Hearing the command of their superior officer, those soldiers stood up to their feet and began finding whatever they could and putting it in front of the door. Raphael clenched onto his right shoulder, still in great pain due to its being broken. The young leader then began to think, what might aid them in this time? "Dammit," he growled softly to himself, unable to come up with anything. Though, any help would be useful, he knew Telvern could not be trusted.
But then the room was enveloped by a green light, blinding many of the soldiers. The light was not long for this world, appearing and then suddenly dissipating as quickly as it came. What appeared then was perhaps something that could be both useful and harmful to have around: Soter the Savior. Raphael's eyes then fly over to the messenger's appearance, surprised to see him. "S-Soter...?" he stuttered the titan's name.
Soter's green eyes couldn't help but to stare over to his right, seeing the dark-robed young man Daevarro. He felt that chilling, resentful presence from the young man, this deep, bottomless malice. Daevarro even felt it too, his sorrow and worries over the situation transforming into a deep, utter hatred and fury. "What are you doing here?" the young leader then asked a question.
Soter turned to Raphael. "The Elder Gods wish to speak with you," the messenger stated. "I am to protect you until they are given a chance to."
Soter pulled his left hand over Raphael's right shoulder, gazing down at his broken arm. Green light began to emit from the messenger's hand, his power mending the bones which had been shattered by Lucia's attack upon him. "I'd rather you not waste your time healing me," Raphael candidly responded, gazing down at the titan in action. "Your healing is better spent on the others who actually need it."
"The lives of your men are not of my concern," Soter returned, giving Raphael an equally honest but callous statement. "The Elder Gods wish to speak with the Resistance, and as their leader,
you
are the Resistance."
"A leader is nothing but a figure," Raphael believed. "I am not the Resistance, I'm just a front. All these people here in this room, and all those that have died,
are
the Resistance."
"Regardless if what you may speak is true, I am to only assist you,"
"No offense, but what makes you think you can protect me?" the young leader then questioned, ready to strike low and desperate. Biting his lip, Raphael deployed a dirty tactic to persuade the titan into doing as he suggested. "You just let Uriel get killed on your watch, and by just a single man. How do you expect to protect me against an entire army?"
Soter's green eyes then darted, stabbing into Raphael. The silver-haired young man traded harsh glances, the messenger almost appeared as though he wished suffering upon Raphael. It appeared even through his stoic guise, giving Raphael the belief that he may have truly hit the nerve. Sluggishly, Soter's hand crept down as he continued to stare icily at the young leader.
"Do it," Raphael then spoke. It took a moment, but Soter absorbed that which he was given. Swallowing his anger, the titan turned to the nearest wounded. He knelt down beside the injured, and put his hand just before their wounds. His hand began to glow, and the process of mending began.
Outside of the castle, the siblings stood between two fountains in the courtyard, its water gazing up at the darkness. But the water's face had many crawling, bright, orange embers appeared on its surface. Stepping into the dark, hollow courtyard, several Loyal Knights from Drakon's squad rush passed Balor and Lucia, lighting up any flammable surface: barrels, wooden supports for the walls, ladders, anything.
They used the torches normally used by the soldiers of the Resistance to see during their night patrol, setting anything in sight ablaze. The gatehouse behind them began to bellow with smoke, its ladders, barrels, and all other sources for storage were lit on fire. The banners of the Resistance were cut down, left to lay in the pools of blood and bodily fluids that covered the streets.
Walking side-by-side, their soldiers loyally followed just behind, the siblings relish in the situation. They had begun to hear the frantic pace within the castle, all that had happened, even Soter's sudden appearance. Balor turned to Lucia, seeing a moved expression and position. "Sister," he called. "are you going to be all right?"
Lucia's weary eyes gazed heavy up upon that structure where she perhaps felt the most alive, where she felt like herself. The memories of all that she experienced flow into her skull, forcing its way in. Painfully, she recollected, until she knew that she was... as ready as she could be. To tear up the pictures, to burn away all the memories, to truly never be able to look back.
As the orange-colored night sky filled with smoke and embers, the queen's grip upon her blade tightened. The air around them quivered, some of the Loyal Knights already finding some humans that escaped their attention. The horrific, bloodcurdling shrieks filled the now hollow night, their pain shaking in their voice. The crying of several people heard, their wails over the death of a loved one.
Her glowing, pale blue eyes turned to her brother, letting off a light smile. But Balor knew that this was just a mask, one of the many façades she has worn all throughout her life. "You needn't trouble yourself over me, brother," she assured him, then turning her gaze back to the castle. "I'll be fine."
What she said, Balor took as the truth. He wouldn't question her, that wouldn't be right. He shook his head, acknowledging what she said to be the utmost truth. "Very well," he replied, turning then to his men. "It would seem they've begun to barricade the front door, securing extra time to tend to their wounded. Men, break down the front door, create a distraction! We shall escort ourselves in and surprise them."
All of the Loyal Knights stood up straight, clenching their left hands into a fist and putting it to the right side of their chests. "Yes, my king!" they replied, understanding well their orders. Any Loyal Knight willing -- and there were many willing -- did as told, heading over to the door.
