Burn the midnight oil 3

The man finally rose to his feet, his towering form exuding an aura of menace. He gripped his massive sword, the blade pulsating with a sinister red glow. His smirk twisted into a chilling grin as he spoke, his voice reverberating through the room like the growl of a predator.

"I am Woreth. Remember the name—the name of the one who will end you."

Before he could take another step, the Countess unleashed a barrage of radiant energy, her hand glowing as beams of pulverizing light shot toward him. The air hummed with power, the sheer force of the attack shaking the walls.

But Woreth didn't flinch. With incredible speed, he swung his sword in a single, fluid motion, cutting through the beams as if they were nothing but smoke. The energy dissipated, leaving only faint scorch marks on the floor.

In an instant, Woreth moved—faster than the eye could follow. He appeared beside Klos, catching the knight's leg mid-kick. With monstrous strength, Woreth swung Klos like a ragdoll, slamming him into the floor with a sickening crack. Klos's sword clattered away, broken in two.

Woreth raised his hand, dark flames gathering at his fingertips, ready to incinerate the knight where he lay. But before the spell could be cast, the Countess intervened.

Her voice echoed through the hall, a command wrapped in authority. "Earth's wrath, rise!"

The ground beneath Woreth erupted into sharp earthen spikes, surging toward him with devastating force. But Woreth merely growled, shattering the spikes with his bare hand as if they were made of brittle clay.

Then, with a burst of speed, he appeared behind the Countess. Before she could react, the hilt of his sword struck her square in the back, sending her hurtling across the room. She slammed into a pillar and crumpled to the ground.

But Woreth's triumphant grin faltered. The "Countess" dissolved into a pile of rubble—it was an earthen golem created by her magic.

Above him, the real Countess hovered, her blade glowing with electric energy. "Thunder Roar!" she shouted, slashing downward as a colossal lightning strike crashed onto Woreth. The room flashed blindingly as the bolt connected, scorching the floor and sending smoke billowing upward.

When the smoke cleared, Woreth stood, his armor blackened and cracked, his body steaming from the impact. His grin was gone, replaced by a furious snarl.

"You'll regret that," he growled.

He thrust his hand forward, conjuring a blazing inferno that surged toward the Countess. The heat was overwhelming, threatening to consume everything in its path.

But Klos, battered and bleeding, seized a fallen sword. With a desperate roar, he lunged, slashing through Woreth's arm. The fire spell dissipated as Woreth recoiled, his arm hanging limp and blood dripping from the wound.

"You'll pay for that," Woreth hissed.

In a flash, his leg shot out, slamming into Klos's chest with bone-crushing force. Klos was hurled across the room, crashing into a wall. He groaned in pain, unable to move.

Mindy and Sally, seeing their chance, dashed into the fray. Their daggers gleamed as they struck with blinding speed, attacking Woreth from both sides.

But Woreth moved like a shadow, his body twisting and weaving through their strikes. He caught Sally's wrist mid-attack, spinning her around and tossing her into Mindy. Both maids were flung across the room, crashing into overturned furniture.

As Woreth turned back toward the Countess, his sword raised to finish her, a fist connected with his jaw.

Harold.

The old steward stood firm, his face grim and bleeding but unyielding. Woreth stumbled back, his teeth bared in a snarl.

"You're no ordinary servant," Woreth spat, wiping blood from his lip.

"And you're no invincible god," Harold replied coldly.

The two clashed, Harold's martial precision meeting Woreth's monstrous strength. Woreth's sword slashed down in a brutal arc, but Harold sidestepped, his fist driving into Woreth's ribs. Woreth swung again, but Harold ducked, delivering a devastating uppercut that sent Woreth staggering.

Despite his skill, Harold took hits as well. Woreth's blade grazed his arm, drawing blood, and a crushing kick to the chest sent him reeling. But Harold refused to fall, his fists landing blow after blow, his movements a perfect balance of offense and defense.

While Woreth was distracted, the Countess prepared her final move. Her hands glowed with twin auras—one of icy blue, the other of crackling white lightning.

"Thunder and Ice, converge!" she shouted, unleashing both spells simultaneously.

A roaring storm of lightning and frost engulfed Woreth. The lightning arced across his body, tearing through flesh and armor, while the ice spread, freezing him from the feet upward. He screamed in fury and pain, his movements slowing as the frost consumed him.

The storm ended, leaving Woreth standing motionless, his body frozen solid, charred and fractured.

The Countess stepped forward, her eyes cold and resolute. With a final, deliberate slash of her sword, she shattered Woreth's frozen body into a thousand pieces.

The room fell silent, the air heavy with the scent of blood and scorched magic.

"It's over," the Countess said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion in her eyes.

