Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Pain throbbed throughout Shaw's face as he sat in misery. If he were honest, however, his entire body had been sore after being basically tied down in a way that made it impossible for him to move with every material imaginable. It had appeared his last attempt to break free and control the situation had soured his captor's moods enough to ensure such a thing wasn’t possible again.

Not that he’d ever bother to try again after the beating he’d received.

But to his surprise, off came the metal binding, and off came the hood his, and in its place were simple ropes and the open fresh air. Sure, the coarse fibers bit into his wrists and chaffed his skin with every small movement. But the discomfort of his bonds was a welcomed relief even though agony consumed his face.

His nose was a mangled mess after being shattered by that infernal woman’s brutal strike. Breathing through it had become an impossibility as each attempt sent shards of pain lancing through his skull. Instead, he was forced to take ragged, open-mouthed breaths with the air whistling past his cracked lips.

And his eye... Gods, his eye. The damned thing was swollen shut, and the flesh around it puffed out to grotesque proportions. It felt like he had a second head growing from his face. A head that throbbed and pulsated with pain and pressure.

Through his one good eye, Shaw peered around, trying to take stock of his surroundings. The two strange warriors who had been left to guard him stood nearby, their postures relaxed but alert, holding their menacing weapons with a casual competence.

One of them, his eyes hidden behind strange, reflective lenses, turned his head in a slow and methodical manner as he scanned the perimeter. But even as he surveyed the area, Shaw could feel the man's attention on him. It was as if there was a palpable weight that never fully lifted, no matter where the man turned his head.

On the other hand, the other soldier kept his gaze fixed on Shaw. His expression was not of malice, cruelty, or gloating—just a cool and menacing detachment. It was the look of a man who had a job to do and would see it done.

Shaw shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. But every movement sent fresh waves of pain crashing through his battered body. He wanted to weep, to rage, to curse the fates that had brought him to this low point, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He was a Knight Captain of an Imperial Count and stubbornly held onto the last shreds of pride he had earned through his trail to get there. Even though he was reduced to a beaten, broken prisoner in the hands of foreign devils, his accomplishments kept his tears at bay and kept his tongue still.

As Shaw sat there, wallowing in his own misery, his gaze drifted to the ropes tethering his hands, his hands this abominable vehicle. The coarse fibers dug deep into his skin, but for some reason, it wasn’t as thick or tight as last time.

But as he thought about this oversight, he couldn’t help but think back to the other night when he had summoned the strength to snap his bonds. The fact that they thought that simple ropes could keep him still seemed laughable at best; it was a trivial manner when it came to mana users like him.

A surge of hope, of defiance, welled up within him. He could do it again. He could break free and make a run for it. Maybe, just maybe, he could escape this nightmare, find his way back home,, and disappear like he planned.

His muscles tensed, and his mana started to flow as he prepared to make his move. But just as he was about to act, he felt the weight of his captors' gazes settle upon him once more. Looking up, Shaw met their cold eyes that spoke of years of bloodshed, and at that moment, he felt his resolve crumble, his defiance wither and die.

Their stares were piercing, unnervingly so. It was as if they could see right through him, could read his every thought and intention like an open book. There was a coldness there, a merciless pragmatism that told him, in no uncertain terms, that they would end him for even the most trivial of things.

Slowly and reluctantly, Shaw let the tension drain from his body. He sagged back, allowing the fight to flow out of him like air from a punctured bladder. A heavy sigh left his mouth, but just as he was about to sink and stew in self-pity, a cacophonous series of cracks rang out in the distance. It was the sound that ingrained itself into Shaw’s memory from when his convoy was ambushed.

As the rapid-fire staccato echoed out like a hive of angry bees, the two soldiers guarding him exchanged a quiet and knowing look. With a nod, they slinked off into the tree line, moving with a predatory grace that belied their bulky frames and heavy equipment.

Shaw watched them go, a mix of confusion and morbid curiosity churning in his gut. He had no idea what was happening or what fresh hell was being unleashed, but all that Shaw knew was he was now alone.

