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I zoom over there. Before he can drive it down into her heart, I slash at the weapon. My aim is a little off. Instead of disarming him like I wanted to do, my ice sword cuts his hand off at the wrist.
Oopsie.
Without a sound—no cry of pain or even a growl of anger—the assassin clutches the stump and recoils back from me. The eyes glaring up at me are completely black. Oh, freaky! Meritha scrambles away, leaving me to deal with this guy. No big deal. He’s down to one hand. If he tries to run, I’ll let him go.
He doesn’t. However, instead of attacking, he tries to run around me to continue chasing Meritha. Sorry, demon-eyes, not gonna happen. I cut him down with relative ease since he makes no attempt to defend himself. Thankfully, when he dies, he dissipates into a mass of inky smoke. Good. Not a real guy. It would hurt my brain if a real person was this stupid. Being target-focused and dedicated to your job is one thing. Ignoring a deadly threat (me) to chase a target with the mindlessness of a guided missile is just stupid.
I leap after another assassin pursuing Meritha. Since I know they’re not real people, there’s no reason for me to hesitate. Whether they are demons, illusions, or constructs is irrelevant. I lop the guy’s head off, then spin in search of more threats.
Anthony’s fighting off a trio of assassins who’ve cornered Anvar.
Kingsley runs back and forth like a dog in a room full of tennis-ball launching machines. He doesn’t seem to care too much who the assassins are going for. Rather, he’s attacking whichever one is closest to him at any given moment. The big guy’s still smiling, like this is fun—or at least a welcome release of tension. Okay, I’m no longer concerned. Maybe he can smell that they aren’t real people.
Allison’s shifted from throwing lightning balls to using wind blasts and invisible ‘shoving’ spells in hopes of knocking assassins away from their targets. Crazily enough, none of the assassins are even trying to hit us. They are fixated on the various nobles—except for Sansha and Elden, who are standing in the middle of the room aghast at the carnage.
I don’t think they are to blame for this. Though, it really looks like it.
Roldon Barathor is a tornado of steel. He’s so effortless at cutting down assassin after assassin that even these single-minded demons begin avoiding him.
Malin Normund backs away from four black cloaked figures. He’s all the way on the west side of the room. He’s got his hands up, not that the assassins care. A faint red light wells up in his eyes… and the assassins seem to slow down and wobble around as if befuddled or suffering a nasty attack of vertigo.
“Ant! Back corner,” shouts Tammy, who’s presently got her hands occupied trying to mend a dagger wound on the woman who arrived with Normund.
Anthony sprints over to Malin, plowing into all four assassins and knocking them over. All five of them get to their feet simultaneously, and the fistfight begins. I’ve barely the time to notice my son knock the first guy senseless before a loud scream draws my attention once again to Meritha. She’s backed up against a wall with an assassin in front of her.
I’m the closest one to her capable of doing anything, so I launch myself over there.
Meritha ducks, leaving the assassin to stab the painting behind her. He yanks the knife loose with all the humanity of a T-1000 liquid metal terminator, then grabs her by the throat and lifts her up to standing height. She turns her head, closing her eyes in expectation of a death blow.
Screaming a war cry, the assassin spins to meet my attack rather than ignore me and kill her. I slash at him in a downward left diagonal power stroke, leaving a healthy gash down the right side of his chest. It’s not an immediately fatal wound, though it’s going to kill him without modern medicine.
However, he’s not a real person, so who knows.
Seeming unbothered by such a grievous furrow in his chest, he slashes and stabs at me. I parry one, dodge two, and raise my sword for a counterattack. The man’s all-black eyes suddenly go wide, standing there as if paralyzed while I lop his head off. Only after he falls to one side do I notice Meritha clinging to a wicked-looking stiletto she’d stuck into his back while his attention had been focused on me. She got him right in the heart, killing him before my blade ever hit his throat.
Or, would have killed him if he happened to be a person—or had a heart.
Meanwhile, he promptly dissipates into a whorl of black smoke.
“Thank you,” whispers Meritha. She bites her lip and huddles in the corner, seeming too afraid to try making a run for the nearest door.
Amid the chaos, I spot Damon strutting around with a bloody sword in his hand. He’s got this ‘holy cow I am a badass’ expression, quite proud of himself for kicking some ass. Don’t want to rain on the man’s parade… but these assassins aren’t exactly dangerous to us. It’s like killing target dummies. The only real risk is if we can’t get to them fast enough to stop them from killing nobles.
Eventually, the chaos subsides. The whole thing probably only took two minutes or even less, but it felt like twenty.
Seventy or so partygoers gradually emerge from their hiding places under the tables, behind curtains, and down hallways, and stand around in a state of shock. Considering how frequently social events in this world end in mass murder, you’d think they wouldn’t be so stunned.
Sansha continues whimpering. She’s gone from fearful to sad, constantly muttering apologies to no one in particular. She’s throwing off serious guilt. No, it’s not the ‘what have I done’ type of guilt that makes me think she’s responsible. She only wanted to have a party and be nice to people. Someone took advantage of her gathering everyone together in the same place, and she feels horrible about it.
The room is quiet for a few seconds short of a full minute.
Lindsey screams.
Half the people here jump, startled.
My crew—and I—stare at her. She’s got some blood sprayed on her face and dress from being too close to all the killing. Doesn’t look like she’s hurt, though.
I cautiously walk up to her.
