It felt like she had simply blinked and the next thing she knew she was looking up at Selene, her head situated on her sister's lap as her father knelt beside them with an expression of concern in his eyes. He began to inquire as to her health, but as the crowd roared again Olympia was seized with the overwhelming urge to see closer and see what was happening. The father of her child was down there and every scream and gasp could mean the end for him. She nodded to Georgios' questions, reassuring him that she was simply overwhelmed by the race. Her womanly sensibilities could help her talk her way out of anything.

As her father helped her back to her feet once more, she took a moment to stabilize herself against his arm before slowly stepping forward even as he called her back. As if in a dream, Olympia made her way to the railing closest to the circus' edge, leaning against it to scan the field for Stephanos and his team, swallowing back bile as several citizens carried off the injured and dead from the field. Her head snapped to one side as the horses came thundering around again, watching as they made another lap by her and breathing a sigh of relief as she caught sight of both Stephanos and Achilleas in their carts. So both Mikaelidas men were safe, that would be good for her whole family.

Gripping the edge of the arena, Olympia kept her eyes stuck on the racers, jaw set against the spots that still flickered at the corners of her eyes and the waves of nausea that rolled over her. It was never enjoyable to lose consciousness, but the was determined to stay upright to see the end of the race and that the rest of the men on the field made it through without harm.

Charioteering had always been a bit...methodical, for Nikos. It was easy to get lost in the pumping rhythm of his steeds and the bouncing chariot beneath his feet. Today, especially, was particularly easy, as Nikos had nearly completed the race with hardly a sign of any driver beside him. Of course, the ungodly crunching from the crashes behind him had been mostly obscured by the roaring cheers and stomps of the crowd; the only hint to their occurrence was the fine dust of wood and iron debris littering the arena, coupled with the bloodspatters that were being worked into the dirt below the hooves of his team as he rounded each corner safely. He considered his luck almost miraculous.

But that was changing. The remaining charioteers -- he had no desire to count or identify them -- had gained on him. He found himself briefly cornered, as Stephanos abruptly cut his chariot in front of him, leaving him surrounded on three sides by chariots and one side by a wall. He grit his teeth, but that was the only response he allowed of himself. The race had been easy thus far, but not for his competitors, he was certain. He and his horses were just now beginning to be subject to the emotional strains of the race, whereas his competition was surely feeling much more strained by the bloody events that taxed their strength, physically and mentally. And that didn't even consider the fates of the horses. Albiet, he had run his team hard at the start of the race, but the pace he had established should have saved a little bit of juice in their systems for the final few seconds in the last turn of the race. Perhaps it would be enough.

Let them think he and his horses were tired out.

With a grunt, he made the split-second decision to cut right, away from the inner wall, to fill the gap Stephanos had left. He was now running aside Achilleas, with Lord Iason unsurprisingly rushing into the space along the inner lane. Nikos would leave Stephanos to deal with the determined Lord.

It had been two weeks since she had been purchased by Nikos of Condos for the House of Condos. She had expected to be more of a general servant of the House, as per was her understanding, but suddenly she had found Lord Nikos hauling her off to the chariot races with him along with the rest of his entourage. It was strange, but a little exciting. She hadn’t seen many chariot races, so she was a little intrigued by it. The worst of it was when one of the drivers’ lost control. There was danger in every sport, this Koritsi knew, but she hadn’t expected this level of danger. She felt her throat tighten a little as she saw the body of the man get trampled on by other chariots. Accidentally, it seemed, as there was a great deal of dust fogging the other drivers’ vision.

Koritsi could only hope that the same wouldn’t happen to her master, but he seemed to have a fairly decent lead. At least, for a time. It changed after the two Lords from the House of Mikaelidas started to gain. One of them swooped up and around, cutting Lord Nikos off entirely. The man’s chariot was pinned between the other chariots and the inner wall. Watching this only made Koritsi better understand why her new master might want her present—at least in assisting a physician, if necessary.

Koritsi could only, however, look on in silence, her breath catching every now and again as she watched the charioteers continue their laps.

The stadium was full of noise, of sound, of colour... The people of Taengea had left their homes - their castles - in droves, in order to see the Great Race. The chariots of the lords and nobles, battling for supremacy across an ocean of sand, their ignorant servants, citizens and followers conditioned into cheering and supporting a particular colour, a favourite... a name.

And yet their ardent apostles, their devout fanatics were the very reason the intruder found it easy enough to slip passed all safety measures and security protection... In a sea of people - of faces - bright and animated... of voices calling and shouts fighting for supremacy in the air... no-one noticed the faceless and the silent.

One particular intruder, sat in the far back stadium seats, up on the Gods - so they called it - but with a reputation closer to the Underworld than any living being; sat like a shadow. Viewable but hidden from notice, masked from active sight. Not even the man next to him made comment at his presence or noticed his face or features beyond any of the thousands he had already brushed shoulders with that day. There, the fighter sat quietly; standing and sitting with the rest of the crowd but showing no other outward display of celebration. His celebration would come later that day, deep into the night. When the shadows truly came out to play.

As the drivers of the race - the rich, the powerful, the men who lived on the profits of others as if the general populace meant nothing to them by a stock they could trade and sell - reached the end of the fourth lap, the nondescript being, on that far off step, took his cue and followed his preordained instructions.

Stepped forward and making his way down one of the flights of stairs that spread out from the rink and into the crowd, like spider legs, he descended in amongst the bodies of the Taengean people. Even the areas dedicated for the stairs were cluttered with servants and slaves and others who were for some arbitrary reason or fashion unallowed to deign the seats with their presence. The intruder was invisible amongst the spectators, his head down, his shoulders thin and his presence negligible. He had spent many years in training to avoid being seen - the same as the rest of his brethren and now was a perfect example. Moving with the skill of the invisible, he adjusted his steps, turned his frame and disintegrated into nothing, his shape and outline entirely hidden by eager faces and cheering fans, obviously of his present at all...

