The Taurean wagons were on their way to the ships, their beds packed with anything of value. However, missing from this procession was Argades’s lean figure, instead it was the towering Damastor who led these men in their exile from the Capital. While without the leadership of either head the battle lines quickly crumbled, Scylla vanguard forces smashing through the brittle lines and cutting down every member of the Taureas they could find. Seeing the writing on the walls, a portion of the residents who until this point had remained idle became involved, grabbing whatever tool they had and descending upon the defeated Taureas with a vengeance.
Members of the gang, past overlords of these streets screamed in terror as the mob descended upon them, tearing them limb from limb. Death at the hands of the residents lacked the trained efficiency of the Scylla and Temrenosian fighters, but it more than made up for in sheer brutality. It was clear to see how for how long the residents of the western slums had been oppressed, they had spent so long under the yoke of the Taureas, had suffered the loss of family and friends, that once one of them decided to act, the floodgates were opened. Like a swarm of angry beasts, they descended upon the streets and alleys, rushing past the confused allied army, and tearing through the final line of defense.
Watching from afar as their lines buckled and broke, Damastor ordered the wagon drivers to pick up the pace. A cold sweat ran down his exposed upper body as he witnessed the tidal wave of bodies overrunning the final defenders. Cursing their enemies and promising retribution, yet still somewhat pleased that Argades had made so great an error. For one woman he had abandoned everything, that woman had brought ruin to them all, but provided him with newfound wealth and power. Argades had chosen to chase after the woman, had chosen to abandon his men, had brought the disaster down upon them for personal reasons, and thus was no longer deserving of their loyalty.
Damastor gave one final mocking salute towards the former Taureas headquarters and in the direction of the disgraced Argades. Laughing to himself as his scouts had found a thinly defended portion of the southern front, a direct shot towards the ships waiting in port.
Elsewhere at the same time Damastor was charging forward at the head of his convoy of wagons, Rafflesia currently dressed in Malakos’s skin observed their approach. Smiling as it ordered the soldiers under its command to assault the headquarters in full force. The men and women, driven by anger or glory followed the order, redirecting much of the available manpower to the fight they were already winning. While at the same time pulling away forces from other sections of the encirclement, providing a perfect opportunity for the fleeing Taureas leadership to break the defensive lines.
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“Keep going, don’t stop!” Gylippos took up the rear as the group of women fled through the cramped alleys and bloody streets. Some had to be pushed forward, as those at the rear threw whatever objects weren’t tied down in their path, leaving a trail that would slow down any pursuers.
Leucena had heard the yell, had seen the murderous glare from the obsessed Argades. She informed the others that he would definitely give chase, even if it was only him alone, he would follow and thus they needed to run like their life depended on it, because it did. It was understood that if he managed to catch them, no one other than Leucena would live, and even then, it was possible that he may even kill her in a fit of rage. In either case they needed to run, even if it hurt, they would need to push their bodies as hard as they could and get as far as they could.
Screams and cries could be heard down every alley, from rooftops, it was as if the entire city was crying out. These areas were still contested, but large mobs could be seen descending upon the defenders, massive hordes of slum residents tearing into the men with even their bare hands and teeth. It was absolute madness as anger and a fervent hatred for the years of Taureas rule had boiled over, no one was in control, but the swarm of residents also assisted in the women’s escape.
The women were in a terrible state and thus were did not appear much different from the mob’s members themselves. Slipping into the rush of bodies they pushed through the wave and continued as the force rushed toward the still fighting or fleeing Taureans. Finally, upon reaching the other side of the street, and realizing they were close to safety, Gylippos turned his back to the group. Now that the women were safe, close to where they needed to be, he would accomplish his goal, and the crowd would provide the best chance.
“Go on ahead, you aren’t far now. Hopefully the Scyllan’s accept you without issue, they aren’t bad people so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Gylippos spoke as loud as he could, hoping that the women could hear him over the sound of conflict in the background. Turning his back on them he prepared himself for what to come. Yet just as he was about to leave dozens of pairs of slender arms wrapped around his thin frame.
“Thank you for everything. Without your help not all of us might have been able to make it out. We will get help as soon as we can, please don’t die… I’m sure your sister wouldn’t have wanted that either.” Tears trickled down the sides of Gylippos’s face, the turbulent emotions clear to all. Yet none present judged him for it, maybe it was like being wrapped up in his sister’s embrace again, reminding him of the warmth that had been lost.
