His fist was like a block of stone, slamming into his adversary's face repeatedly. He was sent reeling from the bombardment of blows and then the kicking began, interrupted by a drop elbow square between the shoulder-blades. Pain shot out like an explosion from the point of impact and the poor fool could only release a grunt as gravity took over, none too gently it stopped his descent. The impact knocked the air from the poor bloke’s lungs.
Oh, I’m sorry, were you thinking Trent was doing this? No, no, no. See, Trent was the one sprawled on the ground, receiving ferocious kicks to his side.
Frantically he grabbed around the guard’s kicking leg, only to get another to the face. And another. Most of the other guards had charged after the real threat, Kate, the personal guard of the crown prince. Trent was merely slum rot. Still, a few stuck around to see the bait tossed out with the trash. That is, after he was good and dead.
“Finish him off,” came the order.
One of the guards nodded, and pulled out his dagger to dispatch of the wimp. But found Trent unsteadily rising to his feet.
“Is that all you’ve got?” There was an edge, a level of malevolence to his voice and expression, and the unwholesome way he rose after such a ferocious beating that added up to nothing more or less than grabbing a tiger by the tail. The guards hesitated a moment, but it was clear that they would need more than a mere hint of a threat to shirk their responsibilities.
However, the delay was plenty long enough for Trent to muster his rage and might... and then sprint the opposite direction and further into the castle. He was a slippery fish, giving every indication that he was going to fight, but secretly preparing to flee.
Down the way they came, then a sharp turn, and up a flight of stairs. The soldiers frantically chased after his flying feet but he was unarmored, and he was used to running away. The three on him frantically tried to hail other soldiers in order to head-off their fox, but all planning and strategy had been carefully arranged to encapsulate their enemy upon an attempt to exit, not plunging into the heart of the Ivory tower as they normally would have been distributed. Doors normally locked and heavily guarded were left open and the guard reduced. Patrols normally ordered to march the halls or line up in guard nooks, had been ordered to the servant’s quarters and told to sit and be quiet.
Even though he managed to evade the three, more and more guards collected and attempted to catch him. A few crossbow bolts darted past, effectively ending the career of the soldiers who fired them. See, the hallway which Trent raced down was not just any hallway, but the antechamber to the throne room, and the guards frantically dodging the stray projectiles were the King’s personal bodyguard. Perhaps it was luck, but the bolts struck uncomfortably close to the guards and made them reel out of sheer reflex. Ever diligent, though, Trent still frantically slid, dodged, and sprang off of the doorpost to evade the well trained blades. He was no match, he couldn’t help but release an “oof” as a blow struck his side, effectively knocking him into the room, but also sending blood gushing down his side.
It was at that time the fellow whom was unfortunate enough to lock horns with Trent in the first place, who was now frantically still searching servant’s quarters and the dungeon, came to the realization that his dagger was missing probably dislodged when Trent slammed him into the wall.
There needed no command, the king's guard immediately closed in on him as well as their king, but their momentum was incapable of Trent hurling his weapon into the crowd. He didn't even stop to look. A wall of steel and flesh encased His Majesty. Others of the guard frantically raced to subdue or kill the intruder. The entirety of the castle was frantically attempting to rid itself of the foreign body that it had so willingly absorbed.
In the king’s gem encrusted hand was the weapon that could have been his undoing... still safely encased in its leather sheath. Trent, even armed, was no threat.
The guards scrambled to stab him or hold him down, but he writhed free of a few, rolled and was back on his feet. He charged head-first at the far wall, the only portion of the room not occupied by soldiers now. However, to their amazement, the wall opened up and blackness devoured him as he slipped into the secret passage constructed, sealed, and hidden only for use should the defense of the castle be impossible and the King's life be in jeopardy. No sooner had it opened, that the security system closed and sealed behind him. No, this was not some sort of scholarship, nor was it luck, and it was certainly not because Trent was some sort of master burglar. How he did it, I will leave for you to speculate. Needless to say, by the time they had dispatched soldiers to intercept the end point, or to barge the door open, any sign of Trent was old and gone.