Day 4 - The Gunsmith's Gamble

[Corporal Light]

"Gah... these drinks are damn strong."

Ballad slammed the wine glass down onto the countertop, some of the amber liquid sloshing onto it. The bartender hummed to himself as he grabbed the goblet, setting it with his tray filled with similar looking flagons. The bar was packed, with bodies of various sizes and shapes littered all around. The few tables within had around four to five different drunkards dozing off or trying to play games. It was a fairly busy day, especially for the bartender, who was desperately trying to hold off massive crowds of patrons as he collected and disposed of their refuse. The air stank of sweat, being limited in a place like this. Ballad could only assume that this was the aftermath of the Colosseum Tournament, which had ended just a day or so ago, as people were still talking about the events that took place there. He overheard a conversation about how a "red-hooded teenage kid" got killed, which elicited a frown from Ballad. As much as he disliked the arsonist, he had to give him some credit. He managed to get close to the end, which made his defeat by him a bit more bearable. Still wanted to be the one to put a bullet in his brain, though.

Roughly one hour past, and the large flock of citizens started to die down a little bit, ending with only a few people on almost every table, and it not being nearly as full. Ballad had kept the pace going by ordering more drinks, though he didn't even drink the vast majority them. He had lost his appetite for alcohol a good while prior. Besides, he didn't want to get drunk.

"Say, you plan on drinking the rest of that, Ballad? That's a good amount of Omnillium you'll be spending."

Ballad snapped his eyes back up, seeing the bartender on the other side. The bartender had a bushy mustache and a stocky build, as if he weight-lifted barrels of beer for a living. He had on a stained apron, and a white chef's hat that covered his messy black hair. He spoke in an odd country farmer accent that Ballad had a hard time taking seriously, especially when he was talking as enthusiastically as he always did.

"Oh... right. Here." Ballad replied, slipping around twenty gold pieces towards the opposite end of the counter, closing the black bag in the process. He had already blown through a quarter of the bag just on drinks. He hoped he still had enough for potential rent at a tavern, though given how much Koal had given him, he would probably have enough anyway for one day.

The bartender palmed the coins in his hand, stuffing them into a brown bag on his end. "You seem troubled about something, Ballad. What's eating you?"

"I'm fine, uh.."

"Call me Tender. It's what everyone else calls me."

"I'm fine, Tender."

"Sour over your loss?"

Ballad curled his finger over his cheek, resting his hand against it. "Yeah, sure. We can go with that."

"First round too. Must've been embarrassing."

"Yeah. It was." Ballad said, unamused. He fixed his gaze on the bartender as he leaned over the counter, rag in hand, and started rubbing it over some puddles and leftover scraps of meat. A group of around two patrons entered the bar before taking a seat at a nearby table.

"Saw that post about you on OmniTwitter. You caused quite a stir there. I wonder why..."

"I'm not going to tell you why. I don't want to, nor should I."

"To each his own, I suppose."

Another group of two patrons stroll into the bar, taking a moment to look around the bar before sitting down with the other two. One of them proceeded to raise his hand, gesturing for the bartender to come over.

"I'll be over there in a moment!" Tender shouted, moving past Ballad as he went over to the quadro. The gunsmith followed his movement towards the gang, watching them carefully. Aside from them staying in the same spot for little discernable reason, there was nothing exactly significant about them. He turned his head away, not paying much too attention to them.

When Tender returned, he said "Sorry about that. Being a bartender is a good workout, you know? Can build muscle just by walking to and from customers."

"Yeah..." the gunner replied, glancing back towards the group for a moment, "How did you get into this business, anyway? You don't strike me as a guy who would be serving drinks."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You look more like someone who crushes heads, Tender."

Tender peered down at his arms, which were admittedly muscular, and nodded. A smile cruised onto his face as he said "Maybe so. But hey, I enjoy this line of work. Though I didn't get into the business at first."

"Really?" Ballad said, feigning interest in the subject. A third group silently walked into the bar, this time with distinguishing features. One of them was fairly bulky, and stood tall over the other, more lean figure. A long cloak overlapped over his back, though no attempts were made to hide his face, which had wrinkles, and no facial hair. His eyes were green, and the top part of his head was bald, with the back part and the sides having long red hair that went down to his shoulders. His torso was impossible to discern beneath his cloak. The lean one held his hands together, twiddling his thumbs as he looked around impatiently, keeping his head down. His face was comparatively young, with blue eyes, and a single calico around his mouth. The older man crossed his arms, tapping the shoulder of the young one before pointing towards the group table. The young man jumped, only to nod as they walked towards it.

"Really. I didn't have a whole lot of interest in it at first, but I first got experience over a bet. A few years back, a friend of mine bet me a dozen gold pieces I couldn't be a better bartender than him. Being the young lad I was, I took the bet. Needless to say, I won. I even keep some of the bet money in my pockets as proof."

"Hmm..." Ballad muttered, leaning forward onto the counter. He wasn't feeling too good about the group, and decided it would be best if he didn't act suspicious.

"Anyways, where have you been for the past few days? Recovering from your injuries?"

"Nah. Been in the forest, living in a tree with a bunch of grass around it. Tried to use it for traps. It... didn't really work."

"Traps? For who?"

"Best you don't ask."

Tender raised his hand, index finger pointed the ceiling, prepared to inquire on this point. However, he noticed that the older man had his hand outstretched, beckoning him. Tender strode out from his spot, bending forward towards the man once he reached the table. In response, the man reached into his cloak, pulling out a picture. Some words were spoken, resulting in Tender shaking his head before heading back to the counter.

Ballad watched the whole thing, and he let out a gulp once the picture was pulled out. He couldn't quite make out the description, but his gut was telling him it was-

"You might want to leave." Tender said sternly. He had pulled Ballad forward by the shoulder, which given the circumstances the gunsmith didn't mind too much. The sharpshooter stared at Tender for a little bit, seeing concern in his eyes before whispering "Right..." and standing up from his bar stool. He started to saunter towards the exit, trying to look like some regular schmoe who just wanted to drink. Hopefully, with the crowd already dispersing, he could leave before they caught wind of his scent.

"Hey." A voice called to his right. Ballad remained still, twitching his eyes towards his right to see two men walking towards him. One of them was the wrinkly-faced man, while the other wore civilian clothing similar to every other Camelot commoner. Whoever they were, they wanted to blend in.

Ballad clenched his fists, taking in a deep breath. Damn it all... he thought to himself as he hesitantly turned to his right, meeting the two face-to-face.

Without warning, the older man gripped his cloak from the front, tossing it off of him, revealing a full set of black plate armor. On his right side was a sheath containing a large sword, which he quickly pulled out. It was over three feet long, with a steel shine that glinted in the sunlight that shone through the door.

Ballad took a step back, shock on his face as the man said "Forgive us, but you must die." before swiping the sword downwards.

Only to go flying backwards as a sharp crack erupted from his position. Right in the middle of the group of six. They all turned towards the sound of the noise to see the green man standing there, a smoking gun in the middle of his sleeve.

Knew that would be needed one day.

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"I-It's Ballad! G-Get him!" one of the men shouted. And soon, the entire table had drawn their weapons. Some knives, one sword, one axe. The partisan closest to him had also taken out a knife, and was fully prepared to use it.

Ballad snarled, throwing his left hand forward, his single shot pistol connecting with his opponents face. He flew back a bit, shouting in pain as he stumbled onto his knees. Ballad was about to get moving when he felt a pressure push him forward. Everyone who wasn't trying to kill him was trying to escape. Screams shook up the bar like an earthquake as the brawl began.

The gunner dropped his single shot onto the ground, kicking the nearby shank-wielder into the ground. He pulled out his revolver, seeing the trio closing in, melee weapons in hand and ready to kill. He pulled back the hammer of the gun, firing into the onslaught. One fell forwards, grabbing his neck, blood occasionally gushing out from his neck as he tried desperately to breathe.

Ballad quickly ran towards the bar counter in a diagonal manner, punching one of the bandits in the face as he went past them. He rolled over the counter at the very left of the bar, readying his revolver for another shot as he took cover. Commands were issued from the other side as the gunner looked over the counter, seeing an axe man assaulting his position. One shot was all it took for him to fall, his chest bleeding.

Before long, the remaining attackers were flipping tables, trying to take cover from Ballad's gun. The green man fired twice more, one bullet grazing the top of an overturned table, extracting a scream from behind it. The second blew off the dome of the partisan knife-wielder he had kicked. He pulled back the hammer again, swiveling his revolver to point towards a charging attacker, though he ended up tackling him before he could fire.

They fell backwards into the wall, some bottles of alcohol landing on them before crashing into the ground, spilling liquid everywhere. The gunsmith pushed the man off of him, growling like an animal as his right fist crashed into him with a haymaker. The man's head crashed into the shelves next to him, collapsing into the ground.

The winter soldier span around, only catching a blur of motion before a large gash formed across his chest, cutting up his snow-white armor underneath. He stumbled backwards, applying pressure on his wound as he glowered murderously at his attacker. It was the lean one, holding a small, bloody sword. He was shaking, as if surprised he even had the ability of hurting him.

"Why you!" Ballad yelled, pouncing towards the man before feeling a hot pike get shoved into his left hip, earning a cry. He elbowed backwards, barely missing the attacker behind him as he held him still.

"ENOUGH!"

A loud, commanding voice rang throughout the bar. Ballad and his assailants turned their heads towards the risen leader, a single pock mark in the middle of his plate armor.

"Should've known you were more accurate with that than we thought, Ballad. That surely is a high caliber revolver." said the leader. His voice held an accent similar to that of a Scotsman.

"Go fuck yourself." Ballad threatened, only to get a knee to the back from the bandit behind him. He continued trying to struggle as their leader moved over the counter in a confident manner. He sheathed his sword, pulling out a circle. It bellowed out black smoke, with a red rune that consisted of a bunch of unusual shapes and lines glowing in the middle of it. The armored man strolled forward, saying "Sorry, but we have to." before proceeding to try to shove it into Ballad's wound.

A loud snap went off somewhere behind Ballad and his captor. A crossbow bolt sailed through the knifeman's head, his grip on Ballad loosening before falling to the ground. The leaner swordsman yelped, ducking down behind the counter as Tender walked out from behind it. The leader slowly raised his hands in a surrendering motion, following Tender as he strode to their side, his crossbow aimed at them.

"If you all think you can interrupt my business with your antics like this, than you are all in for a rough ride. Either get the hell out of my bar, or I kill you. End of story."

"Listen," the leader said, slowly vaulting over the counter to walk towards him. "We don't mean to cause any problems. We are only here for the green man. He has a bounty on his head, and we only want to collect it. Can you understand that?"

Dammit... they weren't kidding.

Impulsively, Ballad leaped over the countertop, charging towards the bar exit. The lean man shook as he leaped, not even bothering to follow. The leader, however, started forward towards him before another bolt deflected off of his armor, sending it into a nearby wall. In retaliation, he pulled out his sword and wacked the hilt of it against the bartender as he tried to load another bolt.

Tender fell, unconscious. The leader looked down at his body, smiling a bit as an idea struck his mind.

"Jensen, get up! I need you!"

"What is it, Agern?"

[Corporal Light]

Jensen quickly vaulted over the beige countertop, touching down with a stumble before running towards Agern. His leader reached down, grabbing the stout bartender by his hips before lifting him up over his shoulders. He took a step back, taking a moment to admire his strength, or at the very least his willingness to do what any other leader would scoff at in arrogance.

"Jensen! Take the crossbow. Follow Ballad around. Make sure he doesn't get away uninjured." Agern said through gritted teeth.

The soldier glanced down towards the wooden weapon on the ground, reluctantly gripping it between his digits. He placed the second bolt into the slot, making extra sure the bolt was placed cleanly in the slot to prevent a misfire, as well as the bow string being able to fire it.

A cold, blackened hand on his right shoulder stopped his preparations. He shook as he stared at the black knight, begging for reassurance.

"It'll be alright, Jensen. You just need to injure him. When we have a larger force, we'll hunt him down again."

Just injure. Don't kill.

"Y-You got it, boss."

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Ballad crashed through the door, glowing light assailing his eyes. It hadn't taken long for the stampede to make its way through town. Shrieks were ever present, becoming simply background noise as Ballad focused on the task at hand. His left hand squeezed his gash, dripping blood onto the stone walkway as a wave of pain coursed through his maw. He pushed himself through the increasingly desperate and mindless crowd as he headed towards the gate.

He howled in pain as he landed into the dirt, a single crossbow bolt planting itself into his leg. Whirling onto his back, he quickly pulled out the quarrel before another splashed into the dirt floor beneath him. Dust kicked up into the air as he leaped towards a cobblestone wall of a building, his fingers fishing for his numbered revolver. He had only one shot left, so he had to make it count.

He silently slid to the edge of the wall, peeking past it to see the crossbowman readying another shot. There was still a good amount of civilians scattered throughout the street, so he took extra care in his shot.

A resounding clang of fiery metal let loose from the barrel of his gun, flying towards the attacker who dared to harm him so.

The projectile lodged itself into the wall next to the soldier, kicking off dust and material.

Ballad cursed, sliding the cylinder of his numbered gun out towards him. As he expected. No bullets.

Shit, what do I do? That guy has me pinned, and I can't possibly be able to hit him with all these assholes running around.

Sliding the cylinder back into the gun, he noticed the multi-colored number buttons on the right side of the barrel of his weapon. He still remembered their purpose... and how much destruction it could cause.

Screw it. He had to try. Without a moment's hesitation, he pressed the green number "5" button, charging out into the open. Time seemed to slow down as the number "4" flickered on, its yellow glow illuminated by the lightbulb within. Followed by the number "3" as it flew through the air, landing right next to Jensen.

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Jensen stared at the glowing gun, his eyes widening as the number "2" lit up. His survival instincts kicking in, squealing at the top of his lungs, he slammed his foot against the gun, sending it towards a nearby building and out of harms way... and into a crowd of civilians.

"No!" Jensen shouted, unable to stop the resulting explosion. Fire engulfed around four feet, though that accounted nothing for the shrapnel. Bits of the gun flew into the faces and bodies of various men, women, and children within that area. Many of them fell, drowned out by their blood-curdling screams as blood and gore shed into the streets. Jensen could do nothing but stare at all the destruction in front of him, memories coming back from the inner workings of his mind.

One cannot go to war without feeling the affects of war. One cannot live through war without living through hell first. One cannot.... One cannot.

The soldier tried to snap out of his trauma, putting his focus on the gate. He caught a glimpse of a coat-cladden man running through it before putting his focus on more important matters.

---------------------------------------------

"So, hold on. You're telling me HE did it?"

"I-I'm not kidding, s-sir. He tossed it towards them."

"Hmm..." the guard said, a piece of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other. He jotted down the name, looking back up towards Jensen to allow him to speak.

