Garden Of The Abyss

"Damien, you're…"

"I'm fine," he stopped her words, "I'm the vice captain of your strict squad–I'd be caught dead years ago if I was stopped by a flesh wound like this."

Even so, his words were only that–words, and not reality. Still, she accepted his hand with a faux smile, if only to give her comrade respite as she was hoisted to her feet with the assistance of Damien.

"We need to retreat," Damien told her as he grunted, wincing as he reflexively held his abdomen which was gushing plentiful crimson.

"Damien, you're not…!"

"I'm fine!" Damien replied sharply, collecting himself as his breaths came heavy, "...listen, your safety is top priority. I'm pretty sure there's a town a few miles past the Rainbow Peaks…Irideyle, I think. Should be some local adventurers stationed there…maybe some knights…"

Getrude begrudgingly accepted, giving her shoulder to him, "First, we have to grab Malune."

"And if he doesn't want to move?"

"We'll make him," Getrude answered as her illustrious, golden locks flowed behind her convicted words, "that's our responsibility."

"Your wish is my command, Captain…" Damien wryly chuckled before coughing out blood.

As they moved forward with whatever haste they could, in hopes of escaping whilst the assailant was knocked away, they approached where the grief-stricken demi-human was left on the cratered road.

Though he was partially obscured by the persistent cloud of dust that hung in the area, Malune was standing there–as still as a statue, facing them as the enigmatic nature of the haze hid his expression.

"Malune–"

Calling out to the man, what Getrude found standing there was not a breathing man, but one battered beyond compared with limbs twisted and flattened, bloodied and torn.

The maimed, mangled corpse wasn't standing, but being held by a grip around its head, held like an inanimate doll.

"Astonishingly fragile," the brutish entity holding the corpse spouted in a voice low, yet powerful, "I was under the impression that demi-humans possessed respectable strength, compared to that of normal humans, anyway. I see it is not enough to matter."

Looking upon the towering brute, clad in a temple of muscle with an inhuman, gray complexion, she recognized the aura she felt right away.

It's the same feeling as when we were first attacked–this is the one who did it, not the shapeshifter, she gathered, …I don't understand, still–what are they after?

"That was rude, but not bad."

From behind, the youthful voice of the stringy, red-haired man in a black tight suit came as they were now faced on either side by enigmatic foes.

"...What is it you're after? If it was money, you've missed your mark," Getrude demanded an answer, though she was attempting to buy time, "did one of my siblings put you up to this to further their claim to the throne?"

"Hate to break it to you, princess, but we're not the kind of bad guys that tell you our plan in intricate detail–even if victory is certain," the sly shapeshifting man leered.

"Come now, Leviathan, we can at least give our names," the inhuman, gray-skinned brute smiled as he dropped the lifeless demi-human to the ground like a discarded toy, "it is also our objective to spread fear, and unease, is it not?"

Leviathan…? She thought.

The shapeshifting assailant smiled ear-to-ear as he flicked his crimson locks over his shoulder, "I guess you're right–what fun is it otherwise? Renata, Leviathan, either name works for me. Oh, right, you probably know me better as one of those "Beasts of Sin"--in that case, "Envy", it is."

Both Getrude and Damien fell wide-eyed at the identity of the lengthy-haired, youthful, yet abhorrent figure.

"One of the Beasts of Sin…? What shitty luck…" Damien chuckled quietly.

I thought the Beasts of Sins were monsters, primal forces of nature–but this one seems…human, in appearance, at least. And this attack is planned, no doubt. Who is behind this? I'm not getting the sense this is an inter-family conflict, she thought.

Cracking his calloused, unnaturally bulbous knuckles, the robed, colossal man stepped closer with a smile, "I'm Ark, the Marquis of Brutality. It'll be my honor to guide you both to the angels."

"Marquis of Brutality"? It's vague, but some part of that sounds familiar…but that's not important right now, she thought.

As they were being slowly approached by their named assailants, who seemed to take pleasure in the act, she found little options available as she held her comrade close, feeling his body weaken as blood left his system.

"Get out of here…" Damien whispered to her, sweating as his body worked overtime to function.

