Chapter 16:A Good Friend Of Mine

Al Mussad, his eyes scanning the scene, his mind racing, quickly tucked the musket into his belt, a silent promise of future use. He unsheathed his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the torches, a familiar weight in his hand. He turned to Adi, his face etched with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Adi, his body aching, his breath ragged, stood up, his eyes fixed on Al Mussad. He nodded, his determination unwavering.

"Where's your weapon?" Al Mussad asked, his gaze sweeping over Adi's form.

Adi looked up, his eyes widening in realization. His dagger, his trusted companion, was still on the balcony, left behind in the heat of the battle. He glanced around, his eyes meeting the steely gaze of the remaining Ashari guards. They were armed, their weapons gleaming, their faces contorted with a mixture of fear and anger.

"I don't need one," Adi said, his voice a low growl, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

The Ashari guards, their numbers dwindling, their confidence shaken, charged forward, their weapons raised, their movements a blur of motion. But Adi, a master of self-defense, a whirlwind of motion, dodged their attacks with ease, his body a blur, his movements fluid. He moved forward, his steps precise, his strikes deadly. He broke the balance of the enemy, disrupting their formation, turning their attack into a chaotic mess.

He disarmed one of the guards, the weapon flying through the air, its trajectory perfectly calculated. Adi, his reflexes honed by years of training, caught the weapon, the hilt landing perfectly in his hand. He now held two swords, his movements even more deadly, his presence even more imposing.

The Ashari guards, their eyes widening in fear, their faces contorted with disbelief, exchanged glances. They had never seen anything like it. This was no ordinary assassin. This was a monster. This was Adi.

Al Mussad, meanwhile, was a blur of motion, a whirlwind of steel. He moved with a speed and agility that defied his age, his years of experience evident in every strike. He sliced and dodged, his movements a symphony of violence, his blade a deadly extension of his will. He never used his sword defensively, always attacking, always moving forward, his strikes precise, his movements calculated, his aim deadly. He struck vital points, his blows swift and decisive, ending the lives of his enemies in a flash of steel.

The hall was a scene of carnage, the air thick with the smell of blood, the sounds of groans and gasps echoing through the caverns. But amidst the chaos, two figures stood, their bodies weary, their breaths ragged, their eyes filled with a steely determination.

Adi and Al Mussad, their faces grim, their bodies aching, their minds focused, knew they had to escape. The Ashari were relentless, their numbers still formidable. They had to get out of the mine, to regroup, to plan their next move.

The battle was far from over. The fight for freedom, for justice, for the future of the world, was just beginning.

Adi and Al Mussad, their bodies weary, their stamina at its limit, stood amidst the carnage, their breaths ragged, their eyes fixed on the remaining Ashari guards. The battle had been long and brutal, their movements now sluggish, their strikes less precise.

Suddenly, a smoke bomb arced through the air, exploding with a deafening roar. The smoke billowed, obscuring the hall, the acrid scent filling their nostrils. When the smoke cleared, the Ashari guards were gone, their heads severed, their bodies crumpled on the ground.

From the shadows emerged Nita and Mikael, their faces grim, their eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern. Nita, her voice a low murmur, bowed her head before Al Mussad. "Sorry we're late, Elder," she said, her eyes filled with a mixture of respect and apology.

Al Mussad, his hand reaching out, gently patted Nita's head. "It's alright," he said, his voice a low rumble. "If you were even a second later, we might both be dead. You came just in time."

They emerged from the caverns, the air fresh and clean, the city lights twinkling in the distance. The Niziari members, their faces grim, their bodies weary, gathered around them.

"Let's go," Nita said, her voice firm, her eyes scanning the group. "Both of you are covered in blood. You need to wash it off."

Adi and Al Mussad, their faces obscured by blood, their eyes the only visible features, exchanged a silent glance. They were both a mess, their bodies bearing the scars of battle, their clothes stained crimson.

A day passed, the city slowly returning to its normal rhythm. Al Mussad and Adi, their wounds tended, their bodies rested, sat in the headquarters, their conversation a low murmur against the backdrop of the city's sounds.

"Why are you still using your pseudo name, Adi?" Al Mussad asked, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity.

Adi, his brow furrowed, looked at Al Mussad, his eyes filled with confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

"Well," Al Mussad explained, "when you're in Niziari, Westerners use an alias. The old Masters and Elders don't like Westerners. But when they move back, they use their old names."

Adi, his eyes widening in realization, nodded. "So that's why most names here are their real names," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "Well, I've learned to like my name," he said, his voice filled with a quiet pride. "A good friend of mine gave it to me."

"So, how was he?" Al Mussad asked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.

Adi, his brow furrowed, looked at Al Mussad, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice filled with a hint of apprehension.

"The masked man," Al Mussad said, his voice a low growl. "Is he the leader?"

Adi shook his head. "I don't know," he said, his voice filled with a sense of uncertainty. "He said a lot of confusing things. How about we go back to Niziari and ask the Supreme Leader about the Ashari? My knowledge of them is limited."

Adi looked at Al Mussad, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and anticipation. Al Mussad nodded, his face grim, his eyes filled with a steely determination. The battle was far from over. The fight for freedom, for justice, for the future of the world, was just beginning. And they were ready. They were Niziari. And they would not be defeated.