"H-He had on a green coat, and, uh... glowing yellow eyes. He has, uh, a revolver that can explode. And a-a-a single pistol that he carries in his sleeve. And a pi-pickaxe. A-A trapper hat and-"

"That's all we need, citizen. We'll be sure to get him once we find him." The guard said, holding his hand out in front of him to stop Jensen from continuing. He sighed, relieved at his success. Just the group alone would make things much more difficult for them to get him, but with Camelot on their side, they wouldn't have much of a problem then.

Just as it should be, too. He hoped it lasted. He didn't want something like this happening again. Not to anyone. Not to Camelot.

[Corporal Light]

Three days later

The sound of wind coursed through the valley. The valley of grey. It was barren, with nary a tree or house or human in sight. The grass was monochrome in color, and the sky was as white as snow. He found his arms tickled by the blades, but refused to react. He had been here before. Many times, in fact. But he knew how to control it. All he needed to do was acknowledge its presence.

He slowly stood up, his hands bloodied from the sharp and delicate strokes as he met his specter.

It was a man of smoke. It bellowed from every part of his body, its gases wrapping around its arms like tendrils, forming a coherent shape of distinguishing features. He looked just like him, with the only difference being that his eyes were as monochrome as the area it called home.

"I do not have time for you. Speak your mind." He called, standing proudly in his spot, ready to defend himself if needed.

"You know why I'm here... Agern. Your... rabble have done an...adequate job with the work you've always wanted. But... it's not enough, is it?" replied the specter, its voice echoing throughout the landscape.

"I have done plenty."

"No... it really isn't."

"You cannot intimidate me, fiend. No matter how hard you try, I will not let you govern my actions and let you do.... the despicable things you want me to do."

"Now YOU LISTEN TO ME, RUBLEK!" The ghost shouted, its phantasmal ebony vapor flaring like fire. Its eyes gave off a blood red color just as quickly as the surrounding environment erupted into the apocalypse. Thunderstorms bellowed into the valley, lightening struck the ground as villages appeared with the images of the dead. The smell of rot and filth coated the landscape as the specter spoke.

"I know your desires! I KNOW what you wish to do! WHY FIGHT IT?!"

Agern took in a deep breath, his tongue tasting the rancid air. He grit his teeth, refusing to give in. "I will not give in. I must show restraint. For Camelot."

Suddenly, the scenery began to flicker. He started to stir.

"I'm afraid we have no time. We can continue this later... my friend."

Then everything turned to white.

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Agern woke up in a scratch cotton bed, his hands gripping the brown sheets on his torso. He was in the dorm room, filled with plenty of other beds of various sizes. Some held personal belongings like pictures, while others had bags filled with the same. The air was relatively clean, or at least compared to the smog of the demonic being.

"Agern! A-Agern, sir! Are you awake?"

A gloved hand had planted itself on his left shoulder. He gazed up towards the familiar face. His tactician and second-in-command.

"Jensen...what is it?"

"Didn't mean to interrupt you, sir, but, uh.... dinner's ready." Jensen replied, his hand curling as he lifted it from Agern's body.

Agern nodded, nodding slowly. "Alright... I'll be there in a moment."

----------------------------

Agern brought himself out of the shower building, his plate armor shiny and seemingly new. He had gotten it appraised since Ballad had shot him, and now there was no sign of battle. Pure as Camelot. Just as it should be.

He walked outside into the hot, bright sun. It wasn't that smart of an idea to be moving out into weather like this with the stuff he was wearing at that moment, but he had to keep up images. His crew of so-called "bandits" were loyal to him for a reason. If he stayed resolute in the face of danger, than even they would never fall.

The village he resided in contained a total of seven buildings. The one he exited was more than twice his height, and its roofing was stacked with hay on top of cobblestone. All the other buildings were similar in looks, including the armory, the dorms, the showers, and the jails. To the front of the village (the one side that is closest to the forest) was a long gate constantly guarded by two or more of his own. It was surrounded by tall, wooden spikes that normally would get them caught and arrested. However, his group were well-known, or at the very least had enough of a reputation that bribery was more than enough to sway anyone nosy enough to take a look inside.

Hearty shouts sounded out from the building right across from the showers. It was indeed dinner time. Agern smiled as he strolled casually towards the abode, stopping at the entrance to take a look inside.

It was Moe. The giant was lifting up an entire table of food and drink and patrons. He towered over every other bandit within, and he had bulging muscles that were clearly visible, especially since he wore no shirt. His face was covered by a large mask that clamped around his jaw and seemed to almost dig into it judging from the scars all over his face. His eyes were small, but colored green, and the top of his head was spiked up with black hair. The tendons in his arms bulged outwards as he slowly set the table down onto the ground, roaring like a bear as cheers filled the air. He pounded his fists together, accidentally cutting open his worn out fingers as they smashed against each other.

"Goodness, Moe. Careful with yourself." Agern said, walking out of the shadows.

The entire cafeteria turned towards Agern, letting out a loud groan as he arrived to spoil their fun. Moe himself stepped forward, slapping someone behind their back as he passed them.

"Well, lookie who it isss." Moe hissed, his tone similar to that of other dumb brutes. "If it isn't our humble leader, Rublek Agern, come crying to usss over paper cuts. Have no faith in ussss, lead?"

Agern chuckled, his arms across his chest. "Those sound like fighting words, Moe. Have a problem with the way I run things?"

The cafeteria itself made room for the two, a circle forming around them as they started to prod Moe into responding. He walked to his right, looking down towards the comparatively puny Agern.

"Not that, ssssah... but you're growing weak. Time good ol' Metal Moe show you that you don't need ssssteel to be effective!" The bruiser shouted, his arms stretching out towards his side. He let out a battle cry as he charged forward, slamming into the iron-claden knight.

Agern placed his hands forward, taking the full brunt of Metal Moe's strength. His feet skidded across the ground as the sound of sandpaper rubbing against each other got absorbed in the cries of the crowd. He struggled against the mass of his top brute, staring into his eyes.

"Come on, Ager! Gimme all you got!"

"Your wish is my command." Agern responded, his body rupturing as smoke flung from the pores in his skin. He grunted as he pushed forward, falling on top of Moe as they landed on the ground. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as the gas slowly dissipated, breathing in what remained of the vapor.

Metal Moe laughed. Laughed harder than he usually did when they did this. He placed his left hand on top of Agern's metal back, the sweat causing it to slip slightly. "Ah... you beat me, sssaaah.." he said in a sarcastic manner. The crowd whooped and hollered as they stood up, shaking hands.

A few minutes later, the tables were reset, and the food was dished out. The clinging of glasses and the sight of drunken soldiers earning their rewards brought happiness to Agern. He noticed that they all still had the Camelot symbol on their cloaks they received when they first joined. It was proof that, even after all that has happened, and after all this time, they still believed.

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The dinner was jolly, and great times were had between its patrons. Jokes were made, particularly by Agern, and stories were shared throughout. Rublek had always encouraged everyone to get to know each other on advice from Jensen. His words were something like "They provide a sense of comradery and increases morale, s-sir.."

He smiled as he thought about Jensen. The man had probably helped him more than anyone else did. He was one of the first people he told about his... issue, and one of the first to convince the others of its relative safety. He was the main propagator of their plans, and almost all of them succeeded with very few issues. Hell, the one were they tried to get Ballad was one of the very few times they had failed, and yet they still almost succeeded.

But they still hadn't found him. It had been three days since they found him, and a lot had happened. One of his followers had informed him that they had run out of banishment circles, which prevented them from getting the most amount of Omnillium possible. He had sent out a request for more munitions from some employers a day ago, so the final piece of the puzzle was all that remained. The Bartender.

He stepped into the jail building, taking a moment to look around. The entrance was connected to a single room that was largely empty, which then connected to another room that held a good amount of jail cells. Each cell was around thirty feet wide, with a single bed and a toilet within. The walls were blocked off by three-foot wide cells, preventing any escape. They were always locked tight through screws and a lock that required a key. Something only he and Jensen possessed.

At the very right side of the room resided the Bartender. He was sitting down on his bed, hands on his face, looking away from the cell door. He did not notice Agern as he approached the cell door.

"Hey. Look at me."

Tender set his hands down to his knees, looking towards the black knight. He sighed, standing up before trudging towards the door.

"Come to execute me, bandit?"

"No. I just need something from you, and you will tell me, else I will have to use... more drastic measures."

"Do anything you want to me. I won't tell you a damn thing."

Agern closed his eyes, looking down towards the ground. He then opened them, his eyes glowing red as the smoke returned.

"So be it." He whispered, snapping his hand towards his neck. The bartender gargled in pain as mental images splashed into his mind. Various memories. Both present and past. He gleaned him clean, searching for what he wanted. There had to be something. ANYTHING that led to his quarry.

Finally, he found one. It was the two talking. Apparently, it was before he and Jensen had arrived.

"Nah. Been in the forest, living in a tree with a bunch of grass around it. Tried to use it for traps. It... didn't really work."

That's all I needed to hear.

"Thank you... my friend." He snarled, loosening his grip around Tender's neck. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he gripped the metal bars. He was still whimpering as Agern left, searching for Jensen.

---------------------------------

"Th-That's where he is, sir?"

"Of course. All of it is as clear as day." Agern replied, pointing towards the map where he last remembered passing by the field. He had been spying on Ballad the whole time, though he almost got caught when he charged out of a bush. He was certain Ballad would go there.

"W-Well then... I... have an idea on what we could do, s-sir. Been thinking about it a while, and.... it might work."

Agern looked up from the map, staring at Jensen.

"Tell me."

[Corporal Light]

Ballad kept his grip tight on the bark of the tree, his digits digging into it as he looked down towards the ground. He was barely more than eight feet above the dry ground, so even if he fell from his rather precarious position, he wouldn't suffer major wounds. Sighing, he lifted his left hand up towards a nearby branch, applying pressure to it before continuing his climb up the tree.

He was back in his signature field. It was totally empty except for a single tree in the middle. The tree was significantly smaller than any other tree in the forest, being the only place that could house any kind of outside light. Here, it was moonlight, and the silver rays illuminated his field. The tree had plenty of big and small branches, with Ballad's favorite being a big one that stretched out into the field, hanging over it as if to watch it with its omnipotent eyes. The field was surrounded by a single circle of long, arid blades of grass, which Ballad had taken advantage of. He had got through by pulling apart two patches of it, creating an entrance before booby-trapping it. He was very certain, MORE than certain, that whomever passed through would be incinerated.

Ballad reached out towards the edge of the long limb, lifting himself over the edge of it before taking a seat down on the tree. He had been there for more than a few days, contemplating on his situation. He had been looking at it from all possible angles, possibilities, and any other bits of info that could help him out here. It had involved a lot of swearing, muttering, and punching trees, but he figured it out.

"Can't believe Camelot would have the gall to send assassins at me." Ballad groaned to himself, crossing his arms against his chest similar to a brooding teenager. "I'm fairly certain I could call them out on it and prove its illegal. I mean, what the hell happened? Was there an emergency session in their court of law to vote on whether or not we should kill off anyone who didn't like our country?! Fuck, man..."

Ballad sighed, bringing his hands up to his bumpy, green face. He had been through so much shit in this place that he was considering just leaving. Anywhere else was better than here. Being hunted by crazy psychopaths while the country blamed HIM for THEIR misdeeds. He saw the bounty board on the Dataverse during his temporary stay in his safe house. He didn't MEAN to hurt any civilians, but he guessed him accidentally killing a few people was all he needed to do to be labelled a "terrorist" and a "dangerous individual." Although, he could account for the latter, seeing as he pretty much WAS. With a revolver that could be used as an explosive, a pickaxe, a pistol up his sleeve, and a flamethrower, hell yeah he'd be dangerous. But it should be common sense that if you are being attacked, then lethal force is authorized and you should be allowed to go nuts. He shouldn't HAVE to change to suit the needs of the country when the COUNTRY was the one fucking things up.

That's it. No more pretending. Ballad mused, bringing his scarf up to his eyes, wrapping it around them like a blindfold. I'll get some rest first, THEN I'll leave. I've had enough of this place.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the cool air of Camelot as he started to fall asleep.

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Like Fire
Hellfire

Hellfire
Dark Fire

Screams erupted from the plains around the tree as Ballad awoke from his slumber. The screams reignited him as the darkness was struck by the color of bright orange and fiery red. He was under attack.

His green clothes seemed to absorb the colors as he pushed his back off of the tree, looking around the field. Fire had overtaken the dry grass, and smoke had poured into the forest. Thankfully, the fire was only consuming the areas Ballad had marked, leaving his tree and the area surrounding it safe.

But the others.... whoever ignited it.. they weren't so lucky.

Ballad's yellow eyes reflected the chroma as he leaped down onto the floor, grunting as he landed. His coat shone sterling as it combined with the fresh orange light. He had never seen fire like this take so much before... except back home. He quickly brushed the thought out of his mind. This was nothing he couldn't handle. All he needed to do was wait out the fire. Even if it got close, he could always summon a water bucket or something and douse the flames.

Suddenly, an arrow buried itself into the ground, directly to the left of his feet. Screams turned into commands as a familiar voice rang out.

"Someone get us a way inside! He's in there!"

"GOD DAMMIT!" Ballad shouted, sprinting back towards the tree, sliding himself behind it as more arrows flew into the ground. Cut grass and dirt kicked up as they imbedded themselves indiscriminately into tree and earth. Ballad stuffed his hand into his jacket, twirling his revolver in his hand before working the hammer, readying himself for an assault.

Two gunshots rang out from the tree, each with a muzzle flash followed by the ricochet of the bullet impacting a nearby tree. He couldn't possibly see his attackers past the glow of the fire. He was blind, and it brought a cold sweat down his head.

The gunfire was answered in turn by the raining of crossbow bolts and arrows, continuing its onslaught. Ballad gripped the sides of his tree as they slammed into the ground. He already knew what it was like to get hit by one of those things, and it was very, very unpleasant.

More and more fell down into the field, nearly covering the area with the projectiles. Ballad knew he couldn't hold out for long. Not with this much fire coming his way. He needed to escape, but he was surrounded by the hazard he had created.

How the hell am I going to get out of this?

The arsonist looked around, finding no real exit to utilize. Staring at the flames surrounding him, he frowned, nodding to himself in reassurance. Then, without warning, he roared, charging towards the flames. He hopped upwards, the flames licking his clothes as he landed on the other side. His coat lit up, the fire going up to his back even as his pants and boots caught fire as well. Ballad shrieked, dropping down to the ground before rolling around. His leggings were defused, albeit at the cost part of them, as well as all the other flames on his clothes. Wasting little time and ignoring the pain, he continued running, abandoning his once safe and prosperous abode.

