Elliott's words sparked a battle with the knights, between head and heart. "But sir, by opening the gate for them, we'll be exposing ourselves to the invaders as well," one of the other Loyal Knights returned. "Haven't you heard? They've already commenced their invasion from the west, just as our scouts confirmed!"
"Indeed, they're mad fools to even attempt an assault upon the western gate. Their numbers would most certainly suggest that they're attacking with full force. This means that there is no creditable threat to the southern gate, neither by infiltration nor raid."
"Lord Balor himself issued strict orders not to open the gates for anyone, sir," the captain earnestly declared.
"I'm well aware of that, captain. The gate would only be lifted for but a few moments. Surely you can spare it in your heart to allow them entry."
"B-but... what of Lord Balor, sir?" One of the knights questioned, angstful. "What if he learns of this? We'll all be reduced to a mound of ash for our disobedience!"
"Not unless this remains under the table," Elliott slyly proposed. "You've my word, nothing will befall upon either you or the knights in your squad."
"No, we must follow protocol," the captain declined. "I sympathize with your cousin's situation, sir, but we cannot abandon our oath."
"You'd not be deserting your oath, captain. Is it not your duty to protect and serve the people of Governanti?"
"My blood is to the Barns first and foremost," the captain quickly, angrily asserted, almost like he were correcting Elliott.
"Indeed, and what I request of you presents no threat to the Barns. If your rejection is a matter of trust, do not forget that I swore by blood upon the very same pact. If it is a matter of reward, I can pay you very handsomely. If it is a matter of both, do not forget that I sit upon the Ruler's Council alongside Orderer Drakon. If you perform this favor for me, I can put a good word in for you for your admirable service."
"Absolutely not," the captain adamantly rejected, this time with wholehearted ire. "You expect me to tarnish my honor and loyalty for the sake of profit? Absurd! My lord instructed me to keep it closed, and closed it shall remain! Your situation and your petty attempts to persuade me mean nothing, I refuse to sell my loyalty to you! I care not if you are of the prestigious Cayrel name, my loyalty is to the Barns and
only
the Barns!"
Elliott then sighed in disappointment, crossing his arms. The noble then carefully, calmly considered his options in the midst of the captain's massive tirade. He conducted a brooding session of sorts, his mind becoming something of a pendulum swaying back and forth, uncertain of its decision.
There was but one option available to him, the door he preferred not to open. But left with little choice, Elliott lowered his head and closed his eyes. He drew in one deep breath, slowly lifting his head back up. "Captain," the nobleman addressed in a steady voice, peering directly into the captain's eyes. "Open the gate."
The moment Elliott's eyes made contact, the moment his words came through from his mouth... something happened. The captain himself couldn't explain it, not to his squad nor to himself, but Elliott's eyes suddenly possessed a vexing sort of nature. An unusual irregularity, the image of a snake trying to catch its own tail swirling within Elliott's irises, its color just nigh of his own eyes.
It was in this confounding moment that the most bizarre sensation would overwhelm the captain knight. A feeling like a serpent lashing out, its powerful fangs searing through even his metal armour, entering into his flesh. A most bewitching sense injected into him, an electric pulse coursing through his body like venom through his bloodstream. From the tips of his fingers and toes to the top of his head, it subdued him with its paralyzing, but illusory toxin.
Something began to occur to the captain himself, a change that would remain unseen to his fellow knights. His extensive, passionate tirade was abruptly quelled, allowing moments of quiet to pass. Although the other knights stood loyally stiff in their stances, the captain's still, respectful stance loosened, an act which no Loyal Knight would dare contemplate.
The captain then immediately pulled himself back together, saluting Elliott. "As you command, sir," the captain knight then suddenly acknowledged, surprising his squad. As was instructed, he turned to the winch at Elliott's left, proceeding towards the rather large mechanism.
The Loyal Knights were understandably shocked by this happening. They had strict orders not to open this gate for any reason, yet the captain was to break it. "C-Captain," one of the Loyal Knights called out, alarmed. "What are you doing?! Captain!? Captain!!"
