Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Fable : Fall of the Guild	By : Samson Category: +A through F > Fable Views: 8222 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable intellectual property, nor am I making any money off of this fanfic. Unauthorized duplication of this work is prohibited.

Chapter List
- 55
- 56
- 57
Vindictive.
Fable : Fall of the Guild

Part IX - "Hook Coast"

By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson

Original Date Written: December 6, 2012

The sun had set an hour earlier. Close to two dozen bandits were on night watch, patrolling the platforms on the exterior of the fortress. The platforms were made of dark metal, and led from one part of the fortress to the other, connecting different wings together as well as giving Benedict a place to put archers for long-range defence. Numerous torches were stuck in black metal sconces on the exterior of the fortress, lighting up the platforms, making the entire fortress stand out in the black vale. At first, the bandits had all taken their posts seriously; it was hard to tell if someone amongst them might try and rat on slackers. There were always individuals who would betray their fellows, if they thought it would earn them special treatment from their superiors. As the minutes dragged on in silence, however, the bandits slowly started giving each other sidelong glances, trying to size each other up. When they all realized that none of them were really interested in spending the night standing out in the cold, they let their guards down and took it easy.
One of them quickly unveiled a stash of tobacco and pipes, and soon, the bandits were all seated on the edges of the exterior platforms, smoking and chatting in hushed tones. “It ain’t fair, ya know. Benedict’s got hisself a little squeeze, chained up in his room. What do we get?” One of them muttered, raising an eyebrow, exhaling smoke through his nose. One of them chuckled before he said “Dear, sweet Pamela. Did I say Pamela? I meant “Palmela”.” A few short laughs rose up amongst the men. One of them wasn’t smiling as he breathed through his pipe. Exhaling as he spoke, he said “I don’t think any of you would wanna touch her, if you saw what she looked like.” The rest of the men fell silent, looking over at the speaker. “Whadda you know about her?” One of them questioned. The first speaker raised an eyebrow, relating his short story. “Well, I figure it was about a month ago, by now. It was when Benedict had those League fellas over. He told me to bring the girl some food ‘cause he was too busy talking to the League guys, saying that she might end up starving to death if she didn’t get something. Apparently, he hadn’t let her eat for a few days, maybe a week.”
One of the men chuckled and said “Maybe she bit his dick, or something. I’d starve a bitch for that, too.” A few hearty chuckles passed through the men before the first resumed his tale. “So, I goes up there, and I got some slops that Patrick put together, but when I gets to Benedict’s chambers, the room’s darker than a troll’s asshole. I have to fuck around for a few minutes, finding a lantern so I can see worth two damns. And then I saw her, chained up on his bed, only her wrists were free so she could sit up and stuff. She didn’t even say anything to me, she just looked at me and the food I had. Must’ve thought Benedict was playing a lil’ joke on her, letting her see the food, but not have it.” The bandit shook his head, raising his eyebrows momentarily. “I tell ya, boys. I wouldn’t touch that girl with a ten foot pole. She might not have been ugly at one time, but after the things Benedict must’ve done to her...Sheesh. There’s cruel, an’ then there’s that.”
“Like what? What’d he do to her?” One of the bandits curiously asked. “It might be for the best if I don’t kill the fantasy.” The bandit joked back. One of the others, several meters down on the platform, angrily said “You mean to tell me that you went on with that stupid story, but you don’t want to give details? Get in the mood, buddy boy, or else I’m kickin’ your sorry ass over the edge of this here platform!” The first bandit was about to respond when he hesitated, his eyes going confused. Narrowing his eyes a little, he looked off to the side, looking out into the night. “...Anyone else hear that?” He quietly said. A moment later, his life had been snuffed out, along with many of the other bandits on the platform. From the mountains to the east and west of the fortress, Alexander’s archers had started the attack, firing off a massive volley of arrows in a deadly crossfire. The arrows had to travel fairly far, though the archers on the eastern mountains had had a harder time hitting their targets, given that their arrows had to travel close to three quarters of a kilometer.
Most of the bandit archers had been turned into pincushions with the first volley, and the rest only had seconds to react and respond before the second volley came soaring for them. “It’s Alexander! Warn Benedict!” One of them shouted, just before an arrow hit him in the chest, making him stumble to his death over the edge of the platform. Once the arrows had been let loose, the main fighting force near the base of the northern mountains went on the charge, sprinting for the fortress before the gates could be closed. A few of the bandit archers fled into the fortress before arrows could find them, shouting to alert the others. Alexander led his men into battle, the Heroes at his sides, their weapons unsheathed as they let loose battle cries, making the island tremble with their pounding feet.
