Tower of Endless: Death Granted Entry

At some point in the past.

"COVER MY BACK!" Slave 135 shouted as he marched alone into the enemy’s army. He tore the green and red cloth tied around his arm.

"YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH!" Slave 139 shouted back at Slave 135 as he ran his hardest, trying his hardest to keep up. Still, he followed the call and tore the cloth on his own as well.

Leaving behind the rest of the slaves, mercenaries, and soldiers. Leaving behind their owner and the general of their army, Korr.

The two of them broke into the front line of the enemies without hesitation.

Both armies looked as if their armors were made up of a mismatched trash collection. Some leather, some cloth, a few metallic parts on the shoulders or elsewhere.

Not a single helmet could be seen on the horizon.

Slave 135 locked onto one of the front-line spearmen; he lunged without hesitation, looking small, malnourished, and dirty.

The spearman made eye contact with Slave 135; a slight glint came to his eyes.

"A child slave dares—" Before he was done speaking, "GUH!" A broken blade flew into his neck.

Before he collapsed, Slave 135 jumped on his chest to retrieve his short, broken blade before—

Thud~

The spearman collapsed. Slave 135 started running again, with Slave 139 following closely behind.

"STOP THEM!" a first-line spearman screamed at the sudden death of his partner.

They all faced a state of confusion: would they abandon the line to catch two brats, or just maintain the line and let the next line defend?

In that instant, Slave 135 lunged into the second line; those who were still waiting for the first clash to take action suddenly found a premature breach in the first line.

Startled, but before they could act—

Slave 135 crouched into the mud and stabbed into the legs of the one swordsman close to him; Slave 139 dug his dagger into his neck.

The two worked in perfect sync and efficiency. No wastage, only minor errors.

The two swordsmen surrounding the one they just killed turned around to attack them, but they barely evaded the attacks and ran past them.

They were surrounded by enemies from every direction, but they were hiding within the noise of war, hiding behind the soon-to-begin clash of armies.

By the time they were at the third line, the armies finally clashed.

Those who were pursuing them were suddenly pushed from behind by the next lines, marching rapidly to battle.

Taking advantage of the chaos, they sprinted in that direction. Behind enemy lines.

They fought and killed anyone who came into their face, one always taking the front, the other always taking care of the back.

Slave 135 was barely over 150cm tall, while Slave 139 was a little over 170cm tall. They killed and ran without pause, and finally, they were there.

The place they had aimed for since the beginning.

They stood there.

"Behind enemy lines," Slave 135 whispered, barely catching his breath.

Slave 139 was on the verge of collapse, staggering as he followed. He looked taller, stronger, and older... but he was past his physical limits.

"Hold your breath, you’re burning your chest," Slave 135 said, reminding Slave 139.

But their situation was far deadlier than it seemed.

Behind them, some soldiers and slaves were rushing, and in front of them, the enemy commander, the owner of this march himself, and his guards stood.

Slave 135 gritted his teeth, forcing his breath to stay in longer than it should, even if he felt dizzy. He sprinted at the fancy-looking commander.

His silk clothes the colors of yellow and blue, similar to the cloth tied around everyone on his arm. His grey, silky long hair, and his smooth grey skin and eyes.

The common features of all Ashspawns, those who made it to have their own armies or became soldiers.

His guards weren’t much different, though they were more muscular and rugged. They also didn’t have any silk on them.

To Slave 135, they were all the same.

Except for one.

But that didn’t matter right now. An enemy stood in front of him, and that enemy was the key.

If he and his brothers would live or die.

He started sprinting, going for the kill. The two guards stepped forward; even the commander himself stepped forward and unsheathed his sword.

Slave 135 ran; he didn’t attack or do any sudden actions; he just ran.

Ran at them till he was close enough.

Close enough for them to attack him.

And once they did—

"Umph!" He suddenly tripped over his own feet, sliding with all his momentum, headfirst into the mud.

"What’s with that clown, haha?" one of the guards said while laughing.

The other turned around, watching Slave 135 slide in the mud till he reached the commander, who shook his head in disappointment.

He stepped on Slave 135’s head. "How far has Korr fallen to bring such a rat into his—"

Ting~

Slave 139 threw his dagger at them with everything he’d got, but it was blocked.

It was the last thing he did before—

Thud~

He collapsed.

"GAAH!" the commander groaned, snapping the guards’ attention to him.

Slave 135 dug his blade into the commander’s thigh, while still being stepped on by his foot.

"STOP!" the guards screamed, rushing back at him, but Slave 135—

"GUAAAH!" He yanked up his body—

Thud~

Bringing the commander down, his hands clawed over his silk clothes, pulling himself closer to his head.

The commander tried to defend himself with his sword, but it was too late...

For in that very instant, Slave 135 pulled his blade out of the thigh—

Stab~

And dug it into his neck.

It was then that the world suddenly seemed to pause.

The two guards collapsed to their knees.

"I-impossible..." one uttered.

Slave 135 wasn’t concerned about their collapse; he already knew this would happen.

"How many times do I have to do this shit?" he cursed as he took the commander’s sword and raised it high.

Shhing~

Beheading him.

Slave 135 grabbed the head by the hair, raising it high, as high as he could.

"YOUR COMMANDER IS DEAD!" he screamed at the top of his childish lungs.

"Crazy son of a bitch." Slave 139 raised his gaze from the mud; a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

Slave 135 repeated it as he started walking around with the head, bringing the battle to an end.

He returned back to where Slave 139 was lying on the mud. "Want some help standing on your own feet, little bitch?"

"Shut the fuck up, you nearly got us killed!" Slave 139 cursed back.

"Bruh, this is a battlefield." Slave 135 waved his hands angrily with his newly looted sword. "Everyone is almost dying here."

Slave 139 rolled his eyes. "Are brothers safe?" he asked.

Slave 135 nodded. "Yep, Zeroth Bro can manage some time for them to blend in or sneak them behind; he won’t keep everyone safe forever," he reminded.

"I know, dammit," Slave 139 cursed. "I wouldn’t follow this madness otherwise."

Slave 135 looked around; according to the rules, once one commander dies, his entire army and lands belong to the winner.

Today, their army had grown again.

"I don’t know if this is a good thing for us," Slave 135 whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Slave 139 asked, not understanding the sudden cryptic claim.

"Don’t bother; let’s go back." He extended his hand to Slave 139, pulling him up.