[Corporal Light]

Grass rustled as Ballad tumbled through the forest, not sparing a single moment to see how far he had gone. His legs felt like they had dug through molasses for around thirty minutes, yet he did not stop to rest. He wasn't going to risk stopping until he was certain he was in a safe location. Not with these bandits on his tail.

Eventually, he brought himself to a hill, roughly twenty feet going up. He stopped, taking a moment to stare at it. The hill had a large hole in it. One made entirely of stone. It was pitch dark inside, impossible to see without the usage of light from his distance, especially in the night sky he stood in.

"Just what I need..." Ballad whispered to himself, not daring to draw attention to himself as he ran forward, falling face-first into the dirt as a spike of pain locked his legs. Gritting his teeth behind his red-scarf, he pushed himself onto his feet, limping towards the entrance.

The gunsmith slowed as he reached the gaping hole in the earth, leaning forward before placing his gloved left hand on one side of the rock formation in front of him. His hand slipped down the stone, water coating the sides from humidity. The sharpshooter looked up, using what remained of his energy to take a short look inside. With the distance closed, it was slightly easier to see what was within the cave. Stalactites and stalagmites littered the entrance around twenty feet in, mostly composed of beige, crystalline objects. The stone he stood on apparently was a platform, as around ten feet forward the rock dipped down into the abyss, evidenced by tiny pebbles rolling off of it. Dripping noises echoed throughout the cave, but no other ambience dared to disturb the silence.

The green man sighed, taking a short step forward before carefully placing himself onto his back, grunting in pain. He fished for his flamethrower within his coat, lighting the wick for it with a flick of his thumb. He slithered it towards his leggings, using the flame as a light to estimate the damage.

His skin was charred black in some areas, being the only parts of his legs that didn't feel like they were trying to stab him with multiple needles at the same time. The rest took a yellowish color, which heavily contrasted with his green as vomit skin. He didn't know what insane idea got him to try to pull that stunt, but it half worked. Sure, his legs were on the verge of being damn near useless, but he was safe for the time being. Now all he had to do was lick his wounds and hope for the best.

Putting all of his effort into concentrating, he held his left hand outwards, making sure to remove the flaming wick and toss it into the chasm below before focusing on healing.

------------------------------------------------

Around forty-five minutes later

The gunner opened his eyes, looking down towards his legs. Aside from the holes that had been made when the fire touched it, his wounds were mended. Sighing in relief, he stood up from his spot, taking a look outside the cave.

He had apparently ran straight to the edge of the forest, as large trees formed around the front of his hill like a barrier. His extra-sensory glowing eyes failed to detect any would-be intruders, so he paid it little mind. Ballad placed himself near the entrance, his body shrouded by darkness. He rolled his head against the wall of the cave, keeping his eye on the outside world just in case anyone happened to come his way. For extra care, he lifted his revolver out of his coat, placing it on his stomach with his finger on the trigger.

As Ballad's eyes began to droop, his mind became a bit more active even as his body started to shut down for sleep.

Damn... assassins don't learn when to quit, do they? It won't matter... I don't care what Camelot has to say. I ain't getting involved in their.... wars. No matter what. I'm DONE with wars. Done with them forever. Don't want to see one ever again.

[Corporal Light]

There once was a creature called the Grundagakk
He had long, sharp horns and a large silver sack.
Ev'ry morning on Sunday and on a Monday
He would steal non-believers and take them away.

-Haelstrum 69:91. Children's Candle.

Ballad hated that stupid children's poem. Hated it with a burning passion. Every time he came across one back home, he yearned to remove it from its shelf and tear it apart, piece by piece. Not just because of its rather silly premise (seriously, who names a creature Grundagakk?) but because of its obvious propaganda designed by the Church to convert people. It was sold on street corners to small children stupid enough to buy into it, because only children, at such a young and inexperienced age, could buy into their crap. It wasn't like the Wicker Men were much better. He could remember their poem about a Snagglewoop. It was just as bad, arguably worse, mostly because almost nothing rhymed with woop. Except for one word, but the Wicker Men knew that using it in context with the Church would be a bad move.

All Ballad could do at that moment was just shake his head and turn in the other direction. It was all he ever did. He couldn't understand the usefulness of understanding where the wick came from. The only important thing about it was that it caught on fire, and it should be used for inventions and greater purposes. Warmth, food, weapons....protection.

Suddenly, a sharp echo erupted from his mind, like a pickaxe striking rock. Rock....

Wait a minute...

-----------------------------------------------------

Ballad snapped awake, groaning in annoyance as this wasn't the first time his sleep had been interrupted. He turned his head to his right, glaring towards whomever had disturbed him. The sight was... rather odd, to say the least.

The person in question was female, no more than thirteen or fourteen. She wore brown, leather pants that went down to her ankles, with green hiking boots covering her small feet. Around her torso was a comparatively brown fur coat, with the edges coated snow white. Her waist had a belt around it, with various types of gear that included a torch, some oil in bottles, a canteen, and a bag with wet stains on the bottom of it. Her hair was blonde, yet cut in a way that Ballad almost mistook her for a young boy. She was on her knees, leaning over something a few feet away, right next to the edge of the cliff. As Ballad leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of what she was pulling out: Gold coins that flickered in the moonlight before being set on the ground.

"Dirty fucking THIEF!" Ballad growled, standing up as the girl turned her head around in surprise. He lifted his black revolver, pointing it at the hiker as she raised her hands in a surrendering motion.

"Is there something wrong?" she proclaimed, an innocuous tone to her voice.

"Something wrong? In case you didn't notice, that's MY BAG you're stealing from, you fucking idiot!" Ballad replied venomously.

The teenager looked down towards the black bag, letting out a regretful "Ooooh..." as she glanced back towards the gunsmith. She could easily see the anger in his eyes, which sent shivers down her spine. Her white hands felt cold as they started to rub up against each other nervously as she tried to explain herself.

"I-I'm sorry, m-mister. I.. I was climbing up this rock and I..." she started, her voice cracking somewhat as her green eyes stared down the barrel of the green man's pistol like she was staring into the abyss. "I... saw you sleeping up here. I saw you had your bag on your belt, and I.... and I..."

"Stop fucking pausing mid-sentence and EXPLAIN." Ballad shouted, stomping his right foot forward onto the hard stone floor. The sound reverberated around the cave as his thumb reached for the hammer, pebbles falling from the sky and rolling down the platform they were on. The girl recoiled, scrunching her shoulders in fear as her words steadily grew to a whisper.

"Well...I.... this is my home, well, sorta. My last one.... well, I'm not there anymore. I had to go in here to survive, and I occasionally.... occasionally go to a nearby village to buy supplies. I've... I've been running low, you know? So I... tried to take your...."

Her voice trailed off, her eyes squeezing out shiny tears as she looked away from the green gunner. He was as still as a statue, with nothing but his glowing yellow eyes to show for his face. It held little emotion, like a cold blooded killer. Completely stoic. The girl brought her hands to her face, cupping them.

"Please don't kill me. Pleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillmeI'msorryPLEASE." She tearfully begged, her voice brittle and desperate.

The sharpshooter stood still, glaring at the woman. Her sniffles and cries rebounded across the cave, which Ballad silenced with his own yell for her to shut up. This only induced further cries, which caused the gunner to grit his teeth behind his scarf; his index finger curled in anticipation behind the trigger, begging for release.

Suddenly, a piece of earth flew into the cave as an arrow embedded itself into the entrance mere inches from Ballad's head.

"I heard him in there! Get him!" A voice erupted from the forest.

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" The gunner shouted, practically in disbelief. Had he really talked so loud that these guys were able to hear him and follow him there? It HAD been a good while since he last saw them, and they were following him.

Damn it all... why do I have to shout at the worst times...

Ballad whirled around, his left arm curled underneath the handle of the revolver as he crouched down, aiming at the forest. A group of around seven had emerged from the depths of the forest, and were quickly separating into several, smaller groups. Most started charging up the hill, swords and axes in hand, while one group entered the trees. The winter soldier could only assume that that group composed mainly of archers, and he would soon be pin-cushioned by arrows.

He couldn't stay there. His position was compromised. He had to run some more.

"THANKS KID!" He shouted behind him as he holstered his revolver, slipping his pickaxe into his hands. He sprinted down the hill, meeting the axemen and swordsmen head on.

The first group came first. He lifted his pickaxe upwards, bringing it down onto the first bandit. It punctured his skull, a resounding crack of bone rushing out into the open as he pulled it out of his head. He deflected a sword with the shaft of his pick, kicking the attacker to the ground. He then brought the hand tool around, its perpendicular head smashing into another assailant, a wail of pain erupting from the corpse as it connected with his ribs.

The second group soon arrived, surrounding him four to one. They circled around him, knives, swords, and an axe all brought out. Some of them chuckled gleefully, as if they wanted nothing more than to see the green man's organs on the ground. By their hand, if able to.

"What is going on out here?! Why are all of you fighting?" A feminine voice rang out from the top of the hill. The green man looked behind him, noticing the cave-dweller walking down the hill, her face still wet from crying and apparently ignoring the fact that Ballad was currently in the middle of, in his words usually, kicking some ass.

"That's a little girl you got there, greenie! What kind of perverted-" was all a scrawny partisan could muster from his mouth before Ballad ended his life, digging the sharp end of his pick into his chest. He let out a blood-curdling scream, catching the others off guard before Ballad butted one in the head with the end of his weapon. He ran forward, dodging arrow fire as a loud scream ignited from behind him. They must've gotten the girl. Whatever. She was an asshole anyway-

The sharpshooter let out a loud yelp as he careened into the ground, feeling someone crash into him. Rolling his eyes to look up, his eyelids twitched in shock as he saw the mountain-climber on top of him.

"What the fuck are you doing?! GET OFF ME!" Ballad shrieked, elbowing the girl off of him. She landed on her butt in a sitting position, about to push herself upwards when she saw the man get back up, whip out his revolver, and promptly shoot at an approaching bandit. As he began to fall, he fired twice more, with the first bullet impacting his left shoulder while the second removed his head from his body. Red blood splattered onto her pants, causing her to scream as she slid away from the corpse.

"You... you just.."

"WILL YOU SHUT UP AND START RUNNING AWAY ALREADY?! I'M FUCKING OUT OF HERE!" He responded, firing three more times towards the archer group, whom were starting to retreat.

"Run away?! What is going o- Hey, come back here!" She shouted, standing up to run after Ballad.

[Corporal Light]

"S-Stop firing! STOP FUCKING FIRING, DAMMIT!"

Jensen shrieked those words at the top of his lungs as he brought his arms in front of one of the archers, forcing their crossbows down to the ground. The last thing he wanted was a little girl getting shot on his orders.

The bandit sighed, bringing his gloved left hand up to his sweaty forehead. He watched as the green gunsmith charged into the forest like a rampaging buffalo, with no regard for his or others safety. He had stopped firing, presumably due to lack of ammunition, and was instead focusing his efforts on running away. The girl was shouting at him to wait up and tell her what was going on. The fact she was so naive would've probably made Jensen chortle a bit if there weren't more pressing matters to attend to. Specifically numbers.

"Alright..." Jensen said, taking in a few, nervous deep breathes, "I-I want everyone who can stand to form a l-line in front of me, n-now."

The tactician leaned forward slightly, continuing to recover his stamina from the battle that had just occurred. He placed his hands on his knees, staring at the grass. If it wasn't for the fact that they all had torches, he probably wouldn't have even seen the ground.

Leaning back upwards, he glances towards the newly formed line in front of him. Before he could even bring his left hand up to count, his heart sank into his chest. There stood only two, both holding longbows and quivers on their backs. They were illuminated by a torch held by the leftmost longbowman. They remained silent, but their expressions told the truth. His eyes twitched in disbelief. This couldn't possibly be. The group was composed of almost ten. Eight, to be specific.

"W-W-Where are th-the others?" Jensen stuttered, looking all over the place in utter shock. He walked to his left, turning towards the forest, secretly hoping that some of them were just hiding to play a sick joke on him like they sometimes did.

"Sir..... he killed them. Killed all of them. It's just us left." One of the archers replied, his tone disheartened and solemn.

"No... no, we can't be. We just can't be th-" The leader said, stopping as soon as his foot connected with what appeared to be a large rock. He peered down, his hands shaking as they grasped the rock. Bringing it up to his face, he felt bile forming in his throat as he stared at the head of one of their own. His name was Tyral, if one could believe it. His hair was dark brown, and he had a lean, almost rat-like face. With a rat nose and rat ears and small, green rat eyes. If anyone could be identified as a thief, it would be him.

But he was also one of the friendliest, most honorable men Jensen had ever met. No matter who you were, and no matter who you worked for, he treated you fairly and kindly. He once saw him talking to a captured prime in a jail cell, sharing stories over family and home. Alongside himself, Tyral also helped convince the others about the safety of Agern's "issue," and he had never seen a man who was more willing to laugh at ones joke, no matter how crass. He had never seen a man more optimistic, no matter how hopeless the situation was. He saw the good in everyone, and sought to bring it out.

Now here he was. His neck torn apart into pieces of gore, crimson goo oozing from the bottom of his head. Jensen slowly dropped the head back down onto the ground, hearing it roll back down the hill and next to his decapitated corpse. Silently, the second-in-command trudged forward, seeing the bodies of the fallen next to each other.

The others stood back, knowing what was going on. The scene flickered in front of the second-in-command. Brutal death squads that infiltrated villages and bases. Before each assault by the enemy, they would attack, destroying critical areas and anyone who got in their way. He was once on the receiving end of these squads. They had slaughtered every soldier they came across, and he only survived by hiding within a salt barrel filled with meat so that they couldn't detect his scent. When he opened the lid, he saw blood. Blood as clear as the morning sky. He smelled smoke. He tasted death. And he hid away. Like a coward.

It's alright, Jensen. My good, most loyal friend. I know it hurts, but remember, you have a new life now. Everything that happened is now in the past. You can make a difference again. You don't need to be afraid.

I don't know.... I just don't know... this place... all of it... it's...

Here, I promise you. It won't ever happen here.

You won't lose us.

Ever.

[Corporal Light]

"Sir, wait up! Please!"

"FUCK OFF, YOU PERSISTENT SHIT!" Ballad responded in kind. He did not have the time to start up an interesting conversation about politics or the weather when he was busy stuffing bullets into the chamber of his revolver. His breath was ragged as he continued running away from the cave, occasionally glancing upwards to make sure he didn't run into anything. The foliage had increased ten-fold, with trees everywhere with low hanging branches that threatened to take his head off with every pass he made by them.

The girl maintained her pursuit of the man, trying not to think about what she had just witnessed a few minutes prior. It brought a sick feeling to her stomach each time the image flashed into her mind, and it made her slow down a bit in her running. Part of her wanted to stop. To not risk her life this way. But she brushed that thought aside just as she started to pick up speed. After seeing what he did to that soldier....

