Burn the midnight oil 2

As they moved deeper into the upper levels, the assassins came in pairs and trios, their attacks coordinated and relentless. But Mindy and Sally, despite their modest appearances, moved with the efficiency of seasoned warriors.

One assassin lunged from a side door, his blade aimed at Mindy's chest. She sidestepped the attack, grabbing his arm and twisting it sharply until the bone snapped with an audible crack. The assassin screamed, but it was cut short as she drove her blade into his throat.

Behind her, Sally faced two assassins at once. She ducked under the first strike, then vaulted over the second assassin with surprising agility, landing behind him. Before he could turn, her blade was buried between his shoulder blades. The remaining assassin, stunned by her speed, hesitated just long enough for her to spin and slash his throat in one clean motion.

By the time they reached the hallway leading to the Countess's chambers, the floors were littered with bodies, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. The maids' once pristine uniforms were now torn and stained, but their eyes burned with determination.

As Countess Redwood and Klos moved cautiously down the corridor, the dim light flickering against the blood-streaked walls, the sound of muffled footsteps and hurried breaths reached her ears. Klos instinctively raised his blade, his stance tense and ready to strike.

The Countess extended a hand, signaling him to pause. Her sharp eyes scanned the dim hallway ahead, catching the faint silhouettes of two figures rounding the corner.

Before either could react, the figures leapt into view, weapons raised. Klos moved to defend the Countess, but she held her ground, her glowing blade ready to meet the challenge.

"Wait! It's us!" came a familiar voice, breathless but firm.

The figures came into focus—Sally and Mindy, their once-pristine maid uniforms torn and soaked in blood. Their faces, streaked with dirt and determination, softened as they lowered their weapons.

"Mindy. Sally," the Countess said, her voice calm yet tinged with surprise. She stepped forward, her blade dimming as she assessed the pair. "You're alive."

"We fought our way through," Sally said, clutching her bloodied dagger tightly. Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes were steady. "The assassins didn't expect us to fight back."

"They didn't expect you to survive, ha ha ha is well who could belive cute girls such as you are assassin yourself " the Countess corrected, her lips curving into a faint, approving smile. "But you did."

Klos, still gripping his sword, cast a wary glance at the maids. "My lady, you should fall back. The danger ahead—"

"—is no greater than what we already faced," the Countess interrupted, her tone sharp.

Mindy nodded firmly, stepping forward. "We've killed our share already, and we're not stopping now. We're here to fight, my lady."

Sally added with a faint smirk, "Besides, someone has to clean up this mess when it's over. Might as well make sure we survive to do it."

The Countess chuckled softly, the sound cold but genuine. "Fair enough." She turned her gaze back down the hallway. "But don't get careless. Stick close, and follow my lead."

The muffled shout of a girl echoed through the mansion's eerie halls. The Countess, Klos, Mindy, and Sally froze, their ears straining.

"Rosie!" Sally whispered in alarm.

The four of them moved in unison, silent and swift as shadows, following the source of the sound. They reached the third-floor landing, ducking behind the iron grills of the balustrade. Below, the grim scene unfolded.

Rosie, her dress torn and streaked with blood, was pinned to the floor in the middle of the expansive hall. A ring of assassins—fifteen of them—surrounded her, their laughter echoing cruelly.

One assassin, a wiry man with a jagged scar down his cheek, crouched close to her. "Look at the cute girl," he sneered. "Looks like our entertainment has found us."

The others chuckled darkly.

Another assassin, taller and broad-shouldered, leaned on his blade. "Don't cry, lady. Do what we say, and you might live. Maybe."

At the head of the group, woreth lounging lazily on a table, sat a man whose presence alone cast a chilling weight over the room. He toyed with a blade in his hands, its edge gleaming menacingly. "Focus, boys," he said, his voice sharp despite his relaxed posture. "We've got work to do. Playtime comes later."

From their hiding place, the Countess's gaze sharpened as she watched the scene.

"Who is she?" she asked, her voice low but tense.

"One of Shaun's servants, I think," Klos murmured, his expression grim. "But this situation… it's bad. I'm not sure we can save her. The man sitting on the table—that one's trouble. He might be their leader."

The Countess's jaw tightened. "All the more reason to attack."

Mindy and Sally readied their blades, their determination unwavering. "My lady, we can't risk your life," Mindy whispered fiercely. "Let us attack first. If something happens, please, run away."

The Countess gave them a cold smile. "You can attack first, but I won't be running. Not that I could, even if I wanted to."