With a quick glance around, Shaw waited for his captors to return, but as seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, nothing happened.

And then, cutting through the unnatural stillness, came the unmistakable sound of steel clashing against steel. It was a noise Shaw knew all too well, the ringing clang of weapons meeting in the heat of battle. His heart began to race and adrenaline started to pump through his veins.

A fight? No… A duel…? But between whom? His captors and some unknown foe?

Shaw's heart pounded in his chest as he realized the gravity of his situation. He was alone, unguarded, with the sounds of battle raging in the distance. He found himself with a golden opportunity, a chance at freedom that he couldn't afford to waste.

With another furtive glance around, Shaw sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He gathered his energy and his mana and focused it on his body, enhancing every aspect of himself. He could feel the power flowing through him, hardening his flesh and amplifying his strength.

And then, with a mighty flex and a guttural roar, Shaw strained against his bonds. The thick and sturdy ropes stretched taut as their fibers creaked under the immense pressure. For a moment, it seemed as if they would hold and Shaw's efforts would be in vain, but then, with a sudden, sharp snap, the ropes gave way. They tore apart like tissue paper, shredded by the sheer force of Shaw's mana-enhanced might. The cool morning air rushed over his newly freed skin, a sensation that was both invigorating and terrifying.

As his body tensed, Shaw shut his eyes in anticipation of a blow, a shout of alarm, or a terrifying crack of otherworldly weaponry, He sat there listening to anything to indicate that his captors had witnessed his escape attempt. But there was nothing. No angry yell, no explosions of those strange, thunderous weapons. Just the distant sounds of battle and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

He was free. Against all odds, he had broken his bonds and created an opportunity for himself. But he knew it wouldn't last. His captors would return to discover his absence, and when they did... there would be hell to pay.

So without a second thought, Shaw sprang to his feet and darted into the forest. His steps were fueled by a primal urge to survive as they carried him in the opposite direction of the sounds of clashing steel.

The man ran as fast and as far as he could as branches whipped his face and roots snared his feet. But he was alive. He was free. And he’ll have his revenge on Eira and that damned dark elf.

-

Just as Azeline snatched the strange shield from Elijah's hands, she burst forward in a surge of violence before anyone could even blink an eye. The distance between her and Tamos closed in an instant as she thrust her sword, still dripping with Sofan’s blood, at the neck of her former colleague. with a vicious smile on her face as she thrust her sword, still dripping with Sofan’s blood at the back of her former colleague.

As Azeline's blade flashed towards his throat, Tamos's instincts kicked in. With a speed born of desperation, he lunged to the side as the razor-sharp edge missed his neck by mere inches. In the same fluid motion, he brought his massive two-handed axe around in a vicious horizontal cleave, sending the heavy blade whistling through the air.

However, Azeline’s reflexes were honed by countless decades of battle as a shieldmaiden, and reacted instantly. Her blade instantly whipped out in response and caught the metal shaft of Tamos’ axe with a deafening and thunderous clang. Sparks flew everywhere as painful reverberations shot up the bandit’s arms as he stumbled backward from the violent blow.

As the thunderous clang of the clashing weapons echoed through the air, Azeline was already in motion, not looking to give her opponent a moment to gain his bearing. With a speed that defied belief, she bolted forward with the strange, otherworldly shield leading the way.

Still reeling from the jarring impact of his axe against Azeline's blade, Tamos barely had time to register the movement before the shield slammed into his chest with the force of a battering ram. The ballistic shield, enhanced by Azeline's mana, absorbed the impact and transferred it directly into Tamos's body, sending him tumbling backward like a rag doll.

The breath was driven from his lungs by the sheer force of the blow as he hit the ground hard and skidded along the grass. His axe jarred loose from his grip and clattered to the earth beside him while the sound of ringing echoed in his head.

Tamos lay there for a few moments, stunned and gasping as his mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened. The speed, the power behind Azeline's attack... it was unreal. In the span of a heartbeat, she had disarmed the man and laid him low as if he were a mere novice.

