Headed by a Snake

"Munifices, ready the pila," Jovanus commanded-- "I do not fear my soul returning to the Flame-- but when I die, I want to die fat in a bed and on the ancestral grounds of my people!"

Dario said nothing. He continued to stare through the shield wall, his eyes drawn to the witch sphere in the distance.

Jovanus loaded his crossbow, locking the bowstring into the firing position as he cursed his fate.

How did such a weak-minded scoundrel make it past basic f*cking training?

Suddenly, a shout emerged from that scoundrel's flamescarred mouth, "S-someone's there!"

Jovanus looked up, his eyes following a blur of movement.

A man had leapt out of the water. He dropped some fifty feet, landing in a purposeful crouch.

"The... the Alizeaun," Dario muttered.

Jovanus narrowed his eyes, studying the distant enemy.

He was a young man with a light build-- or perhaps a woman.

Their hair was a striking green color-- not unheard of, but its brilliance made them stand out from afar.

They wore a dark uniform coat and trousers, attire typically worn by men in the Magic Kingdom's Navy-- and judging by the ornamentations on his cap, he was an Officer.

However... a particular contrast caught Jovanus' attention.

The sailor did not wear an Alizeaun weapon on his hip.

...He wore a Tyrion sword.

The boy walked forward.

He was surrounded by enemies on all sides. The bounty on his head was not in silver, but in gold...

And the boy showed not an uncia of hesitation.

Jovanus grit his teeth.

Green hair.

Tyrion steel on his waist... and flowing through his veins.

He recognized that boy.

"Flame take me," Jovanus said in a low voice. "Disregard my last command."

"Wh-what?!" Dario snarled, "Inquisitor?! Have you lost your Flamescarred MIND?!"

"Tch," Jovanus scoffed. "Heed my advice, boy. Mind your words in the presence of an Inquisitor with a *loaded* crossbow."

Dario clicked his tongue before addressing his tent-group, "Belay that order. We *will* complete this mission, with or without the Inquisitor's help. Our forces have at least a dozen Iron-Ranks-- and, rather than me, you'd listen to a Bronze-Rank COWARD???!"

"Just how *thick* is that skull of yours, you impudent lout?" Jovanus groaned. "Who do you think you are? Maximus of Ezyria? Holy Lancer Athanasius f*cking Mors?"

The Decanus did not respond.

He could not. A walking heap of trash had no right to compare himself to a hero of the Church.

"Do not do this, Dario," Jovanus warned. "There is a *stark* difference between your abilities and those of that green-haired soldier."

'Stark' was a gross understatement.

The young man held the rank of Duplicarius, his deeds judged by Tyrion's highest council: the High Oracle, herself.

Under similar council, Dario had also been judged... and was found wanting.

Also, Duplicarius *outranked* Decanus-- and attacking a superior officer warranted the punishment of crucifixion.

Before he could *kindly* inform the men and women in his presence, a warcry rang out in the distance.

"DIIIIIE!!!!"

Its source... was one of the two blue-robed Witches.

Their witchcraft protected their companions from the earlier icicle barrage. Dropping their barriers in favor of an offensive was... a strange choice.

Watching that, Jovanus' countrymen lifted their shields a little higher... interlocked their shields a bit tighter.

Together, the two witches summoned a misshapen, azure sphere.

It sparkled and shone like the pearls of a senator's wife, its size and scale enough to give a normal man pause.

...Yet it remained a mere fraction of the blood-filled death ball still overhead.

With a deep and weighty pop, an icy blue lance erupted from the witch-sphere, rapidly speeding toward the green-haired boy.

It did not reach him.

The earth shook once more as a black-armored figure appeared in the magic's path. With a roar of magic, his enchanted sword lit ablaze with flames. It easily cut through the attack, ice turning into scalding steam and scattering onto the ground.

The tall knight held his battle pose, undaunted by the violent, hissing and sputtering puddles at his feet.

Jovanus stood up straight, saluting with his fist to his chest.

"Ladies, gentlemen, it has been an honor, but my business in Whitehearth has concluded," He said. "Should you remain-- may the Flame have mercy on your souls."

"I-inquisitor?"

Jovanus spun on his heel, retreating at a brisk pace, despite the complaints of Dario and his underlings.

The green-haired boy was trouble enough.

However, of the knight wearing black armor with silver trim... the symbol on his shoulder belonged to a Tyrion guild Jovanus knew quite well.

Letalis Serpentia.

They were a Gold-Rank guild formed by House Vanzano, the sponsor of Tyrion hero, Athanasius Mors.

Jovanus' family could curse him all they wished.