Benedict looked upwards as he heard the rumbling beneath his feet, the faint din of shouting beyond the walls of his fortress. It had begun. He slowly looked over to the side, towards the bed. He knew she could hear it, too. Anastasia was no doubt rejoicing in silence, overjoyed at the prospect of Benedict’s downfall, of her potential freedom. Already, feet were pounding outside his chambers, his men coming to warn him of the attack. He stood up from his table, sighing subtly. He approached his bed as there came urgent knocks at his door, panicked voices calling his name. “They’ve started the attack! Wot do we do, lord Benedict?” Benedict responded calmly, almost without a care. “Send out the signal for the outposts, and shut the damn gates.” “Er, right!” One voice responded, the footsteps rushing away from his shut door. Benedict stepped up to the bed, slowly sitting down on the edge beside her. Anastasia looked in his direction, tearing up, unsure of what he planned on doing. Shouldn’t he be preparing for the battle?
“A smart man is prepared for anything.” Benedict simply said, reaching over to his bedside table. He pulled open the drawer on the furniture piece, reaching inside and fishing around. “Sometimes that means sleeping with a firearm under your pillow. Sometimes that means making escape tunnels...Sometimes that means tying up loose ends before they can become a problem.” Anastasia’s eyes widened. After everything he had already done? After all her effort put towards placating him, making him happy? “I don’t see myself losing this battle, but if I do, or if Alexander happens to capture the fortress...I’d rather they find you cold.” He pulled the vial from the drawer, carefully pulled away the cork stopper, and grabbed her jaw with his free hand. He pulled her mouth open, calmly saying “Don’t fight it, Anastasia. Don’t spit it up. Consider it freedom.” Tears ran down her cheeks. After everything, he wasn’t going to spare her? If he fled, he wouldn’t bring her with him? Who else would he burn? Who else would he rape? Wasn’t she meaningful to him, in that regard? Wasn’t she of use to him?
He brought the vial over her mouth, slowly beginning to tip it over, letting the fluid splashing into her mouth, running over her tongue. She sobbed lightly. She didn’t want to die! Even after everything he had put her through, she didn’t want to die! She still had a family somewhere, missing her, hoping for her return, praying to feel her love, again. The bitter poison made a puddle of damnation inside her mouth, Anastasia desperately keeping her throat tight, not letting a single drop go down her throat. When the vial was empty, Benedict tossed it aside, letting it crack against the stone floor. He narrowed his eyes a little at her unwillingness to swallow, to do his bidding. She knew better than to defy him, like that. He pushed her jaw up, roughly slamming her mouth shut. He grabbed her nose with his free hand, crushing it, blocking all paths for oxygen to flow. “Drink it.” He muttered. Anastasia sobbed pleadingly, more tears pouring down her face.
She held her breath, clenching her hands into fists, clenching her toes. She begged Avo that Benedict was simply playing another cruel joke on her, making her believe he wanted her dead before letting her spit the poison out. She screamed at Skorm, offering her soul if it meant Benedict was simply trying to reaffirm to Anastasia that, yes, he held her life in his hands. Despite her silent calls to higher powers, he wouldn’t release her jaw or nose. She started to struggle, jerking against her bindings, writhing against the bed. Air, she needed air! Her thighs momentarily trembled before she lost control of her bodily functions, pitifully beginning to urinate against the bed. Benedict wasn’t swayed, again ordering her to swallow. Anastasia’s instinct to survive overrode Benedict’s training, and she fought desperately, trying to force her head away from his hands. A few more seconds passed, pressure building behind Anastasia’s eyes, her mind beginning to go dark. Her spirit broke as she gave in, Anastasia swallowing death in one big mouthful. When Benedict felt her tense up, he finally released her, letting her take in heavy gasp after gasp. She sobbed and wept, crying out for the first time in months, screaming in sorrow. Benedict ignored her. Her tenure as his slave had come to an end, she could scream all she wanted, for all he cared. He stood up from the bed, smiling faintly to himself, walking away...
Timoteo’s boots slammed through the snow as he ran, panting hard, the adrenaline flooding him giving his feet wings. Bianca ran by his side, moving as fast as she could, her eyes on the fortress nearby. They were closing in, but she had a sinking suspicion that they wouldn’t reach the fortress in time to slip in through the gates. Darrah entered the calm state of mind that only a true warrior finds in combat. The sophistication of her humanity made way for her fight-or-flight instinct, and as she charged towards battle, her confidence and will to live draped serenity over her. The archers on the mountains spotted little beacons of light shoot out into the sky in front of the fortress, watching with only momentary confusion. They were arrows, lit on fire and launched into the air from the safety of the corridors leading to the fortress’ exterior. Seconds later, the gates to the fortress slowly began to swing inwards, the bandits busting their backs to shut them and make the fortress impenetrable.