“I appreciate it. I really do… Know that I’m not going to die, it is possible, but I have no intention of letting that monster win. There are still responsibilities I need to see through until the end.” At first Gylippos had been prepared to die, to achieve his revenge by any means necessary, but that did not mean that he wished to. The currently bedridden and unconscious stranger he had rescued was still alive, he had a responsibility to see that through until the end.
It was also true that the situation on the ground had changed, the Taureas were being crushed, faster and with much less resistance than first expected. If Leucena was right then Argades was isolated, trapped nearby with only a handful of loyal men at his side. No doubt they would have been easily recognized by the mob and assaulted, trapped somewhere easy to fend off the large number of vengeful spirits.
Now would be the only chance he had to personally earn his revenge. All he needed to do was find Argades and stick his blade through the monster’s heart. Only then could he be content. How hard could it be?
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“Hey, do those belong to us? They don’t seem to be slowing down at all though.” A pair of Scylla guards were observing convoy of two wagons barreling right towards them. The port was firmly in their hands with all opposition having been eliminated, normally they would be cautious. However, they were told of the large force north of them, the line of encirclement would have to be breached and a messenger would have arrived before any enemy wagon.
The men assumed the wagons were full of terrified refugees, residents of the slums looking for somewhere to escape the vicious conflict. Instead of taking up their weapons and preparing for an enemy attack, they instead treated it as a routine checkpoint, aiming to force the wagons to halt their advance.
Following proper procedure one of the guards stood in the path of the oncoming wagon, weapon at the ready, and casually holding up his hand indicating for the vehicle to come to a halt. A few seconds passed and the wagons showed no signs of stopping, just as the guards realized the danger a hail of arrows rained down on them as the wagon pushed past without slowing. Other soldiers, both Temrenosian scouts and Scyllan fighters rushed towards the docked vessels, slowed under a hail of arrow fire.
“Hurry! Secure the perimeter and begin loading the goods onto the ship!” Damastor was quick to command the men into a cohesive block, promising them a portion of the wealth to motivate them. Not all of them would survive, but that just meant a larger portion for the survivors, and it wasn’t like they needed them to crew the vessel, those were apprehended on board. To escape they just needed to eliminate the guards on board the ship, free the crew, load the all the wealth, and set off towards Myrmien.
However, the man failed to recognize that the enemy had no intention of taking them alive. The orders had already been given, and it meant the use of all methods to eliminate the Taureas group completely. This group under Damastor’s leadership broken their lines, rushed to the ship and effectively set up his men to repel an assault while positioning the wagons to protect against ranged attacks, but also resulted in a condensed formation right below the ship they intended to steal.
Unluckily for them, the group defending the vessel in question was itching for a fight and their formation only played to their strengths. This fact was proven seconds later as a smoking ball of tightly wrapped wool was cast down into the formation below, while at the same time the docking ramp between the pier and ship was kicked away. As the wool ball ignited fully it released a yellow cloud of foul-smelling smoke, Damastor and his men began to cough and cry, their eyes and noses struggling against the cloying, strangling smoke.
Some jumped into the water, others crouched behind shields or obstacles, but all struggled. That would not be the end, however, next came a rain of arrows, assaulting the group of criminals from both ends, ensuring that they had nowhere to run.
Strong as Damastor might have been, he was not one to cautiously approach a situation, often relying on brute strength to solve problems. While his men died around him, cut down by vicious barbed arrows, he and a handful of survivors charged towards the ship, taking hold of the moorings, and climbing up towards the deck. Another wave of arrows cut them down further so that only three remained upon arriving on deck.
What awaited the pompous and arrogant meathead was a group of children, the adults had ignored him and continued to launch attacks upon his desperate survivors. Niko, Apollonius, Mera, Spurius, and Paulus prepared themselves for combat, weapons at the ready and itching to fight.
“Haha! Children… I’ll enjoy bashin ur brains in.” Damastor rushed forward swinging a one-handed rusty bronze mace. Each swing crushing and splintering the wood of the ships deck, hinting at the sheer power behind each strike. Yet that power meant little if none of the attacks ever struck their target.