He *refused* to be seen associating with criminals-- especially by members of a guild backed by the Archbishop, herself.

...

The leader of Sol Invictus briefly checked over his military uniform.

⟬ Tycondrius, Gold-Rank Maedar Warlord. ⟭

Before he'd entered his half-god companion's aquatic killing sphere, he expected his clothes to be drenched.

That was not the case. It seemed that Sea God Krysaos had reached yet another breakthrough in his magical control.

⟬ Krysaos, Sky-Rank Godwoken Dread Pirate. ⟭

Tycon and the newest member of his guild had just committed mass murder, killing 14 men and women who radiated clear, hostile intent.

Then seemingly on a whim, Krysaos conjured a smattering of sharpened icicles. They rained down, killing and disabling another dozen or so rabble in the streets.

Thankfully, all present seemed to be involved in... whatever collaboration was at hand.

55 other potential hostiles remained in the surrounding area.

There might have been 56, but a wise and vaguely-familiar Tyrion gentleman chose to vacate the area in haste.

Admittedly, Tycon was slightly surprised there was only the one.

Krysaos had conjured up a spherical, blood-filled whirlpool high overhead, corpses spinning inside of it.

In all likelihood, the remaining 55 were incapable of understanding the absurd power sustaining the magic. A literal god was behind its creation-- a fact absurd in itself.

--and besides that, a certain long-legged, dark-armored knight singlehandedly shut down an empowered Third-Circle evocation.

⟬ Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human Flaming Rage Knight. ⟭

*Regular* humans were absolutely not capable of performing such feats.

The woman was utterly terrifying.

But though the 55 lacked the intelligence to piss themselves and flee in abject horror... they at least had the common sense to not approach.

They waited. They watched.

Perhaps they held onto a fleeting hope that they had not encountered two Gold-Ranks and a Sky-Rank-- that it was all an elaborate ruse.

At any rate, Tycon was in no particular rush. It behooved him to take his time, allowing fear to sink into the psyche of his enemies.

He turned his attention to his dark-armored 'savior' and rendered appropriate greetings.

"Good afternoon, Korr," He said with a polite smile.

The strongest full-blooded human in Sol Invictus approached him. She then held her arms out to her sides, one open palm forward, the other still holding her flame-sheathed weapon.

Korr was a woman of few words. Her helmet covered her face completely... not that her expressions were easy to read, even without.

She stood quiet and motionless.

...Clearly, the pressure was on Tycon to react to what was some sort of social clue.

The way she held her sword did not *seem* to be aggressive.

That was good.

Korr's offensive potential could easily challenge beings one or two ranks higher than her own. Also, she had a primordial fire elemental dormant in her enchanted sword who didn't particularly care for him.

Perhaps... she was... surprised to see him?

Tycon smiled politely, "Thank you for coming to my aid. I will not forget this."

Korr retracted her arms, holding her fists above her heart and... swaying lightly.

That seemed to be a positive response.

With an explosive splash, Krysaos emerged from his water ball. He landed adjacent to Tycon in dramatic fashion, his knee and opposite palm touching the ground.

Brief introductions were had. Krysaos was surprisingly pleasant.

...Though he did mutter something about the 'hot girl' from the 'five-minute story.'

But, of course, the matter of the 55 fools in their midst still needed to be addressed.

"Question," Krysaos raised his hand.

...Or perhaps other matters needed to be addressed, first.

"Go ahead," Tycon waved.

"Should we be worried about that one guy that left?"

"No."

Korr raised her hand.

Tycon nodded to her... "Yes, go ahead."

Korr folded her fingers, leaving her pointing finger extended, "[BAD GUYS ON ROOFTOPS.]"

Tycon raised an eyebrow. Had Korr sensed enemies that he hadn't noticed?

He recalled how she had arrived to the scene... overhead.

From what he knew, flying was not one of her abilities... and neither was teleportation.

Had she arrived... via... jumping?

...Was that her preferred method of transportation? And if so, for how long had that been true?

"Leave them be, young lady," Tycon waved. "They will not trouble us. We'll keep our focus on the surrounding enemies, the ones radiating hostile intent. Any more questions?"

Krysaos raised his hand, "Ah, yeah. Lots o' guys. You think they're here for me or for you?"

"A curious notion," Tycon narrowed his eyes, "However, does it matter?"

"...No, I guess not," Krysaos shrugged.

Korr stepped in front of the Sea God, raising her hand, "[LEADER.]"

Though his patience was being tested, Tycon forced a smile, "Yes, Korr?"

"[REQUESTING PERMISSION TO KILL EVERYONE HERE.]"

",