Assassination scene

The past few days seemed like hell. The arrival of the Saints brought an unusual level of activity to the city, and not all of it was welcome. The small militant group from Varsal had found shelter within the city, and had set up base within one of the lower-class districts, which were riddled with abandoned buildings. Their goal was kept secret, just as their alliance was...if word got out that there were Varsal soldiers within these lands, they would never make it out alive.


Three days had passed, three days of planning and preparation. Three days of readying the soldiers, and worrying about the “what if” scenarios. This was a dangerous and bold move for the warring kingdom, but all other plans had failed. They could not reach the city with an army, no matter the size. Their men had fallen in vast numbers to this smaller, but deceptively strong army. They could spare no more soldiers, and as an act of what could only be desperation, the commander himself had left for this mission.


The plan? Jerolin himself had arranged to have a meeting with Machina, to admit defeat. To tell them that the Varsal military was falling-- that Machina had won.


At least, that was what he would tell them. Machina was to have a speech, to encourage her followers...but what would have been a speech to drive them further to war, would turn into a speech of victory. He would be there, in the crowds with his soldiers...he would kill her himself. Escape was a big issue, but all they could do was hope that the assassination would bring enough confusion for them to get to an airship. And from there?


Jerolin had already written out something for his daughter, for Varsal's future commander. It had been given to the king for counsel, but there was little doubt that someone else would usurp that position.


So far everything was going as planned for both sides: The speech uninterrupted, and the military group split into three, each in place for the assassination. One group would strike from the right, their cover being the many floors of a residential building. One will strike from the front, from within the crowd itself, and the last group covered the left, nothing more than a series of alleyways. The saints would have no time to escape, and surely couldn't defend from all sides. And if they were lucky, the attackers would be hard to identify in the chaos that would follow.


Naturally, they were all tense and uneasy, as the outcome of this all was unpredictable; the chances of making it out of the city alive were low, even if the plan went flawlessly. Yet killing Machina would deal a fatal blow to the morale of their enemy, and might be enough to win this war.
However, one of the soldiers did not have the same plans as the rest.

Alexander was hidden in the crowd, along with Jerolin. They would be the ones to give the signal by firing first, being the two to attack from the front. The other two, who were groups of three, would then follow up with their attacks. But could he do this? He had been given the order to fire, but his weapon remained concealed, his hand simply resting upon it.


No, he couldn't do this. He did not see Machina, the saint they had set out to kill...he saw Auri, the woman he loved-- he couldn't kill her. This was not the plan the rest had in mind, and he couldn't tell them-- they would have never allowed him back into the military. “What are you doing?” Jerolin spoke after a moment, trying to keep calm so those around him wouldn't get alarmed, but something was wrong...


"Alex!" They couldn't delay any longer, the speech was coming to an end. The weapon shook in his hand: a simple flintlock pistol, slow enough for only one shot... it had to count. It did not fire, though, or even leave the coat it was hidden in. No, there was no more time for this. "Damn it!" Jerolin cursed again under his breath, drawing his own weapon. Though he didn't get far, stopping half-motion as Alex's gun pressed to the side of his head. "Lower the weapon."


The pistol didn't lower. Of course at this point...the crowd was starting to notice, and slowly more and more had their attention turned away from the saints...and to the current conflict. This wasn't good-- at this point even the saints noticed. Jerolin was out of time: there would be no negotiation or questioning of loyalty...he could hesitate no longer. Cursing, he finished the drawing motion, aiming.


"No!" The silence was broken by two gunshots, all attention was on them now. Though two shots had fired, only the sound of one body hitting the ground could be heard.. Alexander had frozen in place, staring down at his fallen friend. The commander of the Varsal army was dead, the friend he had known for so many years was dead...killed by his own hand.


Two more shots followed up from each side, though they were the silent pings of crossbows, as flintlock weaponry was rare. No luck, one arrow missed since the saints were already alerted on and on their guard. The other stopped inches from Machina's face,  piercing though the arm of the one that seemed to be her personal guard, yet this man barely flinched. It was then that what had just happened dawned upon the crowd, panic quickly breaking out as they fled the scene.


Even this was not enough to drown out the yell of guards, their voices coming from all sides. Alex made no effort to escape..he just dropped his weapon, his eyes still on Jerolin. The two other groups would be killed if they didn't escape, and he would never know whether they did or not. Though maybe his actions were wise, as the guards made no effort to attack him-- they merely captured him with no excessive force, and he would soon find himself locked away.