A few more flaming arrows were fired into the air before Miller’s men realized that they were signals. The many bandit outposts along the path towards the fortress began to stir, with torches being lit and men mobilizing to go on the attack. Both halves of Miller’s men decided upon the same course of action. Notching arrows on their bowstrings, they took aim at the nearest bandit outpost and fired. They knew it was unlikely that they would hit much, but if it at least provided a distraction, then it would be worth it, in the end. When Alexander’s forces came up behind the fortress, they immediately split, moving like a wave crashing at the coast. Timoteo, Bianca, Brute, and Craig led half of Alexander’s men around the eastern side of the fortress, while Alexander, Darrah, Grimm, and Wesley led the other half around the western side. The race for the gates made Brute give way to his bloodlust, the massive Hero cutting an intimidating figure as he sprinted through the snow, his immense battleaxe clutched tight in his hands.
The cold of the night made his breath form into mist before his face, his eyes mindlessly locked on the corner of the fortress up ahead, coming closer with every step. When the Heroes rounded the corners of the fortress, the gates had almost shut entirely, the massive wooden doors slowly closing the final few inches needed. Grimm let his cloak fall from his shoulders as he went into a burst of speed, breaking ahead of the others, making a mad dash for the gates. He could hear the bandits beyond, grunting as they turned metal cranks, forcing the great doors to move. Grimm jumped out on to the path before the gates, rushing up to the gates in time to see the hairline crack shut, the gates sealed. “Damn it!” He muttered, glancing upwards. His jaw went tight when he saw bandits run out on to the platforms above the gates. Now that Alexander’s men were in range, the archers were swarming back out, confident that Alexander’s own archers wouldn’t fire on them and risk hitting an ally.
“Archers!” Craig loudly warned, pulling a crossbow from the leather harness keeping it against his back, drawing a bolt from the small quiver at his hip. He loaded the crossbow, took aim, and let the bolt fly, hitting a bandit in the chest, making him cry out as he collapsed over the edge of one of the fortress’ exterior platforms. As the bandits started firing off arrows, Alexander’s men scrambled for cover, trying to get back around the fortress’ eastern and western sides. Several of Alexander’s men were slain by the archers, but Alexander’s forces vastly outnumbered the archers, the deaths mere drops in an ocean. “Bring the Buster up, quickly! We need those gates open!” Alexander shouted, mist billowing from his mouth. Timoteo stood near the edge of the fortress’ eastern wall, his feet in the snow up to the middles of his calves, his eyes on the path leading away from the fortress. He could feel the rumbling, hear the incoming reinforcements.
The torches held high, beacons of hope were lit for Benedict’s bandits, his outposts rushing for the fortress to give aid. They ran along the perimeter of the path to avoid the spiked pits riddling the way, slowing them down a little as they plodded through the snow. Despite that, the bandits from the nearest outpost were already closing in, ready to spill blood and take lives. Timoteo glanced at the fortress wall, to his right. The building was much bigger than he had anticipated, and the many torches mounted on the front of it cast the first few dozen meters of the path in a warm red glow, just barely revealing the first few punji pits carved into the ice and snow. He peeked around the corner, looking to the far side of the fortress’ face. He saw a few of Alexander’s men jump out, armed with crossbows, firing up at the bandit archers. He assumed they were trying to get rid of the archers before the explosive could be deployed, but if so, they failed. Each of them were cut down in seconds, eliminated in a hail of arrows.
Miller’s archers continued to fire on the approaching bandit reinforcements, using caches of arrows hidden at their pre-determined positions, earlier on in the day. Timoteo’s expression quickly turned caustic. If nothing was done about the archers, Alexander’s men would never be able to bring out the Buster. Bianca called his name as he jogged out from around the corner, casting Physical Shield as he went. He ran through the snow until he got directly in front of the gates, then ran back until he could look up at the bandits on the exterior platforms. They noticed him instantly, the glow of his Physical Shield a dead giveaway even in the glow of the fortress torches. Bianca and the others watched as arrows bounced off of him, deflected by his Will-fuelled barrier. Timoteo pulled his arms back, flames bursting into life in the palms of his hands. The bandits fired at him more rapidly, panicked by the sight of offensive magic.
Timoteo mercilessly threw out fireball after fireball, casting as quickly as he could. Flashes of light came from the exterior platforms with every fireball that erupted, burning bodies beginning to collapse over the edge of the platforms, landing in the snow. “Go, go!” Craig urged, waving at a nearby group of guards. Dressed lightly so they could remain quick on their feet, three men and three women each held on to a large metal object. The blueprints Gibbons had provided Darrah with had detailed what the League had codenamed “The Buster,” the explosive taller than a cask of alcohol, thicker and wider than two barrels placed side-by-side. Made of dark iron, three handles were on either side of the spherical explosive, allowing Alexander’s men to move it along. Near the top of the sphere, on the front side, a tiny circular opening had been made into the metal, a thick wick sticking out of the opening for several inches worth.
