Grey morning light blanketed Altan with dread and anxiety-two emotions he rarely encountered. I guess the idea of assassinating a psycho king will do that, he reasoned as he nibbled at (slightly stale) leftover meat pie. Griffin sat across him at the cracked wooden table, eating with no more enthusiasm. They exchanged bits and pieces of conversation over breakfast, with a little more ease than before. It was a result of some weird mix of comradeship and stress, coupled by the hanging thread of thought that repeatedly reminded Altan this could be his last day alive. He could list a number of people he'd rather spend his last day with, namely May or that one catch from the tavern, but in the last day or so he'd begun to respect Griffin. Just a little. He was stubborn, confident, driven, guarded, and just a little cocky-it was like looking in a warped mirror. Not a perfect reflection, but enough to feel at least some semblance of familiarity. He was also secretly grateful for his dedication to protecting Altan. Griffin still annoyed the hell out of him, though.
After infiltrating Crags Fort, they spent the night holed up in some trashed abandoned building. Set on the edge of the city, they traded comfort and quality for security. The interior was dark, looted, and barren save for a single old wooden table and a decaying heap in the corner that Altan tried not to pay attention to. He'd waited in suspense as Griffin ventured back out to get them some warm food for once, and then they'd spent an uncomfortable night on a hard floor, with no blankets or beds or pillows. There was no hum of electricity, no soft whooshes of passing cars, no distant sirens. Just a lonely silence that left Altan homesick and turning over thoughts in his head until they finally unravelled into unconsciousness.
But that would all be over soon. Today, they would kill King Centurion, escape, and then finally Griffin would help Altan get home. There would be no more sleepless nights, no more monsters, and no more evil kings and dragons. Most people would be irritated going back to such a mundane life and not have anyone believe you if you tried to tell them what you saw and experienced. Altan, on the other hand, would be happy to leave this mess behind and never speak, or think, of it again. As he took another bite, he absentmindedly rubbed the diamond encrusted ring on his finger. Dad probably has the entire police force searching for me right now. I cant even imagine what Mom's acting like.
Though he'd lost his sense of time days ago, Altan guessed almost three hours passed before Griffin was reaching for his stolen set of armour. Altan hesitated for a moment, then slowly stood and began to suit up himself.
"It's time."

* * *

"Citizens of Crag's Fort. I am Centurion. I grace you with my presence today to announce my official inheritance of this fine settlement, and, present to you a choice." Icy blue eyes swept the broken crowd, glittering malevolently. "Join us; give your hands and minds to my cause. Work as slaves and earn the right to be spared from the Dark One's wrath. Or," he simpered, "die."
The words reached the massive crowd of villagers with a note of finality. A statement clear as crystal, leaving no room for interpretation. Men and women of all ages and builds visibly slouched, the light sinking from their eyes. This was a defeated people. Hundreds, no, thousands of them, all bearing bruises and scars. Griffin and Altan stood in line with dozens of other armed guards, forming a menacing perimeter around the crowd, silently watching the proceeding. Centurion continued, but Altan wasn't paying attention to his words anymore. He was waiting, mouth dry, hands clammy, heart thrumming, waiting for Griffins cue.
Centurion stood proud on a raised podium, adorned in matte black armour similar to that of the guards, though far more ornate, with a heavy red cape cascading from his shoulders. An insignia of ruby marked the centre of his chest piece. He was tall with salt and pepper hair, and stood with an air of authority and experience. His voice continued to rumble throughout the space, deep and formal, but imposing all the same. To his left stood a stockier guard, planted solidly with a neutral expression that masked the predatory gaze he scanned the crowd with. Though clad in heavy black armour, he wore no helmet, revealing thick blond hair and rich brown eyes. He held no weapon, and bore some sort of red symbol on his chest piece that resembled Centurions, thought a little less ornate. A personal body guard, perhaps. Or maybe a general. To Centurions right stood a woman and as Altan focused on her, she seemed... familiar.
She must be Lilith, the Queen... I'd tap that if she wasn't an allegedly psycho sorcerer. She wore an elegant black dress that hugged her upper body, though the skirt flowed out and trailed a foot or two behind her, the entire piece accented with red. She wore silver jewelry encrusted with rubies, and a three-pronged silver crown sat nestled in beds of black locks that were pulled into a messy yet eloquent bun. A few stands curled down along her soft jaw, brushing against pale skin. His eyes shifted down to her hands, slender and sheathed in fingerless black gloves that climbed to her elbows. It was the hands. He didn't recognize her face but, those hands. They were strikingly familiar, and Altans brow furrowed as he struggled to recall where he'd seen them before.
She had been watching the crowd with an upward tilting chin, but now her attention shifted. Her head turned ever so slightly, and a pair of grey eyes locked directly onto Altan. He froze. Her gaze commanded him to stay, and she continued to stare at him for an agonizingly long time. His heart pounded so loud in his chest Altan feared it was audible to the other guards around him, and he fought every urge telling him to squirm under her chilling gaze. Her eyes then flashed to the side, directly at Griffin, though if he noticed he didn't indicate it any way. She looked back to Altan and though they were grey, he swore her eyes light up in delight, and that her lips twitched ever so slightly upwards. She took half a step in his direction... and then a vicious shout split the air. Chaos immediately broke loose.