The gunsmith easily heard the woman's footsteps drawing closer and closer as his legs almost started crumbling beneath him. Without a moment to spare, he slid the last bullet into the steel chamber, smacking the rotating cylinder to the side before twirling around, his gun aimed and finger at the ready. The girl stopped in her tracks just arms reach away from the pistol, looking down a black abyss.

Ballad frowned at the mountain-climber, taking large deep breathes as the girl raised her hand in a surrendering motion once again.

"Dammit... kid.." The gunner panted, his legs starting to throb again in the areas that he remembered the burns to be.

"Wh-what is going on? Why did you- wh-why?" The teenager shouted, her tone surprisingly accusatory despite the stutters. The pickaxeman growled underneath his red scarf, causing her to squeak as she looked away from the weapon pointed directly at her face.

"Look, runt, I don't have time to be explaining this bullshit to you right now. So I'll give you the short version, alright? Camelot hates me, so they hired these guys to come kill me. Don't ask me WHY they hate me. They just do. Is that clear to you?"

"Y-Yeah, but... you KILLED them!"

"Did you expect me to do anything else?!" Ballad yelled, his finger loosening on the trigger as he glared at the woman. The hiker peered at the green man, her jaw nearly dropping all the way down to the earth.

"I... I don't know? But you don't even- was it all-?"

"Self-defense IS needed sometimes, kid, get used to it. Now shut the fuck up before I start going judge and executioner on your stupid ass." The arsonist threatened, though the first part of his sentence seemed to be a half-heartened murmur than anything else.

The teenager straightened her arms out, still holding them in the air to let Ballad know she was doing what he was telling her too. Now, all she could do was pray. Pray that the man did not judge her cruelly.

Before he could, however, he sharply muttered "Crap... GET DOWN!" before leaping towards the ground, laying flat on his chest.

---------------------------------------------------

Agern charged through the forest, calling out to his second-in-command. He had lost contact with him a while ago, and he hadn't seen anyone in Jensen's group either. He was holding a torch in one hand, and his sword in the other, just in case his quarry got any smart ideas.

Finally, he reached a series of trees that seemed to be forming the shape of a circle. They had several bushes surrounding them, though they were not very easy to see thanks to the low-hanging branches covered in petals and leaves. He brushed on branch aside, motioning for his group to advance forward. He had a strong feeling he would find who he was looking for here. He was still reeling from the effect of watching Ballad do something so ridiculously insane and reckless as leaping through his own fire trap that he somewhat believed his senses were trashed because of it. But he had to find Jensen first. Then they could head back and try this next time.

"S-Sir! SIR!"

Rublek turned around, only to blow out his torch just to be able to keep his panicking tactician from literally falling onto his knees and hugging him for comfort. He was quivering uncontrollably, which made Agern quiver. He could only name the amount of times he'd seen Jensen like this on his right hand.

"Jensen! Report! And calm down! You're with us now!" He said reassuringly, squeezing Jensen's shoulders.

"I-I-I- We f-fo-found him at th-the cave, s-sir. We-We tried to ambu-ush him, sir, but he- but he...." His right hand man barely peeped out before the shakes started to overcome him again. His blue eyes looked downright terrified and on the verge of tears.

"Listen! It's okay.... I was looking for you. It's clear the mission is a loss, but we can manage. We'll head back... I promise.."

"R-Right..."

----------------------------------------------

"Thank fucking god they didn't see me." Ballad said, standing back up from the ground. He had taken extra care in making sure they didn't dare get a glimpse of him by sliding himself towards some bushes. He had no idea what the girl was doing, but it worked. The girl was also standing up, with the mud staining her otherwise relatively clean clothes as a look of recognition crossed her face. Suddenly, the exact meaning of what the gunner said struck the girl hard, and a look of annoyance washed over her face as she glared at Ballad.

"See you? They could've seen me!"

"Not my problem."

"Actually, it now IS your problem! They saw me with you, remember?! They might think I'm your accomplice in... whatever the heck you are doing."

The green gunsmith tightened his grip on his revolver, closing his eyes. He reopened them as he turned towards the girl, taking a long deep breath before speaking again.

"Kid, you are not my responsibility. You were simply in the wrong place at the right time. If you want to pin all the crap on me, go right the fuck ahead. But I'm not letting some little orphaned chick stop me from getting out of this place."

"You're... leaving?"

"Well, THEY obviously aren't coming after me for a while, so I might as WELL. Do you have a better suggestion?"

The woman looked down to the ground, closing her eyes as he she tried to think. "Can you at least take me to the nearest village so I can get back onto my feet?" She questioned, her eyes colored with sympathy as she reopened them.

He wanted to say "No," but he then paused, considering what was being asked of him. He remembered being in the exact same position with Lynch. It would seem hypocritical to that gangster kid if he refused the same for this new one. Can't fucking believe I'm doing this..

"Fine." The gunner said before walking right past her, holstering his revolver in his holster.

[Corporal Light]

Roughly one hour later

splish

splash

splish

splash

It was raining. It had started a good few minutes prior, but didn't really pick up until that moment. It began with a roar of thunder that reverberated across the forest, followed by a sprinkle of droplets falling through the trees above. Finally, the sprinkle turned into a flood, with no sign of stopping.

The large, green barriers that formed the forest soaked up the liquid, filling them with life. They glistened under the dark, foreboding clouds that threatened to invade the landscape. Overlap it with eternal darkness. But the trees would fight valiantly. To the very destruction of the world, if it was required, for their lives and for the life of the forest they resided in.

Just as it should be.

-------------------------------

The duo trudged down the muddy path displayed in front of them. The green-jacketed man was leading the way, with the brown-coated woman following close behind. In the depths of the woods, the rain was not as bad, but it was clear they had penetrated the trees a long while ago. A pattering noise was all that was discernible as the water connected with the grass and dirt. Ballad's black winter boot kicked up puddles of water as he stepped into them, caking his feet with grime as the droplets blackened his coat and hat. His gloved hands were firmly planted inside the pockets of his overcoat while his head was aimed down towards the path before him, daring not to look back.

The woman's pelt was similarly drenched, to the point where visible moisture dripped from the ends of it near her waist. Her boyish hair was matted down onto her forehead, but this did little to conceal her attitude. She had a small smile on her face, and was looking around, occasionally nodding in approval towards some random detail she happened to see. She was the only other source of noise in the forest; the rocking of her canteen against her body produced a clanging noise of metal on metal like clockwork. The green gunner had frowned at her when he started paying attention to the noise, but let the issue slide after that. He just kept his head straight and walked forward with no other goal in mind at that point.

What was a true issue, however, was the fog. It was everywhere, and it was wearing down his patience for it as fast as the rain wore down the dryness of his attire. His extra-sensory glowing eyes had obvious trouble peering through the haze around him, only capable of distinguishing mere gray shadows out of the organisms and plants within their path. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for the girl to be seeing things farther than ten feet in front of her. She was human, after all.

“How much farther?” The woman asked, stopping to pluck a large, white flower out of the ground. It was drooped down towards the earth, and looked rather dry despite its grizzled petals.

“I don't have a damn clue, miss. We could be fifteen minutes from there, or we could be fifty.” Ballad replied, turning around to look at the teenager. He didn't bother taking a look at the flower she had delicately snatched from its roots.

She sighed, slowly sliding the stem through the straight, gold locks of her hair, placing it next to her right ear. She giggled, saying “How do I look?” as she adjusted her position a bit, allowing the man a chance to observe it.

He didn't need very long. “You should probably get a better looking flower.”

“Hmmph...” The lady replied, thwacking the bloom out of her curls, “Should we stop? Make camp?”

The winter soldier brought his arms up to his chest, crossing them as glared at her. “Listen, miss, we don't hav-”

“It's Immy. Call me Immy.” She interrupted, which seemed to throw the green gunsmith through a loop. He paused for a few moments before speaking again.

“Ok...ay. Listen, uh... Immy, we don't have time for that. I'd much rather get out of here now than risk camping out and being found again.”

“You said yourself that they aren't going to come after us for a while. We have time, don't we? At least for a few hours?”

Ballad closed his eyes, running the question through his head. His mind went through to numbers, rain, distance, and fog. Eventually, he reopened them before saying a half-heartened “Alright... but only for a few hours. No later.”

-------------------------------

Roughly ten minutes later

They had finally managed to finish the campsite, which was a pretty good achievement in and of itself, considering they lacked an open space. All they really did was look around, picked a tree they both liked, and used some quick Omnillium summoning and improvisation to make it. It composed of a red and white striped carpet that was big enough for both Immy and Ballad to sit on, which was covered by a long, green wrap suspended above them with a stick shoved into the ground. The towel was also connected to a low hanging branch, concealing them from above. The carpet was scratchy, but otherwise comfortable, and the sharpshooter was trying his best to get some rest.

He had his hands behind his back in a criss-cross position; his eyes were closed and he was silent. The lady, however, was different. She rocked back and forth impatiently, her arms around her knees as she shivered. Even her fur coat wasn't enough to keep the cool air from seeping into her skin and chilling her to the bone.

“Say, uh.... what was your name again?” She said, glancing towards her temporary partner.

The man opened his right eye, looking towards the girl. His eye glimmered yellow as he said “Ballad. I didn't pick it.”

“Ballad... nice name.”

“Mmhmm..” the man replied, going back to resting.

Immy sighed, leaning against the bark of the tree. “Which village are you taking me to, Ballad?”

“I don't know. The first one I went to.”

“The Unnamed Village?”

“Yeah, the-” He was about to say before spreading out his eyes, staring at the girl.

“The Unnamed Village. It was made a few years ago by some people by orders of King Aragorn. He wanted it to be the best village visitors ever saw, and brought it close to this forest to do that.”

“Why doesn't it have a name?”

“I dunno.... I never found out.”

“What do you mean?”

Immy looked briefly down towards the carpet, her left hand sliding down towards the fabric. She gripped the crimson-snow rug, hesitating a bit before speaking some more.

“I, uh.... I was born there, you know? My parents owned a general store. Sold a lot of goods. From food to accessories to a whole manner of other stuff. My dad worked the counter while my mom did outside dealings like advertisement. I did my own thing, but I always wanted to help out, you know? Dad never let me, though. Said I was too young.”

“How old were you?” Ballad said, unexpectedly curious.

“Eight. I was a silly kid.”

“Still a silly kid, apparently..” The pickaxemen muttered.

“Hmm?” Immy said, her fist loosening.

“Nothing. Continue.”

“Well... me being a silly kid, I'd do anything for my family, you know? I mean, who wouldn't? It's family. I wanted to impress them, right? I wanted to impress my daddy...”

Immy started to sniffle, bringing her left hand up to her nose. Ballad's eyes seemed to dim a bit as he watched her wipe it before proceeding.

“So... one night.. can't remember which...” She spoke, her voice cracking as a single tear started to form on her right eye, “I guess I was trying so hard to hear their approval. To let me help them, you know? So... when the knocks on the door started after the last customer left, I ignored my father. I went and opened the door and.... and....”

“And?”

“And they came in.... they robbed the place...killed mom and dad... they left me alive... told me to run.. run away... or else they'd kill me too...”

“All this.... at eight?” The gunner said, his tone disconcertingly quiet.

“The only thing keeping me going was them.” She whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “I hoped that they weren't dead. Just hurt, you know? They'd come back.... they had to. I didn't want to be alone, you know? I would see them again... I would see mommy and daddy again. I'd-... I'd..”

She didn't keep going. Instead, she brought her hands to her face, bawling into them. The gunsmith had since moved his hands off of the back of his head, motionless. He at first reached forward, as if to hug her before quickly bringing his arms back. Her paws obstructed her view as the gunner stood up and walked off without a word, though the glow in his eyes never reignited.

[Corporal Light]

It helped that the fog never disappeared.

Ballad had walked for a good five minutes, head down and gloved hands within his pockets. He had gone down the dirt path they were traveling through, following the sizable footprints he had plastered into the ground. Her cries grew fainter and fainter as the distance between the two increased, until even the soldier’s extra-sensory ears could not detect her despair, just as it should be.

He had stopped in the middle of an open field of sugary-white flowers. Their petals were moist, and they were blooming. They enjoyed the rain, as it brought life. It was once said that to willingly allow oneself to be caught in a rainstorm “purifies” one from their sins. From their past. They could be reborn as a new man. This was a common belief held by most, if not all religions, even if water wasn't necessarily the purifier.

The green man did not feel cleansed.

If anything, he felt like he had two voices inside his head. Each one with a contrasting idea on what he was supposed to be doing. One would cry for him to keep moving, the other would cry for him to turn back A disembodied shout to kill followed by a radiant saint urging him to make peace. Both fought within the battlefield of his consciousness, trying to see which one could prevail. Even here, in a world where he was immortal, could slaughter countless people if he found the effort to try, and the ability to cheat time to generate innumerable objects, food, and drink. Even here, conflict found its way to his doorstep. Like an old friend who believes that they had grown apart. And no matter how many times he would shut the door and tell it to go away, it would stubbornly return until he acknowledged its presence. It was a cycle that never ended.

The gunsmith looked up towards the sky, green leaves floating gently down towards him like snow.

Snow...

Then, without warning, he was home again.


His hand was clenched tightly around the rusty door handle, pulling it towards him. Thick, white snow blew into his metal abode. Not like it mattered, as the cracks in the roof had just enough room for the weather to take its toll on the inside. But Ballad did not mind. After an entire lifetime in the land of eternal winter, one learned how to deal with the elements to the best of their ability, and compromises were constantly made as a result of that. The gunsmith took a few moments observing the pellets as they flew into his home. They were too numerous for anyone to count, and they twisted and twirled as if they were performing some odd ribbon ballet. A delicate display of elemental beauty that one could always benefit from viewing, if only to practice for more important matters like building fires or constructing barriers or listening to the three people standing outside your door screaming for your attention.

“Oh, sorry...” Ballad said, his voice bewildered yet otherwise polite, “Was just... taking a moment to admire the world, you know?”

The trio were clad in black, winter clothing made of scratchy leather that felt wet from the snow whenever one would touch it. They stood in an arrowhead fashion, with one man standing ahead of the other two, who stood horizontally. The figures that formed the sides of the arrow carried large, brown rucksacks on their backs that were filled to the brim with supplies. Glass jars hanged on the left side of the sack, while what appeared to be pans and small baggies were suspended on its right. The left figure had his right hand grasping the strap of his bag, while the one of the right held his hands together. The figure that composed the tip of the arrowhead had a colorless scarf wrapped around his neck, similar to Ballad's own red one. Unlike the others, however, his trapper hat (also looking like the gunsmith's) had a bronze skull-and-bones emblem embedded in the middle. As the inventor looked from head to toe, he saw the man holding a piece of parchment in his hand. It was also at that moment did he notice that all of their eyes had dimmed; a peculiar sight that not many of his kind used unless something very, very bad had occurred.

