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As the voice called out from behind them, Lucas and Harold spun around, eyes widening with alarm. The source of the voice was one of the owl-masked figures. Without hesitation, the two knights drew their swords, ready for whatever confrontation lay ahead.
In the now well-lit room, the details of the masks became clearer. All of the figures wore owl masks, though some concealed their entire faces, while others left only their mouths exposed.
"They're divided," Lucas murmured in a hushed voice. "Eight here, so they definitely have a plan. We should leave, Hal."
The urgency of their situation was evident, and they had no time to waste.
But they were already surrounded by them.
Trapped and surrounded by the owl-masked figures, Harold and Lucas exchanged worried glances.
"We've got no other way out, Lucas..."
Harold whispered urgently.
"We'll have to fight."
Lucas frowned but nodded.
Cause there was no other choice but to face the masked assailants.
With swords drawn and alertness in their eyes, they prepared to face the masked intruders. The mystery deepened, and the stakes grew higher as they braced for what would come next...
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The room crackled with tension as Harold and Lucas, swords in hand, prepared for an impending clash. The owl-masked assailants, all armed and eerily silent, began to encircle them, forming a tight circle. It was a battle of uncertainty; neither side could predict their opponents' strengths or tactics.
The first clash was sudden and brutal. Lucas, with swift reflexes, lunged at one of the assailants. His sword met steel with a loud clang as he parried the masked figure's attack. The room filled with the reverberations of clashing metal, and sparks flew as they fought. It was a dance of blades and a contest of skill, with neither side gaining a clear advantage.
Harold was locked in a fierce duel with another attacker. His strikes were forceful and precise, but the assailant moved with an almost uncanny agility, blocking Harold's blows with an eerie swiftness. Their blades clashed in a symphony of clinks and clashes.
Lucas managed to disarm one of the assailants and quickly dispatched them. But more masked figures pressed in. The numbers were against them, and they knew they had to be tactical. They fought with coordination, trying to cover each other's backs.
The skirmish continued a chaotic melee of clashing blades, grunts, and the desperate scramble for an upper hand. Sweat glistened on their foreheads, and their breathing grew heavy.
One by one, the owl-masked assailants fell to the relentless efforts of Harold and Lucas. It was a harrowing battle of attrition, and the room was filled with tension and adrenaline.
The last assailant standing while breathing heavily, then, in a final act of desperation, made a reckless lunge at Lucas. With a swift and precise strike, Lucas parried the attack and swiftly disarmed the assailant.
The room fell into a tense silence, only broken by the heavy breathing of Harold and Lucas. Their clothes were stained with sweat and their arms ached from the intense battle.
Harold and Lucas emerged victorious from their fierce battle with the owl-masked assailants, but not without wounds to show for their efforts. As the tension in the room subsided, the reality of their injuries began to set in.
Harold, his chest heaving with exhaustion, sheathed his sword with a grimace. He raised a hand to his temple, feeling the sticky warmth of blood trickling from a gash. It was a minor cut, but it stung, serving as a reminder of the intense struggle they had just endured.
Lucas, too, had not escaped unscathed. He leaned against a stone pillar, clutching his left arm, which was seeping blood from a deep gash. The adrenaline that had fueled him during the battle was now waning, and the pain in his arm became increasingly pronounced.
"Are you alright, Lucas?"
Harold asked concern etched on his face as he approached his loyal companion.
Lucas nodded, though the grimace on his face spoke volumes.
"I'm still alive.."
With their breath still labored from the intense battle, Harold mustered the strength to rise, his determination pushing him to confront the masked figures and unveil their identities. Lucas, though also recovering, remained seated on the ground, watching Harold's approach.
As Harold drew nearer to the masked individuals, his sharp count found a discrepancy that set his mind on edge. Despite the fact that eight figures had entered the room earlier, only seven lay before him now. An unsettling realization sent a shiver down his spine.
In the midst of this confusing situation, Harold's body jolted as a sharp sting pierced his neck. His hand shot up instinctively to grasp the source of this unexpected pain. As he pulled, a chilling realization set in – it was a needle, a sinister instrument that had pricked him unnoticed.
Harold's eyes filled with confusion and alarm as he glanced at Lucas, who was frantically running toward him, his mouth moving rapidly. But all Harold could hear was a muffled buzz, like distant whispers. It felt as if the ground was pulling him down. His vision blurred, and he tumbled to the ground.
Amid this fading consciousness, a chilling voice echoed in his ears, saying cruelly,
"Happy Death Day, Young Master Patrickson!!!"
Harold lay on the ground, his body numb and unresponsive. His gaze fixed on the masked figure, the very one who had first addressed them before the battle. Despite his impaired vision, he was determined to remember that mask, to etch it into his memory. His heart pounded as he awaited the consequences of the needle's sting.
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🌙 The Villainess Will Walk Away 🌙
Fantasy⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪🌙☀⭐⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪ ♥♠♦ What would you do if life gives you another chance? Will you go on the same path? Or will you use it to take revenge on the people who had done wrong to you?? Or will you entirely change your path and see...
