Act 5

"I'm afraid.

"I fear that my invention will be used in vain.

"that this.. access, to unlimited source of power, of energy, boundless in its form.

"this.. yellow glistening 'dust' that they left behind.

"I fear that many generations will butcher and corrupt one another, as they will lust and hunger for its ‘endless’ temptation.

"What lies ahead, my dear kin?

"young ones, I'm truly afraid."

—Day 2317 Log:

Prof. Liang Xiaolong, Ph.D, M.Sc.Eng.

Head of Research & Technology Department,

PRC Space Exploration Colony N14

. . .

Sounds of swords grind along with roars and yells of men muffled unclear, as the previous blast still deafens his ears achingly. Pecks of dirt and dust smeared on his cheeks. He feels the entire soil on his palms and senses he’s on the ground.

Another one would collide again as it dents the sunlight with its silverish steel. He feels the flicker dotted onto his face. Barnaby responds by opening his eyes,

As he discovers the ambush in its pure terror..

They're killing each other, people screaming in pain and misery, arrows and bolts fly high and under from every direction as one would land on the ground and one would land on a person's eye.

At the front, he sees one of the guardsmen stabbed by a man wearing a distinct mask hiding his entire face. At his side, he sees another one dash, then slashes a nearby guardsman in a swift motion. With the blood gushing out from his throat, The guardsman releases his hands from it and finally gives in to his slain, as he falls beside Barnaby.

Scrambles of thoughts rush towards his head in panic, paralysing him to indecision. Should he stay there and wait, or should he escape the chaos? Barnaby keeps his head down in heightened tension as his palms mush the soil into crumbles and soft plumps,

However, one thought would brim aloud behind his lungs, begging..

..The Scroll

In that spur of the moment, his limbs become lighter as it lifts his entire body to a full stand. He sees some remains of his wagon and glares at the slaughters surrounding him. His knees begin to move on their own accord as his mouth gaps chunks of air widely. After a brief moment of breathing, he felt his heartbeat gradually compose.

He hurls himself in sluggish prone and shoves away guardsmen among the skirmish until one of the masked men sees him straight across his sight. Upon realisation, he quickly searches for a weapon and sees a mace lying in front of him. And without hesitation, he runs to grab it.

As the masked man charges dangerously close, Barnaby locks his motion;

He races his movement left and right with elegant yet frightening speed, hauling a full intent to take a person’s life. He glides forward ghostly as if his feet are carried by zephyrs of the western shores, giving an illusion of a sharp thin force that would split those on its way into half effortlessly.

Yet one does not bound by the rules of wind.

Mountains.

Barnaby steps his foot firm and solid to the soil, then swings the mace upward with great strength as it smashes through the man’s jaw in great ruin.

He pants again in short breaths and stares at the masked man he had just murdered. A half-grown man whose face he had turned into gore mash. A man no older than him, no younger than him.

Then, he hears a familiar morning-lark voice chime through the battle, calling him.

“Barb!” 

It is Mila, her ankles trapped under the wooden pile. She tries to push it away but to no avail. 

“help me get this thin..!”

Barnaby hastily goes towards her, but his path is immediately blocked with men clashing their weapons.

The masked man slashes the guardsman's hand as he then plunges his blade down to the guard’s shoulder. The man takes notice of Barnaby's presence and quickly pulls it to swing towards him.

Barnaby manages to steer his blow, knocks his arm and shoves him aside with his shoulder, which reveals another masked man approaching Mila.

Without a second thought, Barnaby sprints and crushes his head off guard with his mace, killing another one on the spot.

He gaps his breath anxiously and meets Mila’s sight, as he then examines the wooden piles.

Just when he was about to help her knees off the rubble, he caught the previous man rushing towards him. Luckily, he scurries and avoids his strike.

And when the masked man catches him again, Barnaby takes his stand and parries the blade, as he would then forcefully budge the man’s head with the pommel numerous times, until it knocks him fully into slumber. But before long, another one sees them from afar and accelerates towards him..

“..keep quiet!” says Barnaby, as he lures the man to follow him.

“Wait Barb! don’t leav—damnit!”

As his legs become sore and his hands become weary, he gradually decreases his pace. And with the fleeing comes to a halt, he meets them once more, this time, determined to persevere.

First, the masked guy assaults him with twin swords, fast and rapid strikes that almost sever Barb's hands, which he successfully dodges at the cost of sliding his mace off from his grip. Before the man makes another jabbing motion, Barnaby responds by hitting his chest and bashing his skull with his bound hands. Barb uses this chance to move over his side and raise his two arms around, pulling the man's neck as he jumps above the log and falls himself to the ground, strangling the man with his chain.

The masked man struggles, screaming his muffling choke, gasping desperately to breathe, flailing his arms to reach behind, which prompts Barb to pull his chain harder,

And harder,

Until eventually, the man loosens his struggle..

Barnaby takes the moment in unpleasant respite, resting his back on the log as he tries his best to manage his jittering hands and his ever anxious breaths, taking the moment to ease his dizziness whilst his forehead had turned in a cold ache.