"I will not," Getrude firmly placed her words, "Sir Damien, I will not leave you behind!"

Assuring this to her silver-eyed comrade, she looked at him with tearful eyes that knew of the fate that likely lay in staying by his side.

"Getrude…please!" He pulled his strength from his throat in desperation, trying to convince the captain to flee as their enemies grew closer.

"I will not, Damien!" Getrude insisted further, keeping her blade held in her right hand as the other supported her comrade, "As a knight, that's the one thing I can never do!...This is an order from your captain."

Damien looked up for a moment before forcing himself to stand straight on his own, begrudgingly swallowing the obvious doubt he held, "...You're stubborn, you know that?"

Finding her resolve finally resounding with the man, she smiled, holding her blade upright towards the approaching, red-haired man as they stood back-to-back, "You would prefer me no other way."

"That's right," Damien breathed out quietly, "...That's why you can't fall here, Getrude…"

"...Damien?" She called his name.

–Just as she turned back to look at him, a blast of wind knocked her back several dozen meters, coming straight from the palm of her half-dead comrade's hand.

Finding herself separated from the trail, she brought her confused gaze towards her now distant comrade.

"Sorry, Captain," Damien smiled smallly, "that order is just impossible to follow."

"Damien…!" She screamed out, gripping the soil beneath her gloves.

Just as the two assailants realized what was happening, it was too late: Damien planted his blade into the soil, releasing from his lips a grand incantation.

"Zephyrus: The Wind That Brushes The Hero's Back!"

Once last, blood-laden smile was given from him to her before a barrier descended from the sky, forming a viscous prison of wind around Damien and the two enigmatic attackers.

I'm sorry, Getrude…I never cared about being a knight, and all of that chivalrous bullshit.

I cared about my friend–the person who stood by my side.

You have a lot ahead of you in this world–grand goals that only you can achieve. This dark world needs a star like you.

On the other hand, I'm just a drunkard, no-good knight…my life is a cheap price to pay for you to live another day.

Even if you hate me for it, even if your pride is wounded–you'll be alive to hate me. That's good enough for me, Damien thought.

"Barrier magic?" Ark smiled, inspecting the thick wall of visceral wind behind him, "commendable, but no such thing will hold me."

As the giant of a man-monster smiled confidently, he casually raised a fist, clenching it tightly as his veins protruded against his stone-like skin like surging electricity before bringing it down against the barrier of wind.

Like a resounding cannon, Ark's attack resounded, however–nothing happened. Though the impact of the Marquis' fist was enough to emit a deafening shock wave, the veil of sharp wind didn't falter one bit.

"What?" Renata looked in surprise at his companion's effort amounted to nothing, "You hit it, didn't you?! What happened?!"

Ark simply looked more impressed than anything at the durability of the tornado-like barrier, "Interesting. Physical strength alone can't pierce this prison."

Lifting his sword from the bed of soil beneath, Damien smiled confidently as he forced himself to stand straight, wiping the warm crimson from his lips, "I don't know what you want from her, and frankly, I don't give a damn–but let's get one thing straight: you're not lifting a finger on her."

As he held himself high, heavy, drawn-out breaths left his lips as he felt a warm trail of crimson continuously escape from the hole through his gut; the fountain of heat that oozed from that wound embedded the bleak reality that awaited him.

–But, such fears had no place in his mind.

I've got to buy as much time as possible. Coax them, talk to them, run–I don't care, even if it doesn't look pretty, he thought.

The slim, androdgynous figure with lengthy, red locks inspected the barrier, glancing back at the knight who used the sparse time to steady his breathing.

"If the big guy here can't break it, that either means your magic is stronger than his fists–which I doubt, or there is a condition set in place here," Renata said as he pushed his crimson locks behind his ear, "...and if you're in here with us, that must mean you're the condition."

Crap, this guy is more perceptive than I thought, Damien thought with a wry chuckle.

By his silence, it seemed that Renata's prediction was correct as a smile perched across his wicked lips, just as one did across Ark's own.

"....Guess it's time," Damien resolved with a small, placing his blade against his shoulder.