Before they could finalize their plan, a sudden voice interrupted the tense standoff.

"Now, now. What's all this mess?"

The voice was deep and gruff, carrying the weight of authority. The assassins turned to see two older men stepping into the hall. Harold, the mansion's head steward, strode forward with his usual deliberate grace, flanked by Smith, the silver-haired but wiry head butler. Despite their age, the air around them was heavy with unspoken strength.

assassin tilted his head, grinning. "Gramps and Gramps Two, huh? What, you gonna scold us for bad manners?"

Harold's sharp eyes landed on Rosie, her trembling form streaked with blood. His gaze darkened, and a shadow of anger flickered across his face. "Smith," he said curtly, "take the girl. I'll handle this."

Smith nodded, stepping forward with an almost uncanny swiftness for a man his age.

"Kill them both," the woreth on the table commanded lazily, flicking his hand.

The assassins charged, but Harold moved first. His movements were impossibly quick, belying his years. He sidestepped the first attacker's blade, catching his wrist and twisting it until the bone snapped audibly. With one fluid motion, Harold slammed the assassin's head into the ground with a sickening crunch.

The second assassin lunged, only for Harold to deflect the strike with his bare hand, pivoting into a brutal elbow strike that shattered the man's jaw. A swift, precise kick to the chest sent him flying backward into two of his comrades.

Meanwhile, Smith had reached Rosie. He knelt by her side, his movements so controlled and smooth it seemed as if time slowed around him. "Easy now," he muttered, lifting her gently.

As he moved toward the stairwell with her, an assassin attempted to intercept him, slashing wildly. Smith twisted his body, avoiding the blade by a hair's breadth, and retaliated with a sharp, upward strike of his dagger. The assassin collapsed, clutching his throat as blood poured out.

Another assassin came at Smith from behind, but the old butler spun on his heel, a hidden blade flicking from his sleeve and finding its mark in the man's eye. "Stay down," Smith said coldly, his voice calm and measured.

Across the room, Harold was a blur of calculated violence. Three assassins rushed him simultaneously, blades aiming for his chest and head. Harold ducked low, his fist shooting up to strike one man's throat, crushing his windpipe. He grabbed the second by the arm, flipping him over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. The third managed to land a shallow cut across Harold's side, but the old steward retaliated with a devastating headbutt, followed by a crushing knee strike that left the assassin crumpled on the floor.

Smith reached the stairwell with Rosie in his arms. But just as he neared the exit, a deafening crash stopped him.

woreth at the table had finally moved, cleaving through the staircase with one mighty slash of his massive blade. The structure collapsed in an instant, sending debris and dust flying.

"Hey, hey," the leader said, stepping forward with a lazy grin. "Don't leave the party so early."

Smith spun, his grip tightening on Rosie. But the leader was fast—too fast. In a blink, he was in front of them, his sword poised to strike.

Before the blow could land, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos.

"Enough," the Countess's voice rang out as she and her group finally revealed themselves.

The woreth paused, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the Countess, Klos, and the bloodied maids standing at the landing above.

"Well, well," he said, his grin widening. "Looks like the rest of the rats have come out to play."

The Countess raised her glowing blade, her expression icy and unyielding. "Your fun ends here."

Klos, Mindy, and Sally readied their weapons, stepping forward to join Harold and Smith. The assassins, now reinforced by more of their comrades pouring into the hall, shifted into combat stances.

The hall erupted into chaos as the Countess's command broke the standoff.

Harold moved first. His foot slammed into the floor, propelling him forward like a bullet. Two assassins rushed him, swords flashing, but Harold ducked low, closing the distance in a blink. His fist lashed out, striking the first assassin's solar plexus with bone-crushing force. The man crumpled, gasping for air. Before the second could react, Harold spun, planting his heel into the man's jaw in a thunderous kick that sent him flying into the wall.

A third assassin cast a fireball, the flames roaring toward Harold. He sidestepped the attack with terrifying precision, his gray eyes locked on the caster. The fire illuminated his weathered face, now streaked with blood from a shallow cut across his cheek.

"You'll need more than parlor tricks," Harold growled.

He surged forward, dodging another fireball by mere inches. The caster raised his hands for another spell, but Harold was already upon him. With a quick feint, Harold grabbed the man's arm, twisting it backward until the crack of breaking bone echoed through the hall. The assassin screamed, only for Harold to silence him with a crushing elbow strike to the neck.

