Warriors

     A hazy mist swirled around the half-elf's head, and he suppressed a grumble of irritation as he crouched in the damp dirt outside of the fortress. Kneeling in the shrubs was one of his least favorite activities, yet whenever a heavily armed force of over 30 needed taking out, that's where he ended up. Why the Exemplaries kept sending him on such damnable missions was a mystery to him. But so was the Exemplar, with the decision to fill forests with insects, several of which were enjoying biting Ike.
     "-they're all a bunch of nuts, they are." The two guards stationed just outside the fortress gate talked with odd fluctuations in volume. It would be almost lyrical if the words Ike could pick up didn't sound like those of a fool. Or maybe that was his bias showing, as he knew exactly who they were referring to, and didn't like people calling him a nut. Crazy bastard, okay, that was reasonable, he could understand that, but a nut? It was an attribute to be given to an unruly small child, or a favorite hound, or a relative who wasn't fully all there in the head. To call a grown man a nut, well, that was purely insulting.
     He looked up at the sky, calculating the angle of the moon. He couldn't make his move until it reached a certain peak point, and he could use the haze of the mist to disguise his attack. But he was getting antsy. The violence was welling up under his skin, and it made him itchy. He wanted to rush forward, do some killing, get his job done, and go home to collapse in bed. Maybe grab a pint and a quick bath before passing out. Waiting wasn't his strong suit. He wasn't a patient man, nor was he intrinsically violent, but to be so deeply entrenched in Heretic territory left him feeling a sense of unshakable insecurity. He disliked that feeling of vulnerability, that damn niggle in the back of his skull that kept a relentless course of adrenaline pumping through his body, even while he was at rest. Those feelings were the cause of his desire for violence.
     "-yeh, we took them little bastards, 'cause-" Ike tilted his head to the side. Were they talking about the boys? His hand tightened on the pommel of his sword, and he glared fiercely through the leaves at the guards. Heretics kidnap young boys, yet he's the nut. Yeah. Right.
     Time passed.
     Ike was half-fallen asleep by the time the aware part of him noticed the moon at its precision point. It was time for action. He quickly swiped the sleep from his eyes, and moved forward, staying low to the ground. With the mist thickened, he skittered around the guard closes to him, then bludgeoned the back of the man's skull with his sword hilt. The guard collapsed, and Ike dropped to the ground once more. The other guard had noticed something was wrong, turning in circles as he called out for his mate. There was a certain sense of satisfaction that came from scaring full grown men.
     He was no fool, he knew quite well the danger of his chosen life and how early it could be lost. He knew how to be scared when he needed to be - but these were mere humans. Regular folk who probably had never traveled to the Dark Mountains, maybe never heard of them. They had never been forced to pit themselves against predators smarter than the average man. When you were on the menu, you learned to be better, faster, stronger. You became a survivor. These men were clumsy, slow, untrained. It was an easy matter to slip behind the second guard and clap a damp gloved hand over his mouth and nose, his other arm snaking across his arm and torso, locking him in place. The guard feebly wriggled, but Ike merely kept the pressure up. Eventually, the man stopped moving. Ike lowered him to the ground and neatly slit his throat.
     In normal circumstances, true unconsciousness only lasts a few minutes at most - otherwise you've knocked them out in such a way that means severe damage, and no one wants to live hindered for the rest of their life. This way, the man couldn't inconvenience Ike in his mission, and also wouldn't live the life of a cripple. He was doing the man a favor by cutting his throat.
     The gate guards down, Ike was free to move forward.
     He'd infiltrated many fortresses in his time, most of them were either converted places of religious significance, or they were special projects conducted by a kingdom, and therefore had a strikingly similar layout.
     This fortress was not like any he'd ever seen before.
     Moving through the gate didn't lead to an open courtyard with various means of entrance and exit in a fairly circuitous manner. Instead, it was a dark room that was pentagonal in shape. On each wall, there was a single door, each with a candle lighting the way. Now he was faced with multiple doors, and damned if he knew which to take.
    Seeing there no other option in the situation - was already in too deep, and if he didn't move quick, it was likely the Heretics would start killing the boys - Ike chose a door at random.
    The door farthest to the right led to a large hallway that was furnished with exotic marvels from across the world. It was luxurious, no doubt about it. Ike's lip curled up in revulsion. The Heretics lived in such wealth, while all around them people were starving to death and dying for lack of supplies. They could support every family in a single village with all of this, while still keeping a large cache of their own. He pulled out his sword and placed the point against one of the beautiful threaded rugs on the wall. A little pressure and it popped like a bubble, and Ike waked the length of the hall, his sword tearing the fabric the whole way.