Five spikes were protruding from the bottom of the explosive, each half a meter long, giving the explosive a means of staying put while the fuse was lit. The six guards moved as fast as they could through the snow, carrying their terribly heavy burden between them, careful not to drop it and get the wick wet with snow. One of them carried a torch, holding it up, the vital component needed to light the explosive’s fuse. Darrah watched Timoteo with a bit of repressed amazement. Never before had she seen him let off such a display of power. It may have been magic, but she couldn’t argue with the results his Will was achieving. Timoteo launched out a fireball every other second, throwing them from both hands, killing archer after archer. Eventually, he held his arms out and let loose Lightning from both hands, spreading his arms out in either direction. The sustained beams of his Lightning cut into the fortress walls, scorching them, jolting the bandits on the platforms hard enough to knock them from their feet.
The electricity arced from bandit to bandit, stunning many of them, giving Timoteo a chance to slay them. The bandits immediately gave up on firing at Timoteo, trying to avoid his beams. Some fled into the fortress. Others were unlucky enough that they, in their blind panic, ended up backing over the edges of the platforms, collapsing down into the snow. Those who didn’t die from the fall were quickly dispatched by Alexander’s men. With the exterior platforms clear, the guards carrying the Buster were safe for the final approach. Timoteo retreated back to the others, his Physical Shield falling, the drained mage swigging a mana potion pulled from his pack. The guards with the Buster were all too aware that the first wave of reinforcements was mere seconds away; in less than a minute, they’d be beating at their backs, trying to destroy the Buster. They came up to the gate, slamming the Buster down into the snow directly before the fortress’ entrance.
The spikes bit into the snow like a balverine biting into flesh, nestling securely into place. “Quick, light it!” One of them urged, desperately glancing back at the approaching bandits. The guard with the torch carefully pinched the explosive’s fuse, momentarily bringing the torch to it, the fuse immediately igniting. “Run!” The guard shouted, throwing the torch off to the side. The six guards immediately scattered, fleeing back to the safety of the fortress’ eastern and western sides. Bianca watched as the bandits rushed on to the path, now that they had passed the punji pits. Without the snow to slow them down, they made an almost suicidal dash for the explosive, aiming to snuff the fuse before it ignited the black powder within. Bianca’s jaw went tight for a moment, an idea coming to her. Her eyes were consumed by green light as she started muttering a quiet incantation to herself. She slowly raised her arms in front of herself, her fingers out, her palms to the sky.
The snowbanks on either side of the fortress gates stirred, then burst open in clouds of powder. Charred and scorched corpses, corpses riddled with arrows, they all rose up from the snow, running for the bandits. The front half of the bandit reinforcements hesitated, coming to a stumbling stop at the sight of their dead brethren rising to combat them. The rear half of the first outpost’s bandits quickly began to retreat, not trusting themselves to get to the explosive in time to nullify it. The first half, after their momentary hesitation, attempted to press on, letting off shouts as they charged the carcasses of their fellows. Bianca’s raised bodies came together in a wide formation, using their dead bodies as a barrier between the bandits and the Buster. Some bandits tried to get around the corpses. Some persisted in their charge, trying to slay enough of the undead in time to bypass them. With every second that passed, though, more and more of the bandits tried to flee, hoping to escape the incoming explosion.
Bianca shut her eyes just in time to avoid seeing the bright flash. The lit fuse ran into the Buster, a sudden and violent tremble running through the earth, nature shocked at the power of mankind’s creation. A flash of light illuminated the front of the fortress, brief and blindingly intense. A deafening roar went through the air as the explosive went off, sounds akin to trees cracking in two accompanying the roar. The many bandits caught in the radius had no time to shout in pain or fear; the explosion tore them asunder instantly, utterly annihilating their bodies. Some of the bandits beyond the radius were still killed, shrapnel from the Buster’s casing hitting them with the power of firearm slugs, fatally ripping through them. The moment the explosion had passed, Alexander’s men flooded around the sides of the fortress, racing for the gateway. Light was shining through the gateway like blood pouring from a gaping wound, illuminating much of the path. As hoped, the Buster had completely demolished the fortress’ gates, blowing them wide open in bits of timber and charred wood. Benedict’s fortress was vulnerable to capture!
The Heroes weren’t far behind the first wave of Alexander’s knights to rush into the fortress, running in through the wide open gateway. A wave of heat washed over them as they ran in, the light around them straining their eyes temporarily. The front chamber of the fortress was quite expansive, open to an additional floor, up above. Leading away from the demolished gate, a long red rug was stretched out on the stone floor, leading to a large concrete staircase. The wide staircase had tall wooden railings built into it on either side, leading up to the second floor. Up on the second floor, a long balcony lined the perimeter of the wall, the railings from the staircase stretching on around the perimeter in one humongous piece. On either side of the first and second floors, there were numerous doorways in the stone walls, leading off into hallways. Dozens of burning torches were set in sconces all along the walls of both floors, giving the room light and some much-needed protection from the cold.
