Only some pub attendees made the effort to find cover. Immediately after, the anomalous sphere that fell from the mercenary's grasp quickly burst, exploding just outside in rousing light and flame. Finally, the people were alert.

"Save yourselves, lads!" yelled the barkeep. The ensuing rabble nearly tumbled, hands tugging shirts and legs near to kneeing the ground as they managed to make their way beyond the exit of fallen mercenaries. Even witnessing this desperation, Sencis succumbed to the sinister feeling from when she first laid eyes on those men. Something lay beyond that doorway, something disturbing. Nevertheless, she strode outside with the ringing in her ears.

Fumbling and laboring to keep steady, Sencis trudged over the grounded mercenaries until she was safely on the other side. And when she finally saw reality, she fell in disbelief; she felt the world had dismissed her to a less favorable place... What is this...? What in Ihirum's name is happening...? The roofs, homes, and market, they were all smothered in smoke." Wrapped by a paralyzing fear, the town's image came as a surreal portrait of devastation to her eyes.

"You will let none of them escape!" came the cry.

Considering how the explosion rang in her ears, Sencis deduced that the mercenaries' armor had kept them in one piece. The wails, however, meant some of them would not stand.

In every direction her eyes tried to flee, she encountered no remorse. She could hear them shouting and lamenting in the streets only to fall in sudden silence. To someone of a senseless mind, this was a playground of death and execution. And such minds belonged to the merciless.

Sencis stood frozen on the pavement just outside the tavern.

"Let the blade be their final dream as we deliver them!"

That voice again. She heard the deep, harsh voice of a man giving commands, but could not see him. All the while, mercenaries, who she now realized were no more than pillagers, drew their weapons and began indiscriminately cutting down every man and woman within reach. Only a few citizens would fight back, those few who prudently traveled with weapons and could not escape.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

"Be rid of that one, too."

And Sencis knew those last orders were meant for her.

***Sencis stares up in shock, uncertain as to when she fell to her knees. Her eyes rise to a daunting shadow of armor drawing near, sword held fondly at the side. Beyond him, she catches just a glimpse of she who she imagines to be the true leader; garbed in nothing but black from head to toe, he wears a padded vest with mail ringlets dangling just beneath his waist. A black, expressionless mask covered his face, a mask with a white skull painted. Within seconds of witnessing this person, she genuinely believed Death had presented Himself in place of a mortal. So she thinks about moving, but her muscles do not respond. Time stops while her thoughts rush and the blood surges in her veins. Another figure then presents itself above her.

"Unfortunately for you, curica, you were in the wrong place."

That voice.

The familiar man then raised his heavy arm.

Get up... This has to stop...

But before reaching her, the sword fell on the pavement with a clang, the man following in turn. He fell flat, face lopsided so that she saw his dead eyes. Though it bled, the same mug of the village fisherman lay apparent. For the fear that already stunned her, she was near to losing breath.

When her eyes moved beyond the fisherman's corpse, she found the stout slayer standing behind. Finally resolving her gaze upward, she found the face of her humble neighbor from the tavern, Allister of Cowpell, and he returned said gaze, brandishing his blade with purpose.

"Get out of here, lass!" he cried. In the same moment, another raider charged them. But Allister flung himself betwixt attacker and Sencis, deflecting with his sword then fatally slicing his foe across shoulder and neck.

She watched on her knees as more assailants took their turns at her defender. The claymore was, evidently, not just for show. Allister's footwork superseded the consecutive charges of the raiders. One by one, as they noticed him, they attacked by lunging. But the reach of his sword was greater and precise enough to stab their joints. Each would close the distance to get passed his blade, but he parried and handled his claymore dexterously, pommeling his anxious opponents into the ground.

But Sencis contemplated the claymore's limits as the brigand leader suddenly positioned himself in front of the rest. This masked man advanced without the faintest hesitation. However, Allister would not falter in barring the path between him and Sencis. His opponent drew his sword, a unique, short straight sword, and began a saunter that quickly transitioned into a running head start.

With swift feet, the attacker ran directly for Allister. Predicting his opponent's move, Allister clasped his hilt and held his other hand on the broad side of the blade - a defensive stance. It was a matter of split-second maneuvering to block the impending lunge.

Impact.

The claymore made contact, striking the short sword out of the warrior's hand with a steel clang. But, apparently, the attacker expected as much; the instant their blades met, he willingly let go and punched Allister by his goatee, boldly grabbing the claymore quillon as he did so. And as Allister scuffled to regain use of his sword, the masked man continuously veered and struck the side of his head.

Sencis watched with surreal agony until the claymore dropped, then beheld every bludgeoning moment without breathing.

Sweat ran heavily down Allister's face as the flames around them intensified. And yet his bravado shown through, though he succumbed to disbelief when the masked warrior left his claymore alone. He could have grabbed any weapon on the ground, but opted for a fight, as it were. So he charged again, just as Allister lifted himself and his fists.

