The defensive enchantments meticulously engraved into the Old Guard's armour display their power, resisting what would have been a devastating decapitation and instead making the large bolt bounce off the helmet.
Although not without knocking the Old Guard off their chair.
Before anyone can recover from the surprise, the deflected bolt explodes mid air.
The roar mixes with screams of the employees and non combatants. Wood splinters and ricochets from the destructive shockwave, tearing into everyone indiscriminately and violently.
Dent responds first, flicking his wrist and drawing his sword before the explosion reaches his table.
"Scatter."
With precise speed and no wasted movements, wind gathers instantly around his blade and spreads into a wuthering wave of power to match.
The counterforce repels the explosion's own and shreds the shockwave before it can do any further damage to the room.
"Skillful response!" Julius leaps onto the table and draws his swords. "But that was only an opening move. Dener! Attention!"
The narithe stirs, his ears and tail flicking quickly as he raises his head, dazed and confused.
"Is it stormin' or what?" He slurs his words quickly.
Julius points to the stairs where a group of armour-clad warriors surge in without an observable end.
Some wear platemail while others boast half-plate. A mix of metal, chitin, and leather makes up their outfitting. Their weapons consist of spears, harpoon guns, shotels, and shovels in the front. Pulling up the rear are cloth-covered warriors holding wands and staves, while a few have bladed foci or spiked knuckles.
Another group bursts in from the destroyed wall are more lightly dressed. Their skin is sallow and their eyes are sunken. None look to be Undead, though Dent considers for a moment they might be with how weak they look.
White fabric wraps around their waist, the tails of which hang and sway loosely. Different emblems are emblazoned on different parts of their clothes, though some have these same emblems burned onto their exposed body or into their thick leather collars.
Dent's grip tightens on his sword. "Slaves."
"We came to collect dues and what do we find but the rats messing with Rosula's inventory?!"
The speaker's voice booms from three separate locations but Dent doesn't feel any magic for that to make sense. Nor can he whip his wind through the area since the Old Guard and these unnamed attackers are all wearing magic-repelling gear.
"Lucky you, Dent, friend of Aki." Julius kicks up the table as a shield and pulls everyone down with him to avoid stray attacks.
"How?"
"These people are part of that criminal event you and I are here for. Although I was not expecting Braxton Abbey's gangs to follow the Rosula Theatre without serious payout."
"Change of plans!" Roars the tri-voiced commander. "Capture any pretty ones and kill the rest! We'll collect this fine establishment's payment with their bodies."
Magic is nearly useless by either side and in a ruined, enclosed space, swinging any long weapon is more sure to hit an ally than an enemy.
Still, the Old Guard and a few competent patrons mount their defense against the gangsters.
"Sneaky bastards, waiting till we're feeling fat and lazy, eh?" Dener growls and flexes his powerful body. He pulls himself up – no longer feeling dazed, and dives into the fray.
"Been getting tired of otherworlders. I've been needing a challenge." He snaps his arms down quickly. The form of his armour bulges against the strain of his muscles, followed by the satisfying cracking of bones setting into place. "To me! Show these scum the pride of Tsarjar's protectors!"
Even with their abilities impaired by a full belly and alcohol, the Old Guard move with lethal efficiency, turning the debris and furniture to their advantage and forcing the attackers into the path of the explosive bolts.
With their allies in the way, the magical and explosive attacks from outside cease, forcing the battle into a close-quarters physical combat.
"Now THIS is what I'm talking about!!" Dener's hackles rise and his fangs are bared. Excitement shines in his eyes.
He claws a path in the densest part of the attacking group. Dener rapidly swaps in small daggers and expertly cuts and stabs through small gaps in the attacker's defenses. Within a second, a pile of bodies lie at his feet and the Old Guard get a massive boost in morale.
"Take out the feral cat first!"
"I'll show you feral!"
On the other side, Dent and Julius are playing off each other to support the rear side, but there is truly no end to people swarming in and the building is suffering all the more for it.
Chaotic clashes of metal and spells tear apart the floorboards and unlucky combatants. Where there isn't blood, there's plain destruction.
"Our conversation was cut short before it could begin." Julius kicks one of the gangsters down and swiftly decapitates him. "We need to get out alive if you still wish to speak."
Dent scans the altered terrain, searching for possible openings or advantages he can use.
The conflict has turned into a circular exchange between outside and inside, with the gangsters completely encircling them. Meanwhile, the unfortunate few that didn't escape at first are all packed together in the middle of the destroyed room.
So far the balance of power is in favour of the Old Guard, though the attackers are quickly growing in number and are starting to launch ranged attacks without regard for their own.
They're completely surrounded with no way out.