Debris was strewn all over the first floor, spread out everywhere from the force of the explosion. There were several dozen bandits in the front chamber, equally spread out between the first floor and the balcony lining the perimeter of the chamber. Alexander’s knights were quick to charge into the fray, but Timoteo’s eyes widened when he spotted something. Every single bandit on the second floor was armed with a rifle, pointing them down towards the open gateway. The bandits on the first floor were still disoriented and disorganized from the explosion, not knowing how to react, the bandits on the second floor simply using them as a distraction. Timoteo cast Physical Shield again, turned around, and threw his arms around both Bianca and Darrah, before they could charge in any further. They were both stunned when he pulled them together, putting them in front of himself, his back to the bandits. “Open fire!!” A bandit shouted.
Thunderclaps boomed through the front chamber as rifle after rifle went off, lead slugs tearing through Alexander’s brave knights. A few slugs bounced off of Timoteo’s barrier before it collapsed under the damage. Thankfully, by then, the bandits had all fired off their rounds; their barrage had lasted mere seconds, but had achieved disastrous results. Almost every bandit had hit their mark, leading to dozens of deaths, the bodies of the first group to run in littering the floor of the chamber. Timoteo released his two comrades, spun around, and cast Battle Charge. Sprinting towards the numerous bandits on the first floor, he ran straight into the middle of them, a seemingly suicidal move considering how severely they outnumbered him. Before any of them could attack, however, Timoteo cast another spell. Throwing his arms out to his sides and giving off a shout, he claimed the lives of over a dozen bandits instantaneously, his Enflame spell engulfing them with such heat that the flesh was almost instantly removed from their bodies.
Grimm came charging in, brandishing his obsidian blade, his expression cold and hard. The moment he reached a bandit, he ran the man through, viciously pulling his sword to the side and splitting open the man’s abdomen. Darrah ran in, raising her shield. A bandit tried swinging his pickhammer into Timoteo’s back, but before his weapon could connect, Darrah had slammed her shield into him so hard that he collapsed to the floor. Without hesitation, Darrah plunged her sword down, slaying the bandit. Brute, Craig, Wesley, and Alexander himself came running in, letting loose war cries. Bianca’s eyes darted around at the bandits on the second floor. They were hastily reloading their rifles, ready to let loose another volley. Bianca instantly cast Slow Time, the tick-tocking of a clock filling her ears as everything turned to shades of gray before her eyes. She started charging up a Blades spell, orange light swelling between her hands until Bianca had to hold it over her head, the magic becoming a burden with it’s power.
She let the spell loose with no particular target in mind, five glowing swords of orange light appearing around her head, spinning around momentarily before they each chose a target of their own. They launched themselves out, finding their marks, impaling themselves through the torsos of several bandits. Bianca held her arms out, a glowing green light shining from her eyes as she resurrected the corpses Timoteo had scorched with Enflame. Still, she felt she wasn’t doing enough. Glancing over her shoulder, she peered between the heads of all of Alexander’s men, flooding into the fortress. A good deal were remaining outside to contend with the reinforcements coming from the outposts, Bianca wanting to assist them. She held her arms out towards the gates, calling for Hollow Men to arise, over a dozen armoured skeletons bursting up from the snow on either side of the path. The chiming of the clock in Bianca’s ears began to speed up, warning her that her spell would soon end.
Still, Bianca felt like she hadn’t done enough to help. She was running dangerously low on mana, but the bandits on the second floor of the chamber were still a threat. Her expression heavily fatigued, she forced herself to cast several more spells, casting hexes over many of the bandits. Gray electricity flashed across their arms, disabling them, ensuring they not only couldn’t use their rifles, but that they couldn’t use any weapon. Bianca’s Slow Time spell subsided, and the drained Will-user collapsed to her hands and knees, panting heavily. Her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open a little, she was so drained of mana that she feared she might have overextended herself. As long as her spells had paid off for her allies, though, she’d consider it all worthwhile.
The effects of Bianca’s spells appeared very suddenly, to friend and foe alike. The burned corpses around Timoteo began to rise, wheezing to themselves, looking around with glassy eyes. A good deal of the bandits on the second floor shouted in pain, dropping their rifles, their arms going limp and hanging by their sides. Timoteo cast Physical Shield before pulling his mace from his pack, swinging it into a bandit’s face, obliterating his nose in a single strike. When the bandit collapsed, Brute came over and swung his greataxe down like a reaper’s scythe, cutting right through the bandit’s waist, splitting him in two. Timoteo glanced around for Bianca, knowing she had to have raised the corpses that were now aiding them in battle. He looked back, not seeing her at first, eventually spotting her down on the floor in the midst of Alexander’s charging men and women. Timoteo quickly forced his way back to her, barging through people who wouldn’t get out of his way in time.
