[SS] Hazy Silhouette

The knight wasn't entirely surprised about what happened. Well, he wasn't surprised when the shade reacted in the way it did upon asking for its name. But what followed though, he didn't wish for it. There was nothing he can do as Sir Van was struck down without any visible damage, the older knight shattered and collapsed to the ground as quickly the shade broke that glass.

This was devasting, the loss of a comrade always was but he had to remain focused. The incident with the magician outside had only shown that healing would be utterly pointless. At least with his current level of ability, the best he could do was to stabilise him and that would be only temporary. Though it may seem heartless, he couldn't back away to attend his fallen comrade. No, he couldn't back down in the face of the enemy.

That was the nature of the battlefield.

The arrival of Starbright was also a surprise to him, her presence though encouraging only added a new worry. She was a magician, and no matter how hard he tried Alexander was a knight. So these things don't come to him easily, the mysteries of magic and supernatural. He worked on logic not the abnormal and while he can learn, it would take him some time to catch up to the expertise of a magician.

But the expertise of a knight, however, was something he can work with.

"Sir York, watch my back." Alexander said as he moved into position in front of Starbright in a defensive posture. With sword and shield, the young knight's breathing slowed as he sharpened his senses. He knew normal attacks would not work here, so either he had to wait for an opportunity, whatever form it takes. But until then he must do his best to keep the other two alive, no matter what and figure out the truth behind that attack.

And after making a silent wish that Van would pull through, the young knight spoke to the shade of a man.  

"The massacre of the vicious Vampire? Did you draw the vampire out? Did you organise everything? But why? What is the point of this pointless exercise?" Alexander said who found his words unclear. So this was just a stab in the dark, or maybe it was buying time for Starbright to think and for a chance to arrive. "Your master? What is he after..." Alexander said who finally thought he was getting a picture of the real threat. But the only benefit of killing a vampire would be cutting out their heart.

A vampire's heart was basically an infinite source of fuel for magic. They, in theory, could use it to construct a powerful magical weapon or for a really big spell.

The situation was much akin to a deadlock between opposing parties. With one being the absolutely overwhelming force of an enemy army holding a massive amount of nuclear weapons and the other a minor country, slowly being picked apart, yet secretly digging a tunnel into the enemy camp, trying to create the miracle of a devastating susprise counter attack before the rockets would go off.

They knew both.

That was why it felt so unnatural.

Yet why didn’t that man make his move yet? Why did he wait so long?

Was it because he was sure of his victory? Or was he actually waiting for their counter attack to come?

It couldn’t just have been words, or could it?

«First of all. We didn’t draw them out. They were here before us. We only helped them attract the crowds, toying with their expectations to an extent that would increase the spectacle’s greatness.

As a matter of fact, never has our master been interested in the vampire itself, nor was our task centred around it. We never were truly involved with them, nor did we care much. Always it has only been about the audience. Or why do you believe it became so massive? Because of chance? Because there were some unimportant rumours about a serial killer?»

Talking didn’t stop him from acting. While two knights in full gear and a mysterious Magician would stand before him, he still held the strongest card. They knew about the spell his kind used, the kind of effect that would grant invulnerability, so of course they wouldn’t even waste their precious breaths. Instead they would wait and analyse. They would leave him to do whichever he wanted.

And thus a bottle was remove from the floor right next to the table. A bottle he’d slowly free of its muddy brown contents, before lifting it up in front of himself, looking through the glass once again, the image of his right eye being obstructed by its prismatic characteristics, spreading across the outer shape..

«What our master desired was just what happened. The entire world has assembled, representatives of everywhere, blindly chasing after a silhouette in the haze. An invisible fiend, they believe only themselves can slay. A competition for who gets the crown. A bloody, unfair competition, beyond any rule and law. One bringing forth only the worst in its competitors.»

He was taking aim and…

A splash of water.

The final debt, stagehands, their claim of success. In the few short moments between her questions and the shade's final answer, her thoughts continued racing, racing. She wasn't finished yet, she didn't have the answers yet, so she continued thinking. And finally, after what felt like an impossibly long while but in truth was just a short instant, she stumbled upon it. Uncovered it, her answers. There were still some holes, but the greater picture was now more or less complete. To put it in the parlance of the mystery genre, she had uncovered the method and murderer, but the motive remained the mystery.

"Alex, turn off the light! Don't let them aim!"

And in the special subgenre of mystery known as magic, it was only once you knew the who and how that you could secure yourself from becoming a victim yourself. Details for the motives were slowly filled in as the shade continued speaking, and the use for the PET bottle came partway through, but it was only when the bottle was used as a looking glass that the final piece was filled in.

Basque mythology, the source of their spells, was one of the many that were trampled over by Christianity, but even among the many it was hit particularly hard. The mass persecution left only fragments that remained until the modern day, all else lost. Following that, counter-spells from a Christian system would be particularly effective. Counter-spells such as granting the nameless shadows new appellations through a pseudo-baptismal rite. Holy water and names, Christianity and Basque myth.

"Wet your blade with this water, name them as you cut them. Give them new names through baptism."

Continuing to give instructions, she found herself advocating for the use of violence. But even knowing what she thought she knew about why they were here and what they were doing after the end, they were trying to kill them. And while they may have conversed, they had made it clear that peace was not their intent.

"A spell that powerful can't work unilaterally. They have to use your image in the glass to target you."

So she continued to explain things to the knight beside her. Lacking the power to fight or to defend herself, all she could do was provide the means for him to protect his own life, and perhaps hers in the process. She could hope that he wouldn't resort to unilaterally slaying them all, but knowing what she did of the Knights she didn't anticipate much.