But his words fell upon dead ears, for the captain was convinced to open the way. He firmly took hold of the device, and with ease, began winding it toward him. Without further delay, that particular Loyal Knight who sought answers charged at him. "Cease this act at once!" The knight demanded, grabbing at the captain's arm.
A struggle ensued, yet almost upon moment of arrival, the captain swung at the knight. A brutal elbow hurled his way, enforced with a strength even greater than the average Solasúian. It pummeled straight into the center of the Loyal Knight's helmet, a blow like getting hit with a mace.
It was an incredibly painful, stinging injury, stunning the pursuing Loyal Knight and sending him stumbling backwards. The dazed knight then backed into some nearby crates, unfortunately placed as though the universe were a mischievous prankster out to get him. He plummeted into them, a loud, thunderous crash there to greet him. The stunned knight's body laid atop their broken remains, his hand futilely clenching onto his head to cease its mad, dizzying spiral.
Dealing that blow to the pursuing Loyal Knight, the captain returned to unwinding the winch. It was now up to the other Loyal Knight to cease this insanity, this betrayal. "Stop, captain!" The other Loyal Knight shouted, her legs running at him in an alarmed, frantic pace.
"Knight," her ears then caught the sound of the calm nobleman speak. In a instinctive reaction, the knight instantly turned to her superior. Elliott peered directly into her teal blue eyes. "You look quite exhausted, as you should be, given the long, grueling shift you were dealt. Perhaps it would be wise to get some rest."
In the instant of Elliott's suggestion, the knight felt an identical sensation to her captain's. The snakes within Elliott's irises spun around in a perpetual cycle, a ceaseless, enchanting dance which petrified the knight. She felt as if a snake struck out and attacked her, sinking its fang into her. She was polluted with this overcoming feeling, ravaging every impulse she had to her duty.
The knight froze solid, even as her duty instructed her to stop the captain at all costs. She then saluted her superior, completely ignoring the traitor. "As you command, sir," she calmly acknowledged, despite her once alarming tone.
Armed with this command, she calmly headed to a corner, then collapsed onto the floor. She just flopped over like dead weight, her armour hitting the ground in a crash most heavy. She was content laying here as though a toy no longer of interest, even despite the obvious traitor in her midst.
To Elliott's right was that last Loyal Knight in attendance, having begun to shake off his wooziness. "L-Lord Cayrel...!" The knight desperately yelled, pulling himself out of the crate. "Wh-why do you remain idle?! What are you...?"
The nobleman then gazed down upon the knight, his stance still uneven and swaying. "Knight," Elliott called out the knight upon the ground, receiving the instinctive reaction to look at what made that sound. "Remain seated."
And indeed, upon issuing another command, the staggered knight froze, the venom of the snake introduced into his veins. With his whole entirety being manipulated against his will, the knight sprung up to his feet, seemingly mindless of his dizziness, his ailments. He then immediately pulled himself into his respectful stance, pressing his left hand firmly into the right side of his chest.
"As you command, sir," the knight acknowledged, thoughtlessly taking in Elliott's order despite his previous resistance. Even as the captain attended to the winch, the knight simply sat himself back down. He sat there in the broken crates, reminiscent to a doll absently staring into a wall. There was no thought in his mind, seemingly induced into a near-catatonic state.
With the knights defeated seemingly by themselves, Elliott turned his focus beyond this fortification. He could hear the loud, unsettling sound of the portcullis' teeth slowly being pried out from their metal sheathes. And without surprise, this happening caused quite a bit of alarm amongst the archers patrolling the walls.
Elliott could hear them talking between one another, some were jarred while others were playful. The latter guffawed, mocking their comrades who jumped and 'cowered' at the sound of the gate opening. But those alerted archers were unamused, unconvinced of their lightheartedness. Lord Balor himself ordered the gates to remain closed without exception, so why were they being lifted?
As they sought an answer in their confusion, the ground beneath them began to rumble. It was then that a sight so unimaginably horrifying washed over their glowing eyes, a sight which made the very skin on their bones scramble in terror. Their thoughts ran empty, their teeth chattered in their skulls, their legs became akin to solid rock as it approached.
