<span style="font-style: italic">The youngster within the Scout patrol looked over the opposition again. They were out of range, for now, but they stood no chance whatsoever. The Operation ordered them to charge into it all. He frowned and worriedly inspected his weaponry, cleaning the Crossbow and wishing sorely for his more advanced set. <br/>The Scout beside him fired the canister. As it flew through the air, a small tail of gas escaped it. The Youngster watched it crash through a window in the Castle, and very quickly disperse its choking, burning contents. <br/>They spotted Nash, exiting the building seconds later, and the Scout hissed between clenched teeth. "His Highness will not be happy, but nevertheless, we move on as planned." <br/>The Lanceman nodded and mounted up, while Yome loaded his weapon. <br/>"Kill the weaklings if they flee, avoid the demon-army below. Anyone who makes you struggle, leave be. We are thinning the herd, understand?"<br/>All nodded except one, his eyes were riveted to the Prince, who was watching as smoke quickly filled the room he'd just left. He nodded after a moment's hesitation.</span><br/><br/>A couple leaders, including the Queen of the currently unconscious King, nodded and stood up, having been quiet, or cowering through the whole ordeal. The Queen spoke calmly, but with a fire in her eyes. Her husband was fallen, and she was quick to seize the leadership position. "We will fight with you, however meager our armies."<br/>Her next words were interrupted by a crash, and an innocent looking canister flew through the window, rolling along the ground and emitting a thin trail of smoke. That was quick to change, however, as the canister burst open on one side and the trail of smoke became a bilious cloud, engulfing the room in grey gas. Breathing it wasn't harmful, at first, but the more breaths one took, the more the gas burned in their lungs, their eyes.<br/>Immediately, panic engulfed the leaders, many ran to the doors, and shoved each other aside to escape.<br/><br/>Nash watched all this, paying little attention to anything else. His bad habit resurfaced, and he produced yet another smoke from his gloves. A memory came to him, unbidden, and Nash felt the acrid taste of smoke, the burning of his feet, the irons, glowing hot, encasing his wrist.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Here you will learn to submit to fire, and breathe smoke. Neither flame nor heat nor gas shall stop your attack.</span><br/>He glanced down at the cigarette,  that's probably where the habit came from...<span style="font-style: italic">breathe smoke</span>. Humph.<br/>He glanced back at the situation, currently, the Cryx, and the Slayer on a high dune, in the distance. He'd ordered no attack, but his words didn't carry much sway in the realm of warfare. More of the King's doing, no doubt. He idly wondered what the plan was, before the first escaped leader slammed into him in the haste to escape the smoke-filled room.<br/>Nash, in surprise, pressed his lit cigarette into the man's eye and stabbed him with his knife, before he realized what it was that had hit him.<br/>He frowned, "Oh dear."<br/>This wasn't good. He made distance between himself and the exit, dragging the leader with him. Now the question was did he fight with his brethren or focus on escaping and catching that ship home...decisions, decisions. A bolt flew from the top dune and would have hit his foot had he not jumped back at the sound of the whistling projectile.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">There's your answer; Get outta here.</span><br/>He considered this in his lax way and smirked.<span style="font-style: italic">How long has it been since you fought? When was the last time the King put you into a battle, or even allowed you near one?</span><br/>Nash stretched and activated his Gear, twirling the blade around. Two hours was cake, he could run to the port. Why not have some fun, test out the strength of Slayer training against the others? Secret Training even<span style="font-style: italic">he</span>couldn't remember, not fully. Not yet.<br/>He smiled and grabbed a wire, attached to the knuckles of his right glove, and pulled it free. It wound out, the spool on his wrist releasing more of the dark line. He approached the doors, blocking them from opening with his body, as he strung the line across the path, about shin-height. While he struggled to cut the line with his knife the door shook as the others started running into it.<br/>The poundings became frenzied and Nash stepped away, carefully over the wire and retreated a few feet. His hand that had grasped the wire was bloodied, lacerated, and steadily dripping blood to the ground.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">We will burn your hand now. It'll hurt - at first, but afterwards no manner of cut or wound shall cause your grip to slip or shake.</span><br/>He backed away from his handiwork and wondered how many would be blind enough to run into the line. Whomever didn't would be worthy opponents indeed.<br/>His eyes traveled to the Cryx as the doors slammed open and the first idiot felt the sting of the wire, letting out a startled yelp before toppling over. Blood quickly bloomed underneath him, and Nash watched with wide-eyed curiosity as the others escaped the gas.