So a splash of water would put out the flame, and a splash of water would grant them new names. Even if the first place they would be written would be their grave markers...

"Alex, turn off the light! ... Don't let them aim! Wet your blade with this water, name them as you cut them.  ... Give them new names through baptism." the magician had explained everything to him and more importantly what needs to be done. While most knights would complain, there was no one else offering any better ideas. So he took the bottle from Starbright without question before turning his eyes back to the Shade of a Man.

He couldn't allow this to be their tomb, that was a fate he couldn't afford to happen. Determined on this the young knight pulled his hood over his head and then the light vanished instantly. Now in the darkness, he wasted no time to apply the water on his sword.

"Focus and remember." Alexander said to himself as he lowered his stance preparing to strike. He remembered everything. The young knight had stayed observant of his surroundings the entire time and everything that he saw while the light was on had now been sketched into his mind. Their position and outline, the size of the room along with where his allies had stood. The objects in the room and where the fallen knight had laid.

He had remembered it all and even calculated how fast they would act. To the point, a sudden crash was heard as Alexander struck without warning within the darkness. It was a powerful strike that almost shook the entire room, the knight couldn't be sure if he actually struck a shade in the darkness. But he had to trust his instincts and what he remembered.

"James." he spoke and wasted no more time, following the map laid out in his mind Alexander went on the offensive. The sound of sword strokes can be heard, and powerful vibrations could be felt as each one was faster and more precise.

"Paul! Matthias! Judas! Simon! Mary! Matthew! Thomas! Bartholomew! Philp!" They were just some of the names he had spoken but all of them shared a theme, they were all names mentioned in the bible at some point and even used names of the Apostles. He laid waste to all known positions and avoided his allies surprisingly well before dealing with the final shade.

Returning to where he originally stood, the knight sprung forward into the darkness with superhuman speed, and you could feel the pressure as he suddenly stopped and smashed the table away with his shield before striking the last known position of the 'Shade of a Man.'

"Peter! I have named you all in the grace of God. Amen." Alexander had said, knowing he didn't need to say that last part, but, this was a baptism. And though he felt slightly dirty for saying it, the knight's job was done. He remained on guard while keeping his sword in place as it started to glow ever so slightly to see if it worked. And what he saw was...

And as the lights went out, things truly went South.

The entire time a conflict had prevailed between the two parties. The saviours of Whitby and the stage hands of its greatest threat, yet now it would be…

Resolved.

Within a matter of seconds the impossible foes fell, one by one, slain by the hero’s golden sword. They fell like the flies. Just like the bottle they fell and shatter without any chance at resistance.

Or was there even any to begin with?

A miserable chuckle pierced through the darkness. Its reach, while short, would suffice to arrive at the ones destined to hear. A sound neither born from despair nor mourning. It was pure, simple, straight forward, oddly warm.

«…thus…everything is truly the way…it is supposed to be…»

As his broken body lay there in the darkness, that shade of a man would raise his voice just one last time, confirming the definite state of things.

«…it was a pleasure…Sir Beathen…and Miss…?»

There was no way they could see the expression on his face that very moment. Yet there was no need to, did his voice sound exactly like that of a man smiling in thorough satisfaction.

With his destiny sealed, time once again became a matter of concern. Just a simple misstep, a turn in the wrong direction, and a lot of questions would remain forever unanswered.

"Albrekka Starbright."

It was possible that they had not truly been defeated, and that his asking for her name was a last ditch attempt at striking them down, part of some final desperate spell. But that didn't matter to her, and such worries failed to cross her mind. That kind of paranoia was all too pointless.

Telling a lie out of fear to a man like this would be simply too much. Instead she gave her name, hiding nothing. And in return for that transparency, what she hoped for was...

"This is your loss, yes?"

Normally, it would be her immediate inclination to attempt to treat the fallen figures, now that they had been stripped of will and ability to resist. But in this case, she did not. In part because she had heard of just how sharp the Knights blades her, and in part because one could not heal those who did not wish to be healed. Even if she were to do so, and it were in her ability to do so, it would turn back on her in the end.

Taking advantage of the dimness of the light Alex provided, she focused solely on the shade's face, Peter's. The one who had stood at the forefront. And from him, she requested something very simple. That, being satisfied, he would hopefully answer readily.

"Then please answer. Your master is Ambroise, yes? Whatever it is you know about him and his plans for this town... In full detail, please tell us."

The truth is scattered across the heavens. A fragment lay in this man's hands. Hidden. But now, it would be shared as it should.

But before the man could answer, after a short pause, a slight second of hesitation, Albrekka followed up with a second question. It was less pertinent to their situation, but nonetheless, it too had its own importance.

"And what is the debt that you needed to repay?"

«…You are mistaken. That despicable man is not our master. He is…but a pawn…quite similarly to us…»

If anything became visible in that sea of weakness, it was disgust. From this shift of voice alone a long history was implied. One he likely didn’t wish to extent upon, given the emotion he had just shown. Still, even the choice of words would manifest his awareness of their current situation.

«…Miss Stabright, you might call this a loss, but to us it might as well be victory. We have finally achieved what needed to be achieved…»

Their battle was over, he did not hesitate to admit that fact, finally clearing away the tiniest hint of doubt over their intentions. This would serve to become his resignation at long last. A resignation presented in the colours of salvation. That man now named Peter had been saved. He had reached full accomplishment. Yet in what exactly?