Harold and Smith moved to secure the wounded, while Mindy and Sally stumbled to their feet, battered but alive. The nightmare was over—for now.

The group stood amidst the wreckage of the great hall, their bodies battered and bloodied, but their resolve unshaken. The silence was thick, broken only by the occasional crackle of smoldering debris and the faint groans of those still catching their breath.

Klos leaned heavily against a broken pillar, clutching his side where Woreth's crushing kick had left him bruised and winded. He looked at Harold, his face etched with confusion and unease.

Klos began, his voice hoarse but steady. "That man—Woreth. He wasn't just strong. He was… monstrous. Who in the world could've sent someone like him?"

Harold, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, stood silently for a moment, his expression dark. He tightened the makeshift bandage on his arm before finally speaking.

"When I worked as a mercenary, long before Master Shaun hired me," Harold began, his tone grave, "I heard stories about a few big shots in our world. Names that made even the hardest mercenaries think twice before taking a job against them."

He pointed toward the mask of one of the fallen assassins, its cracked surface still bearing a faint crest—a dagger crossed with a wisp of smoke. "That mark on their masks and capes belongs to the Silent Blade."

Mindy, who had been sharpening her bloodied daggers, froze mid-motion, her expression turning to shock. "The Silent Blade?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sally's eyes widened as she exchanged a glance with her sister. "But… they're just a myth. Aren't they? A legend to scare apprentices into sharpening their skills."

Harold shook his head. "They were no myth. Decades ago, they were considered the deadliest assassins alive—untouchable and unstoppable. They were the kind of people you prayed never to cross. But in recent years, they've faded from the spotlight. Many thought they disbanded, or at least lost their edge."

He looked at the bodies scattered across the room, his jaw tightening. "I was wrong to assume that. They may not be as fearsome as they once were, but they're still as lethal as any of us will ever face."

Klos gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists. "So, someone hired one of the most dangerous assassin groups in history to take us out. Who could hate us enough to go to such lengths? Was it really Heron?"

Before Harold could answer, the room seemed to darken, the oppressive weight of a new presence settling over them like a suffocating fog.

A slow, mocking clap echoed through the air, drawing every eye to the balcony above.

There, perched on the railing like a bird of prey, stood a figure cloaked in shadows. She wore a sleek, black combat suit adorned with subtle, shimmering patterns, and a hood that framed her angular face. Her piercing eyes gleamed like molten gold, and her lips curled into a wicked smirk.

"Well, well," the woman said, her voice dripping with amusement. "We've got ourselves quite the informative old man, don't we?" She hopped down from the balcony with feline grace, landing silently despite the height.

Harold's body tensed as he instinctively stepped forward, positioning himself between the woman and the Countess.

The stranger tilted her head, her smirk growing wider. "But I must admit," she continued, "hearing you say we're not as dangerous as we used to be… That's a bit insulting, don't you think?"

Before anyone could react, the woman's form blurred, her speed incomprehensible.

A sharp crack echoed through the hall as her fist connected with Harold's chest. The old steward was launched across the room like a cannonball, crashing into a wall with a sickening thud. He slumped to the ground, blood pooling beneath him, his breathing shallow.

"Harold!" the Countess shouted, her voice breaking with alarm as she rushed toward him.

Mindy and Sally sprang into action, their daggers drawn, but the woman didn't flinch. Instead, she raised a single hand, wagging her finger at them like a schoolteacher scolding unruly children.

"Ah-ah," she said, her tone mockingly sweet. "Let's not rush into things, girls. I'd hate to ruin your pretty faces before the fun even starts."

Klos drew his sword, stepping in front of the Countess to shield her. His eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman's smile widened, her golden eyes gleaming with malice. "You can call me Glide," she said. "Not that it matters. None of you are leaving here alive."

The air grew colder as the tension in the room thickened. Glide's presence was overwhelming, her confidence unshakable.

The Countess rose to her full height, her eyes blazing with defiance. "You'll regret underestimating us," she said, her voice steady despite the fury behind it.

Glide chuckled darkly, her hand reaching for the curved daggers strapped to her thighs. "Oh, I don't underestimate anyone," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "I just enjoy proving how weak they really are."

As she readied herself for the next move, Mindy and Sally positioned themselves on either side of Glide, their daggers glinting in the dim light. Klos tightened his grip on his sword, his mana flaring around him.

Despite the pain, Harold forced himself to his feet, his breathing ragged but his resolve unbroken. "Stay sharp," he warned, wiping the blood from his mouth.

The Countess's grip on her enchanted sword tightened, lightning crackling faintly along its edge. "Then we'll take her down together," she declared.

Glide's grin widened as she crouched into a fighting stance. "Oh, good. I was hoping you'd say that."