Another trio advanced, two with swords and one casting poison mist. The green fog hissed as it filled the air, but Harold spun into a backflip, avoiding the mist entirely. As he landed, one of the sword-wielders charged. Harold caught the blade mid-swing with his bare hands, twisting it out of the assassin's grip before using it to impale him. Without pausing, Harold pivoted, delivering a brutal roundhouse kick to the caster's head, the force of the impact knocking him unconscious instantly.

Blood dripped down Harold's arm from a slash he hadn't dodged in time, but the old steward didn't falter. His movements were fluid, precise, and unrelenting—a storm of martial discipline.

Nearby, Smith fought with a deadly elegance despite holding Rosie protectively in one arm. An assassin leapt toward him, daggers aimed for his throat. Smith pivoted, twisting his body so the attacker sailed past him. His free leg snapped upward in a brutal kick, catching the assassin midair and sending him crashing to the floor.

Another came from the side, swinging a scimitar. Smith spun, dodging the blade by a hair's breadth. With Rosie still in his grasp, he used his free arm to deliver a quick jab to the assassin's throat, then followed up with a devastating kick to the ribs that sent the man sprawling.

One of the assassins, seeing Rosie as a liability, conjured a bolt of lightning and hurled it toward her. Smith's eyes narrowed. He jumped backward, planting his heel on the wall and springing off it to dodge the strike. In the same motion, he delivered a spinning kick that caught the caster on the temple, snapping his neck with a sickening crack.

Though his breathing grew heavier, Smith's movements never faltered. His sole focus was protecting Rosie, his strikes efficient and lethal.

Mindy and Sally charged into the fray with twin daggers gleaming in their hands. Their movements were a whirlwind of speed and precision, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next.

An assassin swung his sword toward Mindy, but she ducked under the blade, slashing across his thigh and throat in one fluid motion. Another came from behind, but Sally appeared like a shadow, her daggers plunging into his ribs before he could react.

"We'll handle the fodder!" Sally shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

The twins moved in perfect synchronization, their rapid strikes carving through the assassins with ruthless efficiency. Mindy leapt onto a fallen table, using it as a springboard to vault over a group of attackers. She landed behind them, her daggers flashing as she brought two down in an instant.

Sally, meanwhile, spun in a deadly arc, her blades catching two assassins mid-charge. Blood sprayed as they collapsed, and she pressed forward, cutting down another before he could even raise his sword.

As they fought, their eyes kept flicking toward Harold and Smith, their awe evident even amidst the bloodshed.

"Old men shouldn't move like that," Mindy muttered, dispatching another foe.

While the assassins fell one after another, the man on the table—still unnamed to his foes—woreth watched with an amused smirk. "Impressive," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He raised a single hand, his fingers crackling with dark mana. The corpses of the fallen began to twitch, their limbs jerking unnaturally. Black tendrils of magic seeped into their flesh, and in seconds, they rose again, their eyes glowing with a sinister light.

The corpses let out guttural roars as they transformed into monstrous, twisted versions of their former selves—Dolls of Malice. Flames erupted from their mouths, lightning crackled from their hands, and green poison oozed from their jagged claws.

"enjoy this" woreth said, leaning back lazily.

Klos and the Countess vs. the Dolls

"Stay back!" Klos shouted, stepping in front of the Countess as the monstrous dolls charged.

Klos's blade glowed with mana as he slashed upward, sending a fiery arc of energy toward the first doll. It exploded into flames, but two more charged from the sides. Klos spun, channeling wind magic to create a barrier that deflected their attacks.

The Countess stepped forward, her enchanted blade glowing with a mix of fire and lightning. "You focus on the left; I'll take the right," she ordered, her tone calm but commanding.

Klos nodded, engaging the dolls with a flurry of sword strikes enhanced by earth and wind magic. His blade shattered the ground beneath one doll, sending it sprawling, before he drove his sword into its chest.

The Countess moved with deadly precision, her blade crackling with energy. She deflected a lightning strike with her sword, redirecting it toward another doll, which exploded into sparks. Flames erupted around her as she cast a fire spell, incinerating two more dolls in a flash.

Together, Klos and the Countess cut down the dolls one by one. Their combined attacks were a symphony of magic and steel, overwhelming even the cursed abominations.

As the last doll fell, the man on the table finally stood, his smirk fading into a cold, murderous glare. "Not bad," he said, gripping his massive sword. "guess i will play as well"