«…a long time ago there was a band of men. A group of Magicians from the lands of the Basque. Over generations they had preserved the ancient cultures, keeping upright the old traditions, engaging themselves in the teachings as the very centre of their lives. They would impart their words onto their children and so on.»

His ability to raise his voice under these conditions was a kind that could in fact only inspire awe. However even if the words wouldn’t cease flowing, the act of delivering his speech adequately did demand visible struggle.

«However, things always end up disastrous in life.

Christianity, even after centuries would not leave their culture alone, chasing them and other groups of the same origin. Many fell, kept swarming and seeking refugee at others. Eventually this would result in those men’s group becoming a harbour, a gathering of the lost who feared for the loss of their culture. Yet even with only that fraction of survivors left, the hunters would not let off. They were chased, fought, eradicated.

The last remains would break off, with no place in the world for them to assemble at. They were lost, entirely. Thus they had to take whatever straw they had left.
At long last they were saved.

A man had descended upon them, taking them up, offering them shelter and a new path to continue.
They had to accept, was there no going back to where they had come from, nor any other perspective.

Therefore for their own sakes they would accept the gift and in return discard all of their past. Their dreams and believes they would shatter by their own hands for all eternity. There was no returning to their pursuit, no hope for them to ever do. All they would be from there on out were shadows of their former selves. But that is what saved them. Or so they had thought.

A Magician that no longer can reach their purpose is like an oven without a flame. There is no reason, no goal, no motivation. Like empty husks they would keep on existing.

There was no turning back, for their honour did not allow them to leave their debt uncleared.

Therefore they remained in that accursed Purgatory for the longest time.

Until this very moment.»

Accentuating those final words with a hopeful alteration of his voice, it felt as though the advent of an announcement. An announcement to bring forth something unforeseen. Something to come next.

The sword in his hand slowly brought light to the room, but only doubt remained beneath his hood as the young knight listened to Peter's tale. Hearing the truth about the shades had forced Alexander too also acknowledge the facts about himself.

He never enjoyed resorting to using his blade, when it comes to it this life he was born into wasn't something he would've chosen given a choice. So he tried to make it his own, and why above all else he would prefer to use dialogue rather than force. Because in the end, to achieve those aims you may have to destroy the lives of others or use them.

And listening to this tale had tested his resolve since the Basque story was precisely about the type of people he should be fighting for in his ideal world.  

Their cruel fate was something he wanted others to avoid and would fight to protect that from happening. But there was only so much he can do, and so he needed to find like-minded people to even having achieved his dream.

And so he can only stand there in silence, being the man who just cut them all down. But somehow, the young knight had learned something. The truth about the ugly side of the magical world, sure this was only one tale, but it was that fact which was frightening. And it only made his dream even more distant, and somehow it only hardened his resolve in the end.

And as he thought about all of this and more the knight bowed his head towards Peter. It was a sign of respect, not for what he has done in Whitby but towards who he once was and what he has lost. He then turned to check on the fallen knight's condition.

Peter may have considered this a victory, but Albrekka was certain that that did not necessarily mean that this was her defeat. After all, by this point, she was sure enough in her knowledge of their goal to put it into plain words. Those shades had come to this place to die.

In the past, on the brink of annihilation from persecution, a certain man had given them a place to flee to at the cost of their names. That had at least let them live, but in the end they found they had been stripped of the purpose carved into their souls and set adrift with no direction remaining but the debt they held to that man.

And at some point, that man had called in the debt, bringing them here to Whitby, along with Ambroise, for some goal. Working as stagehands in the shadows, they had arranged the city so that any and all factions lost themselves in the haze chasing the shadow of the vampire, who had been taken advantage of just the same as all the great factions, resulting in a covert, bloody battle royale. His ultimate cause still yet unknown.

And once the former men of the Basque country succeeded in that task and fulfilled that debt, at last they came here. To be freed from what they called purgatory, and finally be put to rest.

That was the summary of what they had learned here.

"Your benefactor didn't tell you anything more about his goals, I suppose..."

"...And also, one more thing." A slight pause as she collected herself. "I don't suppose I can convince you to live?"

Even being mostly certain of the answer, and more than a little hypocritically given how she had enabled Alex to inflict their wounds, she asked. Just to be sure, just to know.

Even without a hint of hope.

«I know of only one more thing…»

That man at the brink of death would begin his answer.

However as though to complete his sentence for him, the world itself spoke up.

The earth was shaking. It was shaking so strongly that everything in that kitchen space was rattling. It was horrendous.

Then in an instant the roof was torn from the building, revealing the white moon in the distance of the hazy sky.

A beauty so baffling, yet impossible to enjoy.

There was something else. People. Many of them had gathered on the remains of the roof. If one sought a better perspective, they would notice that they haven’t been on that building alone. They were everywhere. Dozens, no hundreds, had gathered. Hundreds of men and women in the weirdest forms of clothing. With the impression of a crowd of cosplayers, they would embody countless of different cultures and belief systems. They were Magicians.

But unlike the group of shades, they did not have any unity. If at all it was the total opposite. A tension was lingering in the air. A hostile tension. It wasn’t only directed at the group in its centre, but anywhere and everywhere.

They were all enemies of one another.

A whisper hushed through their mass. It grew into many by a moment

«Where is it?» «Where is it?» «Is it here?» «Have they found it already?» «Is it that man?» «Where?» «Overhere?» «Overthere?» «Where is it?»

Questions over questions.

At their core a single topic.

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

They had come for one reason and one reason only.

That tension was the intention to kill. That tension was the greed to become the first one to kill. That tension was the desperate desire to be the one to claim the head.

This was no time of calm. No time of peace.

If at all, the tension was far from containable.