When he got to her, he dropped to a knee, urgently saying “Bianca, are you alright? Were you shot?” Bianca weakly reached out, grabbing at his clothes. “Mana...I need...M...” She weakly gasped out. Timoteo immediately responded. He pulled his pack from himself, tore it open, and reached in for a potion. Brute was like a whirlwind of death, swinging his axe around in deadly cleaving blows, severing limbs here and there. Darrah parried a blade from one bandit, bashing her shield into another before unleashing a Flourish. Tossing her sword up, she spun around, moving closer to the bandits. Deftly catching her sword when it came back down, she swung the blade out at neck-level, decapitating both bandits. Grimm headed for the staircase, approaching a bandit from behind. One of Alexander’s guards slashed the bandit across the stomach, making him double over. Grimm ran forwards, hopped up, and planted a foot against the bandit’s back.
Kicking off of him, he soared through a few meters of space, landing hard on the first step of the staircase. He ran up two steps at a time, his jaw tight with anger. The bandits left unaffected by Bianca’s hexes fired their rifles again, slaying several of Alexander’s men. Craig took a slug through the torso as well as the abdomen, his face stunned as he slowly fell to a knee. Alexander noticed his son’s injuries, as well as how several other bandits were rushing towards him, hoping to make use of the opening. Alexander came bounding over like a mad giant, his warhammer raised high. He hit the first bandit directly in the chest, throwing her off of her feet. The bandit was dead before she even hit the floor. The second bandit, he hit in the side of the head, snapping the bandit’s neck. Alexander swung an arm over, smacking the back of his hand into another bandit’s face, stunning them long enough to sweep his warhammer at the man’s legs.
Timoteo noticed Craig’s wounds as well, knowing the young man would need immediate assistance. Bianca, having drank two potions and regained her full pool of mana, got up to her feet and covered his approach. Launching green spheres of whizzing magic around him, she sent several bandits flying, clearing the area immediately around Alexander and Craig. When Timoteo got to Craig, Alexander turned just in time to see him cast Heal Life, saving the first heir to his estate. Craig briefly thanked Timoteo, getting back up on his feet, casting hateful eyes towards the bandits up above. The bandits with rifles were being thrown too heavily into disarray to even consider letting off a third round of slugs, however. Grimm was slaughtering them, moving like a graceful dancer with his blade, chopping his sword through the air as he cut down bandit after bandit. The ones disabled by Bianca’s hexes begged him for mercy, but he cut them down all the same, making his way through the bandits as quickly as possible.
Darrah ran up to assist him, taking the other side of the balcony, slaying every bandit before her. Meanwhile, the battle outside the fortress gates was raging, Alexander’s guards and Benedict’s bandits mingled together in a massive, confused mob, each simply slaying any enemy they set their eyes on. “Find Benedict! He dies on this day!” Alexander shouted out, heading for the staircase up ahead. Grimm and Darrah were creating nothing less than their own slaughter, making the bandits on the balcony a non-issue for the others. The ones at the furthest point from them both ultimately decided to take their chances with the jump down to the first floor, hopping over the wooden railing, crashing down into the fight on the first floor. Surrounded, however, and armed only with unloaded rifles, they didn’t last very long. Soon, the front chamber had been completely cleared of bandits, and as more of Alexander’s fighters poured in, the rest spread out deeper into the fortress, heading down each hallway.
The five Heroes formed a group of their own in their search for Benedict, splitting from Alexander, Craig, and Wesley as they took another hallway in their own search, allowing the group to quickly cover more space. Each group was bolstered by a few dozen knights, which proved a blessing; every single room in the fortress that either group came across, there were heavy amounts of bandits, sometimes several scores. The searching lasted close to an hour, with each fight taking several minutes to come to an end, so plentiful were the bandits. Finally, as the Heroes marched up a short stairway and came to the fortress’ third floor, Grimm slowed down. It was only for a few seconds, but it was clear that something was taking his attention, besides the hunt for bandits. Timoteo glanced at him, the others slowing down, as well. “What’s wrong?” He asked. Grimm slowly looked around at the hallway. The third floor was done up differently than the others, made to look more regal.
The same red carpet that had been on the first floor of the fortress, leading from the gate to the staircase, was beneath their feet. The sconces set in the walls were more expensive, made from silver, fancy little designs engraved into them. The doorways had been done with almost artistic care, coming up in faint slopes until they reached a tapered point. Shields were mounted on the walls, swords behind them, tools of war put up like portraits. Grimm narrowed his eyes a little, and the speed behind his steps returned, even intensified. “This must be Benedict’s floor. It’s too fancied up for the rabble beneath him.” He stated. “When we find him, he’ll pay for his transgressions.” Bianca calmly stated, giving a light nod. “I’ll mount his head on my wall.” Darrah darkly muttered, earning a few grumbles of approval from the knights at her back.
