The Queen's Wrath

"Archers! Boltcasters! Aim at the queen! Fire at will!" the captain's voice rang out, his order echoing across the battlefield.

The knights and archers focused their sights on the harpy queen, their weapons trained on the fearsome creature as she danced and dodged amidst the chaos. Oliver, not one to be left out of the fray, swung his stone slinger with all his might, sending a volley of pebbles hurtling toward the winged harbinger.

The harpy queen was a whirlwind of motion, her lithe form twisting and turning as she evaded the defenders' attacks. Aden's assessment had proven correct – this time, the queen employed only powerful gusts of wind, without the devastating force of the windcutter. While the blasts were enough to send the volunteers staggering, they lacked the lethal edge that had carved swaths of destruction through their ranks earlier.

It was Aden's best chance, and he knew it. Ducking into an alley between two charred walls, he found himself in the perfect position. He left his shield to Gilbert, knowing that stealth and speed would be his allies in this daring gambit.

Aden raised his left arm, using his thumb to sight along the length of the spear he gripped tightly. With a smooth motion, he stretched his arm back, the spear angled behind him, his stance firm and ready to launch the projectile toward its winged target.

He was aiming for her heart, confident that at this distance, his spear would find its mark, impaling the harpy queen and striking a decisive blow against the scourge that plagued them.

But her position was off, her body partially obscured by the frantic beating of her wings. Aden's aim was obstructed, leaving him with no clear shot at her vulnerable heart.

"Hey, old hag!" Aden shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle like a knife. He had to draw the queen's attention, force her to turn, and expose her body to his deadly strike.

"Yes, you! With saggy tits!" he taunted, the insult rolling off his tongue with a brazen audacity born of desperation.

The harpy queen swiveled towards the source of the outburst, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze upon Aden's position.

It was the perfect chance, the opening he had been waiting for. Aden released the spear with every ounce of strength he could muster, the shaft whistling through the air as it hurtled toward its intended target.

Shuck!

"Kahh!" a harpy's scream rent the air as Aden's spear found its mark, impaling the creature's heart with lethal precision.

But it was not the harpy queen's heart that had been pierced.

One of her elite guards had thrown herself into the path of the spear, shielding her queen with her own body. She sacrificed herself to be impaled by Aden's deadly projectile, her life forfeited in service to her mistress.

The harpy queen turned her gaze upon Aden, her eyes burning with unbridled fury and rage.

"Shit," Aden cursed, his heart sinking as he realized the gravity of his failure. He had missed his chance, and now he would face the full wrath of the harpy queen, a force he feared even the combined might of their ragtag band could not withstand.

The harpy queen hovered menacingly in the air, her wings outstretched, revealing a shallow stab wound on her abdomen. Aden's spear had been powerful enough to pierce through one of her elite guards, the force carrying through to inflict a wound on the queen herself.

With a snarl of rage, the queen unfurled her wings to their full span, preparing for another devastating windcutter attack. Aden's eyes widened as he realized the imminent danger. "That's it," he thought, his heart racing, "She is going to cut me into pieces with her windcutter."

Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Aden turned and fled, weaving through the charred remains of burnt houses and buildings, desperately seeking cover from the invisible blades that were about to slice through the air.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! It's coming!" Aden cursed, his breath ragged as he ran, his eyes scanning for any semblance of shelter.

"Incoming!" Corporal Knightly's voice rang out, a warning to the villagers.

"Everyone get down!" Captain Willem shouted, his command echoing through the ruined streets.

The queen's windcutter blasted forth, a roaring torrent of air that tore through the already half-demolished structures. The villagers dropped to the ground, their bodies pressed against the earth as the invisible blades sliced through the air above them, shredding what little cover remained.

As the queen stretched her wings once more, preparing another devastating attack, a figure emerged from the shadows, dashing forward to place himself between the harpy queen and the vulnerable villagers.

