I Destroy the Empire

Chapter 8: Reunion

“WHICH ONE... IS SHADOWS?!”

Some people looked at each other, dead silent. Shadows? Why would the shadows be here?

The hundreds of masked nobles and merchants stared at the eight-foot, armour-clad monster who had just demolished the entrance.

From the second-floor alcove, Kaelen Yunis watched, his face a mask of calm calculation. "He's panicked," he whispered to Lyra. "Aelia is trapped. The political nightmare is working."

Lyra, however, was trembling, her hand clamped over her locket. “Kaelen... the fear. It's... it's too much.”

"Good," Kaelen said, his voice cold. He looked down at the chaos, at Aelia Solara trying to bring order to her garrison, her face a mask of pure, apocalyptic horror.

This was the moment. This was the real signal.

"They think Brog is the main event," Kaelen murmured. "They're all looking at the door. Time to feed your tenant real fear."

Somewhere inside Lyra, the wraith smiled at that. If it had a physical form right now, it will be drooling.

Kaelen pulled his hand from his coat. In it, he held one of the smoking, purple vials of Alchemist's Fire.

“Now, Lyra!”

Kaelen didn't just drop the vial. He hurled it with a precise, overhand throw, straight at the bard's stage on the far side of the room.

The vial shattered on the amplified lute.

FWOOOOOOOOSH!

A column of screaming purple fire erupted, engulfing the entire stage. The heat was instantaneous.

The crowd, which had been frozen suddenly panicked. They surged away from the fire... and ran directly into the First Knights.

It was pure chaos.

“FIRE! THE SHADOWS ARE ATTACKING!” a planted guest who was actually a paid-off waiter, shrieked.

“They're on the balcony!” another shouted, pointing at Kaelen and Lyra's alcove. They both had something like earplugs in their ears, but it glowed a shade of blue.

It was the perfect "false flag."

And in that exact moment, as the crowd's terror hit its peak, Lyra let go of her locket.

She didn't scream. But the Echo Beacon in Kaelen's pocket, fed by the raw psychic energy of the room, did.

There was no sound. It was a silent, psychic tidal wave of pure, concentrated malice that ripped through the warehouse.

The knights, disciplined and battle-hardened, cried out. They dropped to their knees, clutching their helmets, their training useless against a weapon that attacked their very minds.

Aelia screamed a real, high-pitched shriek of agony. She staggered, her holy magic flared to protect her but the psychic wail was pure, unfiltered torment.

"It's a trap!" she managed to yell, gritting her teeth. "Brog! Control the crowd! Control the crowd!"

But Brog was now trapped, a rock in a river of panicking nobles, getting trampled and pushed, roaring in pure, mindless confusion.

He was neutralized.

"That's our cue," Kaelen said calmly. He and Lyra, their job done, simply slipped out the back exit of the alcove, their escape was covered by the riot.

Two streets over, Pyralis's head snapped up.

He saw the column of purple fire blast into the sky. A second later, he felt the psychic shriek, a cold spike of dread in his skull.

His face split into a feral, triumphant grin.

"That's the signal," he said, his voice electric. "Kaelen and Lyra are out. Brog is neutralized. Phase one is...”

Thump.

He was cut off by a heavy, wet thump from the rooftop above them.

Pyralis's grin vanished. "What...?"

A second thump landed on the cobblestones right in front of them.

It was a body. One of the City Watch, his throat torn out.

"He's not at the party," Elara whispered, her voice tight with terror.

A low, guttural growl echoed from the rooftops.

"Looking for your ‘Shadows,’ terrorist?"

A new voice. High, clear, and dripping with zealous fury.

Pyralis's blood went ice cold. He looked up.

Silhouetted against the pale moon, standing on the rooftop, was Vice-Commander Aelia Solara.

She wasn't at the party anymore. She had moved fast, too fast, suspiciously so.

From the north end of the alley, a massive shape padded out, blocking their main escape. Nine feet of muscle, fur, and rage. Fenris Bloodfang, his amber eyes glowing.

And from the roof, a final, slender figure dropped to the ground, landing in a perfect, silent crouch. The silver-haired, dragon-scaled assassin, Nefeli.

Pyralis's mind, which always moved ten steps ahead, went completely, terrifyingly blank.

Then all of a sudden, it raced, ‘No... no, he... he knew. He saw through the 'Star-Crossed Lover' plan. He saw through the Valgus 'flaw.' He saw through the Night Market. The party... the party was the distraction for the distraction. He knew... he knew this alley was our real escape.’

He had planned to fight one lieutenant. Theron had sent three.

Pyralis's shock lasted only a second. It was replaced by a cold, feral survival instinct.

"Bo! Elara!" he roared with his voice cracking, like a whip. "The Serpent! NOW!"

There was no more plan. Only escape.

"Bo, buy us time! Fenris is yours!" Pyralis yelled.

The giant didn't need to be told twice. With a roar that shook the very cobblestones, Bo charged the werewolf, his Zweihänder a blur of steel. It was a clash of titans, brute strength versus feral speed.

"Elara, Nefeli is—"

The silent assassin was already moving, a blur of black leather and steel, her bastard sword aimed at Elara's heart. Elara met her charge, her rapier a silver flicker. It was a fight of two shadows, a deadly dance of parries and thrusts.