Both Apollonius and Niko spread out on the wings with Mera in the center, to the rear. Their formation from above would appear as an inverted triangle, every time Damastor struck at one they would dodge, always maintaining close to a seven-foot distance between them. This distance was within reach of both fighters’ spears, with Apollonius and Niko taking occasional strikes, opening small wounds upon the larger man.
However, while the Taureaus commander was focused on the three young fighters before him, he had failed to pay attention to the battle around them. Spurius and Paulus with the assistance of Timeaus had quickly eliminated the two fighters that boarded the ship alongside Damastor. His single-minded focus on what lay before him dulled his senses to what was occur to his rear, until both Spurius and Paulus’s blades plunged into his back.
He reacted to the pain with a wild swing to his rear which caught nothing but air and did nothing but expose his defenseless back to the two he was fighting earlier. Neither Niko, Apollonius, nor Mera missed the chance, both spears plunging deep within his calves, forcing the big man to the ground. Mera’s throwing knife followed suit, creating a shallow wound upon his lower back.
“You little bastards! Is this how you fight… Dirty. Can’t face me like men. Hah!” The wounded enforcer roared, yet it felt like a tiny housecat hissing while showing its belly. He was toothless, barely able to stand straight, his eyes drifting as he began to see things that weren’t there. Even his yells began to die down, gradually decreasing in intensity and frequency.
“You had your fun killing, hurting, and shaming all the people you’ve ever killed or sold. A fair fight is something you don’t deserve, instead you’ll get to see a wonderful dream… for a short while. Then I will get to watch you suffer like you did to all those people from the slums.” Mera spoke in a cold and icy tone, her glare staring down at the dying man like rotting trash. Unbeknownst to the man, his life had already run its course, as the dagger earlier had been coated in poison. The very same hallucinogenic poison that she had been testing on the earlier Taurean prisoners.
Damastor would get an instant to enjoy the high, achieving his goals and escaping to Myrmien, only for those dreams to morph into nightmarish pain as the poison ate away at his insides. He would suffer alone, for what to him would seem an eternity, all the while Mera would watch, reveling in a job well done, another monster paying for its sins.
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Every front had seen an end to the day long conflict, the Taureas had been almost entirely destroyed. What few remnants remained fled wherever they could, but they were bound to be caught, either by their enemies or the oppressed slum dwellers who were intent on ripping them to shreds. Some decided to fall upon their blades, while others like Damastor attempted to flee to no avail, only a very few chose to stand their ground fighting until their last breath.
Argades and those few who remained loyal to him were just such men, yet instead of dying in a blaze of glory against their enemies they found themselves trapped within the stairwell of a dilapidated Insula. At the bottom of the stairs lay a pile of bloody corpses, most armed with nothing but a sharpened stick, dressed in rags and malnourished. A very small handful were dressed in boiled leather armor or padded tunics armed with short bronze swords or spears. These bodies constituted the long battle fought between Argades, his men, and the ravenous throngs of residents out for blood.
Their hate had been so strong they were willing to die for a chance to murder the leader of those who had taken so much from them. Many had cried out for loved ones, throwing themselves at the enemy with rage in their eyes. It was this suicidal hatred, fostered over years of exploitation which allowed the allied Scylla-Temrenosian forces to occupy the area with relatively few losses. The residents of the district their losses however were severe, men, women, children, the old and the young were cut down in the fighting.
Argades observed the end of his reign from atop the Insula, watched as the residents he had oppressed beneath his feet revolted against him, tearing down everything he had painstakingly built. Worst of all was that Leucena had escaped, he had allowed her to flee once before, stolen from him, yet the gods had presented him a chance at redemption, but she had once again slipped away. He wanted nothing more than to vent his rage, and yet there was nothing left, just Argades and one other loyal soldier, even then his wounds would make travel difficult. Both men made their way down the stairs, they would need to leave the district and make their escape from the city as it would only be a matter of time before they were found.
“Follow me and stick close.” Argades whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible as to avoid undue attention.
When they had come chasing after the women, he and his men found themselves surrounded, his group of seven had been exposed on the streets. It was only by falling back into the Insula and using the tight confines of the stairwell that he and his men had been able to neutralize the mob’s numerical advantage. It had still cost them dearly, a lesson that Argades had no intention of repeating. This time the two would stick to the shadows, avoid sight, and disappear in the chaos.
