Bad decision lead to Bad situation

Glide, growing impatient, stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. "What the heck? Is this even going to work? It's bright morning now, and nothing seems to be happening."

The Beastman, standing tall beside her, let out a low growl, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed the air. He was equally baffled, his keen senses detecting no change. "I don't smell anything new. This feels like a waste of time."

The Masked Man, however, was not deterred. He looked at them with a cool, calculating gaze, his expression hidden behind his dark mask. "No, it's working. You may not see it, but trust me. It's about to break, and when it does, we'll finally have them."

Without another word, he stepped forward, pulling mana into his hands, his fingers glowing with arcane energy. "Sixth Circle Spell: Violet Pillar Manifest!"

With a sharp flick of his hands, two immense pillars of violet energy shot out from both palms, their power crackling with raw destructive force. Each beam blazed with energy, hitting the gate with an overwhelming pressure. The Countess and the others could hear the hum grow louder as the Masked Man relentlessly poured more magic into the attack, his focus unyielding.

Seconds passed, then minutes. The magical beams continued to strike with increasing intensity, their energy converging into a focused ray of devastating force. Finally, with a sudden burst, the gate trembled under the pressure before disintegrating entirely. The powerful beam cut through the reinforced magic like a hot knife through butter, turning both the enchanted barrier and everything inside into a blinding, almost painful white light. The ground and walls seemed to turn to a soft, white limestone-like texture as the energy flowed through, carving a clear path into the otherwise impenetrable space.

The three assassins—Glide, Beastman, and the Masked Man—moved as one, their movements synchronized with lethal precision. They strode confidently into the room, their eyes scanning the area as the faint echoes of their footsteps rang through the floor.

Glide's lips twisted into a wicked smile as she surveyed the now open area. "Finally. I can hunt those mice down." She cracked her knuckles, eager for the hunt to begin. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation as she moved forward, her daggers gleaming in the light.

Beastman let out a low growl, his nose twitching as he caught the scent of their targets. "They're in that direction. I can smell all of them," he said, his voice filled with hunger. His beastly instincts were on high alert, ready to track them down and tear them apart.

The Masked Man nodded, his gaze sharp. "Good. Now, let's end this."

As the assassins moved forward, the tension in the air thickened. The massive gate behind them still smoldered from the powerful violet energy, and the flickering remnants of magic slowly dissipated into the floor. Glide, her gaze locked on the Countess, broke the silence with a cruel sneer.

Glide: "How brave of you. Ready to die on your own?" She taunted, her posture relaxed yet deadly.

Countess Her voice was laced with venom as she shot back, her eyes glowing with an unwavering resolve. "We'll see who will be dying, you bitch."

Before Glide could react, her patience snapped. With a speed that matched her lethal grace, she charged forward, her fist raised to strike. The air crackled with the force of her punch aimed directly at the Countess. However, before the blow could land, a flash of motion cut across the room.

Harold appeared out of nowhere, stepping between them. His hand shot out, gripping Glide's extended fist with brutal force. Using his momentum, he twisted her arm and flung her with precision into the second room where Smith awaited, ready for battle.

Harold voice was calm but cold. "You'll have to deal with us first."

Smith Standing at the threshold of the second room, his stance unwavering, he nodded. "Time to take care of this one, old friend."

Glide, caught off guard, skidded to a halt, her eyes filled with fury. She growled, ready for a new battle, while Smith and Harold prepared themselves, their movements mirroring years of experience.

The moment Glide's body crashed into the second room, Harold and Smith didn't wait for a single beat. They didn't need to. Their movements were instantaneous, like a well-oiled machine operating with lethal precision.

Harold was the first to act, his body moving in a blur of motion as he launched himself forward. His leg whipped through the air with a vicious, spinning kick aimed directly at Glide's head. The force behind it would have taken down most opponents, but Glide, ever agile, ducked just in time.

Smith was right behind Harold, his fists already primed for battle. He moved like a predator closing in on its prey, delivering rapid jabs to Glide's midsection. She twisted her body, narrowly avoiding the blows, but Harold and Smith didn't give her any space to breathe. Every strike seemed more intense than the last, their attacks choreographed, with each one anticipating the other's next move.

