Headed by a Snake

The elf in the distance had two long, straight-blades and... he moved around the battlefield like he was dancing. He swayed back and forth like waves in water. He leapt into the air, spinning in the wind. He even did a flip. And then he did ANOTHER flip! He was like a flipping GOD!!

Every motion... Lone desperately tried to burn into his memory. He couldn't see exactly what the elf was doing... how he was moving his sword... how he moved his body like it was to the tune of primal, yet graceful violence.

But everything he did-- ever tiny movement he made... cultists fell. It was like... they suddenly got tired of living. And when they were stopped moving, red lines would appear on their bodies and their limbs or heads would just... split off. Blood shot out of their bodies like... they had waterspouts that shot blood instead of water. Bloodspouts.

No... It wasn't Pale... it was...

Who in the seven hells was that guy?

"Flame take me," Bannok cursed... "That's... the Elven Blade Dance... That's Quies... the Ranger of Sol Invictus."

WWWWWHHHHAAAATT?

LONE WAS THE ONLY RANGER IN SOL INVICTUS!!

Wasn't he?

"Oh, yeah! HahaHA HAHAHA! HAAA HAA... hahh" Dragan laughed so hard he had to pause after to catch his breath... "We just call him Quay."

WAIT!

WWWAAAAAIT!!!

Lone knew that name! Quay was the name of Pale's... PALE'S DAD!!!

Boss Tycon said he was dead!!

...So it turned out that Boss is a liar. What else was he lying about?

He said that eating too much sugary bread would make his teeth turn black and rot away! Was that a lie, too?! Was his WHOLE LIFE A LIE?!

Lone swore in his heart that he'd stop brushing his teeth. If he couldn't trust the establishment, he wouldn't confine himself to their laws...

Another flash of light forced Lone to shield his eyes... and when he put his hand down... there was a pale elf with dark hair... hovering above them on wings of fire.

This one actually looked like an angel... and his robes... also had the mark of Sol Invictus??

"Well, well, well... What do I see here, but a trash Titanblood lazing around on his arse..."

"Is that a bad guy?" Lone whispered to Dragan. "He talks like a bad guy."

Dragan turned his back to the angel, covering his mouth to whisper back to Lone, "That's Zuko. He's Sol Invictus' Flaming Homo-Sorcerer."

"I can still hear you, idiot," Zuko glared from up high. "And it sounds like you want a ⌈Sudden Maximized Fireball⌋ jammed up your arse."

"See what I mean?" Dragan grinned, "He's into the butt stuff."

"We're gonna lose the bet because of you!" Zuko roared.

"Wh-what bet are you guys talking about?" Lone asked.

The elf's wings dissipated and he glided to the ground, walking gracefully towards the two of them, "We were trying to clear the humans out before Tycon showed up-- the *enemy* humans, anyroad."

Dragan placed a thick hand behind his head and grinned, "Ahaha... yeah... about that."

Lone followed the big man's gaze... to see... a Tyrion gladiator.

He was holding a ridiculously long sword and wore... a really flashy and revealing set of armor that didn't cover everything? But it kinda did? And he wore a helmet that covered his eyes.

The gladiator was being surrounded by over half-a-dozen cultists... With a single swipe, one naked cultist had his chest cut over halfway through. Then the gladiator put his hand on the middle of his sword, like it was a staff, and jammed the blade forward into a cultist's neck.

He proceeded to stab the others to death or hit them in the head with his sword's cross-hilt. It took him seconds to kill them all.

Lone wasn't even that fast-- and he was a man and a wolf! And the man had two weapons! No... the man was also a weapon. And the wolf. Literally, the wolf.

Seven hells, how many weapons was that?

"Unfortunate," The gladiator said as he approached.

Upon closer inspection, it was definitely Tycon... though if Lone hadn't heard his voice, he still wouldn't have been sure.

"B-boss?" Lone pursed his lips, "What are you wearing?"

Tycon crossed his arms, the un-helmeted bottom part of his face showing his annoyance, "Which one of you f... fine gentlemen conceived such an asinine wager?"

Boss was ignoring him... It was actually pretty common when he heard a question he didn't want to answer. Lone would ask Dragan about it later.

"Ehehe..." Dragan chuckled, "You were about to call us fools, weren'tcha, Boss? And it was probably Quay."

"Probably Quay," Zuko nodded.

"ARE YOU GUYS TALKIN' ABOUT ME?!" The Elven Ranger shouted in the distance-- "THE ANSWER IS YEAH! 'COS I'M AWESOME!!"

Bannok walked up... and he didn't look happy... which was weird, considering that Boss Tycon and the members of Sol Invictus just saved him from dying a hundred times over... "Tactician... I got a bone to pick with you."

"It can wait," Tycon shook his head. "We're leaving this place."

"NOT A CHANCE!!" Bannok shouted, "This is... this... place..."

The one-armed Weaponmaster's voice shook... "This is my home... San Ignatio di Luca... Burnt to the ground while I was in the service..."

"Your point, Brother-Bannok?"

"Don't call me that!!" The man roared, "Don't you EVER... f*cking... call me that, again... This is a chance... a chance to defend my home from these cultist bastards... a chance I never got."

"You're delirious..." Tycon flipped up his visor and narrowed his weird yellow eyes... it was his usual look, "Has no one told you that this is a Reality Marble? A painstakingly faithful recreation of the battle, yes, but ultimately worthless."

Lone raised his hand, "I told him."

"Open your eyes, Bannok!" Tycon swung his arm out, pointing a palm at the burning town.

Cultists still fought in the distance against the Tyrion men and women that refused to give up, even against the overwhelming amount of enemies they faced... "This is the past! The only men and women you can save here are yourselves."

"I'm. painfully. f*cking aware," Bannok growled. "But I--"

"--Don't care," Tycon reached out his hand-- glowing an ominous blue, and wrapped it around the Weaponmaster's face.

Bannok disappeared... the place where he stood, completely empty-- as if he'd never existed.