"General. Such a surprise." The voice is scratchy and dry, as if he'd been dehydrated for days. A thick accent, lilting and hard to understand. He glances at the wounded man with a dagger in his stomach, still alive and breathing. Another helps him nurse it, already tending to him like we weren't in the middle of a fight. The men wore masks made of silver and white, stretching from their hairline to the top of their lips. Mr. Smoke A Pack A Day drags his eyes over me. A sinuating gaze enters his eyes and he scans my wounds and the bare leg that is revealed from the torn skirt. I hadn't realized I'd torn it until his gaze burns my skin more than the wound itself.
"You're attacking a member of the Royal Guard and are trespassing on leased property that does not belong to you. Give up your weapons and surrender." Oh, poor boy.
"As you can see General, there are five people here. There's only two of you, well, one I should say. Since missy over here looks like she'd be...down for a while." He smirks and I think I throw up in my mouth a bit. "You aren't leaving here alive."
"Who do you work for." A command, not a question. His naivety is killing me.
They laugh, teetering on the edge of insanity from the way they wipe their tears. "Like we'd ever tell you. Really, General, that's the first question you ask? Why does it sound so personal coming from you?"
"I'd like to think you know why."
The man does not respond. Answer enough.
"Grab the girl." He says. Two of them dart for me and I gear myself for a fight. A flash of red invades my vision. The General stands there with his sword drawn, towering body and broad shoulders my shield.
"Lay a hand on her and I'll skin you before your trial even begins."
"Who is she to you, General?"
"None of your business. I'll repeat; stand down."
With a glance, the bowmen draw their arrows, ready to fire at my shield. Only two bowmen. I slowly draw a dagger from the sheathe at the back of the General's thigh, disguising it with the layers of my skirt. Thank God for the awful thing. He flinches, but he stays steady, as if reading my plan. I ready the dagger.
"I'm sorry General. This may not be my own task but...it may serve a purpose." A flick of his finger.
I throw the dagger sideways, directly below the man's teres major muscle. The arrow flies and we both roll sideways. One of the arrow pierces the second man in his throat. He sputters, blood pouring like honey from his mouth; crimson bubbles burst around the arrow before he plummets to the afterlife. They attack instantaneously.
When I'm back on my feet, I dart towards the bowman who already is in the middle of notching his second arrow. I grab the wood, wringing it out of his hand and knocking it against his nose before grabbing his quiver. He rebounds almost instantly, punching me in my stomach. I double over, the breath instantly knocked out of me. He grabs my hair and tries to throw me but I grasp both of his hands and swing down, my right foot connecting with his kneecap. He tumbles over my body, landing with a grunt. My unharmed foot comes down on his temple and renders him unconcious. The second bowman is already down, Big Red stands next to him with his broken bow in his hands. The second bowman is knocked out, hand bent all the wrong ways...but breathing...hopefully.
The others attack. I notch an arrow and pull, it lodges into a man's knee. I draw another before Scar face can draw his blade. The arrow pierces his shoulder. I glance to the General and he catches my eye. He doesn't need to respond. Three paces in, he grabs the man by his throat and knocks him unconscious.
I notch a third, pointing it at the man who first addressed us. The wind picks up and I smile, Mr. Smoker does the same, almost mockingly. "The princess can fight."
"Who do you work for?" The General asks, and I yearn to tell him he'll never find out. The world swims in my vision, the wind grows stronger. "What did you mean when you said this wasn't your task? That means have knowledge of the menial tasks given to others. Pertaining to me."
"General." I grumble. He stands guard. The ground seems to shake under my feet. My ribs and leg burn with warning; warning of danger and something foul and bitter. Something acrid yet sweet.
"Let me ask you a question, General." The man paces in front of us, glancing to the blood on the floor; blood from his partner. Where the man was dragged off to during our fight I had no knowledge of. "There's a saying that the villain is only the villain because he is misunderstood. The hero gains the title of honour because he exposes the wrongdoings of society but have you ever stopped to wonder..." He glances at me then, a subtle, knowing look that I do not miss. It's like a trigger for a bomb that's hidden beneath my skin. "If the villain was right?"
"Are you justifying your actions of assaulting the Royal Guard?"
"And say you weren't a royal guard, and there was no law. Would you stop to consider who would be considered the hero in our story?"
"General." I mutter. No; whisper. My tongue feels numb in my mouth, head growing dizzy. My hand slips, and the arrow plunks in the dirt mere feet from me. He acknowledges my plea, I fall into his arms, world spinning out of axis.
"What the hell did you do to her." His voice rumbles through my numbed mind, the only tether to the world that crumbles underneath me.
The man's voice blurs, and the last words I hear fade from reality.
"Here's a clue. There is none."
°•°•°
I wake with a pounding in the left side of my brain, like bees swarming to feed on the honey leaking out of my ears. It wasn't honey. I touch the side of my face, and when I withdraw my fingers are numb. I see red before I can feel the warmth of it. My vision blurs but I'm not bound by rope or any of the sort. They'd probably believed I'd be down for much longer.
