Kazakiri

"Ima, nan datta no!? Kazakiri?" Kazama's voice rang out, thick with shock and disbelief. His eyes were wide open, as he had just witnessed something utterly unbelievable.

"It can't be," Aden echoed, left stunned and shaken to his core. "Was that...windcutter?"

It was indeed the same frighteningly powerful kazakiri, a devastating windcutter technique that Kazama had demonstrated at the Wailing Widow Pass, cutting down four harpies in a single, deadly slash. The technique worked by harnessing the pressured air around the blade, extending its reach and increasing its destructive power to unimaginable levels. 

While samurai and a handful of elite Jinns had mastered this technique with their curved blades, what the Harpy Queen had unleashed was something far beyond anything ever seen before. Only curved blades were known to be able to perform the windcutter, making the harpy queen's feat even more astonishing. Not even shields of wood or thick planks of boards could stand in its way; it was capable of reducing an entire area to rubble.

For Kazama to perform the kazakiri, he needed to build immense strength and remain in an unwavering stance. He had to rely on the sheath, holding the curved blade within and focusing his power until he could release it in a single, devastating strike. During this preparation, the samurai were vulnerable, and every movement was governed by the need to maintain perfect form. However, the Harpy Queen had no such trouble, executing the technique with effortless grace while airborne.

Her wing feathers were both flexible enough to bend and strong enough to rival tempered steel. They were curved blades, deadly weapons at her command, allowing her to unleash the windcutter with devastating effect.

"Shit, how can we fight something that strong?" Aden asked himself, his voice barely audible above the chaos that surrounded them.

His mind raced as he surveyed the situation before him, his terror and despair building with each passing second. If only Hjalmar still had his stone tonic, a voice inside him whispered, they might have a chance against such a formidable foe. But as it stood, one more windcutter from the harpy queen would surely spell their doom.

Where were the other volunteers? His heart skipped a beat as he frantically searched for them, his gaze sweeping across the scene of utter devastation that now surrounded them.

Everywhere he looked, death and destruction reigned in the queen harpy's wake. The air was choked with screams of anguish and pain, the ground soaked in rivers of blood. Nothing but desolation and ruin remained in her path as she descended from the skies, a harbinger of death wrapped in a blanket of carnage.

Captain Willem's voice cut through the chaos, his command ringing out with urgency. "Stay together! Don't go off on your own! Gather around!"

The villagers were scattered across the street, too afraid to flee, for they had learned their lesson during the courthouse bombardment. Those who had ventured off alone had been snatched away by the relentless harpies, their fates unknown but undoubtedly grim.

After that harrowing experience, none of them dared to be apart. The villagers stumbled and staggered, gathering towards Captain Willem's rallying cry, huddling close together in the knowledge that their unity offered them a better chance at survival.

Aden believed that the windcutter was a powerful technique that required the user to tap into the very depths of their strength, and thus could not be used with ease or frequency. If he was right, then the harpy queen would not be able to unleash such a devastating attack again for some time.

As this thought flickered through his mind, he heard the unmistakable sound of more and more flapping wings closing in. The queen's elite harpies had gathered, surrounding the villagers like a flock of vultures circling their prey. They perched atop the burnt remnants of houses, while others hovered menacingly overhead, their shadows casting an ominous pall over the beleaguered survivors.

⁕⁕⁕

Some of the villagers who were still in the open fell victim, Ethan, Ser Cedric, Kazama, and Hjalmar made a diversion.

"Tch, they got us surrounded, Ser," Corporal Knightly growled, his voice laced with frustration as he surveyed their precarious situation.

"Aye, I can see that," the captain replied, his tone grim but unwavering.

The group found themselves encircled by the harpies, the winged creatures hovering menacingly overhead, their grating laughter and snickers echoing through the smoke-filled air. They didn't swoop in for the kill immediately, instead savoring the moment, delighting in the terror they saw reflected in the eyes of the villagers. The harpies knew their prey was helpless, with nowhere to run and no protective fire to cover their escape.

Despite the dire circumstances, Captain Willem kept his composure, his mind racing as he formulated a plan of action. He ordered every able-bodied fighter to take up positions on the outermost edge of the circle, forming a protective barrier around the civilians.

The villagers huddled together in the center, their faces etched with fear and despair. The knights and volunteers stood ready with their weapons, a last line of defense against the winged terrors that surrounded them. They were sitting ducks, trapped and vulnerable, with only their courage and determination to shield them from the harpies' wrath.

"Damn it, the road is only a few yards from here," Ser Gareth cursed, his gaze fixed upon the mountain road that promised safety, so tantalizingly close and yet seemingly out of reach. Old man Jedd remained unconscious, his limp form draped across the knight's broad back.

"Among all the harpies, it had to be her," another voice muttered, laced with dread and resignation.

Some of the harpies landed in front of the rounded-up villagers, circling them on the ground like predators toying with their prey. The defenders and civilians alike stepped back slowly, pressing their backs against one another, forming a tight, unified mass that offered what little protection it could.

The road down the mountain to the seaport was a mere stone's throw away. If they could only make it to that descending path, they might find shelter beneath the tunnel-like canopy of trees and dense foliage that lined the way.

