Lost

Death. Death is a fickle thing. There are a million ways to die. Some ludicrous, while others gruesum. Lost knew this, he was no stranger to death. He knew he was going to die one day -he already had- but a second time? Who would have guessed that. What a cruel trick the world played on him. Giving him back life, then taking it away.

It was not that he feared death- not after dying. It was that he still needed to get his revenge, he had to stop the plague, too. And then there was Fen. He couldn’t just leave her alone, it would probably be like the death of her parents all over again.

Desperately, he tried to send some magic to his arms, to give them strength. All he got was intense pain in his arms and no strength. With a wince he stopped. He slumped, taking a rotten tomato to the back of the head.

It splattered, its rotten juices running down the back of his neck and into his shirt. Gritting his teeth, he controlled his rage. There would be no point dying in anger.

He considered trying to make a break for it, but there were too many guards and then there was the wall of screaming people to take in account.

He was second in line, right after Quiros. Kylde behind Lost and Yaz brought up the rear. Their hands still tied behind their backs, they mounted the wooden stairs.

The top of the raised platform, that was where he would die, was a plain surface. It had two guards already stationed on it, with a heavily muscled elf that acted as the executioner.

The executioner was big, his body mass made up of muscle. Even more heavily built than Klyde. A dried, blood splattered sack with eye holes pulled over his head. He held a large axe in one hand. Everything you would expect for an executioner.

A block of wood was set in the center of the stage, a groove in it for resting your head. A straw basket resting at its base, to catch the falling heads.

Lost scanned the crowd gathered there. They were all yelling, shouting for blood and death. They looked like blood thirsty demons. ‘Just like me,’ Lost thought with a bitter grin.

His eyes wandered, looking to see if Fen or maybe even Ren was here. They weren't, but at the back of the crowd was another platform, this one raised a few meters above the ground. It had a red tarp covering, and fancy chairs occupied by nobles were under it. On another raised platform, sat a ornate, cushioned chair and two next to it. The King sat there, looking regal and glaring into Lost with his ice cold eyes. The queen sat next to him, calmly looking over the sea of blood thirsty elves. The Princess on the other side, looking uncomfortable.

When their eyes met, Lost say pity in hers. He didn't care for pity, but still welcomed that at least someone didn't seem to want his death here.

His attention was directed back to the executioner. Quiros stood in front of the block, they tried to force him to his knees, but he wouldn't do it. A last act of defiance. Kicking the back of his knees, he fell into a kneeling position. The executioner pushed his head into the groove of the chopping block, holding it in place.

Quiros’ face was stark white, emotionless. Lost had no doubt that there was a tsunami of emotions hidden beneath it. He looked Lost in the eyes, they were filled with fear, but acceptance.

Yaz was silently crying, looking at Quiros in desperation, like he could stop it from happening.

The executioner raised his axe above Quiros’ head. The crowd reached a fever pitch, screaming for blood.

The axe fell, Yaz looked away, Kylde closed his eyes with a deep breath. Lost kept looking into Quiros’ eyes. The axe cut through his neck, severing tendons and vertebrae, the sound of meat being hit reached Lost’s ears. Crimson blood splattered on the axe and the block.

The crowd exploded in enthusiasm, screaming even louder.

Quiros’ head rolled from the block into the basket with a dull thunk. Eyes still open.

‘Hole in one,’ Lost thought bitterly.

Moans of sorrow escaped Yaz’s lips. Klyde reopened his eyes, tears threatening to escape.

The guards dragged Quiros’ headless body away, throwing it over the back edge of the platform and into a wagon.

Lost was pushed forward gruffly by the sadistic smiling guard from earlier. ‘He must take pleasure in killing people,’ Lost thought.

Pushed in front of the block, the guard didn't bother with trying to push Lost to his knees, instead just kicking them out. Lost’s head was pushed into the groove of the block and held there by rough hands.

Lost looked at his executioner. Staring into the dark eye cut outs. Was this how it ended, again? He didn't even get his revenge.

“Any last words?” The executioner asked.

“None,” Lost answered calmly.

“Then how about you hold still and let us save you, then,” said the executioner.

Lost’s expression was neutral, but inside he was shocked. Save him. So he wasn't going to die?

Wait, us?

The axe was raised above his head. Then the thought that the executioner was just messing with him popped into Lost’s head.