"Persistent," Glide growled under her breath as she ducked a punch from Harold and delivered a swift kick to Smith's face. He barely managed to block it, the force still sending him stumbling backward. Her movements were fluid, her strikes sharp, but Harold and Smith were relentless.

Harold wasn't about to back down. His fist found its mark—Glide's torso—landing with bone-crushing force. The impact echoed through the room as she staggered back, gasping for air. But she recovered quickly, fury flashing across her face. Without hesitation, she launched a spinning elbow aimed at Smith's head, but he ducked just in time, the attack narrowly missing.

Before she could adjust, Harold was back in action, his fists flying in rapid succession, each punch aimed with lethal precision. Glide's body rocked with each hit, but she refused to fall. She countered with a vicious elbow strike to Harold's ribs, the force knocking him back slightly. But he didn't let up. He moved forward with a powerful knee strike, slamming it into her chest and throwing her off-balance.

Smith wasted no time capitalizing on her disorientation. He stepped forward, his movements calculated and deliberate, delivering a crushing blow to her stomach with his knee. The impact left her gasping, and for a moment, she seemed to falter.

But she was far from finished.

Glide whipped around, her arm moving like a serpent as she aimed a fist at Smith's chest. The blow landed, and Smith staggered, but his resolve didn't waver. His eyes locked onto her, a silent promise to end this.

The two men were clearly pushing Glide to her limits, their relentless assault taking a toll. Blood dripped from her lip, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. But she wasn't done yet. With a scream of fury, she spun and kicked out, her boot colliding with Harold's stomach. He grunted in pain but kept his footing, refusing to give in.

Harold's voice, low and intense, cut through the air. "You've been a thorn in our side, but this ends now."

Smith cracked his knuckles, his movements fluid as he stepped forward once more. "We're not done yet, Glide. Not by a long shot."

At that moment, the air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Every movement, every strike, every breath was an embodiment of pure intent. Harold and Smith were determined to finish this fight, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, in the other room, the Countess wasn't standing idly by. She had been relentlessly firing beams of energy at the Masked Man, but his evasive maneuvers seemed effortless. He danced around her attacks with a smirk, dodging with the ease of someone who knew he had control.

Countess's frustration was mounting. "You think you can just dodge forever?" she spat, her voice full of defiance. Her next beam of energy was even more powerful than the last, but the Masked Man only sidestepped, his smirk never wavering.

"You're trying hard, but it's useless," he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "You can't win."

Back with Harold and Smith, the fight with Glide raged on. She had taken a step back, her eyes burning with fury. Sweat beaded down her face, but she wasn't finished yet. She circled them, waiting for an opening, but both men were closing in. Every strike, every move, was a calculated effort to end this, and they knew that they couldn't let up for even a moment.

on the other hand Beastman charged at Ikos at same time glide attempted to attack countess, the floor seemed to tremble with the force of his massive steps. The sound of his heavy breathing echoed through the hallway, like the growl of a wild animal hunting its prey. Ikos stood firm, his sword raised, his body braced for impact. His mind raced with strategy—he couldn't afford to let the Beastman overwhelm him, not when the others were relying on him.

The Beastman was a hulking figure, his fur matted and bloodied from previous battles, but his strength and speed were undeniable. He lunged at Ikos with a roar, his claws swiping through the air with deadly precision. Ikos barely managed to dodge, the wind from the Beastman's claws grazing his skin as he sidestepped the attack. He struck with his sword, but the Beastman was quick, deflecting the blow with a swat of his arm and retaliating with a brutal punch to Ikos's side.

Ikos grunted in pain, but he didn't falter. He used the momentum from the blow to roll out of the way, just as the Beastman swiped at him again. Ikos's sword cut through the air in a fast, fluid arc, its edge grazing the Beastman's shoulder. The Beastman howled in fury, but the wound seemed to only fuel his rage.

"Is that all you've got, human?" the Beastman growled, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. "You'll have to do better than that."

Ikos's chest heaved with the effort, but he forced himself to keep moving, his sword flashing with bursts of wind magic that he infused into his strikes. He launched a flurry of attacks, each one more calculated than the last, using his speed to create openings. He slashed at the Beastman's legs, hoping to slow him down, but the creature barely flinched. Instead, he countered with a sweeping motion of his claws, knocking Ikos off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor.