     By the time he got to the other end of the hallway, he had a giant smile on his face. The smile vanished when he opened the door and was faced with several very angry looking Heretics.
     "Bugger," he muttered. Then he tumbled backwards, rolling up onto his feet now within a stretch of the hallway, giving him more room to fight. Five men poured in after him, all of them angrily brandishing weapons.
     "You think us stupid enough not to have learned from all your other attacks?!" The one in the lead shouted.
     "Seeing as how I've hit at least ten of these places before encountering resistance, I'm going to go with 'yes'."
     "You nutty bastard, you're dead. You hear me?! Dead!"
    "Less talking, more stabbing."
     With an angry roar, the man lunged at him. Ike side-stepped the brash move, and swatted the back of the man's legs with the flat of his sword as he flew passed. Internally, he sighed. Heretics were drama queens, and he hated these melodramatic scenes. Was posturing needed? Were the obnoxious screams and roars necessary? The hallway was all flat, solid surface: perfect acoustics. The man could have whispered and Ike would have heard him as clear as a bell. Now, he only had a headache.
     The man stumbled forward, but regained his balance, and spun back around. Persistent. Well, Ike didn't have time to bother with the whole song and dance. With a merciless efficiency, he cut the man down, then moved to the other four Heretics. With cold calculation and a face lacking emotion, he didn't hold back as he brutally slaughtered them. By the end, his blade was dripping blood.
    It might seem callous to the outside eye, but Ike knew the truth.
     He'd been too late when he'd gotten to the fourth fortress in the series of Heretic attacks. It had already been abandoned, and when he searched the place, he'd found the boys' dismembered corpses cramped and packed into the kitchen. They'd been left to rot, and already had begun to putrefy, maggots crawling on the dead tissue. That wasn't the worst part - it was the bite marks on the boys' arms and legs, the places where giant chunks of flesh were gone, the only mark a clear impression of a human's bite.
     It would not happen again.
     He swiped his blade on the dead leader's coat, cleaning it of blood, then continued forward. The room he entered from the hallway was a barracks, and now the sudden angry men made sense. While the layout might not be identical to all others, he could still orient himself to a degree: same general distance from the barracks as always. Toilets out back closest, dining hall the inside closest room, and so on. Priorities.
     Judging on the size of these barracks and the memory of the room he first entered with its many doors, he figured the force had been divided into individual clusters. It would theoretically make it easier to defend from incursion, only one entrance to the main area, but to get all the way in, one would always have to pass a barracks - it was a perfect floor plan for repelling intruders. Unless, of course, that intruder happened to be cranky and highly motivated.
     Ike navigated the corridor leading to the inner sanctum, and followed the wall towards the dining hall, figuring the kitchen would be near. He paused at the sound of raucous laughter, freezing against the wall. He slowly edged forward, and saw that the men of the fortress were now in the dining hall, tossing back brew and gorging themselves on food. He slipped quietly by - it was too chaotic for anyone to notice him.
    Several yards on, he started to get worried. What if he'd misjudged the distance? But then he heard soft crying. Finally, his eyes made out the door in the dim lighting, and he opened it. Slipping inside, he quietly shut it behind him, and looked to face the occupants of the kitchen.
      Overwhelming claustrophobia hit him as he took in the state of the boys. They were packed in like sardines, all of them sitting, knees scrunched in close to their bodies with barely a breath between them and the next one. Most had tears and snot on their faces, some of them were a little bloodied, bruised, and banged up. But none were dead. The entire gaggle of them filled the kitchen, the closest only a few inches from Ike's foot.
    "Cavalry's here, boys," Ike murmured. They stared at him with solemn eyes, understanding the need for silence. "Follow me," he softly whispered as he turned and opened the door again. Taking his sword, he moved into the hall and cast his gaze around. "C'mon," he gestured to them.
     Darting to the dining room, he stood watch in the way of the door, still in the shadows, while he hurried the boys past them. They had had little training thus far, but they'd received enough to know they needed to remember how they were brought in and how they could get out. Ike thought they'd be in the clear when a Heretic finally noticed the escape occurring.
    "Intruders!" A gruff man with grizzled features and great body mass yelled. "Exemplaries!" The previously cheerful chaos of the room became murderous in a mere moment, and several men charged at Ike. He braced himself and drew his sword up, the last children still streaming behind him. The littlest one, the last one, paused briefly, horror on his face.
