A Group or Set of Twelve

This isn't the first time I've entered here; however, there were some differences last time.

For one, these heavy, wooden doors were already ajar. Having to push them open myself is quite the exercise. The dim light of torches and oil lamps greets me once more.

The interior is still as gaudy as I remember, but sand and dust have crept into these otherwise pristine halls. The reason for that is currently staring right at me. It'd be hard to overlook; it completely fills this large entrance hall.

Staring at me are an almost ridiculous number of guards. At a quick glance, I'd estimate around fifty, at the very least. Wielding and wearing all sorts of weapons and armour that I've seen in this city.

From those that guarded the market itself, with their cloth armour and wooden clubs. To those that accompanied the accountants, with their impressive studded leather and longswords. To those that resided in the city, with chainmail, man-catchers and shortswords.

A true mishmash of all those that managed to hold out until now, making their last stand in this hall. They all look at me anxiously. But they aren't moving in to attack me just yet.

"This might be beyond us..."

Sadly, I'd have to agree. Taking all of them on is not something we can manage. But I don't really have any other choice.

They all look at me with fear in their eyes; none of them can truly hold still. They are restless. I understand why; every second they do nothing, they inch closer yet to a cruel end, to starving to death in here.

They keep glancing at each other. No one among them appears to be a leader to them; they are fractured.

There might be a way...

"I need to know two things. Firstly, does anyone of them have a crossbow or other ranged weapon? Secondly, does anyone of them look older than 60?"

"No, to both of your questions."

I can make this work; I don't need to take on all of them.

"Isha, I won't turn away now. Are you with me?"

"I'll always be with you, until the bitter end."

Our grim determination aligns. I step forward, towards them.

How can I beat 50 men? I certainly cannot. So I need to make them believe that I could. I need to convince their cornered minds that no matter if they fight or flee, the outcome remains the same: their demise.

They aren't a cohesive force; they lack leadership. So they have no choice but to come at me one by one, lest they risk hurting their own allies. Their lack of ranged options compounds this issue even further. I need only hold out until the next in line can't find the courage to face me.

For that I need to beat them flawlessly, appearing almost inhuman. Isha's powers should help to sell that picture. I don't know if these humans were taught about what kinds of magic the elves once possessed, but none among them should've actually been around to witness it first-hand. Let's hope it provides enough of both an edge and shock.

The bravest among them ready themselves to face me. If I can take them down in a truly harrowing performance, I win. I take one last deep breath...

The first charges straight at me, screaming at the top of his lungs. He readies himself for a downward cleave. His blade would have split me right in two, but sadly his hands were stopped behind his head, now constrained by thorny vines. I drive my dagger into a gap in his leather armour, and he falls to the ground.

I have to do this.

The second tries to restrain me with his man-catcher. But since this weapon is primarly designed to aim for the neck, it is dreadfully easy to dodge. In one almost beautiful motion I pivot to the side and position my dagger accordingly. With his charge in full swing and unable to stop, he impales himself on my blade.

For Mother.

The third hesitates for but a moment. Then I shall take the initiative. I stow my dagger and charge at him with the man-catcher of the previous fool. While I consider dodging this thing to be easy, I am not sure this man fully decked out in metal armour would agree. My strength alone is insufficient to push him down; Isha makes up the difference by constricting his feet. Now defenceless and on the ground, I crush his skull with my hammer.

I can barely breathe.

The fourth takes a quick swing with her sword at me while I am still next to the previous fool. In a quick backwards motion, I manage to dodge by a hair's breadth. I am now rather close to the wall. I grab one of the torches from out of it's socket and head straight for her. She thrusts at me with her blade; I manage to hook it away from my body with my hammer and press the torch right to her face. I am unsure what's worse: the smell or the screams. I finish her off with a quick blow with my hammer.

My left hand hurts.

The fifth cries out; I think he must've been close with the fourth. In a blind rage he charges at me with his club. I throw the torch at him. His deft attempt at dodging turns into his demise; he trips over vines as he sidesteps the projectile. Practically landing face first at my feet, his skull now too recieves a dent that cannot be fixed.

I want to hold Eleanor again.

The sixth attempts to catch me with a wide sweep of his polearm, disregarding its intended use completely. One deft hop over it is all it takes to end this futile attempt of his and also neatly presents an opportunty to bash his head in. It takes a few swings, but the dent now visible on his helmet should now also represent the state of his skull.

I am so deathly tired.

