My guard descend with the fury of fallen fiends, their wide array of weapons turn from shining streaks of silver to mirages of sweeping crimson within an instant of their landfall, their auras pulsing with controlled voracity, fully showcasing their unquestionable skill that took the duration of several ordinary men's lifetimes to attain, all the while their golden armour mocks each and everyone of their vanquishes foes with it's pristine purity, as though their cruel butchers were not men honed to weapons of blind obedience, but tools of righteous justice wreathed heroically in a halo of gold.
One hundred guards are now upon the wall with me and Abraham, and we do not waste time with perfunctory words, but instead we act simultaneously, wordlessly, as each of us take hold of half of the men, and lead each in opposite directions.
Our targets, the high towers scattered at consistent intervals along the straight white walls, and the weapons they hide in their tight embrace.