At long last the two maidens had arrived at their destination.

The place was empty and devoid of people as far the eye could reach.

However, that wasn’t unnatural. Not for the night that had enveloped the entire city, but for the very nature of the place. Massive structures of concrete, making up both the ground and the surrounding buildings, bordering in none other than an endless mass of water. Each breathe they would take would only reward them with freshness so pure it was as though all evil would be dispelled.

The harbour of Whitby.

Millinda Blackwater, the white skinned beauty in black evening dress, finally understood the meaning of everything. However, finally arriving there and taking a glance into the distance once again reminded her of the graveness of the situation, while at the same time she found herself baffled at the beautiful sight of the white moon’s reflection in the cold blue water.



Napolean uniform girl Erin Lightheart’s notebook had been filled with many scribbles throughout their journey. She had written everything down to explain it all to her one and only ally.

Her belief in those actions was strong and so was her conviction.

She desired to end it all.

Alone, however, she believed, she would not be able to. Not because she didn’t hold the strength to herself, but because she wanted that girl to be by her side.

She was the one most deserving of rescuing her beloved. After all, that was why she had come here, wasn’t it?


Saving this town could be done by anyone. However, saving that man was a task destined to fall towards one person only.


With those words, Millinda knew: The moment of truth had come.

It was like a balloon blown past maximum capacity. While the air had yet to cause a pop, the tension in the elastic encasing had started to rebound against the air molecules pushing into it from all angles.

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

Among that myriad of magicians that made up the chaos that readied to burst, however, there were two who did not seem to be caught in the crazed trance that the rest were in.

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

Rather than focusing on the one word that seemed to stand at the core of this discord, their respective gazes focused on those who had just escaped from one danger only to be ready to taken in by the next.

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

All they could do is stand in position, disguised by the masses and ready to act. After all, acting too soon would mean that they’d be the initiators themselves.

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

So, they would stand. Waiting for the balloon to finally pop.

«I know of only one more thing…»

Albrekka had for a short moment waited, with bated breath, to hear the man's last words to her. Possibly his last words in truest sense, as well. Whatever it was he had waited until the end to say, it was surely fitting for the climax of his revelations.

But said words fell silent in Peter's throat as the moonlight swallowed them all. There had been no pre-indication, no warning that Albrekka had seen. One moment they had been shrouded in darkness, and the next the sky greeted them.

Looking above, illuminated by the meager lights of the moon and stars which reached through the haze was an enormous crowd of people. They stood without silence, voices leaking only the mutterings of the insane.

Indeed, hearing what they had from Peter, their identities were clear: lunatics led astray by the silhouette of the full moon in the haze, chasing a shadow without knowing anything of the truth. Albrekka had little idea what had them to this place, all at once, but just looking at the result made the predicament she and Alex had found themselves in clear.

Not a single person here was an ally. Not to them, and not to each other. The possible end results were one and one only: senseless violence. Fighting each other to get at them, they would be caught up in the conflict both as primary targets and collateral damage.

"...Alex. We need to take at least Peter."

Whispering quietly, attempting to avoid the communication being seen or heard by the mob glowering at them from above, she could only hope that the angle or the still considerable shade would prevent it from being noticed. Else, she would simply have to hope that it was insufficient a trigger to bring them to act.

Once they did, it could not be turned back, but at least she would have managed to communicate this before the fact. Looking around and thinking, she had little idea of how they might manage to escape, but she was certain of the manner in which they had to do it.

Peter had yet to finish speaking. It may have been his wish to die, but they would have to force him to continue on a little while longer. Ideally, it would be best if they were able to take the rest with them as well and spare them from the mob, but that was likely impossible.

All that was left to do now was wait for the next change. And in the meantime, think furiously, desperately, about all manner of things. How to live through this, how to ensure the truth reaches everyone, the implications of Peter's words.

And most of all, just whose plan out of the town's many weavers had created this unpleasant scene.

The fallen knight was in critical condition; it seemed as hopeless as the magician they found outside. But he couldn't just leave a comrade to his fate.

Sir Van Wortham was the unlucky fellow, and Alexander owned him a great deal for just following him here. He was a good knight and though he didn't know he would make it. Alexander had no reason not to try and save him.

However, before he could do anything, an unbelievable sight would unfold before him. Not only the shaking was foreboding, but the rattling that came with it would be terrifyingly haunting. If you asked him right now, Alexander wouldn't deny that he was nervously sweating and more so when the roof was torn off.

They were... magicians...

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

His breathing got heavy...

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

Why was he panicking? His hand which held his sword had been shaking.

«Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire» «Vampire»

The intent to kill was so strong...

"Its ok.. its ok.. Alex thought has he closed eyes while taking a deep breath. He had to try and calm his nerves.

"...Alex. We need to take at least Peter."

Following Starbright's words, the young knight's eyes opened. His mind racing was racing thinking about his next action as he slowly picks up Sir Wortham and placed him on his left shoulder. His left hand also begun to glow giving Sir Wortham an constant minor healing at the same time. This may not be enough, but its the only thing he can do considering his steps. Alexander only hopes that it would be enough to get the fallen knight through this and he can silently pray for that outcome.

But with his sword in his other hand, Alexander briefly looked towards Sir York.

"We need to escape and regroup with the others. Take both Peter and Starbright then run as fast as possible. Even if you leave me behind run on my signal and find the others." Alexander said as he approached the weakened wall he almost shattered earlier when he struck the shadows down.

And smashed it with all his strength, blowing the wall through in a moment. And following that horrifying smash which could only serve as the signal he mentioned.

