The 100 Elite Psycho Guard began crossing the central courtyard, that great cogwheel, causeway, intersection point of passages of the Grand Citadel. They were being ever vigilant, perhaps a bit more so now that a lookout placed by the top of the stairwell leading to Validir's laboratory had failed to check-in. Sagat was behind them backing them up, though hardly necessary by their consideration (the leader figured just three of them could defeat Sagat). Sagat had also warned them that Tres was armed, but so were they. Their black suits were full of hidden blades. Complete with the helmets, their suits also provided full protection. The only color was the multiple markings of a red winged skull. This signified them as the Elite Psycho Guard, trained in Ler Dritt by instructors personally trained by M. Bison himself.
The point man held out a hand as he spied Validir's outline, sword in hand, in a passageway opening. "You, come with us! Bison has requested an audience."
"Oh?" Tres said with mock surprise. "Would that audience happen to be for my death?"
The Psycho Guard leader looked at a loss for words. How did he know?
Sagat pushed a button and stone slabs slammed shut behind every passage opening, turning them into mere alcoves.
"There is no escape for you Tres!" Sagat shouted. Then, he turned to the Psycho Guard, "What are you waiting for? Kill him!"
The guards charged, some extended blades from their forearms and footguards while others ignited their limbs with Psycho Power.
Holding his gleaming sword upright, Tres traced up it with two fingers, chanting, "Ny - og - tha." Glowing symbols glimmered onto the blade and stayed. They appeared to retain some movement, writhing and moving in unsavory ways. Turning the back of the blade forward, Tres traced his fingers down this time and chanted, "Y'g - ol - on - ac."
Tres then shouted, "Grant me, whom you have reminded is called Nyarlathotep, the power to defeat these enemies with this sword of sin and blood!"
As the fighting horde reached him, Tres made a short lunge forward, bending his upper body down and bringing his sword across in a slash across the front row of attackers. One guard outside the slashing arc, rushed and stabbed Tres in the side to find it mostly deflected by chainmail.
"What's going on over there?" Sagat wonder. "I can't see a thing with all those guys in the way."
An exploding mass of gore backwashed over the second row as they moved to engage. They were not to be hindered by merely seeing some of their fellow guards die a horrific death by the sword. One of the guards nimbly stepped to the side to avoid a falling limbless torso, yet he was unprepared for when the torso opened up (before hitting the ground) to impale him with its ribs. Sharp teeth and a mouth opened in the center of the chest cavity. The guard screamed as the ribs closed in, drawing him into the torso mouth with its expectantly lashing tongue.
Tres, booted one of his attackers in the face, crushing the skull, as he defended against another. Regaining his footing, he flipped over the second row of attackers, slicing open one guard's skull in twain as part of the flip, allowing himself to be surrounded.
A guard whom had caught a severed arm, curiously examined the wound which seemed to be behaving oddly. The veins shot forth, having formed fanged jaws like those of snakes, and latched onto him, fangs piercing his suit. The guard danced about madly trying to remove the arm, the fingertips of which began spraying forth his blood which the fangs so forcefully sucked. The spray struck fellow guards and the ground with its blinding crimson jet. And when the blood landed, hitting the sandy ground of the courtyard, it quickly fled the spot, having other business to do than be absorbed.
After defending against several attacks, Tres whispered, "axle cutter strike," and made a single circular slash all around him, sparing no opponent within reach. At least seven guards were instantly cut in two, their upper bodies flying back several feet farther into the ranks. Their slain bodies awakened by their own dark souls into something horrible of blood and sin.
Thinking he'd just seen something, Sagat was full of complaints. "What's taking so god-damned long?" He flexed his fist, and took out a snack cake. "I never liked that stinking creep anyway. He even takes too long to die."
--
A few minutes later...
--
The tide of blood nipped at Sagat's toes who now had a queasy feeling in his stomach. The second snack cake in the pack had not been touched. In the ebbing waves of blood, a mouth hissed up at him from a fingerless palm. In the distance, behind where Tres was walking towards him... gliding on the waves of blood, two remaining guards fought a third headless guard with a distended spinal column. The spine had become a lethal stabbing whip. Tres stopped twelve-feet from Sagat as sharp vertebrae punctured the face of one guard while the abomination snapped the neck of the other with it's bare hands.
Tres wore a self-satisfied grin on a possibly tired looking face. His sword was no longer shiny and without glowing symbols. His immaculately pressed suit was spattered with mess and was ripped beyond repair. There was damage to both his armor and his person.
"You think I am worn down enough to be your opponent?"
"Yes," Sagat said flatly.
"But unlike them, you're not so loyal to Bison that you'd be happy to die for him, are you?"
"No," Sagat grumbled, remembering the disgrace Bison had subjected him during the last Street Fighter tournament. Sagat had been the winner, a fake winner of a fake tournament.
"I don't think I'm your enemy Sagat nor are you mine. We both have scars reminding us of our real goals. It's not fair for either of us to pretend to be who we're not anymore."
"I have things to do, if you don't mind," Sagat grinned. "If I listen to your boring rhetoric any longer, I'll fall asleep." Sagat pressed the button raising the stone barriers which blocked the exits.
Tres smiled and vanished from sight. Not giving Tres another thought, Sagat left the courtyard and the unfinished snack cake behind him. He had things to do.