As he struggled to rise, Tamos saw Azeline leisurely approaching like a little girl going to play. She was in no hurry, he realized. She knew she had him beaten, knew that he was no longer a threat.

A cruel and vicious spread across her face as she approached like a predator toying with its prey. But before she reached him, she veered off towards his fallen axe with her head tilting to the side as she regarded him with a look of mock concern.

"Aww... are you okay?" she cooed with a voice dripping with false sweetness. "Did I scare you?"

A chill ran down Tamos spine as a surge of primal fear screamed in his head like a horn, overpowering the rage and humiliation he felt at her taunting words. He wanted to snarl, to curse, to lash out with all the fury and hatred that boiled within him. But he couldn't. His body wouldn't obey, and he could only shake.

The sound of light, girlish giggles left Azeline’s mouth as she stood there. It was a sound utterly at odds with the vicious gleam in her eyes. "Did you think just because I have a pretty face, I was going to be an easy kill?" she asked, her tone one of mock curiosity. “How cute…”

She placed her foot under Tamos's axe, flipping it towards him with a casual kick. The heavy weapon skidded across the ground, coming to rest just inches from his hand.

"Pick it up," Azeline said with her voice still retaining its sweet tone.

Tamos stared at the axe before turning his gaze toward Azeline. A cold realization dawned on him. His boss, Einar, had warned him about this woman... His boss had told Tamos that he needed to gut her first before she even knew what was going on. But Tamos, in his arrogance, had dismissed the warning. Tamos was a mana user, nearly unparalleled amongst the boys and he had thought himself invincible.

Now all he could do was lay there in the dirt as every part of his body ached from Azeline's brutal assault. She was beyond him, beyond anything he had ever faced. A monster in the guise of a woman. And as the said woman approached, Tamos felt a surge of panic. Forgetting his pride forgotten in the face of his mounting terror, he started to crawl away.

But Azeline's smile, once cruel and taunting, turned into a frown of disdain at his display of such cowardice. Here was the man who boasted and preened about his strength and skill, wallowing in the dirt like some fledgling freelancer on his first job. A man who had stabbed her in the back and murdered her friends, and now he dared to scramble away like some maiden before a thug?

With a swift motion, she kicked the axe towards him again, the heavy blade skidding and bouncing off his desperately scrambling form. "I said..." Azeline's voice was slow, each word enunciated with a cruel, commanding clarity. "Pick. It. Up."

There was no sweetness now, no mock concern. Only a cold, implacable demand that was backed by the promise of pain beyond imagining.

Tamos froze as his body trembled uncontrollably. He knew he was going to die here, knew that Azeline would not let him leave this place alive. So with shaking hands, he reached out and closed his fingers around the haft of his axe before unsteadily pushing himself to his feet.

On the other hand, a joyful smile spread across Azeline's face. Her eyes sparkled with a dark delight like a child gleefully receiving a new plaything. "Very good!" she exclaimed, her voice a jarring mix of sweet praise and mocking cruelty. "Very good, Tamos! I knew you had some fight left in you. It would have been so disappointing if you had just given up."

Gracefully, Azeline began to circle her prey with her blade held loosely at her side. "Do you remember, Tamos," Azeline said, her tone conversational, as if they were merely two friends reminiscing about old times, "the last job we did together? The merchant caravan, the one with the silk and spices?"

Tamos said nothing as his jaw clenched tight, and his breath came in short and painfully. But in his eyes, a flicker of memory, of recognition, was present.

Azeline's smile widened. "You were so proud of yourself, so boastful of your skills. You claimed you could take on a dozen men single-handedly.” Her blade bounced up and down playfully against her shoulder before she flicked a sultry look his way and winked. “And you said the next job you were going to be on my belly.”

A cruel, mocking chuckle left her mouth as she looked at him with hungry eyes. "I wonder, do you still believe that?" Azeline bit her lip as she fluttered her eyelashes. “Is that why your little boy killed my friends first and tried to take me alive?”

