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"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood." -George Orwell
"Who?" Delmont asks with an innocent face.
The man who spoke steps forward, placing a hand over a knife strapped to his abdomen. "Listen, kid, patience isn't our best trait, so I suggest you tell us where your princess is in the next five seconds."
"That's an interesting suggestion. Just let me think about it," he mocks them as he fakes a thinking face.
"Alright, I've had enough of your jokes, boy." The man unleashes his knife and starts walking toward Delmont in a dangerous stance.
As soon as he's close enough, Delmont grabs the arm he's holding his weapon with and twists it at a peculiar angle, earning a scream from the man. At an unusual speed, Delmont grabs the soldier's knife from his locked hand and raises it to the air before slashing it down at his throat. Blood rushes out of the wound, spilling on the carpeted floor and the man falls completely still at Delmont's feet.
A strangle gasp comes out of my mouth and I quickly place my hand over it to muffle the sound. To my dismay, one of the soldiers seems to have heard me as his head tilts towards the wardrobe with a victorious smirk. Dumbass, I tell myself.
"I'll ask you ladies and gentlemen to kindly leave this castle," Delmont continues, completely oblivious to my mistake.
"I am afraid that won't be possible."
Three enemies rush towards him, surrounding him from all sides. The boy, however barely seems afraid, twirling the knife between his fingers as he turns slowly on himself. "That's hardly fair. Six against one, you'll need much more than that."
He swings his blade in one of the soldier's directions but the latest ducks a bare second before the weapon reaches her abdomen. She takes out a knife of her own and the rest of them do as well.
One of the enemy dives towards him, his blade ready to pierce through his skin. Delmont simply steps aside, making the movement look so easy that even a toddler could do it. The man tries to attack him again, fury beginning to form on his face, but the sorcerer manages to block his arm.
Delmont throws a punch at his face which earns an uncomfortable crack of bones. As he's still holding the man's arm, another goes to attack him from the other side but he throws his victim on the wall and waves his hand at the new attacker. Dark sparks emanate from his fingertips and force the enemy to the opposite wall, holding him by his throat in midair.
"Y-you're one of these freaks," the choking man utters as his windpipes are being crushed by an invisible force.
Delmont grins darkly and the soldiers freeze, looking much more afraid than when they entered the room. "The freakiest you'll ever meet," he says with a quick wink.