     Ike had no choice but to glance at him and hiss, "Go! You're expected."
     While Ike might be initiating the break solo, there were always other combat trained Exemplaries nearby to get the boys safe and sound. Usually there would be a caravan prepped and ready to go with a plethora of guards on it. Currently, he knew he couldn't expect the others to wait for him. His job was to save the boys, even at cost for his own life, and he'd come to terms with that a long time ago. In fact, it was one of the best ways he could think of leaving this life.
     Taking his warrior's stance, he caught the blade of a great axe against his long sword. The large Heretic who had called the warning before grunted in surprise, astonished that he could not flatten the much leaner, smaller man before him. It was all part of Ike's plan.
     The great wave of Heretics were pushing relentlessly against their comrade in their fervor to get out and fight, drawing his face closer and closer to his own axe blade and Ike's sword. Ike locked eyes with the man and gave him a close-lipped smile. Their pressure was about to get one of their own killed, and when his body fell, it would trip the first man to come next, and then they were all dominoes. He would be left with plenty of time to escape. Or at least, that was the theory.
      But thank the Exemplar for miracles, because die the Heretic did. Ike immediately jumped back, sword in hand, and began to sprint down the corridor, through the barracks, down the hall, out the pentagon room... He could hear swearing and cursing behind him, but thus far no one had caught up. As he melted into the woods, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Exemplar, and let out a great gasp of air.
     Then, a scream ripped through the night.
     He was already moving toward the sound, fear now flushing through his body and wiping away his sense of accomplishment. He stumbled into the clearing, and was shocked to see another Heretic. A commander by the looks of him, holding the youngest boy by the neck. Most of the Exemplaries around him were lying on the ground. Several were dead, a few were mortally wounded, and a sparse handful were merely wounded. The boys were huddled with their backs to the trees, eyes round with fear.
     The commander turned to lock eyes with Ike, and then smiled.
     "Brother."
     Ike's blood ran cold.
      "Wulthus."
     "What, you will not address me as your own?" The big man feigned hurt. "I'm shocked. After all we've been through."
     "You tried to kill me."
     A belly laugh escaped the man named Wulthus. "I did, didn't I? Thought I had, too. See, you would have saved us all some pain and trouble if you'd just died when you were supposed to."
     "You couldn't even come to me as a warrior. Why would I die to such a coward as you?"
     Wulthus's eyes hardened. "That's a bit far there, Isaac. Bit far." He released his grip on the boy's neck, the child falling to the ground in a boneless heap. Still breathing, just barely, but that was enough. "Shall we settle this right now?"
      "If you insist. If you offer the formal challenge."
      Annoyance flickered on the man's face and Ike smirked. "As you wish, Brother." Pulling his spear from the sheath on his back, he stared at Ike. "I challenge you, Isaac the Angel of Death at Karris," Wulthus spat out, only composing himself as he finished, "to a Jumong"
     "I accept. Let us begin."
     There was no pause before the men immediately went for one another, each moving with brutal skill, violence rippling from them. The men hacked and cut at one another, back and forth, spraying blood in the night, staining the ground. Sweat poured from them both as the two looked for an opening, a weakness. They warily circled one another, hatred boiling in their veins.
     Ike dropped his sword arm, feigning fatigue, and oh how Wulthus fell for the obvious ruse. He lunged forward, looking to impale Ike, who merely stepped to the side at the last moment, and followed through by swinging his sword down at Wulthus's neck as he fell to the ground.
     "Swear submission," Ike gratingly spoke, the truth of his body's fatigue evidenced in his tone. He pressed his sword against Wulthus's neck. Not hard enough to cut, but a symbol of having bested him. 
     "Never. I wouldn't in Karris, and I won't now."
      Ike let out a world weary sigh. "As you wish." He swiftly decapitated Wulthus, finding bleak humor in the expression of shock left on the dead man's face. "Arse."
     Looking around him, Ike slowly dropped to his knees, hardly able to keep himself upright. The boys moved forward, the success of their side and death of the enemy now clear. They easily prioritized their care. The eldest of the children granted merciful deaths to the Exemplaries who were dying slow, painful dmises, and the others bandaged the men who would clearly make it.
     The youngest approached Ike, his hand tentatively touching the man's shoulder, trembling with nervousness. For a moment, they stayed that way, neither speaking. Then, the young child tore a piece of cloth from the dead men's garments, and began to clear Ike up.