With a desperate and furious roar, Tamos lunged forward, putting every ounce of his remaining strength into one final, devastating blow in defiance. His axe blade glowed with a burning red sheen as he channeled his mana into the weapon, the metal crackling with arcane energy.

But before the axe could find its mark, Azeline stomped the ground with a force that belied her slender frame. A ripple of power surged out from the point of impact, and the very earth seemed to come alive beneath her will.

Caught off guard by the sudden shift beneath his feet, Tamos lost his balance and stumbled forward. And in that moment of vulnerability, Azeline’s blade struck true. A silver blur pierced Tamos's armor with sickening ease and rammed straight through his belly.

The bandit leader's eyes widened in shock, a gasp of pain and disbelief escaping his lips as he found himself impaled on Azeline's sword. For a moment, they stood there, frozen in place as Tamos, his lifeblood, flooded down the blade and onto the hilt while Azeline looked down on him as if he were pathetic.

Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, Azeline slammed her shield against Tamos's body, pushing him off her blade and sending him flying backward. The man crumbled instantly, and his axe fell from shaking fingers as his hands desperately grabbed at the gaping wound in his stomach.

Azeline stood over him, watching dispassionately as he struggled. To her, he was little more than some disgusting small creature that had shit on her boot. "You know," she said, her voice a soft, mocking whisper, "I made some new friends.”

A bout of silence lingered for a few moments as she stabbed her sword into the ground and took out her dagger. “They told me that the best way to repay repulsive people like you..." She leaned down, bringing her knife to Tamos face as her eyes bore into his. "...is to kill them. Slowly."

Tamos's eyes widened in horror, the implication of her words sinking in.

Not too far away, Elijah and the SASR cringed as they walked towards the site of the bandit ambush, the sounds of Azeline's "work" echoing throughout the field. The scene that greeted them was one of utter carnage, bodies strewn about like broken and bloodied dolls, staining the grass in vivid crimson.

The otherworlders stomped through the field of dead and dying in search of anyone who wasn’t at death's door nor stupid enough to keep fighting. Every now and then, a shot rang out as one of them ended anyone foolish enough to be still holding onto their weapons. It was a grim, methodical task but it ensured that no threats remained.

As he picked his way through the carnage, Elijah came across a couple of men huddled together, desperately trying to treat each other's wounds. One had his legs riddled with bullets, while the other almost looked as if half of his shoulder was blown off. Elijah winced as he saw the devastation, recognizing the telltale damage of a .50 caliber round.

Kneeling down beside the wounded men, Elijah put on his most disarming smile. "Hey guys!" he said in a jarring tone that contrasted with the grim surroundings. "How's it goin'?"

The bandits looked up at him, their faces a mix of terror and confusion as their mouths flapped like landed fish. Elijah held up a hand, forestalling any attempts at a response. "You know what, don't answer that," he said, knowing how silly of a question that was as a few more shots rang out in the background, punctuating his words. His smile never wavered, but his eyes held a hard, calculating glint.

"So... we're looking for a few souls to tell us who killed that poor old village chief over there." Elijah glanced over his shoulder at Sofan's lifeless body, sprawled out in the grass. "Can any of you tell me who done him in?"

Both of the bandits exchanged bewildered looks. They were clearly thrown off by the question, but before they could formulate a response, the already agonizing screams went up a notch and turned bloodcurdling. It was a sound that spoke of unimaginable suffering, of a life being ended in the most horrific way possible.

Elijah's smile deepened, taking on a sharp, predatory edge. "Answer carefully now," he warned, his voice low and menacing. “We wouldn’t want her to turn that blade on anyone else.”

One of the bandits seemed to pick up on the unspoken threat in Elijah's words, and started to babble in panic. "Tamos did it!" he blurted out as his words tumbled over each other in his haste to speak. "The damned bastard ran 'em through!"

The other bandit, sensing a potential lifeline, quickly chimed in. "Ya! You just did yer part to defend the old man!" He added in a desperate voice as the screaming in the background intensified.

“Nice.” Elijah gave the two a thumbs-up and patted them on the shoulder, causing a yelp of pain to echo out.