“We understand, Ballad. At times like this, the most we can do is appreciate what little beauty there is left.” The paper-man replied, his voice disconcertingly solemn even as he seemed to be doing his best to sound cheerful.

“Especially with the war going on. Has it gotten any better?” The weapons maker said, his tone growing more apprehensive. He shifted his weight to his right, closing the door just a tiny bit. His grip lessened as he awaited the news.

“I'm afraid it hasn't, my friend. If anything, it's only gotten worse. Frozen Over's a war zone. It was damn near impossible getting out.”

“I can't imagine how perilous that must have been, brave soul. Why risk your lives to meet me all the way out here?”

“We... needed to bring this to you, Ballad.” He replied, not even trying to hide his sadness as he brought the parchment forward, “We thought it was important.”

The green man slowly drew his right hand forward, slipping the item between two of his protected fingers. He twisted it around, sliding both of his hands to the sides as he read through the lines written by ink. As he reached the end, he stopped, staring at the two words plastered at the bottom and circled with what looked red crayon.

LOVESONG. DAUGHTER OF POET.: DECEASED
SONGWRITER. SON OF AUTHOR.: DECEASED

The gunsmiths eyes dimmed, closing them as he felt his throat lock up and his eyebrows lifted. The blackened words rang through his mind like one of his father's anti-candlelight hymns. Like lyrics by his mother attacking the Wicker Men. He could envision how they had ended. An argument, or maybe not an argument given their views. They had probably taken a knife or maybe a gun (most certainly a gun) and killed each other with it. All because of some war. All because of two sides who hated each others guts for the wrong reasons. All because of some... of some dipshit homicidal fucking maniac who started this entire thing. It was all his fault. His weapon wreaked havoc on everyone else, and all for some false sense of self-righteousness. An excuse to slaughter people. And look what he had done. He sparked a fucking WAR, and he had no idea if it was going to end or what was going to happen to everyone else around him or whether his kind would actually be ERADICATED through GENOCIDE and he DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW. His mind went in circles, pointing fingers at the wicker men, pointing fingers at the church, pointing fingers at the man who destroyed the church.

Pointing fingers at the- at the-

No.... no it can't be. It can't be that. It just can't be.

But it could've. And the thought caused the glow to emerge.

An ancient text describing the anatomy of his kind talked about the almost mythological glow. It was a rare occurrence, far rarer than the dim, which was also extensively covered. The very few times they had, however, all had the same emotion tied to it even if the cause was different. To sum it up in a sentence, the author wrote the following as a means to describe the glow.

God help who/what/ever causes the glow.

The gunner's fingers clenched the list, almost tearing thumb-sized holes through it as he trembled. The coroner and his cronies immediately backed off, stunned at what was happening in front of them. Only the leader was brave enough to ask if something was wrong.

Ballad opened his eyes, raising his head to stare at the trio. His eyes were glowing yellow, visible from any distance. Their maws gaped in surprise as his eyebrows worked their way into a completely immovable frown. He spoke deeply, precisely, and with a cold as ice manner.

“Leave....now.”

“Ba-Ballad, please, calm down! I understand how you feel, but this isn't the-”

“Then you can help by leaving immediately, asshole.”

“Ballad, we have nowhere to go! We can't just go back!”

“I don't care.”

“Ballad, please!”

“Leave.”

“You can't do-”

The sharpshooter brought his right hand to his leather holster, pulling out his revolver. He jammed it into the forehead of the leader, cutting his sentence off completely. His index finger was dangerously close to pulling the trigger, which caused the guards to take a few steps backwards. Ballad's breath was slow, yet clearly ragged. He stared hatefully at the list-maker, his next words no longer quiet. Instead, they were the makings of pure, sudden rage.

“I can DO whatever the FUCK I want, you fucking idiot! Now do as I say NOW or ALL of you are going to be the NEXT three lucky bastards on this FUCKING LIST.”

[Corporal Light]

Rainbows molded itself around the slits of his gloved fingertips, weaving an unusual pattern of color to form a shape. A square, to be exact. Just a normal square. About as long as a letter and around as large. But slowly, intricate details painted on the glowing, physics defying object. First a brown, wooden frame, than a face. Then two.

Finally, after around three minutes, the summoning was complete. The green man looked down from the sky towards his hand, having to blink at least once or twice. It was a practically flawless recreation of a photo. It was black and white, but that did nothing to hide the three people frozen within. Two were tall, and both had their hands on a child standing in front of them. One was just behind the kid, and seemed to be effeminate in nature. Her left hand was tenderly rubbing the top of the child's head, while the other, more masculine looking figure, had his right arm around her. All of their faces were covered in scarves, and they all wore leather coats and gloves to match. Only the child was wearing a hat. The hat itself seemed to be a beanie that was far too big for his tiny, circular skull, which overlapped his eyes and nose. Although the scarves themselves prevented such a detail from being confirmed, Ballad could swear they were all smiling just from the way they stood and their eagerness to look at the camera.

And their eyes. They were all normal. They looked.. peaceful, uncaring, maybe even unconcerned. About the weather. About other people. About the world. Nothing afflicted them.

Just as it should be...

The green gunner's left index finger slipped up and over the photo, sliding it down to the face of the little one and covering it up. His digits started to tighten together, crunching the paper up. The paper bent in two separate directions as Ballad closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He brought his front teeth to his bottom lip, biting into it. He started shaking his head, refusing to look at the picture. A thought encroached within the inner workings of his brain. An insect gnawing at him, an irresistible urge filling the back of his mind. His hand started to shake, his fingers clamping shut before becoming loose, alternating back and forth. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he brought his hands to opposite sides of the photograph, pulling on both ends of it. A stream of incomprehensible growls started shooting out of his mouth as the edges of the image began to tear at the seams.

“Ballad?” A female voice squeaked from a few feet behind him.

His grip eased as his eyes opened wide, looking past his shoulder. It was Immy. Her face still had tears streaming down it. It could've been the rain, however, as the wind around Ballad had shifted, causing the branches above to move and give the flowers beneath him their life liquid. Her right hand was grasping the side of one of these trees, almost leaning on it as she looked at him. She looked confused, judging from the blank stare she was giving him.

“Yeah....?” He replied, looking away from the girl. He closed his eyes again, not even bothering to look back.

------------------

Immy's pale-white hand were somewhat caked in the dust of bark from how hard she was clawing into the tree. The soldier's hands were together, and he had been staring up into space. For a while, she had been simply observing in a passive state, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was he was doing. But as soon as he summoned the parchment and witnessed what was on it, her curiosity got the better of her.

She had asked, but she could tell something was wrong. He hadn't acted like this at all since they met. A vast array of questions zoomed into her mind, stopping for a split second before zipping past for the next.

Is he alright? Does he do this often? Why IS he doing it? Why now? Was it something I said? Should I feel-

She looked down towards the ground, staring towards the snow-white plants in the ground. She switched between looking at the flowers, to looking at the gunsmith. Back again, back again, back again. Eventually, she took a deep breath and stepped forward, planting her foot onto a single flower in a not-so-delicate manner. She paused, realizing what she just did, before sneaking forward some more, this time doing her best not to harm the field any further.

----------------

He heard her pretty easily. He knew she was coming. He kept his eyes closed, hoping against hope she'd just go back and keep staring at him. His chest felt tight as his teeth ground against each other behind his crimson scarf, pulling the photograph to his chest.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, the ovals glowing, before whirling around. His right hand was raised, clenched into a fist, prepared to swing. He was frowning, and his left hand, which held the photo, was close to his chest as if he was comforting a baby.

He did not expect the hug.

For someone as relatively skinny as the girl was, she amassed a loud “oof” from the green man as she crashed into him, her arms wrapping around his torso. Her left slid upwards until the tips of her fingers barely touched the start of his neck, while the right remained stationary around his chest. Her head rested itself against his bosom, looking towards the object buried there before staring up towards Ballad's face, now seeming to be completely shocked.

She lifted her head up from his chest, keeping her eyes on Ballad. Tears started to reappear on her cheeks as she said “C-Can you.. at least tell me?”

At first, all that Ballad could really try to say was unintelligible muttering, all while his eyes were as wide as dinner plates as he stared at the mountain-climber like she had just proposed to him. It took a few moments for him to even comprehend what was being asked of him, which he quickly found an answer for.

“It ain't... nobody, kid. It ain't nobody....”

“Y-You can tell me... you don't need to be a meanie... there's no harm in telling me..” She whispered back, placing her cheek near his right shoulder, her eyes occasionally glancing up to meet his own.

“I-..I-I don't...” Ballad began to say, only to sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Parents... just... parents..”

“They're dead, aren't they?”

“...Yeah...”

Immy closed her eyes, saying “It's okay... I know what it's like... and I know it's... not easy. But it's okay... it's always been okay.... it'll always be okay...”

The green man peered into the distance, not even capable of finding words to speak. He glanced down towards the woman burying herself into him, his fist loosening in an increasingly sluggish manner. His fist morphed into a straight palm, his grip on the photo weakening.

“Listen, kid, I'm alright. This ain't stuff that I try to think about, anyway, so it's not something to worry your little head about.” He said, seeing it had no effect on her. He then tried something more typical.
“Kid, seriously, I'm in no mood for this. Don't make me make me backhand you so hard your teeth fly out.” He growls, putting as much heft as he could into the threat. Immy flinched, but was resolute in what she was doing.

“Kid, really, stop... it ain't needed.. none of this is needed.. I'm fine.... i'm fine... i-i'm...”

A loud sniffle shot out from underneath his leather bandanna, followed by his throat locking up. He continued trying to talk, to ease the pain in his chest. All it did was make it hurt more, which certainly wasn't being helped by the girl squeezing him as hard as she was. He slowly slid his left hand from his chest, lifting it over the girl's body, slowly letting go of the photo, letting it flutter to the ground. Letting go entirely.

He closed his eyes, raindrops sliding down his bumpy skin as he placed his left hand on top of Immy's head, slithering his right hand around her back to bring her closer. Nothing else seemed to make more sense than to cry, with his face hanging out behind Immy's head, drops falling down onto the flowers. Some of them seemed to bend down, as if wilting, as the duo stood, locked in an embrace, caring not for anything else.

[Corporal Light]

Roughly twenty minutes later

It was still pouring by the time they made it back to camp.

The thunderstorm was still going strong, battering the forest and the inhabitants within it with unrelenting drops of rain. Both of them were surprised the camp hadn't flooded when they got back to it and went within it. They had taken a long time to get over there, though it wasn't due to the mud. Both of them had been walking slowly, not feeling the need or want to move faster than a typical snail's pace. But Ballad didn't mind that.

Hell, he didn't mind... anything at that moment, really. He didn't mind the fact that Immy was tugging on his right arm when she led the way forward, something he also didn't mind. Didn't mind the fact that she had also taken the picture and placed it near her breast (her excuse, evidently, was that she wanted to keep it “close to her heart.” He thought that was overly sentimental.) For what felt like ages, he couldn't help but feel.... better. Maybe not happy, but he felt better than he had been for a while. Like a weight had been lifted off of his chest or something similar to that.

He had been thinking about that while he was sitting down on the carpet they had laid out on the ground within the camp. His arms were crossed against his chest, resting his head against the tree behind him. His eyes drooped as he began taking deep breathes, taking a single glance to his right to see Immy laying her head on his shoulder, smiling. He let out a soft chuckle before looking up towards the sky, though it was blocked off by the wrap. It was flapping back and forth as the wind blew through the camp, rain dripping onto the duo. Instead, he smiled under his scarf, allowing himself a moment to observe the area around him. Take in the peace while it lasted.

“Oh...” the hiker groaned, her smile disappearing as she lifted her face off of the green man's shoulder. She leaned back against the tree, placing her hands behind her head.

“Hm?” the gunsmith replied, cocking an eyebrow as the woman moved away from him.

“Nothing, just.... was thinking about the bandits..”

“Ah, they're nothing. Been only minor trouble since they started hounding me.”

“No, it's not that. It's just... I think I know who they are.”

The gunner frowned, leaning off of the tree. He placed his right knee on the fabric beneath him, sliding his hands on top of his knee as he stared at the mountain-climber. His eyes were dim, and despite his glare, he did not appear to be angry.

“The bandits? Who are they?” He questioned, trying his best not to sound like he was pressuring her too hard.

“I... I might be wrong, so don't judge me if I'm wrong, but I think they are the... Disciples of Camelot?”

“Disciples of...Camelot..” He repeated, perplexed.

“Yeah. They're a bandit group that started out small, but I think it's been just recently that they've started actively hunting people like you. I don't know too much about them, but I have heard stuff about them. Rumors from villages, you know? They've said they've taken to.. hunting and banishing primes that have bounties on them.”

“Shit...” he muttered to himself, looking down towards the ground. “Yeah, uh... about that..”

“No need. I... kinda figured that out once I recognized them.”

“Oh... alright..”

“Anyways... they banish primes to collect their bounties. I'm not exactly sure what they do about them, but I heard that they then use the Omnillium they get to hire new members and get new weapons.”

“Why are they called the 'Disciples of Camelot?'”

“They say that they then pawn the remaining Omnillium off to the Camelot military as donations. Doesn't seem... very likely, though.” She replied, reaching up to her hair to twirl her finger around the wet curls.

“Hmm..” The gunner replied, his ears perking a bit as he notices a new detail; the rain had stopped during their conversation, with only the aroma of lakes and sea hanging in the air to signify the storm's absence.

“Well...” Ballad said, pushing down onto his knee before turning around, proceeding to walk out of the area covered by the green cloth, “Looks like the rain's stopped. Seems to be a good time as any to start moving again. Once I drop you off at the village, I'll leave this place.”

“I wish it was that easy...” Immy whispered to herself, solemnly looking down towards the ground as she crawled out of the campsite.

“What do you mean?” he replied, causing the lady to flinch in surprise. He stared at her, giving her time to compose an answer.

“I've... also heard they have a tendency to be... relentless. Like, REALLY relentless. The fact they stopped hunting you is probably for a good reason.”

“Which means...”

“Once their numbers are back up, they'll keep hunting you. They won't ever stop... they didn't with mom and dad...” She said, bringing her hand up to her eyes to wipe away a tear.

Ballad blinked once, then twice. He let in a deep breath, moving his arms to his sides before looking down towards the ground. He slid his hands up to his hips, poking his elbows out as he strutted a bit forward, moving next to the tree they had set camp near. His eyes closed as he leaned forward a bit, reopening them to stare at the ground. It was one of the white flowers again, only this time it was almost certainly dead or dying. It looked dry, and its petals were clamped together as it bent forward towards the ground. It was right underneath the gigantic tree. The selfish, bastard tree had stole all its water. Prevented it from living.