A mob of people, from all places in the crowd, began drawing weapons. Equipped with rusty swords, daggers, clubs, adorned with nothing more than rough leathers and hides, they began swarming the guards. A group of them began advancing towards to stage. A chorus of screams and clangs filled the air as the guards began drawing their swords and casting magic, surging forward to suppress this uprising. The King and Queen were being ushered off the podium by the guard on his left who was now bellowing above the noise.
"KILL THEM ALL!" He screeched, features glowing red as streams of bubbling lava spilled from his hands into the crowd.
Altan turned quickly to Griffin who already had his sword drawn and was looking around frantically.
"I thought you said there wasn't a rebellion!" Altan shouted, drawing his own sword.
Griffin all but snarled in frustration, "There isn't one! I don't know who these people are, but he's getting away! Come on!" He surged forward into the battle zone, and Altan hesitated a moment before sprinting after him.
    Altans mind clouded and his vision tunnelled as he barrelled after Griffin, shouldering past scrambling bodies and screaming voices. Not two feet to his right he glanced over as a young man, eyes wild and trying to flee, had his legs cut clean off by a guard who then trampled his body. A little boy wailed in terror and disbelief as his fathers body fell before him, blood gushing from his headless neck and drenching the ground. Altan sprang recklessly into action as the guard advanced upon the child, sword whistling down towards him. Altan yelled as he lunged forward with his sword, but he was too late. The sword sliced through the boy, from shoulder to hip, and he fell suddenly silent atop his father in a bloody heap, intestines and guts spilling from his belly. Not a second later Altans sword was punching through the back of the guards chestplate, slowing only as it met the resistance of flesh and ribs. He twisted, and then yanked the sword out, gagging as the guard fell with a gargled cry. I'm a killer. He didn't have time to be horrified. A few guards turned towards him in shock and began to give chase but they were quickly intercepted by armed villagers. He dashed after Griffin.
    Ahead of him Griffin was carving a path through the crowd, magical words lost amongst the uproar. He was releasing spells in all directions, his sword cutting down those that his magic didn't take care of. A neon green gas snaked through the visors of three heavily armoured guards who within seconds were choking and spasming on the ground. Spears of ice punctured the arms and legs of another. Another guards armour suddenly glowed red hot and she wailed as steam began to rise from her body, the stench of burning flesh wafting into the air as she desperately began to peel off her armour. There was no pattern or reason to the varieties of magic Griffin was using, but they were all lethal. Soon, however, Altan noticed with a start that Griffin wasn't focusing on only hitting guards.
      Lightning shot through a tight cluster of people, mostly guards but also innocent men and women who seized and screamed as the electricity shot through them. His sword cut through one of the rebelling villagers who tried to engage him, and he collapsed of shock as his arm was severed from his body, blubbering screams of agony falling past his lips. A cluster of  people, both guards and otherwise, blocked his path and with a cry Griffin lashed out, kneeling to touch the ground with his palm. In an instant spikes of stone and earth erupted from the ground, skewering everyone in his path, sending fountains of blood spattering in the air. Altan nearly threw up when what looked to be a hand bounced off the chest of his armour, blood splattering through his visor.
       The blood of the innocent. The blood of the guilty. It ran together and painted the ground red.
       Something about the way Griffin stood admist so many fierce warriors standing his ground and felling one after another gave Altan pause. Griffin was the apex predator. Watching him made Altan uneasy for a reason other than quite simply watching him down dozens of men and women with families so effortlessly. Something he couldn't place. The thought was fleeting and Altan charged on.
      They were almost at the stage now, but Altan jumped forward, fingers wrapping around Griffins wrist in a death grip and yanking him back. He flinched as Griffin whirled around on him, his sword nearly cleaving into his side before Griffin realized it was Altan and stopped himself.
      "What are you doing!" Altan demanded, "You're killing innocent people!"
        Griffin ripped his arm free. The smoke was gone from his face and his eyes were glowing so fiercely they were almost white through his visor. His breaths came out in staggered rasps, and his posture was unsteady. He looked, and sounded, faint. "Many more will die if I don't kill Centurion!"
       He turned to keep going but Altan grabbed him again, protesting. "Griffin, stop!"
        Griffin spun around and his fist slammed into Altans jaw, sending him stumbling several steps back. He stepped into Altans space, a gloved finger jabbing into his chest as his voice rose with every word.
       "Deal with it, or get out of my way! You do not understand how important this is for the world, how important this is for me! You know nothing! Do you think I'm doing this for fun? Because I find it humorous to go around killing people in my spare time? No! This is beyond you, this is beyond them, and I-"
        A spiked club smashed into Griffins head from behind, and he crumpled to the ground. The culprit was a woman who's face was completely concealed by a leather mask, wrapped in form-fitting leather and cloths. She was covered in gushing wounds and dirt but stepped forward with purpose, moving to smash Griffins head again and finish the job. Altan dropped his sword, leaping forward and shouldering her away.
       "Hey, hey stop!" He hastily took his helmet off, hands thrown out in submission, "We're on your side!"
        The woman froze, hesitated, and then the club connected with Altans skull and the chaos cut into silence.