The executioner turned swiftly, much too fast for someone that size, and threw the axe into the nearest guard’s chest. It caved in and blood splattering in the air. It was the sadistic smiling guard, he coughed up blood, then fell to the ground.

Before anyone could react, five more figures threw off their cloaks in the crowd. Pulling a assortment of weapons from out of them. The crowd was no longer screaming with anticipation, but fear. They scattered like cockroaches from a boot.

Two armed elfs raced up the platform stairs, the guards meeting them halfway. The other three intercepted the other guards that were racing from the sides of the square.

Lost lifted his head from the block, looking at the executioner. He had his bloody axe in hand and was fighting with another guard.

Looking around, Lost spotted Yaz and Klyde. Yaz shoved her shoulder into a guard, pushing him over the platform. Then she and Klyde jumped off it too, both landing on the guard and crushing him. They ran off, mixing in with the screaming crowd.

‘This is chaos!’ Lost thought, surprised he was still alive.

A shot rang out- a gun shot. Lost’s attention was snapped to his side, where a guard was rushing toward him to finish the execution. The elven guard crumpled, a large hole in the back of his skull, oozing black blood.

Lost looked to where the shot came from. His eyes found a small white wolf girl, holding a flintlock rifle in hands. Sword wrapped up in a bundle and strapped to her back. Her hands were shaking in fear and realization that she had just killed somebody.

“Fen?” Lost said, not understanding how she got here. She should be far away from here, hiding! It was dangerous!

Lost shuffled to his knees and ran towards her. Leaping off the platform, he landed next to her. “Go, now!” He yelled, snapping Fen out of her fear.

They quickly ran out of the square, following the last stragglers of the execution crowd.

Tess

The axe of the executioner buried itself in the chest of a guard, blood flying from the wound.

The crowd was silent with surprise and shock. Then the men with weapons threw their cloaks back and the crowd was thrust back into reality.

Tess stared in shock, as the executioner pulled his axe from the guard’s corpse and moved on.

Her attention was pulled away from the bloody spectacle. The royal guard on this platform was now engaged in combat. With 7 elves and beastmen dressed in leather armor and holding a variety of weapons.

The weapon standing out the most was the glaive. Its wielder was tall, with greenish blonde hair, dark brown eyes and a handsome face. He wore rusted iron armor and was looking directly at her.

Nero stood up with the queen behind, not even noticing his daughter paralyzed in fear. The royal guards quickly pushed them to the stairs with the rest of the nobles. One of the guards looked at Tess.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair. “I’m sorry milady, but we must go!” The royal guard yelled over the screams from the crowd.

He pulled her towards the stairs. Only a few feet away, he was speared by a glaive. It shoved itself into his stomach, the chainmail only stopping it a little bit but not enough.

The guard collapsed, coughing blood.

Tess stood there frozen in fear, looking at the elf in rusted armor. He pulled the glaive from the elf on the floor.

She didn't even think. The magic reacting to her heightened sense of fear. Tess let out a burst of wind in the form a clear sphere of air. It rocketed towards the chest of the glaive wielding elf, launching him backwards and into a post that supported the cloth roof of the platform. It cracked, splinters flying behind it. But it didn't break, barely supporting its load on a angle.

The elf groaned, but he pushed himself to his feet. Looking at Tess.

She ran, towards the other side of the platform, not thinking, just running. Before she could get to the stairs, another leather armoured elf rushed towards her. She didn't hesitate, unleashing a fury of wind at him, sending him back a few meters.

She ran towards the stairs. It seemed to stretch on forever, but then she got to them.

Tess rushed down the wooden stairs, taking them two at a time. She reached the bottom in a matter of moments.

Unfortunately, the glaive wielder was hot on her tail. He had just reached the top of the stairs when Tess started running from the platform.

Looking around desperately, Tess spotted the Royal Guard Captain. She ran towards where he was. When he saw her, he rushed towards her.

Reaching him, she hysterically yelled through tears of fear, “Help me!”

“Milady, calm down. Everything will be fine,” The Captain said, grabbing her by the shoulder.

Then the glaive wielder was upon them. He stopped a few feet away looking at Tess. Then he spoke through gasps for air, “Good. You got her, now i’m going to go help Lost.” He turned swiftly around, running to the execution stage.

Tess, not understanding what happened, watched as he left. “What?” She said, then it dawned on her. The grip on her shoulder tightened.

“I’m sorry, milady,” said the Captain, then he hit Tess upside the head. Knocking her out.

The captain was one of them.