Yet it would prove not to be enough, their inability or reluctance to discard their gear and weapons caused them to stick out amongst the residents. These pieces of equipment also featured the Taureas insignia, the two also possessing numerous tattoos, and a brand marking them as Taureas members. As for Argades his face was known amongst the people of the slums, none would forget the man who terrorized them for so long. So, it was no surprise that the crowd that appeared as they were making their escape did not hesitate to attack.
“Shit! Quick back to the corner, we have to fight them off!” The two men had nowhere to run, it was as if the mob had known their location. Instead of just appearing, they had instead emerged from every route, with another small group emerging from the alley they had just come from. Both the path forward and the path of retreat had been blocked, there was no choice but to fight.
The mob objectively stood little chance of victory, yet their numbers, suicidal resolve, and burning rage kept them fighting even as those around them fell to the ground screaming. Victory and the prospect of throwing off the heel of the Taureas ensured their deathly resolve, so that they were willing to throw their bodies to defeat their enemies. Dozens died, cut down by the pair’s blades, yet with every death another stab of a makeshift spear got through, a knife to the gut, or a cut to the arm. Even if the street ran red with their blood, eventually they succeeded in wearing down their enemies.
Argades’s guard was first to fall, brought low by a lucky thrust through the joint of his armor, piercing his flesh just below the armpit. The man fell screaming, drowned out shortly by the yells of the mob as they rushed towards Argades, trampling the man below their bare feet in a mad scramble to kill the former Taurean crime lord.
Understanding the fate that awaited him should he fall the crime lord fought like a cornered beast, thrusting, and cutting until his arm couldn’t rise anymore. As in a trance the man had cut down almost thirty people, drenched from head to toe in their blood. At some point their anger had cooled, overpowered by fear, and the earlier relentless mob had halted their almost continuous attacks. However, Argades had also not come out unscathed, he was alone, wounds covered every inch of his body, his armor shredded and barely holding together, while his legs were shaking uncontrollably from the simple act of standing.
Yet the man’s willpower was unshakeable, taking one or two steps forward caused the remaining members of the mob to step back. Then as if on command the residents of the slums broke and fled, having suffered untold casualties throughout the day, the stress and exhaustion of the conflict had finally settled in. They fled, leaving Argades to sit upon a pile of corpses, unable to stand any longer, his head bowed with breath emerging in rapid strained bursts. His eyes struggled against nature, refusing to close but barely managing to remain open, and his sword arm had long since fallen to his side unable to rise.
“I see… I knew the mob was too accurate. No matter… where I went… they always found me. You used them… good plan… weaken me… injure me, kill my men… isolate me then finish the job. You and I… you may not believe it, but we’re not so different.” Argades let out a light chuckle, his head rising just enough to witness Gylippos stroll over the bodies of the dead, dagger in hand.
“You and I are nothing alike… This is for my sister!” Gylippos roared in anger and then rushed the wounded and exhausted man. Toppling him onto his back easily, a wide smile on the crime boss’s face.
“That’s what we all say kid… but this world eats… untold amounts of people like us… one day… you’ll experience it too.” Argades’s whisper was meant for his attacker, for Gylippos alone. Seconds before the dagger descended and punched through his left eye socket. Like a man possessed, Gylippos continued, again and again, plunging his blade into the already unmoving corpse.
Just like that Argades, the crime lord of the Taureas family, one of the most powerful men in Merlabria met his end. Ignominiously in an alley, at the hands of a slum rat whose name he couldn’t even be bothered to remember, while everything he built burned to the ground.
Whereas Gylippos could finally allow himself to truly cry, to let loose the emotions he struggled with after his sister’s death. He had lived as she would have wanted, but he no longer had purpose, that had been achieved with Argades’s death. All desire for life within him was gone, he didn’t even bother to turn and meet Argades’s half-dead guard, the man was barely standing and on death’s door. Yet Gylippos remained in place, waiting for the inevitable strike, and yet the killing blow never arrived. Instead, something whistled overhead, which was followed by a cry and the sound of something heavy dropping and making a wet splash sound.
“Sorry about that, but I couldn’t watch you die, even if it may be what you want right now. After all I still must thank you for saving Leucena and the others. Nice to meet you by the way, most refer to me as the Scholar, but you can call me Caedyrn.” Gylippos slowly turned his attention down the street, there sitting on horseback was an older man. A bow was held in his outstretched hands and a cloak masked most of his features, while at his side was a smiling Leucena.