But the harpies seemed intent on denying them even that sliver of hope. Their sinister laughter echoed through the air, mocking and taunting the beleaguered survivors. The winged creatures reveled in their cruelty, delighting in toying with their victims, offering a glimmer of hope only to rip it away like charred flesh from bone. They thrived on the despair they sowed, feeding on the anguish of their prey.

One of the male villagers, his face etched with resignation, sank to his knees, his voice barely audible above the cacophony that surrounded them. "We are done for."

The words hung in the air like a death knell, a grim reminder of the precariousness of their situation.

The villagers of Serendale had only heard about the harpy queen from rumors whispered among hunters, rangers, and poachers who ventured deep into the wilds. Tales of her existence had been passed down like ghost stories, whispered around campfires and tavern hearths, each retelling more embellished than the last.

For many of the villagers, the harpy queen was little more than a fable, a cautionary tale used to frighten disobedient children from wandering too far from the safety of their homes. Some dismissed her as a mere legend, a boogeyman conjured up to keep the young and foolish in line.

But as the terrifying creature descended upon them, her wings casting an ominous shadow over the beleaguered survivors, the villagers realized that the rumors had fallen woefully short of capturing the true horror that now confronted them.

The harpy queen was a sight to behold, her presence commanding a fear and dread that pierced the very depths of their souls. Her eyes gleamed with a wicked malevolence, promising only death and suffering to those who dared cross her path. The feathers adorning her wings shimmered with an otherworldly radiance, each one a deadly blade capable of unleashing devastation on an unimaginable scale.

As she hovered above them, her every movement exuding an aura of raw power and dominance, the villagers found themselves frozen in abject terror. The tales they had heard, the whispered rumors that had once seemed so fanciful, now paled in comparison to the living embodiment of dread that held them in her merciless grasp.

Those who had scoffed at the idea of a harpy queen and dismissed her as a child's tale were struck dumb by the horrifying reality before them. Their boastful bravado evaporated like mist in the morning sun, replaced by a cold, creeping dread that wormed its way into the very core of their beings.

The harpy queen's mere presence was a force unto itself, a harbinger of doom that left no room for doubt or disbelief. As she surveyed her captive audience, her wings unfurling in a display of dominance, the villagers understood that the rumors they had heard were but pale imitations of the true terror that now held them in its iron grip.

At that moment, they knew that no tale, no whispered legend, could ever fully capture the sheer, unadulterated horror that was the harpy queen. For she was not a mere fable or cautionary tale – she was a living nightmare, made flesh and bone, and they were but helpless prey caught in her merciless clutches.

⁕⁕⁕

Aden crept closer to Ser Percival's side, his movements cautious and deliberate. "So, is that the queen? The leader of the harpies?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"Yes, it is," Ser Percival replied, his voice heavy with dread.

Aden's mind raced, quickly analyzing the situation through the lens of military strategy. Every organized group had a leader, he reasoned, and they operated according to principles, not unlike those that governed armed forces. Lua had claimed in The News that everything in this realm followed niz'a – a primordial nature disposition, or what scholeres referred to as the pattern. The sun rose after the moon, a man loved a woman, day followed night, summer came after spring, sprouts grow after sunlight, one plus one equals two, mothers nurture their offspring, and in this case, cutting off the head of the snake would cause the body to fall.

"We may be cornered, but this is our chance," Aden said, his voice low but laced with determination as he clenched the spear in his right hand. "If we kill her, all the harpies would never mess with us anymore."

In the depths of their desperation, the others turned to Aden, their eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and cautious hope. Instead of succumbing to despair, Aden had chosen to remain optimistic, even formulating an idea that might offer them a glimmer of salvation.

In every trial, deliverance lay hidden, as Lua had taught in The News, His holy book. And that was the principle that guided Aden's actions – their resilience had granted them an audience with the harpy queen herself, and he saw it as an opportunity rather than a death sentence.

Aden slipped closer to Captain Willem, his movements furtive and purposeful. "Captain, I have an idea," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the chaos that surrounded them.

The captain turned his gaze towards Aden, his expression a mixture of curiosity and guarded hope. "What is it?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"The fires were mostly extinguished and dispersed. Their visibility is poor in the night, correct?" Aden posed, his words laced with urgency.

Captain Willem considered Aden's words for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Hmm."

"I will need a diversion," Aden continued. "I will slip around the buildings and strike her down with my spear."

The captain's brow furrowed, his eyes searching Aden's face for any trace of doubt or hesitation. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice grave.

Aden met the captain's gaze unflinchingly. "Yes, I'm confident. This spear would be enough to pierce through her heart at this distance." He clenched the weathered but sturdy imperial-standard spear, designed with the quality of a javelin. "She won't see it coming."

A flicker of doubt crossed the captain's face. "What if you fail?"

Aden's gaze shifted towards the harpy queen, his eyes narrowing as he took in her fearful and beautiful visage. She was the alpha of the harpies that plagued these mountains, towering over her brethren, whose heights barely reached her chest. Her long yellow streak and white wings stretched across the sky, an omen of doom. Her face was stern yet beautiful, her head adorned with feathers that formed a tiara – a symbol of her authority over her kind.

Despite her stature as the largest and tallest of the harpies, she remained slim and slender, making her all the more menacing. Her beauty and ferocity were unmatched; nothing compared to the queen harpy.

After a moment's contemplation, Aden turned back to the captain, his expression resolute. "Then we fight to the last," he said, his voice carrying a conviction that belied his youth. "But I won't fail."