Chapter Fifty-five: Conflict between titans.

You can enjoy more than twenty (20) chapters on my Patreon. You would help me a lot and I would appreciate it. Don't forget to change the @ to a regular A.

p@treon.com/Dreamer392

-----------------------

I appreciate the support, they are my motivation.

If you notice spelling or grammatical errors, don't hesitate to expose them.

Your ideas and constructive comments are welcome, I want fewer ghost readers and more readers who interact with the story to help me improve.

-----------------------

~~~Third person, eleventh moon, 276 AC~~~

~~~Essos, Braavos~~~

"He does not have the power to allow this fallacy!" a bearded older man shouted as he paced the room he was in. 

He, along with twenty-two other people, were deep within the caves of the Iron Bank; they were the holders of the keys to the bank's vaults, and while said keys were now nothing more than decorations, their statuses as descendants of the founders did hold power, or at least some more than others. 

They were still behind the bank's actions, decided who to lend money to and how much, and controlled many sectors of Braavos. 

"We need the hand of the faceless men; it is with their help that we managed to get what the bank owns; we cannot lose the minuscule control we have with them by letting the Sealord allow a foreign kingdom to start a war on our walls." 

"And how do you intend for us to do that?" A woman dressed in fine clothes of Myr lace and precious jewels raised her voice, looking at her 'companion' with a raised eyebrow. 

"Sword sellers, mercenaries, Dothraki khalasars, we have money; it's not hard to get support for the House of Black and White." 

"Hahaha, that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard. First, no mercenary companies will accept contracts that have anything to do with Xandar after what happened in Slave Bay. Another thing is that there are no Dothraki khalasar that we can convince to fight on our side by accessing their riches; you know Braavos won't allow us to hire barbarian slavers, not to mention they all serve the king of Xandar." The woman answered him mercilessly, giving concrete answers and throwing the man's 'plans' down the drain. 

"So what, we just let our beam die just like that?" the man exploded, losing his calm and becoming exasperated, unable to allow the Iron Bank not to interfere. 

"I'm afraid we will do just that," another man said, getting everyone's attention. "Those of you who think the Iron Bank should not get involved in the fight between the House of Black and White and Xandar, raise your hand." Many did not act, but the woman who had humiliated her companion was the first to raise her hand. 

One by one, they began to vote with her, thus sealing the decision: "You will regret it; the Iron Bank will not be able to rise after this." the man who was against the iron bank decision, not acting, stood up angrily, spat on the table, and walked away, leaving behind those who thought differently than him. 

--------

-----

That same night, the people of Braavos went about their business, oblivious to the political warfare that the influential people of the city were going through, enjoying their inns or having fun together. 

The city had not begun to exercise plans to prepare for the possible conflict between The House of Black and White and Xandar since the Sealord had only passed Volantis after half a month of travel, with the news traveling to Braavos with the help of ravens. 

However, such possible plans were long delayed, as Xandar had attacked much earlier, taking many by surprise. 

That very night, the Faceless Men sensed that danger was coming, which is why their security had increased in their Temple, going so far as to cancel the visit of the Braavosi to the temple, who wanted to obtain the 'gift.' 

"Stay ready; tonight is darker." One of the faceless men by the temple door spoke to six others near him as he looked up at the sky with doubtful eyes. 

"They are here," he said suddenly, drawing the attention of the other six at the same time as dozens of arrows fell from the dark sky. 

Two failed to evade them, causing several arrows embedded in their chests or arms. Even so, they took their daggers and cut the body of the arrows and then began to pull out the tips, only for them to suddenly fall to the ground, their skin turning green and bile coming out of their mouths; the arrows were poison. 

"Alert the others," the faceless man who had noticed the attack ordered, sending one of his companions inside the temple. He stood at the door, protecting it while the other three closed it from the outside and prepared to fight. 

Suddenly, a number of witches began to fall from the dark sky, and grunts and wing echoes could be heard overhead. 

Wearing their iconic golden armor, the witches touched the stone floor slowly and with a controlled fall while drawing swords or glowing whips. 

Immediately, they rushed to engage the four faceless men guarding the outer gate, initiating small combat. 

On one side were the faceless men, men who had been taught, indoctrinated, and trained in the art of assassination, quick death, and the use of agility and speed. 

On the other hand, the witches, beings created by strange methods, carriers of several millennia of life, and with knowledge of thousands of battles every night of their existence, were made to fight against such men, regardless of the terrain and the low visibility offered by the night. It was in these environments that they most stood out as predators, and that was their comfort zone. 

So, although the death of the faceless men was a bit difficult to achieve, it did not come as much of a surprise. 

"Destroy that door," Valka, the witch leading the group of witches, commanded in a robust and decisive voice, conveying her orders with a dignified and serious bearing. 

The witches obeyed Valka's orders without complaint. They approached the doors and, using their whips, lashed them against the door in synchrony. 

The image they expected was not the right one, as the door, acting like a great magnet, kept the whips stuck to it while a strange, thick, black, gaseous liquid protruded from the door and began to cover the whips. 

"I can't let go," a witch said in an anxious voice, swinging the arm holding the whip to release it, only to find that the whip would not come loose from her hand. 

"Me neither." 

"Me either." 

One by one, the eleven witches who had hoped to break the gates with their whips were surprised to find themselves unable to let go at the same time as the black liquid came closer and closer to them. 

"Cut the whips!" Valka ordered the other witches to take their enchanted swords and cut the whip once she saw no other way out. 

Seeing the liquid getting closer and closer, Valka made a hasty decision: "Quick, cut off the arm!"

At first, the witches who were told that stood with conflicting looks for a second, then hardened their gaze, pursed their lips, took the swords from their sheaths, and, without thinking, cut off their arms in one swift, fluid motion. 

Immediately, the severed arms fell to the ground, along with the whips, which the black liquid completely covered until it reached the severed hands that were still attached to them, which began to burn and rot at a dizzying speed. 

The witches with severed arms were given regeneration potions and carried to the back until they could fight again. 

Looking at the strange door, Valka turned to look up at the sky, managing to see how the 'darkness' of the night was moving. 

As a sign of some unknown communication, the 'darkness' of the night fell beside her, showing itself as an Enderman, a frightening being and product of nightmares for many. Its three-meter-tall, slender body and completely black appearance made looking at it an almost impossible act. 

Not only that but its violet-glowing eyes and aura surrounding it added more mysticism to the already terrifying being. 

"We can't touch the door; maybe you can make it fall," Valka instructed, as the Enderman looked at the door from the distance they were at, then lifted off the ground and hovered. 

The Enderman, after looking skyward and letting out some guttural sounds from his throat, launched himself against the door, making his body look like a mist product of the speed of his flight. 

At the same time, thousands of mists fell from the sky and approached the door, crashing against it and covering it completely. 

The Enderman, after crashing into the gate, used their long arms to attack it. 

Their bodies, while they looked like a mist of black gases, became tangible once they started destroying the door, notching and shattering it more and more, at the same time as the strange black liquid that almost killed the previous witches evaporated at the exact moment it touched the Enderman, with no chance of hurting them in any way. 

The door, which had been giving way, ended up breaking into thousands of splinters and pieces, giving way to the invading forces of Xandar, who did not hesitate to enter the temple and begin a slaughter, with the Enderman being the first to enter and charge as a dark wave swept over the walls, ceiling, and floor, extinguishing torches and extinguishing any light they passed by.