Which left the main event.

Aelia Solara landed on the cobblestones, her holy blade drawn, her emerald eyes locked on Pyralis. She was the calm centre of the storm.

"Go! Get to the grate!" Pyralis yelled at his team.

"Not without you!" Elara screamed, barely dodging a killing blow from Nefeli.

"That's an order! Stick to the plan! I'll hold her!" Pyralis commanded, turning to face his betrayer.

Aelia ignored the chaos around her. She studied him.

"You're fast, 'Pylaris Cinderfall'," she said, her voice strangely calm. "And quite the beautiful face, for a terrorist… You probably break a lot of hearts on the daily."

Even now, even in this, Pyralis felt the old, dark humour bubble up. He scoffed, his new, handsome face twisting into his signature flirty, mocking smile.

"My, my, Vice-Commander," he purred, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Does your 'husband' know you're out so late, complimenting strange men? I'm sure Lord Theron would be very disappointed."

Aelia's face tightened, the insult hitting its mark. Her eyes went cold as ice.

"You'll die for that," she whispered.

She advanced slowly increasing her pace, her blade glowing with a faint, golden light—her "Consecrated Strike." She was a trained, orthodox, powerful knight while was a brilliant, self-taught prodigy.

He met her first blow with his Flammard. The impact sent a shock up his metal arm, the joints wincing. She was strong.

He used his ability, a move called Blade Kinesis. Growing up, he had studied so many swords that at a point, he had mastered the blade’s essence and can now control all blade of a certain metallic composition, but he never used it due to a flaw.

Its energy drain was significant, and his past deeds could get him linked with his youthly activities where he had used the power and his Knighthood would have been revoked,

After the transformation though, Kaelen had added a flame power core in his arms that now made him use his power without risk of the energy drain. Plus, he didn’t have to hide it anymore.

He used it, trying to disarm her.

His power tugged at her sword, but her holy magic resisted it. She was a true believer in her holy magic, and her faith gave her power.

She pressed her advantage, her style flawless, forcing him back step by step. He was losing.

He parried a blow that almost took his head, his metal arm groaning. He was running out of time. He was waiting.

<Come on, Slimey... wrap it up... any second now... where are you?>

He'd sent his "pet" on a separate mission which was to sabotage the garrison's reserve force, a small unit of knights stationed three blocks away.

He was counting on that chaotic, alien timing.

Aelia saw her opening. His parry was a fraction too slow, then she raised her sword for the final, sanctified strike.

His corner of his lips which was up moved down as he thought, “Goodbye, Aelia.”

"GACK!"

Aelia's attack stopped. Her eyes went wide.

From behind her, from the sewer grate Pyralis had been backing towards, a mass of green-and-purple ooze had erupted. Slimey, his other mission apparently complete, had ambushed her.

It instantly enveloped her head and torso. Aelia was blinded, suffocating, her armor hissing as the ooze tried to dissolve it.

But she was too skilled.

She didn't panic. She exploded with holy energy.

FWOOM!

The radiant light blasted Slimey off her, sending the ooze splattering against the alley wall, sizzling and smoking.

<IT BURNS! YOU BASTARD, IT BURNS!> Slimey shrieked in his head.

But it was the one second Pyralis needed.

"Rude!" he shouted at Aelia.

While she was still gasping, her helmet half-melted, Pyralis didn't counter-attack. He spun and dove, feet-first, into the open "Sunken Serpent" sewer grate.

He was gone.

Slimey, already reforming, poured down the grate after him like a waterfall of green sludge.

Aelia recovered, her chest heaving, screaming in rage. "HE'S GONE!"

Bo, who was locked in a power-struggle with Fenris, saw his leader escape. He roared, kicking the werewolf in the chest, and then slammed his massive sword hilt-first into Nefeli's side, sending the assassin staggering.

"Elara! NOW!"

Bo grabbed Elara by the waist, tucked her under his arm like a doll, and jumped into the grate himself.

The clang of the iron grate slamming shut was the last sound they heard.

Nefeli slammed into the gate, but it held even her dragon strength. Pyralis had planned this out well.

Aelia, Nefeli, and Fenris were left alone in the alley.

They had failed.

Aelia was shaking, not from fear, but from a rage so profound it was making her armour smoke. She turned with her face a mask of pure, murderous fury, and looked at Fenris who was supposed to be tracking them.

The werewolf was clutching his chest, snarling at the grate.

“You,” she hissed. “You were the tracker. The hunter. You should have had them cornered. You let them escape.”

Fenris growled at her, baring his fangs. “He was... strong...”

“You are a failure,” she shrieked.

And she lunged, her holy blade, still glowing, plunging deep into Fenris's gut.

The werewolf gasped, his eyes wide with shock.

He looked down at the sword buried in his stomach, then at Aelia. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound, his rapid healing already fighting the holy magic.

Nefeli just watched, her slitted eyes cold and unreadable.

Aelia stood over the gasping werewolf, her entire body trembling. Her dark side was fully, terrifyingly, revealed.

"Tell the Lord Commander,” she panted, her voice a low, dangerous whisper, “that the 'Shadows' are now top priority.”

She looked left and right, “Wait, where’s Brog?”