⁕⁕⁕

The air crackled with tension as a figure emerged from the shadows, dashing forward to place himself between the harpy queen and the vulnerable villagers. "Kazakiri," Kazama shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos, "—ken!"

In a flash, Kazama unleashed his own windcutter attack, the powerful gust of wind hurtling towards the harpy queen. The two windcutters collided in a violent clash, the sheer force of the queen's attack sending shockwaves rippling through the air.

Kazama's body was flung backward, the impact of the colliding windcutters slamming him into the crowd of villagers. He lay incapacitated, the wind knocked out of him, as Aden was blown away, tumbling helplessly to the back of the group.

Though Kazama's windcutter had neutralized the queen's devastating attack, the sheer power of the wind gusts swept over the villagers, forcing them to brace themselves as they were pushed back several steps.

With the defenders momentarily incapacitated, the situation quickly devolved. The villagers found themselves back at square one, their hopes of escape dashed as the harpies grew increasingly violent and eager to strike.

A cacophony of screeches and shrieks filled the air as the harpies closed in, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust. The villagers huddled together, their breaths caught in their throats, as they faced the terrifying prospect of being torn apart by the vicious creatures.

When all hope seemed lost, a figure emerged from behind the harpies blocking the escape route. It was a man, clutching a flask of flame oil in his hand. Without hesitation, he took a huge sip from the flask, his eyes burning with determination.

Raising his torch, the man pointed it toward the harpies obstructing their path to freedom. A burst of flames erupted from his mouth as he exhaled, the fire igniting in a brilliant blaze.

"VWOOSH!"

"Keeaahh!" Four harpies screeched in agony as the man's flame breath engulfed their wings and bodies, setting them ablaze.

"Phil?" Hjalmar's voice rang out in disbelief, recognizing the man who had just joined the fray.

The defenders and villagers watched in astonishment, never expecting Phil to come to their aid and turn the tide against the harpies' clutches.

Phil didn't relent, blowing his flame breath several times, the intense heat scorching the air. The remaining harpies flapped their wings in bewilderment, taken aback by the surprise attack. Phil's fiery onslaught had created an opening, a chance for the villagers to continue their desperate escape.

The breathing fireman unleashed another stream of flames, targeting the harpies who were slow to react. The rest scattered, scrambling away from the searing heat. Even the harpy queen took flight, keeping her distance from the blazing inferno.

"Miss me?" Phil called out, a hint of defiance in his voice as he continued to rain down fiery destruction upon their winged adversaries.

"Welcome back," Aden couldn't contain his relief and gratitude for the paraffin's return, recalling the moment when Phil's barrel had gone off course, crashing and leaving his fate uncertain.

Captain Willem didn't want to waste this golden opportunity. With the surrounding harpies distracted, he knew they had to seize the moment. "This is our chance," the Captain's command echoed through the chaos. "Everyone! Push through!"

A rallying cry erupted from the defenders and villagers as they combined their strength, driven by a newfound hope. "Huaah!"

Phil continued blowing flames, creating a wall of fire to deter the harpies' advance. Oliver hurled stones with precision, while Kazama loosed a volley of arrows. Ser Cedric and Ser Gareth unloaded barrages from their repeating crossbows, the bolts finding their mark.

Even Father Edgar and villagers joined the fray, poking and prodding at the harpies with makeshift poles fashioned from tree branches or wooden planks scavenged from the debris-littered streets.

The tide had turned, and the villagers surged forward, their determination fueled by the courageous efforts of their defenders and the unexpected reinforcement of the flame-breathing Phil.

Seizing the opportunity, Phil doused the back of the escape route with a bottle of flame oil. He took a sip from his flask and with a single, powerful blow of his fiery breath, he set the oil ablaze, creating a half-circle firewall blocking the harpies' pursuit.

With Phil's timely intervention, what remained of the villagers and defenders managed to reach the mountain road safely. They tread cautiously down the winding path, making their way towards the seaport with a renewed sense of hope.

