They slowly went down the stairs. In truth, they were hurrying. However, due to being an uncoordinated team of serial killers, they were slowed down by those who rushed and tripped, as the screams pierced their eardrums and nested itself into their brains.
The screams. The horrible screams which made several of them hesitant to even move forward towards the danger. Even as they covered their ears, they still heard those horrifying sounds.
They had made many people scream with the same kind of pain. Yet, when it was an ally—someone who they could easily see themselves in—it carried a weight previously unknown, and made even the journey over excruciatingly painful.
…
Not the most historically accurate, but from what I've heard, Vlad the Impaler utilized the spectacle and shock of hearing fallen soldier's screams of impalement against the army.
On the very first floor, Riley looked up. Filling his eardrums, the emboldened cries of a wailing man rang throughout the entirety of the building.
Some say it was twenty-thousand. Nevertheless, the sheer sight of a forest of impaled bodies was enough to induce retreat. But, ultimately, I don't have that. I don't have the ability to impale that many enemies in such a short time-frame, so I had to make do.
I instilled the fear of my physical strength and skill into them on the eight floor. And now, on the third, they have no choice but to listen to their ally's screams. This, in itself, should make up for the lack of spectacle.
It's so loud that it's disorienting, and if they're moving towards what they know for a fact is danger, that sensory overload should work wonders against the group morale.
"...Thanks, Nina," he softly whispered. "You taught me well… I probably would've died already if it wasn't for you."
Indeed, if Riley had gone in without his tutelage under Nina in the art of war, and treated it as a fight rather than what it truly was—war, then he would have been overwhelmed by the many and killed rather quickly.
Clutching onto the black-cat necklace, Riley smiled to himself.
I'll get out of here, and I'll thank you properly. In person.
He remembered her warm embrace, the feeling of her head on his shoulder, and the happiness she filled him with.
That's why I'll win.
"Heheheh," he laughed.
"—The power of love, isn't that right?"
He looked up, still hearing the screams.
"Y-YOU GUYS! PLEASE, GET ME OFF OF THIS! NO, DON'T TOUCH, AGH, FUCK, WAIT, WAIT!"
So they've arrived.
"Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected." Isn't that right?
…
As the crowd unanimously entered the room, trying to help their dying ally off of the pole, those in the background continued to panic. How horrific it felt, to be on the other side of the slaughter.
Riley Woods had completely turned the tables, turning them all into a group of idiots shuddering in fear. In truth, not a single one of them felt safe.
Those at the front, trying to secure their ally off of the stake, were bombarded with his overwhelmingly loud screams of pain, which made them feel as though their eardrums would burst.
And, those in the back, who had chosen to stand watch, anticipated Riley's presence everywhere. At any moment, they believed he could show up. And, because everyone else was focused on trying to rescue Morgan due to his information-delivering capabilities, they would not be able to defend those on the outskirts.
How utterly dreadful, to not feel safe even when cloaked by allies.
"OKAY, OKAY, I—HK, OKAY, JUST, PLEASE, JUST A LITTLE——"
The next instant, there was an eruption of fire. An overwhelming explosion, which blasted through walls and glass, washed over the tens of people, engulfing them in scorching-hot flames.
Unanimously, they screamed in fright and pain, caught off guard by the sudden blast.
Those in the back, whose ears were already overloaded by their ally's screams, heard nothing but ringing. Piercing their eardrums, their senses directly assaulted, it instilled a primal fear into them, activating the fight-or-flight response against their will.
[Crashing], which had been hidden behind the wall which Morgan was stationed alongside, had detonated.
Though it wasn't an extremely powerful blast, at least not so much that it was able to kill all of them, that was by no means the main purpose.
The group slowly, barely, climbed to their feet. Looking upon the walls, they saw a fire which was quickly extinguished, [Crashing] having been unsummoned.
There were twenty-three of them, and yet not one of them had overcome their biology. Their hearts raced, their minds ran with thoughts, their body was hot with sweat and tears, as their shaking legs failed several of them, leaving them collapsed onto the ground.
A nightmare—they had to be in a nightmare.
None of them had been killed in the blast, yet its effects were still potent upon their psyche.
The journey itself had been enough to make them expect the worst. The screaming, the wailing, the howls of agony made them all consider whether or not what they were doing was even worth it. And then, to come down and try their hand at helping their ally, only to be bombed by a force outside their knowledge, had completely eroded group morale.
They hadn't scored a single good-shot against Riley in tens of minutes. Originally, he was beaten by them, as he made a show of his weakness and stupidity.
But they hadn't heard his voice in so long, he hardly seemed to be human. Even when he did show his face, he had managed to escape seemingly without effort and further make use of his great advantage.
So, then,
"M-muhh… I… I want, I want…"
A servant was on the ground. Sitting on his rear, hugging his knees to his chest, his hands on his hair as his sobbing eyes were pressed against his legs, he wept bitterly in absolute fear, unable to withstand this sheer terror ahead of him.
—In World War One, "Shell Shock" was a term given to what was thought of as the physical response to concussive blasts. However, it was later on discovered to be a largely psychological condition, although the sensory overload of artillery could exacerbate it.
Caused by unending bombs, the death of close allies, and a continuous state of fear, it reduced even trained soldiers to husks of their former selves.
If such a thing would happen to even the trained, how much more would it impact those explicitly untrained?
—This one, singular servant, carried the fear of the entire group of twenty-three. Spreading like a disease—or rather, amplifying that already-burrowing disease, it annihilated what was left of an already-unstable group morale.
At this point, what even mattered? How much did killing Riley even matter, if continuing to push towards the cause would only increase the likelihood of their death? How much did servitude and loyalty to the Forgotten King even truly matter, if loyalty to him meant betrayal of their own life?
What had Ghira done for them? What had he done? They'd been given supernatural gifts, but for what? Enjoying murder, being able to get away with it—yet all of it, each and every last life they had taken, had led to this.
Pointless. It was all pointless, then.
Neither Riley nor Ghira nor Scott mattered. Servitude was a sham, a pointless farce. There was no real point to it, no meaningful reason to fight.
—Thinking this and many suchlike things, many in the group lost the will for combat.
…
I hear sobbing. But still, I need to split them up. A unified force is something I'd much rather not face.
Riley flew up, utilizing [Hanging]. Peering through the window of the third floor, he saw many on the ground, struggling to stand as their legs shook horribly.
Upon seeing such a sight, Riley felt an unbearable pain in his chest. There, grimacing at the sight, he invariably felt sympathy for them. Even though they were his enemies, he reminded himself of his true enemy.
"Despair itself," he softly whispered, rolling up his sleeve and seeing the noose tattooed around his arm.
That's right. Absolutely, I hate despair. That's why… Alright, I'll use that method. But not yet. First, I need to divide them physically, as they'll be difficult if they all gather courage here.
Riley flew inside and summoned [Crashing] within the hallway the enemy found themselves in. He remained hidden, and by the time they then turned their gaze to the car which had been brought into the world——
Yet again, another explosion rampaged upon the group.
Further instilling terror into them, all of the members broke off into a run, as Scott was the only one who had the absolute will to continue fighting. Riley dispersed, fleeing from sight as Scott grit his teeth.
"Shit! Alright, alright then! Everyone, split up into groups!" He commanded, as his underlings easily obeyed, fleeing from the bombs.
His thinking was both irrational and rational. [Crashing] was an ability of Riley's he had no experience going up against, as in their first fight, Riley himself was unaware it was even an option. Then, if that was so, then the idea of being bombed all at once and being blown up—unacceptable.
If they stuck together, Riley would bomb them.
Thus, in Scott's mind, the best option was to split up, and go from there.