A body sways through the blurriness, tied by his hands to a thick wooden pier and left to swing like an abandoned decoration. I realise soon it is the General, and he is unmasked and half naked. His shirt has been stripped from him, so is his armour and chainmail. His trousers protect him from pure indecent exposure. Bile rises in my throat when I see the angry red sores on his body, however thankfully, they're not new. The only new wound is a thin slice that stems from his right chest to his left hip, purple, red and blue mix together to form an ugly canvas on his beautiful body. Blood pours from the wound and drenches the top of his pants, droplets pooling beneath him.
I try to speak, I try to crawl. My body is immobile. Helplessness latches on to me like a virus, sucking the remaining life from me. I groan out of frustration when my fingers twitch and remain unrespondant.
The door behind me flies open, shedding pure orange light on the General's hanging body. Sunset. We may have not been out for long.
"You're awake. I thought it'd keep you knocked out for a little longer." The voice returns, looming danger behind his tone. I decide that he is the leader of this group, which group exactly I didn't know. Whoever they were surely knew who I was. There was recognition in their eyes, a goal only to eliminate the General. "Your royal boyfriend is alive but he'll be dead soon. We wanted to have...a little fun with him first." He steps into view, eyeing the bruises along the General's face and neck, the red welts on his exposed ribs.
I try to speak and fail miserably. He chuckles at the feeble motion. "You're laced with a paralytic, not too strong for your system considering you're already awake. It's the reason you're not feeling anguished with those wounds."
I glance down at my thigh and my rib cage. They're bandaged, but still bleeding and I halfheartedly thank the bastards for it. The man closes the door, then saunters over to me. Kneeling, I can see his face up close and unveiled. Handsome; deceivingly so. There is a scar along his lower lip and his eyes gleam something familiar.
"No, you do not know me. But I do know you." He brushes a hand against the shell of my ear and I recoil mentally, still frozen in paralysis. "This wasn't supposed to happen; you being here with him. He was supposed to be dead, wasn't he?"
My eyes open in shock, at least, I think they do. He understands this rebalance with ease regardless. "My name is Ansel, I work for the Reaper as well. There are a select few who knows about your failed mission but fear not, for reconnaissance purposes only."
My mind lurches and spins with this newfound information, questions I have no idea how to ask presses like an anchor on my chest, on my tongue. He works for the Reaper. He knows me. He knows my mission. Doesn't that mean...
He sighs, drawing me out of the free fall. "Things are...changing, dear. Haphazardly. Instantaneously. Our world is becoming more dangerous, especially for those who cannot do what it takes. Who cannot please him."
One word slips through my lips, a mere whisper on the tip of the iceberg that is my thoughts, "Why?"
His eyebrows raise, eyes sullen. "I ask the same question everyday. I do this for my family. And I know that without your God-mother, we wouldn't be in this mess right now." He knew Kat. He knew me. He is me. For the sake of family. "There are things I wish I can change," he stands straight, hands fisted in his pockets. His posture goes rigid as his aura changes with deadly intent. "But as I said; there are no heroes in our stories."
His voice darkens as he asks, "Do you know the second motto of The Creepers?"
My mind goes blank, and if I wasn't dosed with a paralytic, I'd freeze on the spot. Those who are not competent in this life may find peace in the afterlife.
No.
He's going to...
No. He gave me time. I was given extra time. Shouldn't he know that if he was given knowledge of my task?
"You failed your mission for a reason. I don't think you'd want to see this." He takes a step towards the General's unconcious body, a knife slipping between his fingers as he twirls it mirthfully. Tauntingly. He is going to kill the General.
I realise then and there, in the moment of helplessness, that I am better than Ansel thinks. I do not fall into the category of the second rule. I'll show them that they're wrong, whoever these select few are. This is my mission, and I'd complete it regardless.
Fortunately, a guard calls Ansel from outside of the warehouse. He scoffs, looking at me and my impotent state. "Don't move." He chaffs. I couldn't help but crack a looney smile. I don't think I overlooked his grimace, maybe even a slight change of heart, before he responds to the call and leaves.
I'm stuck with the problem of my body being nonresponsive to any voluntary movement. Tingles flow through my body, mainly my arms and my spine. I need to wake the General before Ansel returns or else we're really screwed. Rider and the others must've returned to the horses by now, and within an hour they may come looking.
We may not be here in an hour.
I focus on my muscles, the blood flowing through my system. I needed heat, something warm compressed against my body. I rub my fingers with any strength I can muster against my thigh.
The General still hangs there, not knowing his life hangs with me instead. "General." I try calling. My voice slowly returns to me, burning as it leaves my lips. "Oye, you moron." I call a little louder. His eyes shutter, yet still he remains in dreamland.
