila slipped through the chaos like a shadow, blades flashing. She cut off a bandit lunging for Arven, twisting midair to land a sharp strike. Dropping low, she swept her leg, sending him crashing into another. Her movements flowed in a rhythm of attack and evasion, weaving between carts, shadows, and rooftops. Each time she struck, she melted back into stealth, readying herself for the next attack.
Their teamwork was seamless—strengths amplified, weaknesses covered.
* * *
From somewhere in the darkness, unseen eyes tracked the fight.
Pim — the Bandit Marksman — crouched low on a rooftop, bowstring drawn. His breath was steady, exhaling slowly before release, the arrow's point locked on a gap in the chaos. Earlier, his first shot had nearly taken Arven — and now he was lining up another.
Pim was a predator who preferred the hunt from afar, letting others clash in the open while he struck from cover. The mist and confusion only made his work easier, allowing him to shift positions unseen, always hunting for the perfect angle to end a fight before it began. He welcomed the mist Arven and Skele had brought, like a gift wrapped just for him.
But little did he know, Arven's side had someone who could sense hidden presences.
A sudden rush of wind swept through the battlefield, rattling loose canvas and scattering white and gray feathers into the mist. The shadow spiraled in the air as a dark figure burst forward, crossing the distance to Pim in a heartbeat. He twisted midair, driving a kick square into the marksman's side. The impact cracked through the din of battle, and Pim's bow went slack as he was hurled off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the breath torn from his lungs before he could even think to react.
Where Pim had stood, Happy landed lightly—wings folding against his back, taloned feet scraping the rooftop tiles.
Up close, his form was lean and sharp, feathers dusting his arms and shoulders in shades of smoke and frost. Hooked claws curled where human toes should be, and his bright, unblinking eyes tracked the fight with a predator's precision.
Gasps rippled through the battlefield; even the bandits faltered at the sight.
But Arven's gaze stayed steady, a glint of knowing in his eyes as the corner of his mouth curled.
'Finally decided to step up? Younglings.'
The corner of his mouth curled, and his eyes shone with anticipation—the last piece they needed to overcome this scenario.
* * *
A shadow darted through the mist, feathers flashing with every sharp turn, whipping the air into gusts that rattled loose canvas and dust alike. Happy's wings beat with deadly precision, talons scraping cobblestones and rooftops, stirring up faint whorls of mist. Behind him, Joy moved with the same lethal grace, feathers catching the glow of Arven's wards and sending sparks of reflected light dancing across the street. Both were clearly more than human—harpies, born to strike with speed and finesse, weaving through the battlefield like shadows made flesh.
Gasps and startled cries rippled through the crowd. Raiders froze mid-stride, eyes wide at the sudden revelation, while civilians stumbled back, half in awe, half in fear. Only Arven watched with a small, satisfied grin, already anticipating how this advantage would turn the tide.
Happy's feathers were dark as storm clouds, absorbing the dim light of the misty streets and giving him an almost shadowy presence as he moved. Every beat of his wings carried weight and precision, talons glinting like curved knives.
Joy, in contrast, bore white feathers that gleamed like moonlight, reflecting the glow of Arven's wards. Her movements were just as sharp and fluid, but the brightness of her plumage made her presence dazzling, almost ethereal, against the chaos around them.
Together, the two harpies formed a striking pair—one shadow, one light—sweeping through the battlefield with unmatched speed and lethal grace.
* * *
Lila leapt with delight, blades momentarily forgotten as she watched the harpy duo in action. Skele wagged its tail enthusiastically, eyes fixed on Happy and Joy as if cheering them on, the skeletal hound's joy mirroring Lila's excitement.
Bandits stumbled through the streets, boots sliding on slick cobblestones, weapons clashing uselessly as panic spread through their ranks. Even the most seasoned of them faltered, colliding with one another as Happy's relentless assault tore through their lines. Every precise kick and strike sent a raider flying into carts, barrels, or walls, leaving chaos in his wake.
From the shadows, Pim tried to regain composure, hurling knives with deadly precision, sparks flying where metal met stone or steel. But even he couldn't stop the tide of disorder as the bandits scrambled to escape or regroup. His usual grin faltered, each failed strike feeding the mounting panic.
Meanwhile, the citizens and knights moved with surprising coordination. Shields were raised confidently, weapons swung decisively. One knight knocked an attacker into a fallen cart, sending tools clattering harmlessly aside. Another blocked two bandits at once, forcing one to stumble into a toppled barrel.
From the forge square, Kellan roared, "Grab whatever you can—swords, shields! Defend yourselves!" Civilians seized weapons from fallen raiders or stockpiles, joining the fray with growing courage. Molten hammers, blazing torches, and swinging crates pushed back the bandits, sparks and smoke lighting the battlefield like fireflies in the mist.
Joy's sharp eyes scanned constantly, calling out weak points and flanks. "Center square—two heading behind the bakery!" she shouted, letting Arven and Skele intercept the bandits before they could regroup.
Happy's dark feathers ruffled in the wind as he moved, talons scraping rooftops and cobblestones alike. Joy followed, white feathers gleaming under the wards' glow, both harpies weaving through the battle with unmatched speed and precision. The raiders' panic deepened as their organized attack dissolved into chaos, while the citizens pressed forward, their confidence fueled by the unexpected allies in the sky.
Arven watched from the center, lips curling.
'Perfect. Keep scrambling, keep colliding. Let them choke on their own chaos.'
His eyes gleamed with anticipation—the last piece falling neatly into place.