As the group braced themselves to fight Glide, the atmosphere in the room shifted drastically. A suffocating presence descended, and before anyone could even turn to look, three figures burst into action from the shadows like unleashed predators.

The giant struck first. With terrifying speed that defied his enormous size, he was upon Harold and Smith in an instant. His massive warhammer swung in a devastating arc, colliding with them before they could even register his presence. The sound of bone and metal shattering echoed through the room as Harold and Smith were sent flying in opposite directions. Their bodies crashed into the walls like broken dolls, blood streaking the stone as they slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Simultaneously, the beastman lunged toward Mindy, Sally, and Klos, his claws flashing like deadly silver blades. Sally and Mindy barely managed to react, their daggers rising to meet his attack. But he was too fast. With one fluid motion, he swatted Mindy's blade aside, spun, and delivered a savage kick to Sally's midsection, launching her across the room.

Mindy retaliated, slashing at his side, but the beastman caught her wrist with an iron grip and slammed her into the floor with a sickening crunch. Klos charged in, flames igniting along his sword, but the beastman ducked under the swing and countered with a brutal swipe of his claws, sending Klos crashing into a nearby pillar.

At the same moment, the man in the blue devil mask moved with blinding precision, appearing in front of the Countess as if he had materialized out of thin air. She raised her sword, lightning crackling along its edge, but it was too late. His gauntleted fist collided with her stomach in a bone-crushing strike, knocking the air from her lungs. The impact sent her sprawling to the ground, her enchanted blade slipping from her grasp.

Glide stepped aside as the chaos unfolded, a smug smile on her face as she watched the group fall like dominoes. "Well, that was quick," she remarked, her voice dripping with amusement.

In mere moments, the battle was over. The Countess and her companions lay sprawled on the floor, bound tightly in ropes. The air was thick with the stench of blood and burnt magic, the room eerily silent save for the labored breathing of the defeated.

The giant rested his hammer on his shoulder, his gaze scanning the carnage he had caused. "Done already," he rumbled, his deep voice echoing in the hall. He strode to the corner and sat down, leaning against the wall with a satisfied grunt. "We've lost too many, though. Less than 200 of our force left. Heron better pay us extra for this mess."

Glide leaned against a pillar, rolling her eyes. She scoffed, glancing at the blue-masked man. "We're out here getting our hands dirty while woreth plays puppet master."

The beastman, his claws still dripping with blood, growled low in his throat as he looked at Glide. "You should keep your mouth shut. Don't talk to our leader like that again."

"Whatever you say, puppy. But let's not pretend we didn't just clean up his mess. Another doll, really?"

The man in the blue devil mask, standing tall and composed amidst the destruction, turned his head slightly to look at her. "Glide," he said, his tone calm yet commanding, "you've said enough."

She raised her hands in mock surrender, her smirk never wavering. "Fine, fine. Just saying what everyone's thinking."

The masked man turned his gaze back to the Countess, who glared up at him despite her weakened state. He crouched in front of her, tilting his head as if studying a specimen.

"You're stronger than Heron gave you credit for," the man in the blue devil mask said, his voice smooth and cold, as he looked down at the Countess, bound and defeated. He tilted his head slightly, as though amused by her defiance. "From what I hear, you took down Woreth's doll with ease. Impressive."

The Countess, despite the ropes digging into her arms and the bruises lining her body, held her head high. Her voice, though strained, carried venom. "Dont worry i will do the same to you and your lacky in few minute."

The beastman let out a low chuckle, his claws glinting as he crouched next to Klos, who groaned weakly from the floor. "She's got a sharp tongue, this one. Do you want me to cut it out now, or should we wait until later?"

The masked man raised a gloved hand, silencing the beastman. His gaze remained locked on the Countess. "False bravado," he murmured, his tone as calm as ever. He crouched down, his cold eyes meeting hers through the slits in his mask. "How long will you cling to that act, Countess? How long will you pretend that you're anything but terrified? Just so you know He was nothing but a puppet. The real Woreth is probably sipping tea somewhere, far from the mess he sent us to clean up"

The Countess clenched her fists tighter, the ropes biting into her skin. She glared back at him, the defiance in her eyes unbroken. "You'll regret this," she hissed through gritted teeth. "All of you will regret underestimating me."

The man laughed then, a deep, chilling sound that echoed through the ruined hall. It wasn't the laugh of a man amused—it was the laugh of a predator who knew his prey was trapped.

"Oh, Countess," he said softly, almost mockingly. "Your courage is admirable, but let's not delude ourselves. You're only alive right now because we desire to keep you alive. We'll tear every scrap of information we need from you, piece by piece."

His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing against it casually. "You're strong, I'll give you that. But your strength means nothing us." His voice dropped to a sinister whisper. "Beg for mercy. It might convince us to make this easier for you."