What followed was like a blur before Sencis. She was afraid to see it, any of it because she could hear the grunts of her defender and the beatings that went with them. Inevitably, she faced forward and found Allister being smashed by swift and successive jabs, demonstrating a stark disparity in their martial prowess. Furthermore, the brigand's manner of punches and kicks were something unimagined, foreign. Awful wonder befell her as Allister finally collapsed on the ground next to her, blood and sweat dripping where his head rested. It was then the masked leader grabbed his short sword from where it fell and returned it to its scabbard. Sencis beheld his black leather feet as he did so. But they quickly stepped away from her and the beaten victim, before she finally looked up and beheld him with his dark, callous eyes staring down at her. Finally, her heart sank.

All the while, the raiders had watched their leader perform his bloody work, slowly inching toward the beaten swordsman. Glued to his state, they noted how he achingly twitched and turn his receding eyes on Sencis.

She sees him conscious, still, but battered and eyes quivering; the last moment of helplessness before the closest sword stabbed him in the back.

The brigands would stab him repeatedly, repeatedly thrusting their swords until his padded jacket was torn and blood-drenched. "Not something I imagined I'd be doing when I joined the legion," said one, and then set his eyes on Sencis, lifting his blood-stained sword again.

Her inaction ran its course as she witnessed the last bit of life depart her defender's eyes, her feet suddenly mustering their forgotten strength. I won't forget! I won't be the victim in this! If you could just... MOVE! SENCIS! MOVE!

At once, Sencis turned and fled for the nearest building unsettled by fire. Four of the mercenaries immediately started after her.

With greater nimbleness, she hastily climbed to the roof, clinging to the slates for all life. After reaching the top, she claimed a greater survey of the town's destruction.

It is as if the world could foresee the end but do nothing to help itself.

"Hastily, men!" Hearing them close behind her, she hopped down the other side of the building row and onto the stone road. Regaining her sense of direction, she chose the fastest and safest route out of town, which entailed more climbing.

***

After vaulting over the last roof, she landed on the outside glade. Tired as she was, she continued for a few more steps before reaching a cart of excrement. There's nothing else. Just on the other side, she collapsed and was too late to avert the charred corpse decaying behind it. That's when her stomach churned. She was near voiding her bowels when, suddenly, she heard them.

Desperately seeking to hold from vomiting, she covers her mouth and nose, forcefully obviating her senses.

"We lost her, Apostle," said one of the brigands.

Listening, she sat completely silent, dejectedly hoping her stomach would not fail. All the while, the rogues continued speaking and wandering in search. One of them even steps near, too near, and peers over the wagon. Feet and then silence. Feet and then silence. An airless moment suspended beside death, forced to wait with bated breath.

Letting his eyes run along the ground, the armed man beheld part of the charred corpse, then immediately turned away. Nothing else caught his gaze.

"Ugh, we're wasting time. One's means anything" he assured them.

"No matter. There will be plenty of others to suffer in her stead," replied another.

Sencis waited for enough time to pass so that she might peek over the cart. And with her gaze, she beheld them further off—hauberks disappearing into the kindling.

"Agh!" she wheezed profusely and scurried away from the grotesque corpse. Finally, her bowels surrendered and she released her disgust onto the dirt, tears compulsively running down her sad visage with every. But, she remained conscious of herself. Time to leave this place of sorrow.

A nearby forest solicits her attention as it lies untarnished by toil. Thus, she sprints past the spruces and past the narrow ensemble of pines uncaught by the fire, for as long as her stamina can keep.

She stops to catch her breath for a moment, imagining how the greenery of this shaded grass would succumb to fire. Looking up, a calm blue sky falling succumbing to dusk made this one a separate plane to the one behind. But her trance was suddenly broken by the sound of tapping along the brush. Flinching to the left, jittery, she's harmlessly startled by the long face of twitching ears and a silvery mane warily watching her.

She had found a supple white rouncey cautiously bearing its hooves forward; or, it found her. An elegant animal, the horse's neighs were like beckoning sirens to her despair. With no one else around, she hesitated in exploiting this serendipitous encounter. Uncertain as she was, she nevertheless gauged the animal's reaction. Clearly, they could see each other, but the horse appeared skittish, distempered by something it might have witnessed.

"Are you fleeing, too?" she asked. In response, the horse simply bent its knees and rose. Bent them again, then rose. Sencis took her time as it passionately stomped, waiting to place her hand on the cheek of this disturbed animal. When it began sniffing, she caressed then caressed some more until its passion waned. Perhaps it was something about her scent or her unthreatening manner; either way, the horse's breath returned to normal. "Be calm," she said soothingly, and horse blew with ease. "I don't know where you came from or to whom you belonged, but we must leave."