"Run!" Alexander roared as his attack engulfs the room in dust and as he turned to run himself he activates the Knight's communication spell built into his armour. "This is Sir Alexander Beathen requesting emergency assistance! Sir Wortham down and we have two needing protection!" Alexander said as he runs at full speed.

It was the tension ahead of war’s dawn. A tension spreading between individuals and factions, as their eyes would set target on one another. They would stare, analyse, watch, prepare, await. All their minds desired was the blood of their enemy. What were there reasons? Why had they come? What were they seeking? Slowly but surely it would only turn into a hazy silhouette, while what remained was the desire to fight.

They were about to.

All it needed was a starting signal.

A signal one of the people in the centre of it all readily provided.

The moment that man smashed the wall, everyone everywhere was alarmed immediately and everything was sunken in chaos.

In just a moment the boiling pot at its very brim would explode, unleashing a storm of death.

Like fireworks countless spells and curses went off simultaneously, covering everything from south to east and north to west.

Spells, curses, strikes, from single target sure kill attacks to destructive area wide ones, everything and all was unleashed.

The hundreds of Magicians would unleash everything they had. At one another, yet also upon the walking targets in its centre.

That knight had triggered it. But what for? To ensure his and his friends’ escape?

Only to find there was none, had he foolishly underestimated the situation?

Running was no use, did the mass of Magicians spread across the entire area, not simply the neighbouring buildings but the entire district, forming an impregnatable wall.

A wall that would now rain certain death upon them, rashly rushing in to consume them whole.

There was nothing they could do. No defence for them to bring up. No barrier to hide themselves behind. No means of fighting off the overwhelming power.

And thus, their lives would be forfeit.

With the knight’s command to run, the string at its critical tension point had finally snapped. The volatile situation that was barely sitting at perfect equilibrium had finally been thrown off balance by a single extra element, allowing the situation to spill over.

Without a word between them, one of the magicians in the crowd grabbed onto the shoulder of another one—a nun onto a suited man. The nun quickly grabbed numerous nails from her pockets while the suited man quickly tossed a card into somewhere down a the path directly in front of where the knights crashed through the walls.

The card stabbed into the ground as it landed and the two immediately disappeared from their initial position and appeared right where the card had landed. The plan from this point was simple. Manipulate the ridiculous results of the Ace of Swords to get the knights out of the mob and into a safer location.

Banking on the fact that their appearance in that location would be observed as another element of the spiraling chaos, the nun let her hand off the shoulder of the suited man and started flinging nail after naul, one-by-one like a Gatling gun, into the numerous magicians within their direct vicinity and up in front of the break in the wall where they expected the knights to escape from.  They would pin down the magicians who were closest, piercing through their defenses, spells, and curses like a bullet through a shoji.

“This way!” Mark immediately called out, hoping that his voiced reached the green-haired girl and the knights who were trying to make their escape.

If the magicians were too overwhelming in number, then the solution was simple. The bodies of those mowed down in their charge would become a wall as a stopgap while Mark and Francesca guided the knights to a range where he could use the Ace of Swords to reliably escape to a safer location—a risky gamble that required the utmost precision and adaptation from them.

It was a cruel surprise to say the least. When the nun appeared in the path of the mass of the greedy, a change occurred. Not for their wariness increasing, but for the destruction they faced. Suddenly all of their attacks were thrown off, not because of some miracle the nun had cast, but for the absolutely inhuman attacks she threw at them. It wasn’t as though those nails simply pierced them, they literally skewered them. Not only those up front, but everything they would pass through. After all, they were capable of just that.

The Holy Nails.

They were Magicians. As such it would not take them much more time to realise the foundation of the spell that shook their masses, hurting and killing them indiscriminately. It was a powerful spell indeed, ironically more effective in that kind of scenario than any other. But once they understood what they had to go up against, they would acquire the capability of fighting back.

Certainly, there was no sense of unity among them, but that was not needed. For just a moment their goal would be the same. For just a moment all their eyes would be fixed on sole threat that would cover them all.

For just a moment their eyes would ignore all else, focussing entirely on that one girl who had stood up against their overwhelming mass.

And they would come to prove how problematic it would turn out, right the next instance.

Their charge began anew. However, unlike before they didn’t came running in all at once, blindly throwing attacks her away.

Instead one would open up the concert by launching a collection of over-sized fire balls capable of easily ruining the building’s structure. Another wearing the cheap replica of an ancient beast’s pelt would come charging right at her, intending to crush her with his bare hands solely relying on an over exaggerated amount of enhanced strength. From below a collection of magical plastic chains would attempt to wriggle themselves around her, chasing her in case she would move, certain to bind her eternally once she would allow herself to be caught. From another location lighting came chasing her, summoned by a barely clothed girl’s tambourine.

On and on it would go. From any angle, any perspective, any kind of character would come. The colourful horde would hammer down upon her, striking from anywhere and everywhere with basically anything imaginable.

And while the escapees may have been forgotten by the attackers entirely, there wasn’t a chance for them to heave a breath of relief. After all, they had yet to leave the blast zone.

Any attempt to call for help had been interrupted the moment he escaped the building. Almost imminently the vast swathes of magicians unleashed hell on his position. Before he could even react, the young knight who was carrying Van with him was sent flying by an explosion. This caused him to lose his grip as both of them crashed into the ground, but as the barrage of spells continued he had no chance to rest as he tried to roll out of the way.

“--way!”

Only a brief moment opened up that allowed him to recover as he deflects a lightning charge spell which crackled through his blade before being struck into the ground nullifying the attack. But his eyes widen as his sees Van's body lay broken on the ground with no signs of life.