"I refuse to die in a glorified bar brawl but I can't just run either. Not without significantly hindering my delivery quest and closing off the chance to get her questions answered." Dent grinds his teeth together, kicking and slashing all the while he considers his options.
He grunts sharply, annoyed. "There's one thing I could do but it's slow, costly, and requires supplementation. Without Aki, I'll be in heavily unfavourable circumstances after."
"Hurry it on before those shiny kissasses get here!" Shouts the commanding gangster from two places now instead of three.
"Get your allies to duck when I draw and cover me." Dent instructs Julius and goes to stand in the middle of the room. "I can clear a path."
"Pardon?"
Julius complies all the same, jumping to cover stray attacks aimed at the now motionless Dent.
A massive fireball cuts through gangsters and Old Guard, shrinking exponentially fast to the size of a throwing ball before it makes it past only to be cut into nothing by Julius.
Dent stands with his feet spread apart to line up with his shoulders and raises his sheathed sword parallel to his body and slowly levels out his breathing. All the while Julius is getting targeted more and more because of the flashy red of his cloak.
"Work faster, please, adventurer!" Julius says.
"Violent gales shall reap the earthbound…"
He raises and brings his sheathed sword closer to himself. Then he angles his feet to one side.
Exterior mana pours into Dent's own internal mana pool. Slowly at first because of the interference by the magical repulsion of everyone's armour.
"These lives, no more than grass..." Dent lowers his sword into the final position and quickly looks over at Julius.
"Shall be cut down." Dent flicks the sword free from the sheath. "Murakumo."
"Hit the deck!"
Dener and the Old Guard, hearing the urgency in Julius' voice crumple to the ground with little regard to how they fall over so long as they've fallen flat on the ground. The non-combatants try to sink lower into the ruined floorboards, just in case.
At the same time, Dent swings with all his might. Destructive squalls whistle and wail as he unsheathes the sword. Ripped free from the sheath to follow the slim path of the blade from tip and beyond, the winds boom a rivalry to the explosives and force that destructive power onto the attackers.
The string-like narrowness of the wind also cuts through everything in its path. So precise is the slash that the magic-repelling enchantments placed on the gangster's defenses fail to register any sort of damage.
Arms and torsos fall clean off the front liners while those behind them panic before also falling apart. Many don't realise they've been killed even when they're watching their legs trying to run away.
The slaves that were still alive, however, only have an expression of freedom and gratitude gleaming in their sunken eyes.
Crrrrrrrrschtschtscht
With all the damage sustained, the Scorpion's Rest cannot handle the weight of people on its second floor any longer and collapses into itself.
"Malde!" Dent curses. He quickly gathers the wind around everyone and forms a bubble of air to cushion their fall right as the ground breaks under them.
In an instant, everyone that wasn't shielded or didn't duck and cover in time is buried by the rubble, and those beyond the building's walls are silent. Either running to stay alive and report the events, or dead.
Those that did duck or were already below the path of the attack, are unharmed. Severely windswept clothes and hair aside.
On the other hand, Dent is out of breath and leaning on his sword, though he outwardly presents as being unperturbed by the whole thing.
"A-are they gone? Did you get everyone?" Squeaks the dark skinned ratkin, popping up from under some debris to gaze up at him.
"That was the goal." Dent says.
"How did you do that?" She asks. Her clothes and curly hair are stuck toward one side of her much like everyone else. Her eyes shine with equal parts fear and awe at his display of power.
"Yes, I'd like to know too." Julius has already brushed back his hair into place and adjusted his clothes to normal.
"As would I!" An unfamiliar but imposing voice shouts.
Stepping through the rubble with heavy steps and metal slapping metal, a group of fully armoured soldiers step into view.
"They're the Daelerian Guard…" Whispers the ratkin waitress from under Julius' cloak.
Dressed in reflective armour from head-to-toe, and very little decorative fabric or fashioned cloth to break up their silhouettes, these newcomers are difficult to clearly make out. If it weren't for the silver shine of the metal or the matte indentations of the same armorial bearings stamped on the left side of their chest.
A 3/4ths front angle of a sea-faring ship cutting through water and framed by a tri-tufted cloud descending over the body inside a single annulet. The unfamiliar words: Nostra nebula domus, mare amicus noster stamped along the top and bottom of the bearing.
"To reach that level, the tale is surely epic. But I have more vital interests to place first, you see." Says the one in front who has a differently shaped full helm than those behind him.
His steps fall heavy over the rubble on approach until he's looking straight down at Dent and Julius. "The City Lord invites you to offer enlightenment over your purposes here."
Despite the use of the word invite, those behind the leader make it clear that refusal is not an option.
"Malde."