Balor set his eyes to the red-haired archer, who looked away in disgust. “I expect you to follow them,” Balor then said to him. “You coming along with us will just be a hindrance.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Shinon spoke just to ward Balor away. The archer did as directed, rushing over to the Loyal Knights and readying himself. He stood at their backs, preparing his bow and arrow. Gallows and several Loyal Knights followed behind Balor and Lucia, the two heading off to the right side of the castle.
Back inside, after his business with Soter, Raphael's eyes then settled down on a familiar dark garb, walking over to it. Daevarro carefully, slowly pulled his eyes over to the one coming for him. Raphael stood close to Daevarro, enough to speak in whispers. "Where the hell were you?” Raphael whispered, his anger hissing under his lips. “The whole fight, you were absent.*
*I was...” the young man mumbled, then gulping saliva and his angst. “I was in the back, helping out in the best way I could.”
Raphael was quite close to getting his answer, but the whole castle begun to shake. The double doors at the front of the castle rumbled and shook, sending bits of stone to hit the floor. Outside, they began ramming their shoulders, kicking, even punching the front door down. The reinforcement held up, but it was not long for this world.
Raphael and everyone in the building seemed startled by this change, a sense of panic and impending doom began to settle in the hearts of the men who’ve seen Death’s door, whose lives have been touch by its finger. The young leader tilted back to those dark robes, drawn back to Daevarro. “Do what you have to do,” Raphael instructed Daevarro. “just don’t get yourself killed.”
Daevarro shook his head. “Right,” he agreed, bolting out of the room as fast as he could. He needed to find a place of respite, a moment of silence to regather his focus, his clarity. He knew he had to choose a room that was close enough to hear what went on in the fight, but not too close. A place where he could know what was going on in the fight, where he’d know where his enemies are. Somewhere just below, perhaps?
Daevarro rushed towards that place: the prison room. He ran down the hallway, the smell of distant flames lurked even in here. The hallway was aligned with banners of the Resistance, reminding Daevarro of what was at stake here. At the center of the left wall, an old looking door stood. He pushed open that door, flooding into the room.
There was some stairs in the center of the room, in which Daevarro ran down. At its feet, Daevarro found a door, of which he flung open. This door revealed to him the prison room, it in all of its blackness. Daevarro pulled his eyes upwards towards the ceiling, seeing if he could hear anything. He could hear Raphael talking to calm his men, Adil backing him up.
He heard Raphael’s footsteps, meaning this was set up so that the prison was just below the entrance room. The footsteps he heard weren’t loud at all, quite low tuned actually. If Daevarro could somehow tell the difference between the two armies, surely that would aid him immensely. Daevarro remembered enough in regards to the room’s shape, size, and ornaments that stood from the floor or the walls in which they adorned.
This place did*’t have too many places to hide, the room itself was practically hollow as a bottle. So, Daevarro placed himself in the center of the room, that way he could hear all the footsteps in equality. Beside the flickering candle and table where the warden would normally sit, the young man dropped to the floor and sat down with his legs criss-crossed.
In one of the cells, a certain someone watched young Daevarro with utter intrigue. He smirked lightly, barely making him out through his vision. But he knew him just by his appearance, a familiar dark robe. Telvern was upon his bed, sitting up against the back-most wall of his cell. "Intend on hiding?" the question then popped out from his mouth to the young man. "You're still young, you'd best run away and hide. There's nothing you can do, especially now when they know who you are and what you intend."
Daevarro's hazel eyes then shuffled to his right, peering down Telvern's cell and into the blackness. He was unable to make out Telvern, but he knew he was there. He seemed surprised by Telvern's statement, but shook it off. "It doesn't matter," the young man then spoke, believing truly his own words. "I know enough about the risks, but that's not going to stop me. This... this is my home, and everyone here is my friend, no matter if they hate me or not. I'm not going to abandon all of that to save myself."
A sudden pick up of a light laughter then echoed from the blackness, catching Daevarro's attention and perhaps angering him. "Quite strongwilled, aren't we?" Telvern's voice stated, ceasing of his laughter. "Wonder how long you'll stay that way..."
"If you think you're going to get into my head, you're wrong," Daevarro returned, quite offended and off-put by Telvern's comments, his questioning of the young man's will.
"You know what I think, Daevarro?" Telvern proceeded to ask.
"I'm not sure if I'm interested in knowing,"
"I think you're a good kid," the genius regarded, taking the dark-robed young man's attention. He raised his eyebrow, giving Telvern a questionable expression. "You have loyalty, conviction, belief. You're someone who knows what he wants, despite being so young. Now, wouldn't it be sad if such a great kid were to die here, in a place like this?"
"Whatever you say won't change my opinion," Daevarro quickly fanned the flames of Telvern's strange comments. "I'm here to stay."
A moment of silence came to be, leading Daevarro into believing that he slew Telvern's words before its army could be incited. "And your sister?" Telvern's voice then popped out, very swiftly taking Daevarro's attention. "Do you think she'd want you to die here, after all she—?"