Everything had seemed to slow in his perception as York came out of hiding, managing to escape the brunt of the barrage with both Starbright and Peter in each arm. Looking at the three Alexander turned to the side to see Mark in the distance with a Nun. There was no time to question anything as his perception of time returned to normal the spells once again came raining down like hellfire.

"Run! I'll cover you!" Alexander said knowing York could only dodge with the two in his arms. As he got up while York rushed forward, Alexander quickly grabs Van's sword in his other hand and chased after them. Alex's fighting speciality was a combination of shield and sword, but he wasn't a novice with other fighting styles or weapons. And in truth duel wielding in combat was rather impractical, you open yourself up to unbalanced combat styles which could be taken advantage. Knights especially are well versed in exploiting that weakness, but there remains a benefit. For someone who is well versed in combat, you could go on an offensive and in this case deflect more spells.  

And this was only made possible as his shield was strapped to his arm.

FWOOSSSH

A large barrage of fireballs came soaring in as Alex moved, the young knight's mind reacted quicker than his body as at first he physically dodges the explosions of fire while catching up to York. And as more spells that varied in elemental nature came crashing down, Alexander flowed into a sword combination that took full advantage of his momentum. With just a swing of both swords, Alexander nullified numerous spells with force alone, and from any possible angle, every possible spell the young knight covered York's back with an inhuman focus. Even when he gets restrained by a magical chain as he attempted to move forward, the young knight quickly broke it with his blade, even when the spells struck him, he powered through as long York and others were covered.

And while the young knight was good, he was inferior to the other in skill and physical capability. This fact only became abhorrently clear as they got closer to Mark and the Nun. The brunt of the spells was being focused on them, which means the closer they got the more dangerous it became. And Alexander was starting to get overwhelmed.

And upon seeing the other three have gotten close to their destination, the young knight attempted to follow as he put Van's sword into his sheath. However, when Alexander took that next step, he almost collapsed as his exhaustion after everything had started to catch up with him. Though he only stumbled it was more than enough for him to lose his chance, forcing him to turn and block the incoming barrage of spells. Guarding with both sword and shield the spells crashed into him like a truck, pushing him back where he stood.


The wide array of magic crashed into him was overwhelming, and suddenly they broke his guard. His perception of time had gotten slower as his arms were thrown back and a lightning spell surged towards him striking his arm and destroying the strap that held his shield into place.

The Red Cross Of Galahad was sent flying behind him and yet despite losing his shield the young knight attempted to deflect more spells with his golden blade. But it wouldn't be long until he gets overwhelmed forcing him to stumble back and as he braced for impact from a massive fireball it was shattered as something pierced right through it. As more spells that were aimed in his direction were being held back, Alexander took this chance to turn around to find Mark close by and his shield laying on the ground.

Holding onto his wounded arm, the young knight went to meet up while retrieving his shield along the way.

As chaos reigned, watchful eyes looked on from afar. From where he stood, the gathering of magicians hardly seemed human. Rather than a mob of people, it seemed almost more like a roiling mass of insects: eating each other’s flesh in turn, driven by a one-dimensional instinct. And that single-mindedness, spiraling out of control, could easily leave the jar which it was currently confined to. Spreading beyond whatever it was that they were gathered around, wreaking havoc upon the city of Whitbyーsuch a scene could easily become reality at a moment’s notice.

“Addicott. Howell. Wescott. Sanson. Plaskett. Matthewson. Heath. We’re going.”

With Beathen, York, and Wortham elsewhere, they were down about a third of their total number. But that didn’t matter. They weren’t here to win with tactics like those. And in the first place, in a fight like this such a small difference hardly mattered, regardless of what proportion of their total strength they made up. Using their strengths to their fullest, the eight of them would enter the newly born battlefield and pierce through as deeply as they could. Gouging open a hole in the mob, they would go straight for the heart, for whatever it was that the magicians had been drawn by.

There was no need for Moore to communicate any of that. As he spoke their names, his subordinates rose and readied themselves one by one. They had been told what they were here for alreadyーover the comms as they were called back after having finished their escort, or in person as Moore collected them from where they had rested, and once more on the way here.

Bait had laid out for the many trespassers in this city, and they had gathered like flies. But the food chain consisted of more than a single step. Now was the time to turn the hunters into the hunted. Now was the time to remind them that were not in their home territory.

The knights charged forth. Each step covered meters, and the distance from which they had observed the situation vanished into the haze. Heart palpitating, mouth dry, head clear, eyes sharp. Shouts echoed forth as their approach was noticed. Weapons pointed their way, spells prepared. And in the next moment, contact was made.

Silver steel dyed the virgin streets of the battlefield red. The Knights of England had arrived.

His lips would speak of delight as he took just another sip of the wine in his hands. Its colour was a deep crimson, bright, yet with a dark note. However, the delight did not come from the beverage’s great quality. In fact, that was non-existent.

What was truly delightful, though, was the scene unfolding before that man’s eyes:

The arrival of the knights in silver clad armour threw over the order that had prevailed until just now. Only a moment before the attention of those countless Magicians had been fixed to a single spot. But with the brave warriors charging straight into the core of their mass, everything was broken apart. The ring of people was broken open and thus everything would go South.

Feeling the threat invoked by the new arrivals, the Magicians were no longer containable. Suddenly their shots wandered off towards the greatest threat. Yet, at the same time the infighting also began anew.

