Wicked Negotiation

The explosion hit like a sack of brick.

Debris shook and exploded as Requiem dug his way out. The Knight — currently a trainee — cursed. They knew the attack was coming, but holy shit. This was merciless. Those Fairies were playing for keeps. Part of him wanted to blame the Dark Elves and the mega bitch who made this happen, but it would be like blaming a tool.

Requiem drew his swords and barely evaded a massive whip of vines lunging at him. Great. Phantasian’s Poison Ivy? What next? Fantasy Mafia?

Right on cue, several gangly-looking men in silver armor arrived.

Requiem pulled out a grenade while the mass of plants roared behind him.

As the Knight whacked the first attacker with a sword and swiped the leg from underneath the second guy, he tried to look on the bright-side. Sure, the International meeting had turned into an international FUBAR. True, the Dawn was surrounded and outnumbered. Yes, the garrison was a no-show.

But at least he wasn’t carrying supplies anymore.

As Requiem batted a grenade at the discount plant-life, he reminisced to the beginning of his life as a hero.