I think of the next best thing. I need my blood flow to increase, I need warmth. What better way to work up a sweat than pain. I drag my hand over my thigh, to the place where the arrow snagged my skin. I press the blanket of red and white over my leg and I almost bite through my tongue trying to suppress a scream. The pain is there, and that means the paralytic is fading with every passing minute. I press again, harder. Warmth begins to build in my right leg, until I can wiggle it over to the left, trying to rub my feet together for warmth. My body begins to recognize the pain, blood rushing to the surface of my skin.
When I hear voices from outside, I try the improbable. I hold on to the wood near my head, trying to drag my body upright. The throb against my rib cage tells me I'm doing something right. When I can stand, albeit on very shaky knees, I use a wooden plank as a walking stick, wobbling over to the General. His body gleams with sweat, chest rising and falling like a boat in water. His pulse throbs against the thick skin of his neck.
I place a knuckle against his sternum, rubbing as hard as I can while I pinch the skin at the side of the wound. He fidgets uncomfortably, eyes fluttering as if in a bad dream. When the voices get louder and my impatience grows, I do the next best thing.
He instantly wakes with a hard slap against his bruised cheek, hissing at me like a wounded animal. He groans, eyes opening to half their size, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Saving your ass. A thank you would suffice." I creep to the lever holding the chains in place, and pray it doesn't echo throughout the entire warehouse.
Sadly, it does. The General plunks to the floor, chains coming loose around his wrist and clattering against the floor. It goes on for a long minute and I cringe with every second. When I think that the worst of it is over, the chain pulls on a tethered string attached to an object in the far end of the room. My vision blurs when I try to discern the device but when a loud bell tolls six rings, I almost scream to add to the noise.
"How fast can you run." I mutter, eyeing him as wildly as he scans the room.
"I can't feel my fucking legs, you want me to run?"
My brain stutters in the moment. Between the shouts from outside, the door clanging against the walls and the blood rushing through my head, I say teasingly, "So the General has some venom after all."
He glares at me incredulously, and I don't blame him. He wobbles on bent knees, fisting his hands to prepare for cruel precognition. My eyes catch on every object in the vicinity; the stack of iron at the corner of the room. The chains that slither around the general like a faulty protection. The metal crates placed haphazardly throughout the room. We can hide. We can bide our time until someone...anyone comes for their General. His death is their hands after all. I limp over with newfound adrenaline, my hands going around his large waist, his bulky arms straddling my shoulders. Being a whopping foot and a half taller and probably heavier than the iron bars in the corner, I begin to lose hope. He can't move. The door swings open.
"At least give me an explanation as to why you're working for the enemy." Ansel bellows, a hoard of archers standing behind him like a tiny army, all ready to fire. "You could've killed him by now. Surely you have a reason as to why you defend him."
"Direct violence and diving head first into the shallow end are not the only ways to strategise, Ansel." Names are sacred for the Creepers. Names give power, they give more value to one than one is worth. And he just handed me the scissors to cut the thread that holds the sword over his head. I realised it when he told me; he thought he could trust one of his own.
He lost that privilege the minute he shot me.
His smirk drops, and he raises a hand; slowly. Mockingly. Playing with a pig before slaughter. "I do not know what your plan is, but I can't wait to see how this game plays out. Welcome to the big leagues, Sk-" Before I can inhale and exhale, praying to whoever sent me here in the first place that my name is ripped from the mans throat. Before I can send a silent goodbye to Kat, the door behind me slams open. Shouts echo and reverberate on the metal canvases, a cacophony of pure anger and authority, and a budding migraine for myself. I turn to see Rider and Kay striding in with arrows notched in their hands and swords strapped across their backs. In the split second before they fly and blood is shed, I look down to see deep trenches of confusion and misplaced emotion. I hadn't realised I'd stepped in front of him. My body is aligned directly with the archers, shielding the General from their lethal tips. I blink away my own confusion in time for a scream, a cry, the sound of metal piercing flesh and Rider's command for me to escape with the General.
He assists me with the weight, one arm around me and the other covering the oozing wound on his torso. Turlock runs over with a sword, dancing around arrows and parrying them with a slight sweep of arm, dodging others with graceful steps as if doing a simpler task like waltzing with an imaginary partner. If not for the situation we are in, I could stare at him swing and fight and parry all day.
An arrow whooshes by me, catching on the sleeves of my dress and ripping the skin there. Pure heat races through my arm, the stinging like a thousand fire ants clogging a hole I cannot patch in time. We pass Rider, who glances at the General and commands a quick retreat, his arrow still notched. He glances at me next, a conflicting battle within his eyes, mouth twitching at the sight of me like an instant response.
We near the horses they've brought from the entrance and Burkley, whose voice is yet to be heard, helps the General mount the stallion. He offers me a hand, although I strictly believe it was out of good graces and not because I was an injured young lady. I take the rope myself, hoisting my aching bleeding body atop the horse, behind the General. Even though it burns, my arms and legs and brain all numbed but alarmingly on fire at the same time, I tap the horse hard enough at his side and turn toward the entrance of which we came.