Shots were fired. Shots of flames, lighting, wind, water, ice, poison, instantaneous death, light, anything. Their nature would drift more and more apart from anything a human mind could understand. Even the super natural no longer seemed to be capable of containing it. As mighty as those knights were, the numerous Magicians were entire wild cards. There were those that were weak or average, becoming easy prey. Yet at the same time there were also those of insane power. Some were single individuals, some were part of larger groups. It didn’t matter where they came from or what their origins were. The colours were mixing, forming a crazy spectrum wandering beyond any human limitation.

Chains of plastic would charge towards the army of knights, ready to bind them much like they had the embodiment of death in hell. Divine lightning commanded by the beats of a drum came raining down from above. An invisible gust of would chase them by draining anyone it would pass through of all their power. And it didn’t stop at any of that. More and more would come. Yet not just at them.

As the fight exploded, its confines burst.

What was once limited to just a small sector of the town would spread much quicker than anyone could anticipate.

Contagious like the worst of all pests the battle would spread. This fierce battle of Magicians was soon to envelope the entirety of Whitby with as little mercy as there was in the world.

Biting off from the piece of bread in his hands the man would watch, seated on his golden throne. He had not moved a single finger yet, enjoying his supper as he witnessed the unending violence. This display would only bring ecstasy over his entire being. He was trembling from excitement, looking forward to its greatest moment.

And that moment came when the knights’ charge would finally meet its peak.

It was then that he had finished both his wine and bread.

It was then that everyone else had as well.

It was then that everyone else was in position.

It was then that he grabbed the lance to his right and finally rose from his comfortable chair.

It was then that he, the great cardinal Enrico Coppolla would join the battle.

It was then that the slaughter would truly begin.

«The time has come, town of Whitby, for you to meet your salvation at the hands of the Lord!!!»

As his laughter would reverberate across the heavens, a shock would run through those countless Magicians, would find themselves torn apart by a storm.

It was nothing born from Magic. No, it was the motions of a single man and his lance. It had come so quickly and so powerfully, none would find themselves able to believe or even grasp. Easily defying the laws of space, something was wandering across the masses. A single man of crimson moving at speeds beyond the sound barrier, tearing through flesh and stone alike.

Absolute speed. Absolute strength. Absolute precision.

As he laughed his ecstasy was entirely overflowing.

The ecstasy of a child slaughtering a nest of ants.

This was a nightmare. The nightmare referred to as «a Saint».

The situation continued to snowball into a more and more dire state as expected as the world seemed to rain attack after attack upon the pair trying to enact a rescue and escape. While things had never been favorable nor advantageous for the two, the situation was going downhill much more quickly than expected.

As the world around them tended to an absurd entropy and dispersion, the targets of rescue barely able to make their ways over to them.

There was no time to be conservative. Mark could restock whatever cards he needed later. For now, he needed to use any resource necessary to pull themselves out of the range of the current chaos.

Pure offense would do no good and anything he could pull out in terms of offensive capability in this situation would be rendered useless by the incoming barrage and the nun’s own aggressive bombardment.

Once the entire group was together, they could carve a path.

So, he let numerous cards, the size of a full deck fall out of his sleeve and into his hand. This being his own pre-set deck, he could ascertain whatever card he needed without looking at it.

While there was no chance of chaining a full suit to summon the power of an archangel, there was still plenty of opportunity to use the tools at his disposal.

Placing himself in Francesca’s peripheral vision, he made a few signals with his hands, pointing in various different directions with quick gestures. But the nail bombardment didn’t change. In fact, what changed was the set of cards Mark displayed towards the magicians obstructing the path between the knights and them.

The Two of Swords symbolized the split of the mind and body. The Eight of swords symbolized the concept of a wall or obstruction. By alternating between knocking enemies unconscious, shielding, and then dispersing that shield into wind shards, he would press further back while keeping Francesca at his side.

After mowing swathes of peons down, he made it. He grabbed the closest one and pushed into the rest of the group.

“Keep contact with me.” He said to those behind him he had grabbed. “Francesca!”

She needed to hear no more. With the sound of her name being called, the nun quickly diverted her nails partly upwards as a single card flew up from behind her into the open air.

The key card in this escape: the Ace of Swords.

So long as that card was not shot down by the flying fireworks around it, the could escape. So, she pierced it all. She shot it all down as the card was carried by wind. Whether that was something created by Mark’s minor arcana or something he had calculated was something she had no knowledge of it all.

And then it pierced.

Far, far away the entire group, the knights who were nearly swallowed up by chaos, the potato sack Albrekka, the suited man, and the nun all stood on a rooftop.

Just as they arrived at their safe haven, they would find themselves greeted by a camera’s flash and shutter.

They were not alone. No matter how far they had fled, no matter how much they thought they had finally managed to escape everyone, someone had arrived before them. Someone had been waiting for them and that someone had taken the bold step of capturing their surprised faces for all eternity. But who?

«Took you long enough. And here I thought you’d die in the middle of that tumult. Eh, people are always good for a surprise.»

The voice was familiar and so was the sight of a scruffy man with disorderly hair, a military hat, wearing a colourful poncho over an obvious priest’s uniform with hiking boots.


He greeted them, sitting seiza-style on the building’s roof, holding his high-end camera in both his hands, smiling as he would check the shot he had just taken. There was no trace of worry. No trace of fear. No nervousness. Even in the face of the out of control battle that had just broken out in a few hundred meters’ distance.

In fact, all of that didn’t even seem to be on his mind at all.