The group took a turn in the hallway, and found their first few doorways. All were made of black wood, the handles polished silver. When Grimm came to the first one, he promptly raised a foot and slammed it into the door, near the doorknob. The mechanism broke completely, the door swinging inwards until it slammed against the wall, inside. The room beyond the doorway was filled with expensive furniture, lit up by numerous candles placed at various spots. A large bed was set off to the side, with a circular dinner table set in the center of the room, three chairs positioned around it. An armoire was positioned against the far wall, with a landscape portrait hung beside it. A sword rack was mounted on the wall to the right, though all the weapons had been taken from it. The room was cozy in a way, comfortable compared to the dormitories on the floor below. This room, at least, was suited for one, tailored to an individual’s tastes.
Grimm’s eyes darted around at the empty room. “Can’t be Benedict’s...Not big enough. One of his lieutenants, maybe. We’re on the right track.” As he said this, Grimm turned from the doorway, almost jogging off to the next nearest room. The rest could easily spot how his eagerness was rising, his composure faltering. He was clearly anxious to settle whatever vendetta he had with the bandit king. The next door was left ajar, Grimm shoving it open. Before he could react, a sword swung down at him, running across his breastplate. The surprise attack did little in the way of stunning him, considering the bandit’s steel sword had barely scratched the surface of Grimm’s breastplate. Grimm punched the bandit across the face, stunning him, knocking him to the floor. Kicking his sword away, he stomped on the bandit’s stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Where’s Benedict?” He angrily demanded. As the other Heroes stepped into the room, Timoteo glanced around, looking at the room’s furnishings.
It was done up in a similar fashion to the last room, though this one had many more weapon racks mounted on the walls, the occupant an apparent collector of weaponry. The bandit gave Grimm a snarl, but when Grimm raised his sword up over the man’s face, he quickly caved. “F-Fourth door down, the one with the golden knob!” The bandit pleadingly said. Grimm merely plunged his sword down, dealing the man an instantly fatal blow, Grimm’s sword piercing through the man’s nasal cavity and impaling through his entire head. Grimm forced his sword away from the man’s head, the others already heading for Benedict’s supposed chambers. Brute reached the door first, grabbing the knob, giving it a jiggle. “Locked. Son of a bitch...” He muttered, glancing at the others. Darrah sounded amused as she stepped up to the door, saying “Brute, please. You’re a Hero of Strength, remember?” She raised a fist, shot it down, and broke the doorknob right off, the knob clinking as it hit the floor.
Brute grinned sheepishly as he pushed the door open, looking inwards. The room beyond was pitch black, no lighting within to illuminate what may lurk within. The light from the hallway offered a weak glow for the first few feet beyond the doorway, but that revealed nothing aside from the red rug covering the floor of the chamber. Timoteo and Bianca both stepped inwards, raising hands, small fireballs growing in the palms of their hands. Their fire cast enough light that they could all make out most of the room, exposing the interior. The room was quite large, much larger than the previous two the group had checked. Rectangular in shape, the far wall had an immense wooden rack mounted up, dozens of weapons of all types put on display. A small circular table wasn’t far from the doorway, over to the left. A single chair was placed beside it, a few dead candles placed over the center of the table. A wooden plate rested on the table, the juices from some past meal lingering, proving that the occupant hadn’t been gone for long.
The wall to the left had numerous tall bookshelves against it, all in a neat row. Each one was stuffed with tomes, giving the dry air in the room a bit of a musty smell. Across the room, near the expansive rack of weapons, a long wooden desk was positioned before a tall, cushioned, wooden chair. Numerous pieces of parchment were spread out over the table, along with several quills and inkwells. To the right of the doorway, pushed against the wall, there was a large wooden chest, the edges of the chest covered in gold. The chest lay open, the interior bare. Situated by the right wall, between the chest and the weapon rack, was a king sized bed, the furniture piece taking up a good deal of space. The mattress was covered in black sheets, the multiple pillows at the head of the bed covered in matching black cases. Timoteo and Bianca paused when their eyes fell on the body chained to the bed, the woman lying still.
The people who could see her through the doorway had mixed responses. Some were sickened and looked away, while others were shocked, continuing to stare. Darrah and Brute walked into the room, and when they saw her, they, too, hesitated momentarily. Darrah quickly regained her composure, walking towards the bed, saying “Hey, you. Are you okay? We’re here to get rid of Benedict, we can help you.” The faint scent of urine drifted past Darrah’s nostrils as she came closer. She was about to reach out and touch the woman, shake her, when she realized that the figure wasn’t motionless with sleep. She took a step back, blinking in surprise. Grimm forced his way through the others, saying “Out of my way! I need to...” He trailed off when he stepped into the doorway, peering inwards. Timoteo, Bianca, Brute, and Darrah all looked over at him, their expressions melancholy. “He’s not here...Just her, whoever she is.” Brute quietly said, nodding towards the bed.