As he turned to his left, he notice a hint of golden hair covered by another body on top of it. Barnaby approaches and immediately finds the key to unbind his chains. Then over at the front, he finds the container, with the scroll, and his heirloom dagger shines its green crest of Buckingsdale deer beside it.

As he picks up his belongings, a sensation of relief and reunion washes over the sore from his entire body, which is unfortunately cut short as one of the guardsmen sees him. And with no second spent, the guardsman pursues as Barnaby quickly runs through the anarchy.

…

The sudden feel of weight wakes him into full alert, to find the respectable George without a single breath,

Deceased.

“urg..!” Officer Dan carefully pushes George off to the side and would witness every single man on his command battling for their lives amongst the ambushers. And with no time to mourn, he stands up, spots one of the masked men, then yells as he thrusts his commanding sword through the man’s gut.

One guardsman would recognize Officer Dan and quickly run towards him, “Sergeant!”

“Get the men—”

Before Dan could utter his word, a fleeting horse rushes along the turmoil and crashes the guardsman heavily in a single sweep.

Dread and dismay came upon with cold shiver to distort his mind and soul. Then came contemptment. Anger. And frustration. Fuels him with eternal rage.

“..rgh!” he runs towards the masked man and thrust his sword once again. One of them would wound his arm and knee, but that would not have stopped him, no. He would kill them again no matter how many they are in numbers, no matter how hopeless his circumstances are.

Then, one voice blares strong, no man in known continent powerful enough to shout, as him, “I’m! Ron! Fucking! Bearingsworth!”

Roar as loud as Solomun desert lions, raging tall as Rondonian oak bears, Ron hacks and dice greatly as legends would’ve foretold. But one would not accept it, no. One would not have him splendour and desecrates above their sacrifice. His heart broth with grimdark venom of vengefulness on the mere sight of his existence, waiting to poison through its vicious fangs. As no one, no sole person, other than this war criminal, is responsible for the massacre befalls to his men.

He raises his sword given to serve in her glory and triumph. and jolts towards him.

To strike down as his pride compels him. To bring judgement forlonged due,

To kill. To kill.

To end him once and for all.

Kill!

In that one brief second, a sudden rush of finality sparks him to despair, to see Ron catches him charging, to see him face directly, and throw one of his axes towards his direction. The conjuring of death itself, greets him hello in a twisted horror, as if it turns back from the one he wishes it upon.

Yet then, came a calm breeze. As the axe wasn’t for him.

He turns over to his right, to see a dead masked man, lying on the ground.

Ron pulls the axe from the man’s body.

“Get behind!” yells Ron straight to his face, as he strikes another masked man on the side.

And at this moment in his life, to see, at best, an Ileandian, to witness Ron on this side of the ambush, of all the rivals that he has known and accustomed to. Who is this man in front of him? He is unrecognisable—

“Dan!” Ron yells at him again.

He grabs this poor state of a commanding officer, “Get it together lad!”

And in that second he spots a masked man charging toward Ron’s back, which immediately stirs him to push Ron aside as he is able to timely parry the man’s blow. With it, Officer Dan strikes through the man’s guard and ends his life in a single thrust.

Another horse darts and gallops wildly, which prompts them to leap aside to avoid it. As he lay on the ground he glances upward to see a bird stretching its wing and fly. Despite the disarray, his relaxes his breath as if he is blessed by the Eudoran eagles for salvation.

For now, on this side of the battle, all the questions that linger between his honour and duty must be set aside. For what is a tale without a man to tell it?

Whereas now, there is one tale that matters.

Survive.

…

Alone, with her arms restrained and her feet trapped, Mila can only do one thing; to blend herself around the browns of wagon piles.

As she waits for her knight in shining armour to sweep her away, she gazes her eyes upwards to wander her mind off the hostile.

The conifers and the needle leaves fall gently, dancing between the grains of wood. As she wonders how old these red pines are, she would ask herself..

What is the purpose of the Ambush?

Hmm.. They’re after something..

Her eyes would follow one of the leaves as it drifts roughly. And when it falls, she catches a horse racing from afar.

Its stomp rustles around as it shrieks and screams shoving every people in its path, scattering for their dear lives. Her sight narrows as the surrounding corner creeps in looming darkness, pales her with an inescapable nightmare as it sprints towards her. She pulls and shakes, the piles shift like a ravine swallowing her from leaving nowhere. When the horse leaps it brings along nauseating foretaste; it has come to collect her life.

Her heart pounds as the horse gallops closer. And closer.

Her breath stops, arms tremble as the iron cuffs graze her soft wrist. She closes her eyes. Her body fully tensed. At the last second, she let loose her prayer.

The horse joust towards the wooden piles with a great crash. 

And with that, free her ankles.

She opens her eyes and sees herself unharmed.

Huh, lucky charms.

So she stands up, and henceforth the key for her hands.

She would run throughout the fights and would search throughout the fallen, but yet no single key is found. She thought, that her luck had been whisked by the wild horse, so she would take her chance to escape further into the woods, insteadeth.