Back within the gatehouse, the captain came to the winch's end. He then secured the winch's position, locking it in its place. His objective complete, the captain knight returned his focus onto Elliott. The nobleman then turned to the captain, his ears listening into the sounds of utter panic and pandemonium.
"Your shift has come to its end, captain," Elliott informed the soldier. "Go, return home to your wife and children. I'm certain they miss you terribly."
One last command issued to the captain, one of which he respectfully saluted his superior to. "Thank you, Lord Cayrel," the captain graciously expressed, bowing to the nobleman.
Without further delay, the captain turned from Elliott and went merrily on his way. He stepped out into the dim light of the early morning, startling the other archers. Yet unbeknownst to him -- or perhaps he was aware but just didn't acknowledge it -- there was something truly frightening charging right at them.
"Now that that business has been handled, I need to—,"
calmly plotted Elliott, yet a sound he heard, a feeling he felt ceased any and all thought he had in mind. Rather than concerning himself with his escape, the nobleman concealed himself behind the safety of a wall, evaluating his situation before moving forward.
This sound he heard, this feeling he felt... It sounded and felt like the stampede of hundreds of angry bulls coming straight for them, their faces maniacally savage and thirsty for blood, their weapons brandished and prepared for the slaughter. Even more unnerving than this sight was the sounds they emitted, the archers able to make out some rather intimidating, animal-esque sounds coming from the barbarians.
"...Cl-close the gate!" Told one of those formerly mocking archers to another, watching his brutal death draw nearer. "Close it now!!"
That particular archer quickly spun around and made a mad dash for the gatehouse, just barely able to keep his balance. With his heart racing as fast as his feet, the archer managed to get to the gatehouse. But to his surprise, he crossed paths with the captain, who seemed oblivious to the situation.
"...Captain!" frantically hollered the archer. "Why have you lifted the gates!? You need to close them NOW!"
The captain stood in the doorway, blocking the path between the archer and the winch. "I'm going home," the captain replied, euphoric. "My long, accursed shift is over!"
"...W-what? But the enemy is approaching
right now!
"
"Oh, that sounds like a major issue. Well, be certain to inform your acting captain of that, because if the enemy launches an attack, it's not going to be me hanging from the gallows~! I am officially
off-duty
at this time!"
It was then that a mass frenzy started, numerous ringings of bells rippled through the atmosphere. The archers who had not abandoned their posts began getting picked off, their numbers torn apart by the impeccable accuracy of Solasúian archers. It unleashed a sight straight from a nightmare, some of those wounded archers plummeting from the tops of the walls. Others lifelessly dangled from the edges, their blood trickling down the adamas walls.
Hundreds, if not, thousands of savages came storming through the gates, some forgetting the real objective here and rushing into the city while others butchered all life to be seen. The archer heading for the gatehouse barged through the captain, entering in by force and haste. He rushed to the winch, finding then Elliott Cayrel behind the sanctuary of the wall beside the winch.
In that instance, the back of the archer's head was bashed inwards. Several of the barbarians having pursued him as he scurried away, dropping the archer to the ground. "Ha ha ha ha!" savagely laughed one of those barbarians. "And just where do you think you're going!?"
The archer barely clung onto his consciousness as the savages began to drag him out of the gatehouse, each heartless fiend wearing the most violent smile conceivable. The archer's fate was a sickeningly grim one indeed, Elliott able to hear as the brutes viciously beat him to death. The nauseating sounds of bones cracking, the stomach-turning thuds, his blood-curdling screams...
That was all he could hear, the horrific, shrill wails and cries of these once extravagantly proud Solasúians. The trembling Elliott then very carefully, frightfully peeked his eyes around the corner, lying in breathless witness to ghastly violence; sheer, chaotic, purposeless violence... The ringing of bells fell eerily quiet, marking the end of all life, the symbolic contrast to the Solasúian belief which professes the ringing of a bell as the beginning of Utopia.
