Aggression And Assault

Valentine finally received the signal to get to work, the Rosetta Stone underneath their figure. The sigil glowed a bright white that pierced through the red moonlight. Valentine's surroundings were flooded with radiance for a while before the drawing dimmed considerably. There was only around fifty percent of the drawing left.

"Hm~ I suppose that's juuust enough. Cutting it a bit close here, but it'll do. I wonder if they'll find that anomaly. If it is what I think it is...then I'm taking my vacation even faster. I hate bothering eldritch beings. Never worth it." Valentine's voice that was a strange mixture of tinny, and shrill yet low pitched and metallic reverberated through their surroundings. They kicked their heels for hours and abided the long wait, that signified the final stretch of the job.

—-

"WHAT? THE SECOND I STEP OUT?" Blackbeard's booming complaints bombarded the ears of the cyclopses, the gheckla, and they even rang in Alban's for a bit. The tall cyclops looked around in a fervor, searching for anything or anyone he could shift the blame towards. It was the best way to stop the already dissatisfied cyclopses from revolting on the spot!

With a harried countenance, Blackbeard's sole eye scoured through the bevy of monsters. The cyclopses wouldn't work, that would just dig him into even deeper trouble. The gheckla were suspicious, sure, it was odd that the more pudgy ones were nowhere to be seen among them. But if they had an army, why hadn't the used it prior to now? It didn't make sense for them to be the culprits, so his gaze soon made its way to the only person left.

Coincidentally, it was the savage who he knew the least about. The youth was one of the deciding factors in his defeat, and although he wanted to beat him down until he was only a bloody pulp, Blackbeard had to admit that he was very wary of him. The guy seemed to emanate an feral aura that encroached on your senses—your instincts warning you of the horror the savage was capable of inflicting. Even if Alban didn't look like he could harm him, the most fearsome part about the youth in question was his unpredictability.

All of these facts considered, if Blackbeard was in a more healthy state of mind he would have simply chosen to keep his blubbering mouth shut. But he didn't.

"You. Whatever ye are, I only want to know one thing. Did YOU cause this? HUH?!" Blackbeard's enraged voice aimed for Alban, who made no attempt to defend himself. He felt as if there was no need to, the conjecture Blackbeard made was way too stupid to justify a response. Alban stared back at Blackbeard, silence being his only answer.

"BahAHAHAHA! You have really fallen far from grace, Blackbeard. Enemies are at YOUR gates yet you waste time accusing one of your ONLY hopes in defending your people. You're pathetic." To his surprise, Surja had spoken up. He was ready to use the downtime he had during Blackbeard's rants to formulate a plan. It seemed he would have to wing it.

"You don't know a thing, Surja! You dare to defend some stranger over your own chief!?"

"You are no chief of mine. Besides, how would he even have an army? If he really owned an army, he wouldn't even have to be here!" Blackbeard's mouth halted, unable to further retort. The conversation lulled long enough for Lat to interject with his own ideas. He stepped forward with his sister in tow and sidled up to Alban before making his thoughts known.

"Er, we can work together y'know. We gheckla are pretty strong when it counts, so we can at least put up a good fight." Lat's voice wavered a bit, though his meaning rung true. The freed gheckla were ready to fight and defend each other with their lives, and the frightened cyclopses preferred to fight with the dreadful young man that was akin to a walking calamity. Sticking it to Blackbeard was more of a side bonus.

"NO WE CAN'T!" A manic roar escaped from Blackbeard's hulking maw, his fists beating against his chest in a fragile showing of dominance. None of the cyclopses listened, however.

"Yes, Blackbeard. We will." Surja's firm and steady voice became the bellwether of the defending monster's will. The cyclopses were getting fed up with Blackbeard's shoddy excuse for leadership, disillusioned to his vague solutions and unkept promises. How could a "brave and fearless" leader leave his own tribe to starve while hiding in his room?

Not only was Blackbeard inadequate as a chief, they wanted to fight to protect their homes. Protecting their homes would also protect their lives, the outcroppings a stark reminder of all that they held dear. Death may not be the end in Nightmare, but your revival can only be guaranteed once. The rest was up to random chance...such was Nightmare.

The assorted monsters (excluding Blackbeard) ambled in the direction of the gates. It was there that they would make their decisive stand, the tall walls being an effective place to bombard the enemy. Alban breathed in an eager rush of adrenaline, his addiction for strife ever increasing day by day, conflict by conflict.

—-

A jam of various sorts of creatures herded together, marching en route to Hettur. They were only a couple of miles away, and would soon arrive at their journey's end.

A large well proportioned woman stood at the front of the procession, an axe as tall as her whole body slung across her shoulders. The woman stood at eight feet tall, and she was dressed in a full plated copper armor. The legs of the armor were missing, however, her haunches speckled black and white with the texture of cowhide. Her feet were hooves, while a fiery red mane extended from her scalp to the nape of her neck. The imposing woman spoke up, yelling at the army behind her.

"Listen up! We are here to collect the two strongest groups of monsters on this continent for the Blood Band Arena! That means you are to AVOID killing them whenever possible, even at the threat of death. Anyone that violates my orders and PURPOSEFULLY kills multiple of our new arena fodder will face the same fate as them. That is all!" Her voice resembled a raging bull, snarling and frothing at the mouth. She wasn't truly mad, her mien and behavior were boisterous. The stormy demeanor she carried with her manifested in the way she carried her body, the hooves of which stamped upon the ground. Wherever the bovine hoof-prints could be seen there would be slight cracks along the terrain to accompany it.

The minotauress licked her lips, her gaze directed forwards, the snow the army wade through becoming thinner and thinner. The woman let out a deep moo in satisfaction, the smell of engagement fiercely rushing into her comparatively delicate nostrils.

"This is what I live for. Even though the enemy won't be very strong at all, I shall still give it *my* all. It's the only form of respect I can give to all that participate in the sacred art of war." Her gleeful expression mirrored a certain savage that lay in wait, the pitched battle between the two leaders rapidly approaching.