Though it was midday, the air was cold, and the sky, dark, as if it were only morning. The sudden storm was felt not only at the black spire, but across all of Palis, turning meadows to swamps, farms to rivers, and the already bloody battlefield to mud. The only assuring thing that came that hour was the fleeting smoke- all but a thin layer had already left, and what remained flickered into the sky like steam.
It was the first of winter, and the northern territory did not make the adjustment any easier, especially for Malice who was more accustomed to his southern homeland. He coughed, sending out a sudden whisp of breath into the greedy air; painfully, his red and hardened fingers shook in the frigid wind. His cheeks and ears burned in the relentless fire, and even the mud on his feet and lower legs seemed like icy leeches.
He thrust his daggers forward with all his power, and with a constant accuracy, sliced at a demon’s throat. The creature wailed, pushing its arms forward and knocking its opponents hands with its armour, before disappearing into ash. Malice winced as the normally light blow shot pain through his fingers and up through his arm.
Ignoring the throbbing, he drove his elbow backward, hitting an approaching demon in the chest, before turning around and slicing at its face with his dagger. Though it stung at his skin like knives, he called the wind to lighten his step. With a slightly burdened agility, he began to run until he was able to jump. With energy, he took off, breaking away from the sticky mud. Then, with all his power, he let himself fall downward into a new crowd of demons. Easily, they fell as the unexpected attacker sliced through their necks and burned through their skin with frigid wind.
Not far off, Titania struggled with the weather as well. What skill she had learned came from her time at the temple, and her training with Malice. Because of the former, she never allowed her heels to touch the ground, and because of the latter she used this to keep a light stance; one which could be left swiftly and effortlessly in order to achieve a more agile strike. This whole method disagreed with the slippery battlefield, and so she found herself either constantly trying to free her feet from the mud or trying to keep upward balance.
A bit awkwardly, Titania closed her fan and drove it forward into an enemy. It brought up its blade and knocked the object away before slicing it in half, narrowly missing her fingers. She took up the fallen weapon’s sister, and prepared to strike, but the creature knocked this from her hand before striking her cheek with the side of its blade. She cried out and without thought, grasped at the injury. The demon took advantage of this, and struck her once more, this time driving the heavy hilt of its sword into her temple. She hit the ground, defeated, blood in her hair and dripping over her face. She was angry, but at the same time confused; for some reason, this creature was delaying her death. It could so easily raise its blade and take off her head, but it didn’t. Was this some kind of order? Or was this beast showing compassion?
She raised her eyes to stare up at her attacker. Though her vision was somewhat blurred, she could see him hesitating. Slowly, he lowered his sword, and she saw on it a familiar pattern. It was of Gracian making.
For a while, the thing did not move, until finally it caught her wrist and dragged her away from the fight. With her free hand, she grabbed at the mud and tried to run, but it was no use. Silently, he pulled her to the steps of an abandoned store, where the battle had yet to reach.
“Forgive me…” came a voice, when finally she was let go.
For a moment, she stared at this strange soldier, then, defeated, lowered her head.
“Perhaps you are scared of someone taking your kill... well then…go ahead! Give me a warrior’s death…”
She closed her eyes and prepared for the worst, but still the soldier did not move.
“You fought for my city.” Came his voice, suddenly “You and your comrades tried to help us.”
She stared up and watched as he lifted his helmet, revealing human features.
“You are a traitor to your people then…” she muttered, bitterly.
“No.” he said, shaking his head “They have my family. And many others too. It is not just demons that you fight now. They have taken slaves from our city.”
A pain hit her as she realized that human blood might stain her hands. As quickly as possible, she thought back to those she had slain in the last day- had all their corpses turned to ash? Or had they merely sunken into the mud?
“You are being forced to fight?” she asked, quietly, her head still throbbing with pain and flowing with blood.
“We are. But not for Drasonia. For our wives and children. Were they not in the situation, many of us would have chosen death over this slavery…”
“Is there no way to save them without betraying your late queen?”
“They have given us no choice. They tell us stories of what they will do to our families if we do not comply. When one man did not believe the truth, they cut off his daughter’s hands and burned her in front of him. There’s nothing we can do but damn ourselves to eternal punishment.”
“You have no choice...” She said, “Your actions must be forgiven because you have no alternative but to shed more innocent blood. This is war, and your salvation is in your hesitation. I commend you for your unwillingness to kill.”
The man faltered “Forgive me, priestess, but I
have killed…” he muttered “I could not destroy you because you are a maiden of the gods. Were I to spill your blood, creatures greater than the Drasonian army would place grudge against my soul.”
The air fell cold as the man stood in silence. He wanted to cry out for forgiveness and beg for the salvation of his spirit, yet he could not. His heart was too heavy and his hands too stained with blood.
“Your soul is safe…” she muttered, faintly, trying to calm the desperate man, despite the pain of her wounds “Do not fear for its condition any longer…men in your position are given no choice…”
He nodded but guilt still infested his heart. Uneasily, he watched as his victim’s breathing slowed and her eyes closed. Carefully, he lifted her from the ground and placed her on the steps of an abandoned shop, pushing a crate forward so that she would not be easily seen by the demons. For a moment he stared at what he had done; at this young girl who now lay unconscious, with blood running so heavily over her face and hair that it was almost impossible to tell she was alive. He wanted to take his blade and run it through his heart- not only for his latest victim, but for all of those who lay dead in his tracks; all of those who did not deserve to have their lives stolen away from them. Above all things, he hated his new masters and all they stood for. This war was evil, and pointless, committed only for the greed of one man. Because of this loathsome and hate-filled creature, he and his comrades were doomed to give their lives to a cause they did not believe in.
They would never see home again.
“
Gods forgive me…” he muttered, as he returned to the darkened battle.
*
Syne forced her way across the field, trying desperately to find one of the others. If her assumptions were right, then Kani had found his true form and he was now more of a danger than ever.
“Glenn!” she cried, catching sight of the knight who stood over a pile of muddy ash.
“Syne? What troubles thee?” he asked, exasperated.
Mud tugging at her small feet, she ran toward her friend “Kani’s old body has been found! He has his power back!”
“What dost thou mean?” cried Glenn “Thou speak’st nonsense! After seven hundred years would not his body be but dust and bone?”
“No…” Syne protested, “The Four made sure his body would survive! I think he’s used the souls of the living to help restore his flesh.”
Glenn began to respond, but his eyes moved to an oncoming attacker “M’lady!”
A soldier approached and swung its sword at Syne. With expert timing, she dodged it and Glenn drove his sword through the holes of its helmet. He removed the weapon and stared at it in surprise and horror.
“Blood…” muttered Syne as she ran her finger along the crimson which dripped from the sword’s edge.
“Tis impossible!” cried Glenn, “Unless…”
They stared down at the ground where the fallen soldier struggled before becoming motionless. It did not turn to ash.