Just then, an idea ignited in the back of his mind. An idea he displayed vocally and immediately.

“Then I'll make them stop.” He said, whirling around to meet Immy again. Her eyes had widened in surprise as she noticed the glow in his eyes reignite. She started stuttering as she spoke.

“I-I.. what?”

“I said, I'll make them stop.” He repeated, glaring at her in the hopes that she'd get his point.

“You.. you're not saying that-”

“Immy, it's the only chance I got. You said it yourself. They stopped hunting me, for now, for a reason. My guess is their numbers are much lower since the beginning of this nonsense. So, the only logical step forward is to slam it in. Put the final nail in the coffin of those crazy bastards, once and for all.”

His tone was dead serious and cold as his stance grew tall and brutish. He penetrated the small girl in front of him with his bisque ovals, who at that point could do nothing but remain frozen in place. Eventually, the glow dissipated, which gave her enough courage to speak.

“I...I don't know... what to-”

“Don't need to. I just need to find a place where I can ambush them. A place where I'll be at a constant advantage..” He said, pacing back and forth between the tree and a tree a few feet away. He began speaking about the need for a height advantage, maybe a barrier. Yes, a barrier was needed. Most definitely flammable substances.

“Uh, excuse me... Ballad?” Immy interrupted, her index finger bent towards the sky.

“What?”

“I.... I think I know of a place.. like that.”

“.......Show me.”

[Corporal Light]

Roughly one hour later

“We getting close?”

“Should be. It's just over this hill.”

“Got it...” Ballad replied, bringing his arms forwards and backwards as they trudged up the green hill. They had exited the forest some time previously, and had since been traversing long, flat landscapes and the occasional hillside. Immy was leading the way forward, her feet gliding up the hill as she ran forward, filled to the brim with energy. The sun shone down the valley, the grass sparkling as the sun's rays reflected off the dew formed by the rain. Also did a good job of drying off the duo's clothing as well, as Immy's short hair was no longer matted down onto her face. Instead, it was spiked up towards the back, with the front split to both sides of her head. Meanwhile, the gunner himself did not feel very wet, mostly thanks to his overcoat, though his face felt unnaturally damp as he wiped some moisture off of it. He continued to walk forward, eventually reaching the top of the hill.

“Here it is... want to walk up to it? Get a closer look?”

Ballad squinted, the sunlight shining into his eyes, preventing a good look. “That might be preferable.” He replied as they ran down the hill, with the girl making some odd, reverberating noise which captured a laugh from the gunsmith. His boots caught themselves against the ground as he slowed down to a walk at the bottom of the hill, no longer afflicted by the sunlight. The two of them walk forward, gazing at the village in front of them.

It did not look like a village. It looked like a fortress.

It was composed of around seven buildings, all of which were around the same height and had hay for their roofs. From around twenty feet away, the stronghold appeared to be massive, easily bigger than any normal village. What was perhaps most impressive, however, was the wall around it. It was large, with tall, pointy wooden sticks that prevented anyone from just climbing over it. In front of him was a metal gate around forty feet wide and more than fifteen feet tall. The gate had an innumerable number of small, square holes all over it that provided a short glance inside, though not enough to give Ballad any reliable details of the buildings inside. It had two chains connected to the ground via spikes from the outside, which apparently served as a way to pull it down. The soldier smiled behind his red scarf, looking towards Immy, who had moved behind him as if to allow him a full view of it. He brought his arms up to his chest, nodding appreciatively.

“This... this'll do.”

“You like it?” Immy said, giggling a bit.

“Yes I do. Only question though... how do I get in?” He asked, somewhat confused. He didn't see any outside lever (which was to be expected for a gate like this.) nor a real way inside. What he did see, however, was some shadows on the other side of the gate. Several normal sized ones, but one that was huge. It towered over the others, and appeared to be the size of a wrecking ball. They were moving forward towards the gate from the inside of the fort. The gunner frowned, starting to back up, only to run into the girl behind him. He was about to tell her to watch what she was doing when he glanced down towards his throat, the glint of light shining off the small, metal ice-pick jammed near his throat. He suddenly felt his right hand get forced behind him, yelping in shock as he heard an almost completely different voice erupt behind him. It was no longer cute, or naive, or even energetic. It was slow, it was cold, and it had a hint of arrogance to it.

“Don't worry, Ballad. We have that taken care of for you...” Immy responded, smiling as the gate started to lower.

---------------

The gate slammed into the ground with a thunderous slam, followed by the loud clanging of boots on wood as the shadows marched forward in a long battle line. As they walked into the sunlight, their features became ever more apparent. The line consisted of around seven assailants, most dressed in traditionally peasant-like garb with varying colors. It was the one in the middle of them all that stood out. He was gigantic, if not thanks to the bulging muscles on his arms and chest, which was bare for him to see. His face was covered by what looked to be a gas mask that stabbed itself into his face, while his eyes were small yet green. His head was spiked into a black mohawk, giving him the appearance, to Ballad anyway, of a dumb brute. This was certainly helped by the fact that his hands were covered in what appeared to be metal boxing gloves, which was confirmed when the man slammed them together, roaring like a bear that tore through the area around them just as easily as the clanging of metal did.

“BALLAD!” He shouted menacingly, which sent a chill down his spine. He then remembered the fact that he was basically being held as a hostage by the one person whom had been helping him this entire time, and he went into shock again. He took in a deep breath, speaking softly and in complete disbelief.

“What are you doing, Immy?! These are the same guys who are trying to kill me!”

“Why the heck do you think I've put up with you this long, Ballad? Hmm?” She replied, cocking an eyebrow in his direction.

The sharpshooter's frown returned, his eyes glow disappearing as he meekly replied “You mean...”

“It should've been obvious, greenie. Why else would I have known you were at the Unknown Village? Given your VASTLY superior intelligence, you should've figured that out.” She jeered, her words tainted with sarcasm that the gunner couldn't believe could've come from a teenager like this.

And dammit, she was right. How had he not picked that up? And now that he thought about it, her running into him back at the cave didn't seem like an accident. And maybe those bandits actually didn't find him by themselves.

Maybe they had waited.

He had to see how deep this rabbit hole went. It just wasn't possible he had been played the fool this entire time. He turned his head to his right, glaring devilishly at her as he spoke again.

“So... all that.. all that crap you said to me was a LIE?” He almost raised his voice to a shout, but all he needed was the cold feeling of metal touching his adams apple to remind him of his predicament.

“Why should I tell you anything? I'm the one with the power, therefore I'm the one who asks questions.”

The gunman's left fist clenched, grinding his teeth together as he tried his best to keep his cool.

“Because my last request is to know why the fuck the person who has my family photo on her chest is the same one who has a weapon to my throat!” He explained, his tone exasperated, and he almost growled.

Immy scoffed, closing her eyes for a split second as she shrugged, reopening them to explain herself. “First off, no. Not everything I said was a lie, Ballad. All the parts about the bandits were true. Everything else? All fake. Like this photo of yours.” She gestured towards her breast, where the photograph had been clipped into her fur coat.

The last sentence caused the gunsmith to pause, stunned at what had been said. This was quickly replaced with anger, glaring murderously at the traitor behind him as the battle line started to move towards them.

“What?” He said, his eyes starting to glow a bit.

“You had me fooled for a second, greenie, but I'm an actor myself. Do you expect me to believe that you were born into a loving, caring family like that? Really? Would a loving mom and dad EVER raise someone like you? A COLD-BLOODED MURDERER?!” She shouted, her face burning bright red as she glowered at him.

“So yes, I'm with the bandits. But honestly, after seeing the things YOU'VE DONE?! We aren't the bad guys here, prime. We only hunt the bad people. The ones who get themselves into these situations, and even then the vast majority of them were only in it because they didn't understand what exactly they were doing. But YOU? All you've seemed to do since you got here was KILL PEOPLE!”

“It was just-”

“There is NO EXCUSE, Ballad. Those stormtroopers back at the Nexus? What did they do, huh? What about La'Seer? Why did you start yelling at him? All they did was ask you questions!”

“Why should I ge-”

“And let's not forget one more thing, killer. All those civilians back at the village? Those dozen men, women, and CHILDREN that got torn to pieces? Who's fault is that?”

“It isn't-”

“YES IT IS! Face it, Ballad! YOU tossed that bomb. YOU killed those people, along with everybody else! EVERY DEATH YOU'VE HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IS YOUR FAULT!”

Immy took in a large breath, her rant over. She noticed Ballad was shaking, and his head was looking down towards the ground. His left arm was still down near his side, and his was as a silent as a statue. By that time, Moe and his men were just seven feet away from the two, and they too had noticed that their quarry was acting strangely. Moe held his hands out, keeping them from drawing any closer.

“So just face facts, Ballad. If you hadn't come here; if you hadn't killed those people, MANY others would still be alive! If it wasn't because of YOU, so many families wouldn't be torn apart, crying for their lost family members.”

“But now it's over, Ballad. You might as well just accept it. Just accept the inevitable, and stop being a cowar-”

The pickaxeman's left hand shot up towards the edge of her ice pick, ripping it straight out of her hands. Before she could even let out a shout of surprise, he swung around, stabbing the end of it into her chest, right where the photo was. It covered up the head of the child on the photograph as blood oozed out of the wound. Immy's eyes bulged out of her sockets, letting out a gasp as her grip on the gunner started to weaken. She peered up at him, seeing his bisque eyes glowing almost as bright as the sun itself, but within the middle were pin-prick size black dots. His pupils, staring barbarically into her.

“I did not kill them...” He whispered, letting go of the ice pick before pushing the now dead girl forward. She landed on the ground with a thud, the photo covered in crimson liquid gushing from her wound. The man whirled around, reaching for his pickaxe as the people around him started to pause. What followed next could've been nothing short of a chaotic skirmish; it all started with just one sentence.

“I DID NOT KILL THEM!”

-----------------

Those words rang out around the vale, briefly stunning the attackers surrounding him. He was outnumbered, but he no longer gave a shit. The nagging insect in his head had won over. The one thing he had to do was just kill. Kill everyone.

He charged forward, recklessly slamming himself into the half-circle line that had formed. He swung his pickaxe in a deadly arc, catching one man in the head, cracking his skull. He quickly whirled around, jamming the sharp end of his weapon into another patrician's chest. His screams were long and loud as blood squirted out, flowing faster once Ballad pulled his weapon out, holding it ready to face the others.

By that point, the five remaining bandits had gotten out of their state of surprise and were charging him, with the big brute leading it. He quickly slammed his weapon in an overhead, catching the big guy in the back, though not before he barreled straight into him. They both landed onto the ground, Moe lifting his hands up into the air and bringing it down onto the green man's face. The giant metal gloves pounded into his skull, instantly knocking out some teeth within his mouth. Ballad roared as he lifted his left arm, popping out his single shot, before squeezing the trigger. Smoke exhaled out the barrel as Moe went flying off of him, landing flat on his back.

Ballad lifted himself up onto the ground, pulling out his revolver as a trio of bandits closed in on him. Swords and axes hanged high in the air as the gunner pulled back the hammer of his gun, firing into the trio. As one fell, he shot twice more, causing yelps of pain as his bullets lodged themselves into various vital parts of their bodies.

“Fucking bandits! This is what you're ALL GONNA GET, you hear me?! ALL OF YOU!” He screamed as he turned towards Moe, who had just started to get up. He was charging back at him, his arms outstretched to his side as if he was a trying to bear hug him.

“KILLER! FIEND! I'LL KILL YOU!” He bellowed, descending upon him.

The gunsmith quickly adjusted his aim, firing thrice towards the behemoth. Each bullet crashed into his torso, causing Moe to scream in pain as he fell forward, just short of touching his target.

Ballad let in short, ragged breathes as he whirled to his right, sliding six bullets into the chamber of his gun before pointing it at the remaining army in front of him. He began to taunt them; to everyone around him, he sounded like he had officially lost his mind. Without any doubt in the world.

"Come on, you fuckers! You ain't hurting nobody no more! I won't allow it! I won't allow any more fucking crazy people to-”

He felt his legs crumble beneath him as a metal fist smashed into his knees, sending him toppling forward. Before he could so much as lift a finger, his back was in intense pain. He yelled out in agony as he heard a voice ring through his ears.

“YOU THINK I DIE SO EASILY, EXECUTIONER?” He shrieked, stomping down onto his target's head several times.

For what felt like ages, Ballads entire body felt like it was being picked apart by vultures. Like they were all gnawing at his innards and bones and every wound he had suffered reopened and started cracking BONE. He could do nothing but take it as his eyesight started to fade away. As his jaw seemed to almost snap completely off of him. As his left arm went limp and sent an earth-shattering scream out from within him. It was the only thing he could feel before his vision started to go completely dark.

All he saw next was a black, metal boot. It was too small to belong to a brute.

[Corporal Light]

Everything was blurry. He was on his stomach, and his eyes were slowly opening. It took more than several minutes before he could even find the strength to turn his head and open his eyes fully. He noticed... green. No, not green. A light shade of brown. On the walls, on the ground, and on the floor. He looked to his right, seeing a single, long bed set up next to a set of black bars. Next to it was a white toilet set up near the brown walls, which the soldier was starting to suspect was painted, as it also appeared to be made of cave stone.

Ballad brought his head to his left, flinching a bit upon noticing the body a few feet away. He was particularly stout, but he could not see what he looked like as his head was turned away from him. He did not hear him breathing either, yet he did not look as if he was killed. In fact, he didn't have any outward injuries at all. He looked just as well as he ever had, or as well as a deceased man could look like.

"Fuck... what the fuck happened.." The soldier muttered to himself, gritting his teeth behind his crimson scarf as he planted his right hand onto the ground. He felt his lips cut across something jagged within his scarf. Teeth... he thought to himself as his arm started to wobble, pushing his right side up above the ground, followed by his left. His left, however, refused to move, instead sending a shockwave of pain through his limb. He screamed, flopping back down onto the ground. He glanced down his left, staring at his completely straight limb. His elbow was locked in place, jutted out slightly from where it normally was. His shoulder was the same way. Each minute movement he made regarding either part resulted in a deep, intense burn bursting through his limb, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't possibly move them.

He was no doctor, but it was obvious whatever that... THING was had fucked him up bad. Was his arm broken? It might've been. He had heard that one way of knowing that your arm was broken was when your arm felt like it had been crushed by large blocks of ice. Or if someone smacked the area in question with a large hammer. Regardless of where or how, the best option was just not to move it. He didn't want to stand such agonizing torment if he could get away with it.