All his ears could hear now was their laughter, their spine-chilling animal-esque noises, and their obscene taunts. He tried his best to remain steady, examining the appearances of the attackers. There was no doubt in his mind, he knew exactly what kind of savages had been unleashed upon Governanti. He watched then as the thousands of barbarians pushed forward, eager to get on to the stories of endless wealth.
However, some of the Alverrians took their sweet time. Some partook in the spoils of war, while others engaged in some bizarre, almost ritualistic practices. They lathered their weapons in the blood of their fallen enemies, even brushing stripes of blood upon their faces and bare chests, a sort of war paint to intimidate the enemy.
The nobleman stood there, immobilized. His glowing hazel eyes watched the steady stream of Alverrian savages as they flowed into the city, practically licking their lips. He then peered upon him, a certain young man with silver hair, pale skin, and fierce purple eyes. And although a scarf did try to keep it discreet, Elliott could make out a very distinct scar across his throat.
There was no doubt about it, Elliott knew that that was Raphael Béla. But that scar across his throat, it became apparent that that must have been the wound that Lucia inflicted. A slash from ear-to-ear, silting open his throat... A death sentence, to be certain. But despite its fatal nature, Raphael was still alive, with but a nasty scar to prove it ever happened.
Surrounding him were several strange characters, people who definitely stuck out from their encirclement of bloodlusting savages and barrel-chested barbarians. Elliott's eyes then found a familiar soul among the crowd of recognizable characters, a sickeningly slender, terribly pale-skinned man with black hair and a stare as unforgiving as a frozen tundra.
The nobleman's eyes grabbed at his long, tight-fitting, black coat, lunging through the crowd like a lance through flesh to find him at its heart. "Telvern!!" Elliott vigorously named, a desperate shout across this devastated plane of death.
His voice compelled the genius to halt, yet Telvern would not turn to him. Curious minds among the crowd turned to Elliott, hearing as he knew Telvern by name. But their feet continued on regardless, knowing that they had to rally up with the sub force. As they began to clear, Elliott very cautiously came out from the safety of the gatehouse. "What have you done? When word broke of your invasion upon Ormemel, I believed your strategy was to rally the human slaves there to bolster your numbers."
"It was, but it proved a fruitless endeavor," Telvern confirmed, still not breaking his gaze forward. "Our only option left was Alverra. In order to coax Silas into submitting our request for reinforcements, I offered Governanti up as a massive treasure trove for his people to plunder."
"You invited barbarians from Alverra into our home!? I don't—"
"—Your home, not mine," the genius returned, his low tone somehow piercing through Elliott's raised voice.
"Are my words truly so bewildering? This wretched place is of no significance to me. It can rot for all I care."
"You swore an oath to Lord Divus, Telvern," Elliott reminded Telvern, furious over his unsympathetic tone. "...Do you earnestly intend to betray the man who welcomed you with open arms, who offered you only displays of utmost compassion and consideration?"
"The one who pledged himself to that feckless pact lost his life a long time ago. He was a sentimental fool who convinced himself that he was capable of protecting the world through peace and constructive conversation. But eventually, the truth of his naivety found him when he lost that which he cherished most of all. He so proudly swore to protect the world, yet the fool couldn't even protect his own. He realized his futility, and gave in to his despair."
"And so this is your answer, is it? To allow Alverrian savages, who strive not for the Resistance's aspirations of equality and emancipation, to pillage, rape, and murder anything and anyone they desire?"
"Are the Alverrians really so different to the gods of Governanti?" Telvern then put out, staying Elliott. "Alverrians are lowborn and covered in blood, the ideal savages. Governantis are highborn and swathed in gold, yet still savages all the same. Where the Alverrians might practice their savagery in public, the Governantis practice in secret. They pillage, rape, and murder equally. The only difference is Governantis sugarcoat these acts with words like confiscation, punishment, and justice."
"So an eye for an eye, is it?" the nobleman concluded, clenching his fists in ire. "A comeuppance for the city's collective misbehavior, even if some caught in your brand of vigilante justice have done no wrongdoing. Is that the same fairness that your cause has so prominently advocated?"
"You're reading too much into it," Telvern then sighed heavily. "I suppose it doesn't really matter."
