Escapist II

Several kunai whooshed through the air, followed by the muffled rumble of footsteps closing in on Rhok. He ducked swiftly but not fast enough — one sharp blade plunged into his shoulder, another glanced off his armour, deflecting away.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, his eyes dilating, jaw clenching. Rhok tumbled forward, scanning the dark, hazy figures. Three ahead, four above, and four more at his rear.

The figures drew their blades, gripping them in a reverse hold along their arms. A moment later, purple flames engulfed the steel. 

The flickering flame cast shifting shadows across their features. Their faces were concealed beneath a mask and hood, leaving only their demonic eyes gleaming with malice. They wore an unusual cloak, its fabric rippling unnaturally despite the still air. The only discernible feature was the sigil on their right collarbone — a silver emblem of a sun with a nose and mouth, its writhing tails stretching into radiant strands.

Rhok had only heard of such a legend once, from the sole survivor of a BlackOp mission in the north of Russha. The terrified man called them the harbingers of death, the shadow assassins. They later spread fear across the land as the Shadowbringers.

Steeling himself for a fight, Rhok twitched his gauntlet, activating his plasma gun. The weapon popped open, the nozzle glowing blue before he took aim at the shadow, unleashing three rapid shots.

The nearest enemy twisted unnaturally, his limbs contorting in an uncanny display of agility. The plasma rounds missed, splintering the wooden crates behind him.

Zeroing in on Rhok, the ghastly assassin swept his blade in a horizontal arc, aiming to cleave his torso. Years of intense close-quarters combat training and primal instinct took over. Rhok stepped in, boosting his jetpack, and rammed into his enemy's body.

The impact sent them crashing through a concrete wall, dust and debris spewing outward. Rhok tumbled but kept his head and neck tucked, rolling over the enemy's body before boosting to his feet in one fluid motion — masterful, as expected of a Gold-rank knight.

No time to think. Another kunai sliced through the air, embedding itself in his back.

"Ahh!" he groaned, his vision blurring. The pain was instant, but his built-in med-pack injected a booster, heightening his senses, numbing the pain, and stopping the bleeding.

He scrambled to his feet, his knee buckling momentarily before regaining motion. The booster roared to life, light flaring behind him as he lunged at 100 kilometres per hour, slamming into the concrete floor.

He landed hard, rolling forward before pushing himself upright. His breaths came in ragged gasps. The HUD flashed dangerously red. The enemies were just as fast, tailing him closely.

The treeline was 100 metres ahead, his Armatus suit just 300. He boosted again, hoping to reach his mech before the assassins did.

One of them launched off a metal container, soaring through the air with his flaming blade poised for the kill.

Rhok twisted according to his scanner and raised his gauntlet to block. The assassin's sword clashed against his metal arm, the blade vibrating violently on impact. His pulse gun crumbled into scraps, his arm now exposed. If not for his armour, it would have been severed entirely.

"Shit! How are they~." Rhok growled before boosting his jets, using the momentum to drive his knee into the enemy's torso. The force sent the assassin flying, crashing into a stack of shipping containers. The structure buckled under the impact, toppling in a cacophony of screeching metal and splintering wood.

The area became slightly more visible under the dim glow of distant lamp lights. Rhok moved as fast as he could, his exposed arm, shoulder, and back all throbbing in pain as the med-pack's effect subsided.

He had only taken out two enemies, yet he was already badly injured. His pulse gun was gone, his med-pack spent. The odds were stacked against him.

He fled into the treeline, beelining towards his Armatus suit.

"If I can get into my Armatus, I'll kill all of you Arcanii bastards," he thought bitterly. But a realisation struck him. Before entering the warehouse, he had seen a fallen Armatus. Upon closer inspection, it hadn't crash-landed — it had been destroyed.

Pushing past the last of the trees, Rhok emerged into a clearing, only to see his own Armatus engulfed in flames, a thunderous explosion ripping through the night.

He froze momentarily, sweat thick inside his helmet. His mind raced for a plan.

Stray blades rained towards him. He tumbled sideways, rolling and scrambling to his feet before sprinting west.

The relentless chase continued as he alternated between boosting and running. The jetpack wasn't designed for sustained flight, only repositioning. Overuse would lead to overheating and a drained power source.

Each boost widened the gap, but whenever he slowed, the footsteps haunted him.

Hours passed. His suit pinged, implying a critical battery warning. His legs grew heavier, his breath ragged and raw, his heart pounding in sync with the dying power supply.

He finally stopped, unbuckling his helmet. A weathered face emerged, a man in his forties, dark eyes set beneath a strong, defined jawline. His damp brown hair clung to his forehead.

He stumbled to a dead tree trunk, placing a hand on the bark as he sucked in gulps of air, relishing the momentary freedom from his helmet.

"I need to ditch this junk before it drains completely," he thought, glancing over his shoulder. Silence. No footsteps. Relief washed over him.

One by one, he shed his armour, starting with his injured shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the embedded blade free, blood seeping from the wound. Then he reached for the kunai lodged in his back, fingers fumbling before he tore it out with a guttural groan. He tossed the bloodstained weapons onto the dirt.

Piece by piece, he stripped down to his insulated bodysuit, a dark, form-fitting material stretching from neck to ankles. It clung to his broad frame, the self-repairing composite closing his wounds and regulating his body temperature.

Despite its advanced technology, the pain still lingered. Apparently, engineers hadn't thought Armatus knights would need morphine.

He pressed forward, lost in the damn forest, heading west. Hours passed as he trudged through uneven terrain, exhaustion gnawing at his limbs.

Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of damp earth—the unmistakable sign of a river nearby. His parched throat burned in desperation for water. He hadn't had any in at least six hours.

His vision blurred, his legs buckling beneath him. He pushed forward, dragging himself through the underbrush, each step sending jolts of pain through his battered body.

Finally, through the haze, he saw it; a river, shimmering in the moonlight, barely 100 metres ahead. Ducks glided across the surface, their ducklings trailing behind, playing in the gentle current.

"Go… damn it…" He rasped, commanding his legs to move.

But his knees gave out.

He refused to surrender. Crawling now, his fingers clawed at the dirt, dragging himself forward inch by inch.

Then, his arms faltered. His body slumped onto the cold ground, vision darkening, breath slowing.

Everything faded to black.