What was on his mind, however, was something entirely different. After all, the man that was Richmond Longroad always had something occupying his mind. What was it this time around? What was it the next time? Like the walking mystery he was, he would not allow for them to see. Instead he would await their reactions. Their joy over finally meeting him again? Or, the more likely…

The sudden flash was a wake-up call for the young knight, who was attempting to recover from his fatigue and to get his head around what had just happened. Everything he had done to survive that incident was based on pure instinct, and despite his best effort he almost got killed. He had to make a note to thank Mark and Francesca for their timely intervention.

However, no matter the result he had personally failed. It was the first time he had experienced a loss on his team. This had broken image of knightly invincibility that his father's stories had taught him when he was a child. All these emotions had made him feel bitter towards Peter, who delt the first deadly blow to their lost comrade; but ultimately it would be swept away by his guilt as it was his decisions which killed him.

There was a lesson to learn in all this and something he wouldn't soon forget. Right now though he had to remain focused as his duty is not yet done.

"Greetings, Richmond Longroad..."

Walking forward to greet Richmond had shined a light on the young knight's condition. His armour was tatted and cracked in many places along with the plate surrounding his right arm being completely shattered. He would also have been heavily wounded if it weren't for his shield, which was now receding on his back as he carries his sword in hand. This is because Van's weapon had been resting in his only sheath. When he approached Richmond, he made sure to point his sword downwards to show he had no intention of using it.

"Please let me offer my apologies for the previous time we conversed. It was regrettable the way we ended things before, and I hope we can amend our ties to work together from now on." Alexander had said which was only natural considering how things were left last time.

Somehow, they had made it out alive. Not impaled, not incinerated, not crushed, not captured, but alive, even if perhaps not unharmed as in Alex's case. But even his wounds could be healed. For the moment, at least, they had made it out of the second disaster without losing any further lives.

But that just meant it was time for them to resume where they'd left off.

"This is no time for pleasantries.

Simultaneously giving a rebuke to Alex and an apology to Longroad, she called attention away from his politicking and towards the matter at hand. No matter how important Alex thought his relation with Longroad was, it held no value before the words they still had yet to hear.

Signaling her intent to Evan, he allowed Albrekka to stand and lowered Peter down to the floor of the rooftop. Albrekka immediately knelt down, ensuring that she would be in earshot no matter how little voice Peter proved able to bring out.

"Alex, please do what you can to stabilize him. Peter, can you hear me?"

Albrekka knew Alex's condition from defending them from the mob that had appeared out of nowhere fully well, but she made her request all the same. Ensuring that Peter was able to properly give his last words was simply that important. If he died without giving voice to them, then what he knew might go forever unknown.

Even after they had escaped from the mob, Mark and Francescsa never once let their guards down. The situation had yet to die down. They were merely just outside the storm. As such, their judgment proved accurate when the Anglican priest had spoken up.

While still on guard, Mark and Francesca faced Longroad with the same intense gazes they held while they were assisting the escape from the mob. All the while, he paid no mind to Alex working in the back to heal his injured comrade.

Francesca quickly gazed at Mark and nodded. She was fully aware that she was not the best when it came to tactful conversation. After all, she was surrounded by heathens, the lot of them. It was only natural that she be ill-equipped to speak down to their levels.

“So, what next?”

There was no need for pleasantries or fumbling. Mark now spoke, both as the right hand of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight’s Boss as well as a magician who was seeing that things were spiraling out of control. The exponentially progressing entropy of this situation needed to be wiped out.

He could not rely on the boss’s independent actions to carry him. This entire situation needed to be brought to a close. So he’d use everything available to him.

He was a magician, after all.

The reaction was underwhelming to say the least. While one was all head over heels to bring across his apology, the others would remain stern faced and focussed on the current on-goings. Exactly as would be. It was a fair claim, though, given what was currently going on in this very town of Whitby.

The violent noises in the distance would not fade.

The conflict would not come to an end.

If at all, things were bound to get worse and worse from here on out.

Richmond Longroad, for that very reason, did not mind any of those reactions at all. Instead he simply left the battered knight to take care of his task, all the while allowing for his focus to shift towards the certainly most high ranked individual besides himself.

«What’s next? Can’t you figure it out yourself? We’re gonna wait for what their friend over there has to say…and then…well we’re gonna deal with this situation.»

Naturally his response would turn out to be the exact same laid-back attitude as he had been showing all this time. Except for one tiny, hardly visible bite of nervousness. It was hopeful nonetheless. Exactly the kind of attitude needed in face of grave danger. Maybe they would understand, or maybe they wouldn’t. For Longroad being understood no longer mattered, naturally.

As he spoke he gave a simple nod towards the other side of the roof, where both Albrekka Starbright and Alexander Beathen had hurried to take care of their wounded passenger, that man devoid of any and all features, or rather the husk that remained of this formerly powerful foe.

What had been the shade of a man before, was now a limp body of black dyed by deep red. His features neither soft nor strong, had become all cold. A cut grazed his torso, deep and long. He should have been dead, yet for some reason his chest was still wandering up and down. It was moving. His heart was still beating. His eyes were still open. His gaze still wandering.

«Yes…I still…can hear your voice…dear Miss.»

No matter how faint it was, there was still strength within him. Strength born from a power called determination.

Mere moments ago, he had concluded that his life had been forfeit. Mere moments ago, he had been nothing else but someone inviting death. Yet, as he lay there right here and now, he was different. He was determined to see things through to the end.

«…I believe you expect me to continue…where I left of…?»

There was no telling how much his determination had to battle against, given all those circumstances he had been through. The cut, the escape, the thousand eruptions.

«As I said…there is one more thing that I know of: The so called ‹Vampire of Whitby› is just another of their pawns. Just another pawn, like we were, exploited to set the gears into motion.»