The seventh manages to coordinate with the eighth, the both of them charging at me simultaneously with their man-catchers. One aims for my neck, the other for my leg. The lower one is easily thwarted by stepping on the pole of his weapon, pinning it to the ground. The higher one I manage to direct upwards further yet with the handle of my hammer.

Isha ensnares the lower weapon, giving me time to take care of the other one. My hammer reaches his head but breaks in two in the process. Bashing in that helmet must've pushed it to its limits. He falls to the ground but is not out for the count just yet.

The other has now given up on his polearm and intends to switch to his sidearm, a short sword. Before he manages to fully unsheathe it, however, I drive what remains of the hammer's handle into his right eye. This makeshift stake proves to be damaging enough when applied to an eye socket; he collapses to the ground, his body still twitching.

The one still conscious also attempts to ready his secondary weapon, but before he can even reach for it, I drive my dagger into his left eye and push it in as far as I can. The eye sockets are just like gaps in armour, a small slip where one can easily reach what is most vulnerable.

I am dizzy to the core.

The ninth comes at me with his club surprisingly quickly, leaving me no time to dislodge my dagger. By now there are a good number of bladed weapons strewn about the floor; We can use them to our advantage. Ducking under his swing, I sweep him off his feet with a swift kick. As he falls to the ground, Isha props up one of the swords with her vines; he impales himself right on it.

I want to rest.

The tenth swings his sword like an amateur, giving me ample opportunity to disarm him, just like Loren taught me. Staring at me in utter disbelief, as he is now the one without a weapon, he is pretty much defenceless against the oncoming stab through his gut. I dislodge my new blade from his belly. He too goes to the ground, clutching his abdomen.

I am unsure if I am even still the one moving my body.

The eleventh tries to sneak up behind me, but sadly for him, I possess a guardian angel watching my back. With one quick swing my sword cleaves into his neck before he even gets a chance to strike.

I don't want to do this anymore.

The twelfth, a boy that can't be any older than me, stands still in utter terror. His entire body shaking, he is frozen in place. I need to push him over the edge. What is the most unsettling thing I could do right now?

I give him a dastardly smile, one that would even put Jesha's to shame.

He screams, drops his weapon and turns to run away.

"Pin him down, Isha."

But he does not come very far, as he is fixated on the ground in but a moment.

I slowly make my way over to him, deliberately dragging my sword across the marble floor. The boy's breathing quickens, utter terror now enveloping his heart. His body doesn't even allow him to scream anymore, barely keeping on breathing's already a task way too large.

I plunge my blade into the defenceless boy. Utter silence envelops the room.

I can barely keep standing. But I cannot let that show. If they smell any weakness, it is over.

"He killed a dozen men in less than a minute..."

One of those remaining utters these words. While I don't think that it was only a minute, if he truly believes that, it is only to my advantage.

All of them stare at me, frozen in place. Their minds are absolutely torn between fight or flight, and they are unable to come to any decision. They are exactly where I need them to be...

"Where is Zareth?"

Eleven that fought have died without leaving a scratch on me and the one that tried to flee got slaughtered as well. Both options are looking really dire for them, so if I were to offer them a way to remove me...

"Up above, on the highest floor!"

They'd jump at the chance. I have won.

As I walk towards the stairs, all of them make way. I reach the second floor without further issue.

As soon as I am out of sight, I collapse onto the floor and start puking my guts out. I feel outright terrible and close to collapse. But I must press on; I am so close...

"Around the corner is a vase with water. Go wash your face; it might help."

Crawling over there, I take three big gulps and pour the rest right over my head. It does indeed help, if only a little bit.

Taking a moment to regain my footing, I can hear the sounds of battle echoing from downstairs. Right, the door remained open, so the elves saw what happened too. They must've regained their courage watching my battle. Let's hope they manage.

I resume my climb up the stairs until I reach the fourth floor, the highest one. Down the hall another opulently decorated door sits, my goal most likely.

I throw the door open and head inside.

An office just as badly decorated as the rest of the manor greets me. At the hardwood desk sits an older man with grey hair dressed like a peacock.

As the door opens, he readies a weapon and points it straight at me. Nothing unusual there; a bit of paranoia never hurt anyone. The curious thing, however, would be that the kind of weapon he is pointing at me.

For it would be a beautifully adorned flintlock pistol, with dark wood and golden embellishments. Judging by how beautiful this piece looks and the fact that it's a gunpowder weapon, I can only assume the garishly dressed man holding it must be Zareth.

As he keeps staring at me, a look of recognition seems to flash across his face.

"Rinah?"