But as luck wouldn’t have it, a masked man caught her way.

Once she dodges his grab. Twice she ducks his jabs. Thrice she spun his arms, aha!

And when the man swings his blade, she widens her chain to catch it, her hand pulls down along it, as it breaks on the stone.

Her hands are free now.

So she jumps forth and escapes to the bushes.

Cunning. Like a laughing fox.

...

As he lost the guardsmen, Barnaby trace his path to go back to where he left Mila, to find the same spot missing his person and its piles shatter. He would run along the fights to search as his mind disheartened with great worry. As minutes pass, we would notice guardsmen fall one by one, gradually lessen in numbers which prompts him to take hide.

From the gaps of logs, he would discover Ron, along with Officer Dan and his men battling the ambusher. From there he would witness them trying to encircle as they slay the guards, picking them one at a time. Until eventually only two of them stand.

Dan would step forward and shout at them in great bitterness, as he swing his sword and slashes one of them. But then one of the masked men runs up from his back.

Fortunately, Dan takes haste as the man’s strike misses and cut his rib. He would scream in agony.

With that, Barb steps forward and jumps to stab the masked man with his dagger, rescuing him from another blow. Ron uses the opportunity to grab one of the horses, as he yells at him “Lad!”

Officer Dan would scurry to the horse despite the bleeding pain, and force himself to climb the horse. One of the masked would take an incredible leap trying to take his life. To his luck, Ron throws his axe, saving him once again.

Ron run towards him, “Go! Go! Go back to your commander!” and slap its thigh which darts the horse at great speed.

With that, now stands a deadlock.

…

There is a brief silence between the masked-men and them.

The masked men would gather themselves closer, uttering a few words to each other.

They have an accent not much different from Barb’s, though it’s difficult to hear as it is muffled through their masks—Osterian? Norian? Neither Barb nor Ron is certain..

Then, between the dozens of men reveals a feminine voice, uttering a word that sounded like a command to them. She slowly pulls her blade from a guard’s body with perverted grace. After she cleans it, she walks calmly to them, and the men’s posture indicates that she may well be the leader of this ambush.

After a brief stop, she turns towards Barnaby.

"The Scroll."

A sudden meet of look turns her voice into an Intimidation, like a haunting dictation, for their mercy. Such an order can only be full of wickedness, shattering all reason. But who are they to demand such a thing?

For having to go this far, and finally reunite with it, after so many years long past, Barnaby can only mutter one word,

“No.”

She and her men stand in total silence, unfazed. They keep watching him, as if they’re taunting him to act, his temper grows by the passing second as his thoughts would batter his head by their lack of voice.

They’re mocking you.. It’s not a request..

You’re going to die regardless..

It was never yours.

Stir him to shout his full anger, “I said.. NO!” as he steps forward, “This is min—”

Ron holds his move further as he cuts, “brother.. who are they to you..”

“I don’t even—”

“Then lass!” Ron turns to her with a northerner’s taunt, “over my dead body—”

She moves at speed no man ever witness, with the sharpest of gust solely focus on one person and his Scroll.

Yet Ron caught her step just in time as he chokes her down to the ground. He presses his axe to her neck and threatens the moving men, “One move.” startling them to halt.

She punches his ear and escapes his grab, Ron kneels by the pain as Barb would hastily go forward, tossing one of the man’s strikes and jabs through his chest,

In his madness, Ron would stand and swing his axe. Barb would cover his behind as he screams and kills the masked men. Her men would surround them and attack at the same time, and Barb would parry while Ron chops them. Yet despite how monstrous he is, Barb notices that he gradually slows down as some of them manage to wound him.

He hacks them ruthless and laughs maniacally, which triggers Barb to finally open the scroll as he tries to recall how his father uses it.

There it lay down from his hand as it glimmers its runes and writings of claws as if responding to his presence, slowly builds shapes of clusters that grow towards the middle, the only thing that is familiar to him are the X mark and a sensation of bitter memory of it.

Then suddenly another set of boxed runes appears as it turns everything red, it blinks frantically as if it tries to tell something. Barb couldn’t comprehend what it truly means as nothing is readable.

Come on! I need y—

By then, as he felt a massive shove to his head, spurs him to a slight black-out. And when he falls, the masked man grabs him, yet Ron catches the Scroll as then he shouts,

“Drop him!”

The masked man press the blade closer, “Give it to us—”

“I'll rip this thing off!” Ron threatens with a loud voice, stops them at their feet.

…

From afar, a set of pale emerald eyes would witness the stalemate.

With it, sparks her to take up a bow and buckle a quiver of arrows from the fallen masked man.

Her two feet remain firm as her fingers grip the bow. Embrace her like an old friend.

Then it start.. She knocks the arrow as she slowly raises the bow.

She draws the string as it gently rests to her cheek. Her hands straight, anchor still accompanied by her calm gaze.

As the wind breeze through the red pine forest. There, she releases in perfect stance.