Laura would never forget that face. Ever. The look of pure demensia that was given to her by that man would hang suspended in her mind forever.
"Is he your father?" He said, fingering his blade. "Man didn't put up much of a fight. Just a big lump of lard if you ask me." He chuckled. The rage inside of Laura was beginning to reach its boiling point.
"Come and attempt to take my life, Figa*, but watch yourself." She grumbled. Tears poked at her eyes, despite herself.
Suddenly, the bandit flung a dagger at her. She attempted to dodge it, but it came across the opposite side that she had anticipated and it struck her across the face. Laura was sent hurtling to the ground beside Monique.
Even though the entire town was in flames, the cobblestone streets remained cold to the touch, as if they were preparing her for her descent to hell. The man walked closer, drawing his sword. "What a shame a beautiful girl like you couldn't have just come peacefully." He said. "You would have survived much longer if you had not called me a Figa. Nevertheless, maybe it's for the better."
Laura gripped the stones on the streets with mad intensity. I don't want to die. She thought to herself. Why must I join death? When this man, one of much sin and infamy, gets to stay and plunder the riches of Mon Garnage?
The bandit raised his arms, sword in hand, and stopped. A second later, he fell to the ground, stone dead. Behind him was the boy from earlier, only he was holding a bow with an arrow notched in it. Laura looked down at the man and saw that the arrow sticking out of the bandit's back was surrounded by lightning that flowed through it.
"Who are you?" She asked, dumbfoundedly.
"I," He said, resting his bow on his back. "Am Dante Machiavelli. I am a member of a top secret guild that is located just north of Winchesterton." He walked up to Laura. "It's not safe here, I will explain more later."
With that, Dante walked up and held her in his arms. The ground around her lit up like the sun. A green radiant light shone everywhere. The winds around her whirled in a circular fashion.
And Mon Garnage was gone.