Grimm looked over at the bed, Darrah taking a step back, letting him see her. Grimm’s eyes widened. His jaw momentarily quivered as fluid ran into his eyes. He had been starving her and torturing her, all this time. She was just skin and bones, her body shrunken until she almost had the stature of a child. Her head was shaven, her luscious brown hair long gone. Her eyes were sunken and glassy, weak and empty. Nude, a slight puddle was between her thighs, staining the bed sheets she was chained over. At her neck, wrists, and ankles, chains had been cruelly fastened around her, connecting her to the bed frame. Her entire body was one big scar; her flesh, from head to toe, looked warped, like the gnarled bark of a dying tree. Grimm’s jaw went tight as he slowly approached the bed, his sword slipping from his hand, clattering against the floor. Everyone present watched him quietly, curious about his response, wondering if he had known the woman. “Anastasia...” He mumbled, his voice tight.
When he got to the side of the bed, he looked down at her, tears shamelessly running down his cheeks. He seemed lost, unsure of what to do, simply taking in what Benedict had done to her. “You knew her?...” Darrah quietly asked. Grimm’s expression slowly started to twist up in wrath. “She’s my wife...” He quietly responded. The others slowly glanced at each other, quietly overwhelmed by the injustice done to Grimm, the horror he was facing. Grimm shot his arms over, grabbed the chain connected to Anastasia’s left wrist, and pulled it apart like it had been made of paper. Breathing heavy, he broke the chain at her neck, then the one at her other arm. He freed her legs before putting a knee to the edge of the bed, suppressing a sob as he leaned over. He held Anastasia by the sides of her face, cradling her close, touching his forehead to her’s. “Avo, I’m so sorry!...” He quietly said, trying not to weep before his comrades.
Darrah slowly looked over at the others. She was moved by what she was seeing, her eyes watery. Timoteo and Bianca looked at each other, wondering if they should all take their leave, let Grimm mourn in peace. Grimm pressed a kiss to Anastasia’s cheek before slowly rising from the bed, getting back on his feet once more. He slowly turned around, taking in a deep sniff. His face had turned cold, lifeless. The light behind his eyes had died away. He quickly walked over towards his sword, leaning over, picking it up while still making his way in the direction of the doorway. He said nothing, and nobody asked him for clarification on what he intended to do. “...We should go...” Bianca quietly said, looking at Brute and Darrah. Darrah nodded lightly. Brute, whose expression had turned a little downcast when he realized what Grimm was facing, nodded as well. Timoteo and Bianca let their fireballs disappear, the four Heroes stepping out of the room.
Grimm was moving down the hallway, away from the direction the group had come from. Every second that passed, he moved faster, until he was fully sprinting down the hall. The Heroes went after him, the knights assisting them all not far behind. Grimm ran through the hallway, completely uncaring towards the notion that a bandit might spring out from any of the several doorways he was passing. Not far ahead, he spotted the end of the hallway, a staircase descending into another wing of the fortress. Grimm bounded down the steps four at a time, reaching the bottom in seconds. He was in another hallway, doors on either side, all wide open. He could hear fighting once more, cries of pain, shouts of bloodlust. Grimm glanced into every room, ignoring regular bandits, ignoring Alexander’s men. He headed closer to the end of the hallway, going into a mad burst of speed when he heard someone call Benedict’s name.
When he came into the room, he looked around wildly. He was in an armoury of some sort, dozens of mannequins lined around the room, none of them wearing armour. Most of the weapon racks around the room were empty, cleansed of their burden. A few other doorways led into the room, though the hallways they revealed were filled only with dead bodies. Corpses covered the floor of the armoury, all Alexander’s men. At least ten bandits stood on the room, their weapons bloodied. Davy was among them, dressed in a suit of Dark chainmail, the black metal armour covering his body from the neck down. One figure was dressed in Dark platemail, the immense suit of armour giving him a stature matching a typical Hero of Strength. The black and red armour had spiked pauldrons on the man’s shoulders, along with small spikes sticking from the backs of his greaves. Complete with a breastplate over chainmail, gauntlets, and sabatons, he was armoured in every place on his body, aside from his head.
In his right hand, he held an obsidian longsword, while in his left, he held an obsidian mace, both weapons dripping with crimson. His ragged black hair hung down in thin strands, his back turned to the infuriated Hero. “Benedict!” Grimm shouted, his eyes locked on the figure’s back. Benedict barely turned his head to the side, his pauldron blocking his view to the Hero. He slowly turned around, his eyes settling on Grimm. Grimm’s eyes drilled into his enemy’s face. Benedict was, by all accounts, a fairly handsome man. His life as a bandit king, however, made itself obvious in his features. The skin of his throat, from the jaw downwards, was scarred the same as Anastasia’s had been; clearly, Benedict had been licked by fire, as well. Numerous thin scars were apparent, stretching across his face. His eyes, black like coals, burned right back at the ghost that had been prowling his mountains for months. The two were silent for a moment before Benedict merely said “Kill him.”
Davy and the rest developed wicked smiles, murderously raising their weapons. Grimm stood his ground, raising his sword, baring his teeth in a snarl.
- 55
- 56
- 57
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Fable : Fall of the Guild