Chapter 34 "Echoes of the Night"

The stillness of the night was broken by the soft crunching of gravel underfoot as Brandon neared the first guard. His every step was precise, every muscle in his body coiled in readiness. Without hesitation, Brandon's arm wrapped around the unsuspecting guard's throat, squeezing tightly. He could feel the man's pulse against his forearm, the heartbeat quickening in panic. With a swift, forceful jerk, there was a chilling snap. The guard's body went limp.

The others watched Brandon's precision with silent admiration. They had seen him hunt, but this was a different kind of prey. Zuran was next, slipping up behind a guard, his hand covering the man's mouth as he drove a knife deep into his side. The sharp gasp of pain was muffled, dying out as quickly as it had started. The rest followed suit, their expertise as hunters now turned to a more deadly purpose.

Peeling off the armor of the first fallen guard, Brandon tried to fit into it. The hide felt rough against his skin, layers of it tightly bound together. It was hard and uncomfortable, but he knew it would offer some protection. Looking at his reflection in a nearby water source, he barely recognized himself. The once free man of the wild now bore the dark semblance of a city guard.

As the others suited up, he marveled at the weapons of these city folk. The spear was elegant, its long wooden shaft polished to a shine and ending in a gleaming steel point. The metal felt cold and unfamiliar in his hand, but its weight gave him confidence. These were weapons designed for war, not just for hunting.

Moving deeper into the city, they passed through the labyrinthine streets. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the buildings, making them look like silent, watching giants. Few dared to venture out at this hour, and those who did quickly scurried away at the sight of the guards.

The slave compound came into view, its high walls casting an oppressive shadow. A handful of guards patrolled the perimeter, but these were not the disciplined soldiers they had encountered at the city wall. These men were burly, with unkempt hair and the swagger of bullies. Hired muscle, Brandon deduced.

Zuran signaled to the team, pointing out each of the guards' positions. Brandon took the lead once again, silently moving towards the nearest thug. As he neared, he noticed the man was humming a tune, lost in his own world. It was the last song he'd ever hum. Brandon drove the steel spear through the man's back, silencing him forever.

One by one, they fell. Each strike was swift, each kill silent. The compound, once a place of oppression and misery, was now a graveyard for its oppressors. As the last guard slumped to the ground, Brandon let out a silent sigh of relief. The first phase of their mission was complete, but the real challenge lay ahead.

As they entered the compound, a thick musk filled the air, emanating from the animal pens. But their focus was not on the animals. They were there for their kin, and they pressed on, moving deeper into the compound. The slave cells, constructed of cold, hard stone, were a grim sight. Rows upon rows of barred doors held within them the broken spirits of countless people.

Using the keys they had taken from one of the guards, Brandon began unlocking the doors, one by one. Each time a door swung open, a mixture of fear, relief, and confusion showed on the faces of the imprisoned. They were men, women, and children – not just from their tribes but from far-off lands as well. Their clothing, their features, the languages they whispered among themselves; all these were foreign to Brandon.

One challenge became apparent: communication. With a vast array of languages spoken among the newly freed, making the plan known to everyone was not going to be easy. Brandon, using his ability to mimic sounds, attempted to communicate with gestures and broken phrases, pointing towards the river and making paddling motions to indicate their escape route. Some seemed to understand, nodding fervently, while others merely clung to their loved ones, wide-eyed and anxious.

The procession moved towards the river, the silence of the night pierced only by the soft footsteps of the escapees and the distant cry of a night bird. The river, with its gentle lapping waters, seemed like a beacon of hope, the pathway to freedom.

As they approached, they spotted several barges tied along the bank. These large, flat-bottomed boats were perfect for their needs. The plan was simple: load everyone onto the barges and quietly drift downstream, away from the city and its horrors.

But just as hope seemed within grasp, fate took a cruel twist. Emerging from a riverside building, a group of guards, armed and alert, stumbled upon them. Their lanterns cast an ominous glow, revealing the crowd of escapees. Suspicion quickly turned to realization as one guard approached Brandon, noticing his poorly fitted armor and the fact that he looked nothing like any guard they knew.

The conversation was brief. Brandon tried to feign ignorance, attempting to play the role of a guard. But it was clear that the jig was up. The air grew thick with tension as the guards reached for their weapons.

Without warning, chaos erupted. The guards lunged at Brandon and his group, but they were met with fierce resistance. It was during this intense skirmish that Brandon, feeling the energy of the world around him, invoked the harmony of fire. A guttural chant escaped his lips, and suddenly, flames erupted from his hands, engulfing the nearest guards. The intensity and suddenness of the attack caught everyone off guard, turning the tide of the battle in an instant.

The sight of Brandon wielding this newfound power was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The remaining guards hesitated, the fear evident in their eyes. But Brandon knew that time was of the essence. They had to move, and they had to move now.