Looking up upon hearing her name from the familiar voice, Nike was quick to catch the bloodied cloak that Vangelis had dropped to her, her fingers curling around the soaked material that she swiftly tossed it over her shoulder, before pivoting to catch the remaining hooded figure that she had kicked to the ground to catch the cloak. With one knife holding the other's dagger at bay, Nike caught the wrist, and then using the figure as a weight, leaned forward to kick the hood in the face, hearing the satisfying crunch as her hard boot found its target.

By the time the figure hit the ground, her sword was firmly held in position over the body, and with no mercy from the many years in the battlefield, the female commander drove her already blood-soaked longsword right into the gut of the figure, hearing the gurgle of death through the gritted teeth of the wrapped head, before the other's head lolled sideways.

Panting when she finally straightened up again, only then Nike noticed just how the blood stained cloak had transferred over to her own armor and tunic. The side of her cheek that had the cloak over her shoulder was smeared with blood, along with the neck and arm, where the blood of the dead Creed she had killed splattered on it. The arm where the other one had managed to slice open ached, blood staining the sleeve, but it wasn't anything Nike hadn't handled before.

With heavy, drawn breathes, the commander turned to her general just as he dropped down, her eyes flinching when she saw the dead king's head in his grip. Her stomach rolled, gurgling in disgust, but Nike did her best to keep whatever she had in her stomach down, tightening her hold on her sword, with the other picking up the bloody cloak from her shoulder, waiting as Vangelis wrapped up the head.

Heeding Vangelis's next instructions, Nike jogged down the steps before the other two, to gather a few guards who had been nearby. With curt instructions to spread the message, the commander got them to guard the entrances and lock the doors to the circus, keeping people away from the growing fire and stadium itself. With that done, Nike headed back towards whereever Vangelis was, crown prince's cloak itself to follow her general for the palace. She did not look forward to the next duty on hand when they finally met King Stephanos, but they had little choice.

With his blade raised once more, Alypius was ready to lay the finishing few blows to this cultist, ending his reign of terror right there and then before his moment could happen, he saw out of the corner of his eyes a figure. It swung like a madman as the order to duck hit his ears. Not one to be stupid, and one to act on teamwork, Alypius dropped to his knees. Hearing the rush of air above his head, the lieutenant raising his gaze only to watch the man stumbled off the edge, surely falling to his death. With a satisfied grin, he rose to his feet, raising a fist to Vangelis as a sign of thanks.

Looking over Alypius witnessed a display of pure skill as the commander next to him easily dispatched of the final creed member, wearing that cloak over his shoulders. With that singular moment of calm, Alpyius stood there with his fellow combatant, their blades soaked and dripping with bloods as they both breathed heavily. Alpyius obviously came out the most wounded after that ordeal, yet his injury would end in nothing more than a scar. Another one to add to the plenty that already scarred his body.

Rolling his arms back, feeling his newly scarred flesh rub against his armour, he winced at the pain it caused, with the adrenaline quickly fading from his body. Yet his head snapped up to Vangelis as he called for him. Alypius was honestly shocked to see the man drop the crown to him. He was nothing but a lieutenant, probably not the best person to hold the crown from his fallen king, yet he had no time to linger. His feet blasted off into action before his mind did, and within moments he caught the crown with a free hand, long before it came close to the ground. Alypius was quick to stop, his eyes just looking towards the crown in a terrified awe. He saw his own reflection staring back at him against the shining gold of the crown, a few specks of blood splattered across his cheek as he saw himself. Brushing his thumb across a speck of blood on the crown, he suddenly felt sick. His stomach turning as his vision became dizzy. He almost could not bare to hold it, yet he had to shake his head. No people were still in trouble and he would be needed else were, now was not the time for feeling sorrow. Yet even still the words, “Protect this with your life.” Echoed through his mind.

Lost to his own thoughts he was only truly knocked out of it by the words of Vangelis, asking for his cloak. Alypius looked up, noticing the head, sorrow hitting his eyes once more. With a solemn nod, he sheathed his sword, ripping off his cloak with one hand, holding it out to the man. “May he rest.” Alypius whispered his eyes hitting the ground as he dared not to look at the crown nor the head.

With the Princes’ instructions, Alypius was quick to follow in the steps of the commander. Rushing down the stairs, he ran up to the guards he had been working with throughout the day, as they knew his rank, explaining the message. Very few words were exchanged, yet the look towards the crown he held so tightly in his hands were enough.

With teeth grit, Alypius re-approached the two he had battled with, following close to their side. He may not of been of as much importance, or as high of rank, however if he was given the task to hold onto the crown of his fallen king, it was not one he would take lightly.

With that the Soldier with a crown, Prince with a head, and Commander with a cloak made their way back to the palace. To meet the new king of Taengea.

It was not far off now, the finish line, it was within sight and it was reachable if only he could gain more speed. Stephanos was not that far in front of him, in fact, he was close to being at his side and so was Achilleas. The three of them were speeding toward the end, and if not for the accidents of earlier, this would have been a flawless race. However, it was not over yet, and as fate would have it, it never will be and the word flawless suddenly didn’t exist anymore. In the distance two, blurred figures were making their way onto the track. At first Iason thought it to be slaves removing something that obstructed the way, however, the sudden change from cheers to screams from the audience told him otherwise and the closer his horses brought him to the figures the clearer it became that something was wrong.

Iason immediately pulled back the reins, signalling his horses to slow their pace and stop. However, he knew he would not be able to stop in time. Of course the other racers saw and heard the same that he did and reacted accordingly, and before Iason could fully grasp what was happening, Prince Stephanos was no longer next to him, and his horses was the only thing Iason heard as they got sacrificed on the track in order to save what seemed to be Lady Olympia of Leventi. Although the gruesome death of the horses was never something Iason considered pleasant, he knew in this moment it was necessary. Stephanos allowed for his chariot to pass by without much difficulty and so he was able to bring his team to a full stop.

People were frantic, and once the dust cleared Iason saw exactly why. Fire was lining the walls; cloaked figures were blocking the way out and the King’s head was mounted on a pike along with a bloodied cloak that belonged to the Prince. For a moment Iason could not believe his eyes, but he forced himself to accept it right there and then. There was no time to ponder and process, people were scared, running around, not caring who or what they had to do to get their safety back. Iason pulled out the short sword he kept with him and cut his horses loose from the chariot so that they could escape while he tries to find his sister in all of the mess.

Looking around he spotted Stephanos on the track not far from where he was, and although he seemed to be injured, he was alright and accompanied by many, including the Prince of Colchis. Iason realized that all of this meant that Stephanos was likely now the King of Taengea, therefore he didn’t want the man to be alone at a time like this, but he also had Dorothea to look out for and with the knowledge that the Prince was well guarded that was what he did. Iason peered up into the stands where she had gone to after she spoke to him, but she was no longer there, as he expected. His eyes followed the seating and as he tried to spot the familiar brown hair, but he could not accurately see among all the chaos and all the different people running about. Dorothea was smart, and he knew it; she would immediately go towards an exit that was not blocked and so he followed his gut feeling and headed towards the stables where the horses were kept before and after the races.

After finding his sister, cutting free a tied-up horse, they exited the arena as quickly as they could and walked until they could find a horse that was not in a panicked state. Iason rode back to their home, knowing that their father will be waiting and he was more thankful than ever that the man restricted his younger sister from attending the race.