The Beastman loomed over him, a malicious grin spreading across his face. He raised his clawed hand, ready to strike the final blow. But Ikos wasn't finished yet. With a determined growl, he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly swipe. His sword glinted in the dim light as he brought it up in a desperate attempt to pierce the Beastman's side.

The Beastman let out a roar of pain, but it was clear that the strike wasn't enough to stop him. Ikos was growing weaker with each blow, his movements slower, his stamina starting to run out. The Beastman's relentless assault was beginning to break him down.

"You're... not... gonna win," Ikos panted, his voice barely a whisper, blood staining his clothes. But he couldn't give up. Not now.

In that moment, the Beastman lunged once more, his claws aiming straight for Ikos's chest. But Ikos, with the last of his strength, spun his body, narrowly dodging the attack and countering with a final, desperate strike. His sword plunged deep into the Beastman's side, the magic-infused blade cutting through the creature's flesh with a sickening squelch.

The Beastman howled in agony, his strength faltering as Ikos withdrew his sword and staggered back. The creature collapsed, blood pooling beneath him as Ikos fell to his knees, exhausted and battered.

For a brief moment, everything was silent. Ikos's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the pain from his wounds almost too much to bear. His vision blurred, and his body screamed in protest, but he had done it. He had defeated the Beastman, at least for now.

"I won't... fall here," Ikos muttered, his voice shaky, but filled with determination. His grip tightened on his sword as he forced himself to stand. He had to keep fighting—he couldn't let the others down.

While the battle raged on in the other rooms, the Masked Man remained eerily calm. He stood there, watching the chaos unfold, his body unmoving, his focus unwavering. Despite the Countess's relentless barrage of beams of energy, he dodged each one effortlessly, his movements precise and measured.

Countess was weakening, her energy reserves depleting with each failed attempt to land a blow. She gritted her teeth, her staff glowing with another attempt. "i told you You'll regret not taking me seriously," she muttered under her breath.

Masked Man With a laugh that echoed through the room, he shook his head. "You amuse me, Countess. But your efforts are futile. I'm not interested in a fight with you just yet." He continued to sidestep the incoming beams, his agility and speed unmatched.

The Countess's breath was heavy, her body tense as she prepared for another strike. She locked her gaze onto the masked man, her hands steady despite the chaotic battle around them.

"Fine," she spat, her voice raw with fury. "Let's see how you dodge this."

She raised her arms, chanting an incantation, and from the depths of her magic, a torrent of fire surged forth. "Roar of Flame!" The inferno spiraled towards the masked man, its heat radiating through the room, a blaze that threatened to engulf everything in its path.

But the masked man stood unfazed, his cold eyes fixed on her as he quickly countered.

"Third circle spell—Water Wreckage!" he declared, and with a swift motion, he conjured a massive wall of water, the force of it colliding with the fire. Steam hissed as the two forces clashed, filling the room with a dense fog.

The Countess gritted her teeth, watching as her flames sputtered out against his watery defense. She could see the smirk on his face.

"Not bad," he said, his voice taunting. "But from the way you cast your spells, you need time to set each one properly. It's not as dangerous as you make it sound."

The Countess clenched her fists, but before she could retort, a sudden noise from behind them made her freeze. The air was thick with tension as something—no, someone—was thrown into their midst.

Without warning, the decapitated heads and torsos of two figures collided onto the floor before her. Blood splattered across the stone as the heads of Harold and Smith were thrown like discarded dolls, their lifeless eyes staring blankly. The body parts slid across the ground, a grotesque reminder of the merciless violence they had just endured.

Her heart stopped. She froze in shock for a split second, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Harold... Smith... two of shaun's most trusted allies. They had fought so fiercely, and now they were nothing more than broken, bloodied pieces.

Glide stood at the entrance to the room, her eyes blazing with fury, her daggers slick with blood. Her face twisted with anger, her breath coming in sharp, quick gasps. She looked at the Countess with a deadly glare, her voice dripping with venom.

"I'll make you pay for this humiliation, you bloody bitch," Glide hissed, her bloodlust palpable. The hatred in her eyes was like a consuming fire, and her voice was laced with a promise of more violence.

The Countess's mind raced, her body trembling with a mix of grief and rage. "This is no time to mourn. There is no time for fear. If I let myself falter, she'd end up like Harold and Smith."