By the time he reemerged, the intruder was hidden still further. Now, he had pulled his hood into place, had settled the long material over his face in a manner that would suggest blindness. His body was clad in grey cloth from top to bottom, including bandages wrapped around his fingers and his entire being was littered with tiny weapons, knives of only a few inches long, designed to be thrown at particular pulse points and kill on removal.

The weapons would not be used today, however, the hooded man knew... This was not to be a show of violence but one of force. One that showed the abilities of The Creed, its members and everything they stood for. A spectacle that warned of what they had already done. Let alone what they might do in the future...

As the time came and the drivers approached the final turn, the hooded man moved into position, his target already chosen since the beginning of the race. She had simply made it far easier than he could have imagined as she had moved down to witness the violence of the sport from the edge of the racetrack. She was about to get a view of its deadly force from a much closer angle.

It was as the front hooves of the Mikaelidas Prince's steed broke around the corner of the final turn that the Drowned - for that was the name of a follower of the Creed - struck out.

In one smooth motion, the man had his arms wrapped around the damsel he had chosen. A Leventi girl with dark as night curls and a supple body beneath his hands, she was the perfect target: a high born lady with limited physical strength and a loud enough shriek to wake the dead.

As everyone turned to look, the man did nothing to muffle her screams - attention was the entire point of the show - and instead, simply ensured a tight grasp around her body and arms, pinning her back to his front and poking the sharp point of his blade into the soft flesh of her neck.

Intelligent enough not to move, the girl yielded to his ministrations and within seconds, he had kicked wide the gate that led from the bottom of the stairs to the track and dragged his feminine prize out onto the sand.

Allowing her screams to dim to whimpers, the hooded man - faceless and motionless - stood without fear or doubt, five metres before the race's finishing line and dead centre in the middle of the cluster of chariots that were barrelling towards them at speed. If they wanted to win the game, the would go through the young woman and him. They would shed pure and innocent blood on the heels of their victory.

And so would the Creed.

As the intruder listened and watched for the screams, gasps and shocks that rippled around the crowds, he noticed the pointing of fingers, the yells for the charioteers to stop - not likely at their speeds - and for the guards to run out and put a stop to the suicidal actions of the spook on the track.

With their attention grabbed, the intruder needed not to look around to know what was happening as the gasps and screams suddenly turned louder and were illicited in all directions. Shocked tones turned to fresh terror and the man smiled behind his hood. So, his brothers were now here...

She had wanted to speak to Alek, find out what was he doing here, what has he done over the past few years when he left the military, and perhaps even get him away from the eyes of her general before he got called and punished as a deserter.

But Nike was taken off her guard.

Before her old friend even replied her, the chariots race took a turn, when a scream pierced the air, a sharp sound that made all eyes turn in the direction. Almost immediately, the commander's sharp eyes caught the sight of Lady Olympia in the grasp of a hooded figure, and her military senses jumped on alert. Her first thought was crap! because she had left Vangelis's side, and she sincerely hoped her other bodyguards she had left had been able to ensure the safety of the royal.

With that thought in mind, Nike wasted no time, not even waiting for Alekos's response, she turned on her heels and started sprinting, going as fast as she can through the throngs of people who are now being plunged into absolute panic mode as the Lady Olympia was dragged right in to the path of the chariots. For a split second, Nike froze. Her training made her want to go for the lady, but instinct said to head for her general.

But Nike's decision was snatched out of her hands, when screams started happening from the other end of the stadium, and when the men appeared, their icy cold voices sent chills down Nike's spine - and it didn't take a genius to let her know that she should head for the general.

Dodging and shouting at others to get out of the way, somewhere along the way, Nike had drawn her longsword, holding it so it wouldn't injure the civilians, as she made her way, adrenaline pumping her legs as she made a beeline for Vangelis the moment she saw her generals' mop of dark hair bobbing (as his tall form tended to) above the running, panicking crowd.

Just as she got to his side, the commanded skidded, and then instinctively ducked as Vangelis had when the flames burst out on the wall. Her eyes followed the flames... and then her stomach fell into a pit when her eyes fell on the pike, chest tightening at the sight of the King Zenon on the top of a pike, the image unnatural and ill, blood dripping... a sight no one would wish to see of their sire. "Zeus..." Nike breathed out in a shocked tone, unable to help herself, and she froze in her steps, suddenly unable to compute. The loss of a monarch was no small matter, and she can't even bring herself to imagine how sudden this will be for the royalty of Taengea, as well as their citizens.

It took only a few seconds for Nike to snap out of it as the screams of the commoners pierced her shocked haze, just in time to turn and catch sight of a hooded figure similar to the one currently holding the Lady Olympia, heading in their direction. "Vangelis, move it!" Nike shouted above the crowd's deafening roar, holding her sword up against the hooded figure, ready to attack or defend. The other bodyguards, Nike could see, were doing their best to get to the two of them, but they too were held up by the crowds panicked rush for safety, as well as caught by the members of the Creed.

As the only one next to him now, Nike was quick to position her back against Vangelis's, a natural position after years of protecting her general, her eyes scowling a warning at the intruder, aware of their movement and ready to strike. "What the hell happened to the guards of this event?!" the commander yelled over the voices, all her muscles on alert. "Lady Olympia. How do we get to her?" she asked Vangelis for confirmation, since she herself had her eyes on the Creed, and not currently observing what was going on in the tracks.