Daevarro's face was morphed by ire, his eyes glaring into the darkness that covered Telvern. "--
Don't
talk about Beatrice like you knew her," the young man's voice then suddenly bursted through Telvern's words, spoken in a demanding -- almost resentful -- tone.
"Yes, perhaps that was slightly... under the table," Telvern went on, acknowledging the fury that shook in Daevarro's tongue, appearing completely unfazed and maybe even expecting it. "But you've yet answered the question."
Daevarro rekindled his focus, closing his eyes and concentrating. "I refuse to," he then growled. Finally, Daevarro silenced the genius. But in his mind, Daevarro began to truly question... He couldn't acquire the answer that Telvern pressed on to find, but he then thought that perhaps she'd want him to find himself and stand up for what he believes in. He hoped, but it was something that he could only guess at.
Telvern picked up on this doubt, this inability to properly know, this conflict. And he didn't even need to peer into Daevarro's head to really notice this, seeing the battle wage upon Daevarro's face. Telvern lightly sighed to himself, turning his steely gaze away from the young man. He then looked up towards the ceiling, hearing all that went on above his head.
Outside, Balor and Lucia found themselves at the center of the eastern wall of the castle. They were somewhat away from it, gazing up at the stone-brink structure. Behind them were their soldiers, all ready, willing, and able. Every single knight stared straight up at the top of the castle, thinking up of ways to penetrate the fortress.
Finding his sister, the king’s gracious eyes dropped down upon her. “Sister,” the king then spoke to her. “may I trust that you can guide us to wherever they may hide?”
Lucia shook her head, confirming her brother’s rightfully placed faith in her. “Of course,” she told him. Lucia began to sprint as fast as she could, heading at full-speed towards the wall. The queen’s body then took off from the soil just a moment later, she began to ascend upwards into the air. Her dress waved as the air brushed passed her, the arm cloak of that particular person flapping like a flag.
She did feel that momentary sense of weightlessness, finding herself at the height of her jump. At its peak, what goes up must come down. Her body fell downwards, she was controlled and composed as she began to freefall. Balor then turned to his men, all of them knew exactly what their king was to say them. “Follow in her step,” he commanded.
Once he spoke, the black-haired lord charged towards the wall in the same fashion as the one who just took off. Once the king fled, all the others did as told. They jumped rather high into the air after a good run, hurling their bodies like a stone in a sling.
They slammed down at the crown of the castle, all standing on top, prepared both mentally and physically for what may come their way. Lucia then rushed forward, hopping off from the top of the castle and down a level. She landed in a space with two spiral staircases to her far left and right. She pointed her left hand towards the staircase to the right, the one she was furthest from.
“Gallows,” she commanded as the others landed behind her. *take some of the men and head off in that direction. That way leads to the same end as us, just go down to the bottom floor and straight down the hallway.”
Gallows quickly bowed his head, respecting the authority and command of his superior. “...Yes, madam,” the general then acknowledged, then turning to his men. “Let us go!”
There were a few dissatisfied grumbles in the men left in Gallows’ hand, some not with respect for their general after his display of empathy, perhaps something many of these people lack. But they knew they couldn’t disobey direct commands, especially with the king and queen standing right there. Gallows and the others did as he was told, rushing towards the staircase.
The barricades weren’t holding out anymore to the fury of angry Loyal Knights. It was a panic moment, a make-it-or-break-it. A hail of fists and kicks swiftly broke through the barricades, but it wasn't finished yet.
...and waited. They waited, whether to live or die was anyone's guess.
Their hearts beating faster and faster with every hit, they knew they had precious few seconds left. So many were still left untreated, still quite injured, and Soter no longer had time to tend to them. He slowly rose to his feet, stair intensely at the double doors. As he stood up to his feet, Soter’s right arm would rise. His opened, free right hand pointed towards the entrance, his body building with a thick charge.
The atmosphere began to darken, yet brighten with a flicker of light every few seconds. From Soter’s hand sprung electricity, popping up at random all along his arm. His hand quivered as the almost overwhelming power infiltrated the titan’s body. All of this power was sourced to a ball of lightning in front of Soter’s right palm, radiating with energy.
The barricade was busted down, revealing men of black steel. But they felt it, the pressure and disorientation of their sixth sense telling them to stay away. But they couldn’t, loyal to the end and ready to die for the cause. Just as the moment of the Loyal Knights breaching the barricade occurred, Soter noted to himself that his attack was ready.
With a thunderous, near deafening bang, a bolt of lightning blew out from Soter’s right hand and aimed straight for the Loyal Knights. Happening faster than anyone can even register, the strike gets its target. The flash itself was blinding, leaving all as though they had a sheet of bright, white paper taped to their face.
The furious, crackling thunderclap, the bolt of lightning hit the front directly. Then, they had to deal with an explosion, which harmed even some of the members of the Resistance as it blew them back. Charred bodies of those Loyal Knights were either pushed away from the attack or left to suffer upon the floor.