However, he was in a predicament. He was obviously in a jail cell, his arm was potentially broken, and he was fairly certain he had no weapons. His head hurt, bruised to all hell from the merciless beating the giant had given him, which disrupted whatever concentration he could've had. He couldn't think, and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to form a coherent plan of escape.

This was something he could not resolve in the ways he always had, and that made him shudder and squirm on the ground.

"I hope you don't mind sharing a cell with your... friend, Ballad." A familiar voice said, stepping from the other side of the room.

The gunsmith bent his right elbow, leaning onto it as he peered towards his left. Agern stepped from the entrance of the jail room and started walking towards him. Ballad noticed that his voice no longer held a sense of confidence. Instead, his lips were pursed in an unfavorable manner, and his eyebrows were bent downwards diagonally with his forehead creased. As he moved towards the door of the cell, his eyes started moving around, never directly looking at his quarry.

"Thanks." Ballad growled, his right hand clenching. The black knight knelt down onto his knee, frowning a bit as he looked in the general direction of the prisoner.

"Be glad you're even in here, gre- my friend. I had to literally drag Moe off of you so he didn't literally beat you to death. Have you seen a bear before, Ballad?"

The green man instinctively shrugged, causing him to jolt as aches shot up his shoulder. He quietly said "No.." as his right arm started wobbling.

Agern sighed, setting his left hand on his bent knee. "Most female bears have a deep connection to their kin. So much so that even getting close to them is a death sentence in and of itself, much less charging at them and killing them. Some primal urge kicks in that forces the mother to go on a rampage, and god help you if you're around when that happens."

"Let me guess... I pissed off mom, so I got the claws as a result?"

"Again, you should be thankful. The behemoth was half-crying by the time we calmed him down, and he protested A LOT. So please, be a little bit helpful and try to prove to me you can at least be a good prisoner without screwing things up for everyone, will you?"

The green gunner set the top of his head on the ground, letting his arm collapse back onto the wooden ground. He clenched his eyes shut, taking in long, deep breathes. Every part of his body felt drained, and he could hardly move anything. His left arm was so battered that it took every bit of power remaining to keep it from overloading his senses. Eventually, just as Agern started to leave, he said one word.

"Why?"

The leader looked back over his shoulder just as he got to the adjacent cell, responding with "Because after everything you have done, I at least deserve a day of rest. A day where I don't have to worry about you." in a callous tone of voice.

"Not that... I mean why? Why... why hunt me? Of all the people you could've hunted, you chose me. Why?"

Rublek closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He slid his hands behind his back, curling his fingers together before moving back towards Ballad's cage-like room. He opened his mouth again, speaking in a quiet, albeit stern tone of voice.

"Because, of all the targets we could've chosen, you set yourself up as the most rewarding one for Camelot. We saw the video of you yelling at La'Seer, which is fine. I understand if you don't want to help the war effort. I find that rather silly and unpatriotic in every way, but it's something I can make sense of. What DIDN'T make sense, and thus was... hard to watch, was when you went up and accused US of starting it to begin with. CAMELOT, of all people, started this war. That's what you said, right?"

Ballad skimmed the top of his head off of the floor, staring at the man as he continued his speech. As he kept going, his eyes started to dim and look down towards the floor.

"It was infuriating, to say the least, that someone who didn't know what the hell they were talking about can bash a country they were in for, what, a few days? I've lived here for years, Ballad. I know far more about this place than you could ever to grasp yourself. So I will enlighten you on some ACTUAL knowledge: We did not start this war, and even if we did, it hardly matters now, does it? What matters is that it's still going on, and SOMEONE has to stop it."

By this point, the gunner's forehead was firmly set onto the cold, hard flooring, grinding what teeth he had left incessantly.

"And that's why I'm here, Ballad. That's why WE are here. We're here because we love our country. We love Camelot, and none of us want to stand by and see this war continue on any longer than it has to. That's why we hunted you, Ballad. It wasn't personal, but your Omnillium is valuable. Every single bit of it could mean the difference between us winning and us losing. And all of us, absolutely all of us, are willing to put our lives on the line for that. We risk them every day finding and banishing people like you. Because we care. Because we want to save our country, and damn all those who hate it! DAMN THEM ALL TO A FIERY, AGONIZING HELL, EXECUTIONER!!"

Agern grabbed the two bars in front of him, his voice loud and angry as he shouted. His voice rang around the room, leaving an eerie silence as he murmured. "We will go to hell and back for this country, greenie. You can't understand what that feels like. To fight for so long for something worthwhile. Because in the end, even if times are hard and things look bleak, it will all be worth it. In the end, we will win, and the Empire will lose. We will no longer have to fight, and we can go back to our normal, every day lives. Just as it should be....."

"You're wrong..." The gunsmith muttered, still gazing at the floor like he was certain some ghost was gonna pop out of it at any moment.

The black knight frowned, loosening his grip on the bars. He went silent, allowing the man to speak.

"I do know what that's like. I've seen it all before, bandit. All of this.... it's too familiar. Familiar in a lot of ways. I thought you were all just a bunch of stupid douchebags who were taking me down because Camelot was paying good hard cash for my death. That would've made things simple. Made it all easy, you know? If you were all just like that.."

The executioner took a moment to inhale, gradually bringing his head off of the ground. As he talked, he started to glare towards the general direction of the leader. Of the man who had put him in that place. Of the man who, despite everything he tried to do, had reminded him of them. He once thought no one would figure it out. That no one would be able to dig up an old wound like this. But he was wrong.

"But you aren't. You're just like them, aren't you? Those... scientists who debated every moment of their lives to figure out the existence of an element instead of using it for greater things. Those church people who hated the scientists because they thought said element was of religious value to them, and anyone who disagreed with that was clearly in the wrong. They quarreled and quarreled for years, bickering non-stop over this... wick. This... thing that had helped us for so long, and we could've done so much more if they just stopped to use it. Everything would've been so much better if they just stopped... if they all just stopped.."

Ballad's voice started to crack as he recounted his experience, quivering a bit as he started to lift himself into a plank position with his right hand.

"But they never did. They kept going, and it got worse and worse from there. Then I made a gun. The first of its kind. Everyone got a gun, and then suddenly, someone used it to blow up an entire building. It was a scientist. A Wicker Man. After that, every single church member swore revenge and started massacring them. Then the Wicker Men started massacring them back, and on and on and on and on and.... on... and all I ever did was... sit back.. and watch it happen from the sidelines. Just spectated the entire damn thing. Tried to ignore it and act like it wasn't even a thing. Like it was some dream that would eventually end."

The gunner continued trying to stand up, surprising even himself when he mustered enough strength to get onto his knees. As he ranted, a spark ignited in his brain. Even though he felt delirious, that spark was bright and lively enough to give him some semblance of rationality. He was able to concentrate on it... and an idea sprouted. After all this time, and after all that happened, he felt so stupid for not thinking of it before. He was in a new world, with new people, and new opportunities. In his foolish attempt to forget the entire thing, he had been ignoring all that was wrong with the universe. The war was just the start. What if there were more realms? Ones that were also at war? What about ones with bandits and other criminals in it? All this time, he had brushed it aside.

But he couldn't no more. After all that he had seen, with betrayal, being hunted, and seeing what two countries wanted to do to each other, he couldn't sit back anymore. He knew what he had to do. Everything that had happened back then could not happen again, and in this place, this world beyond, he had another chance. He could MAKE SURE that it never happened. And he knew exactly how.

"But it was all real, and it's still real. I'm a Prime, whatever that means, but I know it's one thing: It makes me powerful. And the people with power are the ones that can change things. To bring change and make it permanent. To ensure everything that had once happened would not happen again. Do you want to know what happened back then, my 'FRIEND?'"

The gunsmith was now firmly on his feet, his right hand trying its best to keep his left arm from moving. He was hobbling directly towards the bandit, who was now backing away from the cell, his hands slithering down towards the hilt of his sword.

"They slaughtered each other, Agern. Probably until no one was left. All because people like me stood by and allowed it to happen. People like me who ignored it because they didn't want to have any part of it. To live in peace unhindered."

The executioner chuckled, continuing. "Hehehe. What a stupid thing to think, do you agree? But I'm not making that mistake again, Agern. I was sent here, to this place, and taken away from my home. At first, I thought I was trapped here for good, with assholes like you. But now I see what this really is: A second chance. A chance to redo all of that. To stop it immediately, and start all over again. To make everything better than it used to be."

"What are you talking about?" Rublek questioned, his eyes widened in fear as the man rambled.

"I am doing what you're doing, Agern. Hunting. I will hunt down everyone in the Omniverse who endorses these conflicts and makes them themselves. I will kill every bandit. I will remove every faction there is. I will destroy every single man, woman, and potentially child who so much as insinuates that they support people like Camelot and the Empire until there is no more Camelot and Empire. Until there are no children, men, or women to support them. Until there is literally nothing left."

The leader's jaw dropped straight down to the floor as the gunner pressed his face through the bars, muttering "Then, and only then, will peace be restored. When that happens, we can start over, where there will be no more war. Only peace and the people who want it. Every bandit, every criminal, every faction at war with another, every faction that supports conflict and subjugates others for not liking that, and every single person out there who supports any or all of the above. Starting with your people, Agern."

The red-haired man's hand trembled around the hilt of his sword. The man's words reverberated around his mind. Whatever they had done, it had struck something, and now whatever sanity he probably had left was gone. And he felt odd. No, not odd. He felt like he was up against the biggest, most dangerous monster ever known to man. He felt like an insignificant ant all of a sudden.

He couldn't let what this man planned to do happen. He HAD to hold him off until the circles arrived.

"You will NOT get out of this cell." He commanded, thrusting his hand towards the gunner's throat. His body emitted smoke as his eyes glowed white. Mental images planted themselves deep into the psycho's brain. Images of burning fire, massacres, and snow.

By the end of it, the prisoner was on the ground, having landed next to the bartender. He was whimpering slightly, and still was by the time Agern walked out. Before he left though, he turned towards Jensen, who was waiting at the door.

"Jensen, get what remains of our men to guard the armory. Do NOT let anyone near this building until the circles arrive."

"Wh-Wh-Why, sir?" Jensen stuttered, his voice laden with fear.

"This man is exactly what we all feared, my friend. Get EVERYONE in there. I will move to my quarters to concentrate on holding them off."

[Corporal Light]

Please, for the love of god, stop it. Stop it STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT.

Ballad's eyes were closed, his right hand clamped around his forehead, groaning like a dying animal. Each time an image flashed through his mind, he would flinch and make another noise. The flashes didn't actually give him pain, but it was the nature of them. He could only get brief glimpses of what they all contained, but he eventually noticed a pattern: Snow, Gun, Blood.

Each vision was set in a land of white, with snow falling from the sky and onto the ground. What would occur next would involve some form of a gunshot or him seeing the gun. His gun, which would follow with it being pointed at people and firing. Screams, and the sight of red blood landing on the ground. Limbs flying as explosions erupted; more screams and more gunshots. It was torture of the highest degree. He wailed loudly, thrashing his legs down onto the hard floor as he forced tears out of his eye sockets. Snow, gun, blood. Snow, gun, blood. Gun, blood, gun. Gun, gun, gun, gun, gun, snow, blood, gun. Gunshots. Explosions. Gore. Killing. Madness, insanity! Be free, my disciples! For our God smiles upon us on this day as we rid the world of heretics! But before we begin, we must

pray.

Gunshot.

He expected it to follow with snow. With more bloodshed. But, to his relief, the images had ceased their assault. He remained on his back, having fallen from the mental attacks, his arm outstretched towards the other side of the room. His head rested on the ground, trying to process what had happened to him. It was abnormal. Not even the weird little Desco thing could compare to it. Just the thought of him having found something harder to explain than fucking Desco was more than enough to make him start trembling.

Just to remove the little alien girl thing out of his brain, he lifted his head off of the ground, noticing he had landed on his left arm. He must have landed awfully hard too, as he suddenly found that he could bend it and roll his shoulder against the ground; he grunted in pain as he rolled it against the wooden floor. It wasn't the complete and utter burning, unbearable pain he had experienced earlier, but at least he now knew that his arm wasn't broken and it was actually usable. His shoulder was probably just sore. He probably should've been thankful he could even move his left arm, but evidently what should've been a severe injury wasn't as, well, severe anymore.

The gunsmith sighed, glancing towards the door to the jail cell. Agern had left. He didn't know what the bandit did, but at that point he didn't want to think about it. What he needed to focus on was getting the hell out and getting some weapons.

Gritting his teeth, he planted his right hand on the ground, wobbling a bit as he pushed himself onto his knees. Taking it nice and easy, he stands back up, keeping his left arm near his side. He didn't want to upset anything else in his arm. It had seen enough abuse for more than a few days.

Walking towards the cell, Ballad squinted, taking a look at the inner workings of the lock. It was a combination lock, a surprisingly high tech device for a place like Camelot. It held the door in place, and no amount of shaking could rattle it. He also noticed that it the area the lock was connected to was bolted down by screws small enough to fit a coin in. Regrettably, his fingers would not do. Shaking his head, he started to walk towards the bed when he looked down towards the body in the cell room with him. He moved up to it, bending forward.

It was Tender. It was hard to mask his mustache or his apron, which he had evidently never removed. He reeked of sweat, evidenced by the stains on his armpits and on his forehead. His skin was pale, and it looked like he had been lying there for a while. His eyes were open, and his face looked like he had seen the devil itself. A quick tap on the neck was all the gunner needed to figure out he had died. From what, however, was a mystery.

"Shouldn't have tried to save me, you stupid bastard..." The soldier muttered, moving his right hand over towards his eyelids, sliding them shut. He closed his eyes a bit, lowering his head a bit. He at least had something else to think about, rather than the fact that he was probably going to die soon. Instead, he could focus on at least remembering Tender for something. Namely his bar. It was a good bar. Odd how he managed to win it from a bet. He probably did have proof of it too-

Wait a second.

His eyes shot open, darting down towards the pockets of his apron. His right hand instantly descended upon the corpse, jabbing it into the pockets and grabbing whatever was within. After looting him clean, he clenched his fist, bringing it up to his face. Reopening his hand, he smiled underneath his scarf as he saw what appeared to be five large gold coins. Now he knew exactly what to do.

--------------------

A short time later, Ballad grunted as he thrust one end of the coin into the screw head. He began twisting it to its left, mumbling impatiently to himself as the screw slowly came loose from its socket. He had to remember to be quiet as he pulled the screw out, dropping it onto the floor along with the other three. He cautiously pushed the cell door open, clenching his teeth and looking over towards the exit as it began to creak. He eventually managed to push it all the way out without alerting anyone nearby. Taking a moment to drop the five coins onto the body of Tender, he slowly went onto his knees, crawling forward towards the exit. He smiled as he approached the exit of the jail room.

These bandits are in for a surprise....