At the rear of the group, Aden kept a vigilant watch, his eyes scanning the skies for any sign of the harpies. Though the winged creatures could only observe from above, their limited night vision allowed them to track the flickering torches carried by the villagers. Diving into the group would be suicidal, as they would face lacerations from the strong, tunnel-like canopy of branches overhead.

When the villagers reached a safe point on the mountain road, they paused for a moment to catch their breath. It was a chance to assess the wounded and take stock of the survivors. Aden sat on a rock at the side of the mountain road, his gaze fixed on the glooming sky visible through the gaps in the tree canopies. The signs of an impending storm loomed ominously.

Ser Cedric distributed what remained of the beef jerky they had scavenged from the half-demolished courthouse during their desperate defense of Seren Street. The question of how to ration the meager supplies weighed heavily on Captain Willem's mind.

Should they feed the villagers or the defenders? It was a paradox he had to resolve. As a representative of the Crown, his orders were to protect the lives of the villagers. However, to effectively defend them, the defenders required sustenance to maintain their strength.

If they fed the villagers, the defenders would be left without the resources to protect them effectively. If they fed the defenders, the villagers would starve to death.

From a purely military perspective, the logical choice was to prioritize the defenders. Their lives were paramount, for if they fell, the villagers would inevitably follow.

Yet, to make that choice would condemn the villagers, especially the weak, the women, and the children, to a slow and agonizing death by starvation.

Aden refused to entertain such a notion. The villagers needed them more than ever. He had endured far worse hardships, having fought in all-out battles for days without sustenance. Even now, he believed he could continue for another day, if necessary.

As Ser Cedric approached Aden with the meager rations, the knight could see the internal struggle playing out on the young man's face. Despite his noble intentions, Aden found himself hesitating, his hand gripping tightly to the precious beef jerky he possessed.

Aden's gaze fell upon the winding mountain road that led towards the seaport, his mind weighing the challenges that lay ahead. The sound of deep, labored footsteps approached from his right, and a stoic figure emerged—an Imperial knight carrying an old man upon his back. It was Ser Gareth, his usually imposing stature slightly diminished by the burden he bore.

Carefully, Ser Gareth laid the old man down beside Aden. Even for a knight as physically formidable as himself, the strain of carrying the elder while evading the harpies had taken its toll. Exhaustion was etched onto his face, and his breathing was heavy.

These mountain roads once easily navigated during Ser Gareth's pursuit of the mutineers and his return from the seaport, now presented a far greater challenge. With a multitude of wounded, exhausted, and bewildered villagers in tow, Aden estimated it would take until the morrow morning to reach their destination—a disconcerting prospect, as the harpies would have a distinct advantage in daylight.

For now, the tunnel-like canopy of trees lining each side of the road offered some protection from the winged predators. Aden could only hope it would be enough to see them through the night.

Suddenly, Old man Jedd rustled beside Aden, grunting as he stirred from his slumber.

"What... what is happening?" Old man Jedd murmured weakly, his consciousness slowly returning.

"Old man, you are awake?" Ser Gareth's tone held a hint of relief, though his expression remained stoic.

"I was dreaming. I was in a huge fire. I heard Lororis' voice," the old man mumbled, his words laced with confusion.

Aden scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. In their dire situation, with the old man's condition hanging by a thread, the dirty old fool still had the audacity to dwell on the thoughts of women. He was clearly having a senior moment.

"Where? Where are we?" Old man Jedd asked, his eyes searching for answers.

"We are at the Monterey road behind the mountain, heading to the seaport," Aden replied, his voice low but firm, hoping to anchor the old man's wandering mind to the gravity of their circumstances.

"What happened?" Old man Jedd pressed, his confusion evident.

"We push for the fish farm in the seaport," Aden explained patiently to the senile old man. "We are already halfway through, by dawn we may arrive at the seaport."