[Corporal Light]

A faint, purplish glow radiated through the entryway of the building as Ballad crawled up to it. The sun was just starting to rise up, a new day beginning. He mentally, albeit sarcastically, congratulated himself for surviving for over a week as he stared out the door. He looked around, remaining low on his hands and knees as he tried to determine how many bandit guards there were.

He didn't have to look for too long. Across from the jail stood a duo of guards, all standing outside and facing out towards him. They both wore brown cloaks, and kept a sword in a scabbard on their waist. Normally, the gunner wouldn't even have had to think in regards to handling them, but he had no weapons. It was suicidal to try and rush them, as they could just as easily dismember him with their weapons. Sneaking wasn't an option either, as the morning sun provided just enough light that it wasn't unlikely he would be spotted upon exiting the building he was in. Ballad slithered towards the wall next to the entrance, planting his side against it as he continued looking out towards the guards, contemplating his next move.

Gun. Snow. Blood. Flashes. More images.

The gunsmith held his left hand up to his forehead, instinctively crying out in pain as his brain throbbed.

“Did you hear that?”

The soldier cursed under his breath, ducking his head behind the wall. A conversation had started between the two, evidently around a noise they had heard. It quickly became an argument. One of them said they should check it out, make sure Agern wasn't killing him. The other said they should stay, and that Agern knew his strength. The green man felt his heart beating rapidly, the tension as thick as ice as he waited.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. He took in a deep breath, standing up from his spot as he waited for whoever it was to pass through the entrance.

----

Williams swore he had heard something from the jail. Not even Tender's screams were that loud when the leader was taking care of him. This one sounded like he was closer, and no jail cell was that close. He had managed to convince his partner, James, to assist him in investigating. Making sure it was alright. Even if it wasn't, chances are the guy wasn't getting away anyway, what with literally everybody keeping the armory safe.

He sighed, his left hand gripping the hilt of his blade as he walked into the building, turning his head to his left. He never got the chance to react as he felt a hand grip his face, pushing forward and causing him to stumble into his partner. They landed on the ground, dazing them for a few moments.

----

So far, so good... The gunner thought as he charged out of the building, making a beeline for the other building. It was obvious that the building was of importance, as those two were guarding it. As he got closer, he noticed a stack of weapons sitting on a wooden rack; axes, swords, crossbows, and longbows. He quickly moved faster, slipping inside as shouts emerged from the jail.

Ballad quickly ran around the armory, his eyes darting back and forth between racks and over benches. The place was long, and filled to the brim with medieval weaponry, which was making his search extra hard. His forehead began to sweat as more images surged into his mind. He had to find them before anyone got inside. He moved to the end of the building, moving over shelves as he sensed footsteps drawing closer to the building.

Eventually, he found a large, long wooden chest. With not a moment to spare, he slammed his foot against the edge of it, bringing his digits onto the lid, lifting it up. He peered inside, seeing his revolver, flamethrower, single shot, and pickaxe laying inside. He whipped up the revolver just as he heard the clattering of boots on wooden floors, turning towards the noise.

It was the two he had knocked down moments earlier. They had barged in, obviously not intent and allowing him to be a escapee any longer than necessary. As they started to charge, however, their eyes quickly pointed towards the gun in his hand. Looking at each other, they quickly dashed towards a rack of crossbows, swiftly picking up some bolts as Ballad pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past them, though it did cause the duo to flinch and cry out.

“MOE! JENSEN! WE NEED HELP IN HERE!” One of them cried out, pulling down a nearby shelf before turning it on its side, crouching down to hide behind it. His partner, however, as not as lucky. As he tried to repeat the action, the gunner's next projectile lodged itself in his stomach. He cried out in pain as blood splashed onto the ground; he held onto his wound, leaning on his hand as he lay on the ground.

“WILLIAMS!” The bandit cried, swiftly lifting his crossbow over the edge of the shelf. He pulled on the trigger, firing a bolt towards the prisoner. The bolt gouged itself into the cobblestone wall, kicking up dust but doing no more than that. Ballad's report was swift, jerking the thumb back and firing towards the shelf as he stuffed his flamethrower into his holster. His left hand went for the single shot, sliding it down his sleeve before finally grabbing the pickaxe.

“WHERE IS HE?!” A loud, monstrous roar shouted from close by.

“Shit...” The gunner muttered, gripping his pickaxe as he ran towards the shelf, his revolver at the ready. Before the man could respond, he set his foot on top of the shelf, kicking up into the air. Turning around, he pulled the trigger, landing on his ass as his opponent's brains splattered the edge of the shelf, smoke billowing out of the barrel of his weapon.

He was just about to get up when he felt a meaty paw grasp the base of his clothes, lifting him up into the air. He glared murderously at his assailant, feeling hot breath on his face as he stared into the eyes of death itself. Death was big, sweaty, and it had wet stains underneath its eyelids that ran down its face, passing over it scars.

“You....YOU!” He bellowed, tossing the prisoner out of the armory and into the ground like a ragdoll a few feet away. Ballad rolled onto his back, pictures rushing into view as he tried desperately to stand back up. He felt himself get lifted off of the ground again, followed by him getting slammed back down. He tried to raise his revolver, only to feel a fist crumple his hand, almost breaking each and every one of his hand's fingers. The bandit's meaty digits accidentally pressed down on one of the green buttons before sending it flying towards the armory.

The prisoner raised his pickaxe, his hand wobbly and his breathing rapid as he swung it onto the behemoths back. The brute simply batted it aside, sending it back onto the ground. He knelt down, bringing his fist down onto the green man's chest. The gunner felt it slam into his chest, his breath knocked right out of him as he looked away from the monster above, protecting himself by raising his arms. He closed his eyes as the bruiser howled, his limbs caving in as they bared his attackers full strength. He slowly opened his eyes, staring right into Moe's. Both contained a glow. A glow any potential fighter possessed. They were both utilizing it, and neither planned on backing down until the other was deader than dead. The pickaxeman gritted his teeth, his arms lowering down to his chest as the barbarian smiled, raising his arms, preparing to vanquish the prisoner. He no longer cared if Agern objected to him dying this way. The cabbage man had killed too many people and done too much to go unpunished. He had been nothing but a cold-blooded gunman who fancied the deaths of all who opposed him, and now it was time he was punished for his actions.

“I'll... gill you.... you ssccuu-”

An explosion detonated a few feet behind the two inside the armory, shrapnel impaling into Moe's back. He screamed, moving off of his bounty as he grasped at his back, trying his damnedest to remove the blades of metal digging into his skin.

The gunner swiftly stood up, fishing his hand into his coat for his flamethrower. Feeling it, he whipped it out, sliding his thumb against the wick holder, igniting it. As Moe finally got finished pulling out the last bit of shrapnel out of his body, he glared at the new weapon in his quarry's hand, seeing the look of utter hatred engraved on his face. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, rage in his heart, he charged forward, forgetting everything around him.

Ballad pulled the trigger, letting loose the flames.

The brute stumbled forward as the fire engulfed him. He shrieked in agony, moving onto his knees as he tried to stand up and at least get one swing in on his attacker. He couldn't let him win. He had done far too much to get away with what he had done. Every movement he made brought unbearable pain as the fire ravaged his form, charring his skin. Blisters appeared on his arms and chest as he took another step forward, every nerve in his body overloading.

He tried to lift his right arm, feeling some of his wounds tear apart, flushing out huge waves of blood before crumbling to the ground, his heartbeat increasing rapidly even as his breathing became shallow. The gunsmith simply stood there, having expended the ammo in his flamethrower, and watched him burn. Watched the psychopathic, monstrous killer burn.

Just as it should be...


Screams emerged from the banks of his memory. His ears starting ringing. He held his hands up to his ears, closing his eyes as he yelled at the top of his lungs. Tears forced themselves out of his eyes as he fell to his knees, his head feeling like someone had crushed it with a sledgehammer. The auditory hallucinations overwhelmed his senses. He couldn't even hear himself beg.

He couldn't even hear the sound of a sword pulled out of its sheath, slicing him across the back. He fell forward, the pain subsiding in his brain, replaced by a more minor one.

----

He trembled, holding the bloodied sword in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he looked down towards the bloody body beneath him, the gash large. Smoke from the ashen body of the bruiser sailed up into the sky, filling the air with the smell of brimstone and death. The buildings, the grass, and himself. All of it was covered in blood. He could smell it and taste it. Tasted like salt.

He couldn't stop crying. Agern had promised him that this would never happen again. That he wouldn't let anyone do this to him or to anyone else again. He didn't know if Agern was a liar or if he was just plain stupid to think that he should've been believed, but it hardly mattered anymore. This man, who he had risked almost everything on, had killed everyone. It was just him left, and he knew it, but wished he wasn't. Every single person he sent Ballad's way had faced their demise. Everyone except himself. But he didn't want to. He wanted it to be over. He wanted everything to just be back to normal. And maybe, after this, no one else would die. No one else would sacrifice themselves due to his orders.

He took a step back, tightening his grip on his sword as the green monster pushed himself off the ground. He turned around to face him, his pickaxe in both hands, and with a wicked smile on his face.

---------------------------

"S-Stay back, you.. you..." Jensen squeaked, the tip of his sword pointed towards Ballad's chest. The detainee glanced down towards the sword, his back prickling as blood rushed out of the wound. The tactician stabbed forward, the blade sliding into the green man's left arm as it moved to block the sword. The gunner grunted, feeling the cold steel of the blade exit out of his forearm, coating his coat with his own fluids. The green man swiftly brought his right leg up, feeling his foot connect with Jensen's abdomen as he kicked forward. The blade slipped out of his arm, leaving a sizable hole. it stung like hell, but he tried his hardest to focus on his immediate objective. He was not going to let anyone stop him from achieving what he to achieve. Not even the cowardly bandit in front of him.

The partisan shrieked as he landed on his buttocks, swinging his sword in an arc towards the other's chest. The green man simply deflected the attack with the butt of his pickaxe, ramming his foot into Jensen's sword arm. The arm crashed into the ground, his fingers opening up to let go of the sword. The second-in-command could only watch as Ballad raised his pickaxe up into the air, not hesitating to strike.

His death was prevented, however, by a broadsword stuck between him, and oblivion.

[Corporal Light]

The gunner looked to his right, baring his teeth underneath his scarf at the assailant that stopped him.

The attacker held his broadsword as tightly as he possibly could, suspending the pickaxe in midair. Smokey tendrils enveloped his arms as his eyes locked with Ballad's. Ballad noticed instantly that the swordsman's eyes were completely white, and that every single bit of his body was covered in black smoke that rose through the air, only to disappear within several seconds of leaving his form. He was virtually unrecognizable as a human being, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who it was as soon as he screamed in rage, slicing his sword towards the gunsmith's abdomen.

The green man jumped back, feeling the blade shave off a portion of his coat as he went down onto one knee, the fabric fluttering down onto the bloody ground. The shadow man stepped back, raising his blade up to his head, pointing the tip of it towards his opponent. The wounded sharpshooter stood up, his mouth agape as he placed his left hand on his pickaxe, lifting it up into a more defensive position.

The duo stared at each other for a few moments, taking their time. Their eyes ran down each others bodies, watching for the slightest movement. They began to circle, each step drawing a breath from either one of the two. Eventually, a wide smile appeared on the ghost-like being in front of Ballad, which drew a cocked eyebrow from the coat-wearing man.

He sensed a whoosh of motion behind him, followed by yet another cut across his back. He roared, swiftly whirling his pickaxe around as he spun, clenching his teeth together in anticipation.

His weapon connected with flesh, sending the tactician tumbling into the ground.

With the literal backstabber out of the way, the former detainee leaped forward, narrowly dodging the shade's weapon as he thrust it forward. He spun around a few feet away, glaring murderously at the trickster. Nearly killed again by a surprise attack like that. With two back wounds, a bruised chest, and who knew what else, he was surprised he was still up and moving about. He braced himself for more images as his head throbbed, shaking his head furiously as he squeezed the brim of his nose.

"Hurts, doesn't it?! THAT'S THE PAIN YOU CAUSE EVERYONE ELSE!" The spectre roared, charging forward.

"FUCK YOU!" The detainee answered in kind, raising his pickaxe to block a diagonal cut from above. Acting fast, he pushed forward, forcing his assailant back. He stumbled forward, leaning back to avoid a slice from below before raising it again, catching the blade in the air. He dug his feet into the ground, sliding one back as the edge of the sword came dangerously close to his face, assisted through the help of the recurring images. He groaned, a look of fear slithering onto his face as he kept pushing upwards, the heft of his blade looking like it would snap at any moment. The hallucinations kept on reappearing, splitting his concentration constantly. He had no earthly idea how this... thing, whatever it was, was capable of such feats. But it was, and a wave of uncertainty flowed into his chest at that thought. His arms began to falter, even as his mind begged him to keep going. He had to win. He couldn't die. He wouldn't die.

"You're a failure, Ballad! You've been wrong about every single decision you've ever made in your life! You couldn't even INVENT a way to protect people! All it did was KILL, and you've simply CONTINUED THE KILLING!" The phantom shouted, lifting his blade up for one final strike.

And just like that, he felt reinvigorated.

As their weapons collided, the green man stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He raised his arms high until their weapons were almost perfectly vertical to the ground. A look of complete and utter shock appeared on the phantom's face, seeing the golden eyes of death itself stare into him. The green man thrust his head forward, slamming it into the being's face.

The swordsman staggered backwards, getting no chance to recover before the green man's pickaxe collided with his torso, sending him to the ground. He landed on his back, weakly swinging his sword towards his opponent.

Before he could even lift his arm, however, his opponent rammed his pickaxe into his chest.

The smoke started to clear as his life began to fade, his breathing becoming shallow as Ballad lifted his weapon, opening the wound back up. As the smoke faded, it revealed a form, now bleeding heavily from the middle of his chest. He wore black armor, and he looked old. His eyes peered up at Ballad's, using his last few breathes to apologize.

"I'm.... sorry.... I'm... so... sorry..." was all he could muster before Ballad shut him up.

The gunner raised his weapon once more, staring at the corpse of Agern. His eyes were as bright as the sun, and all was silent save for the crackling of fire behind him. He took a deep breath, slowly falling onto his knees as his energy finally failed him, but he did not care. He had succeeded. Once he recovered, he could continue it. Continue until everything was like this. Silent, with a fire in the background, and no one able to remove it again. No one able to cause any more chaos and death. He breathed again, smelling ash unusually close to him.

Opening his eyes, he noticed a silhouette shaped exactly like Agern. From the hair, to the eyes, to even the armor he wore. It was an exact copy, like a mirror. His eyes widened as it leaped forward, mental images enveloping his view before he collapsed onto the ground, the world turning black. His heart beat faster and faster as the pain in his head increased tenfold, overwhelming him completely.