Author's note- This is the first time I've released ANY of this work to the public, but hell, whatever. It's the first story in a series of short stories revolving around a character who goes by the name Kane Darkfang. There is no order to the stories, and I'll be posting them as I write them. If you have any feedback, post it here or PM me, I'd be more than happy to discuss this work, or anything else with you. Please keep in mind, some of these stories may range from several paragraphs to many pages, depending on the length of the story itself (Dur)
The sound of his tears splashing in the pooling blood echoed through the hall, nothing moved, the silence was the thick kind of unnatural silence, the kind that even if you tried, you couldn't make yourself interrupt it. Kneeling, the man cradled the woman's head in his lap, his massive hands gently brushing a strand of hair from her pale face. Sunlight streamed into the hall from between the boarded windows, the dust was thick enough to see it in the light, thick enough to scoop a handful from the air like sand. He held her to him like a babe, using his wings to shield her from the outside world, if he held her like this forever... if he never let her go... would she really be dead?
A dim aqua light illuminated her face, a beam of light distorted by the thin membrane of his wing gave her an even more deathly pallor. Across the ray flitted a single blue butterfly, casting a shadow over the woman's face for a second as it moved erraticly closer to the giant of a man. Landing on her forehead, the butterfly opened and closed its wings almost methodicly, the blue pattern drawing the eyes from his beloved.Reaching slowly with his free hand, he held out his finger like a perch, the butterfly hopped into the air and landed gracefully, its wingspan barely reaching each side of the finger. A tear rolled down his cheek and splashed in the blood, with a swift movement he pulled his finger in and pressed his thumb down, pushing the butterfly into his palm, he crushed it. No beauty in this world could hold a flame to hers, to the beauty that had been lost, never to return. Opening his hand, he dropped the crushed bug into the pile, closing his eyes, he wept.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his arm, Kane sniffed once, acutely aware of the silence, of the animals that watched him in grim understanding, they knew his sorrow. Patting the dirt with his hand one last time, he stood, the two graves were uneven and crude, the smaller one set to a bit of an angle from the full sized grave. Sniffling again, his face grim, he turned and stalked into the chapel, moving through the dusty hall, he stopped infront of the altar, the corpse of a magician lay strewn across it. Rifling through the robes, he grasped a pendant that hung around the sorcerer's neck, yanking it hard enough to snap the thin cord that held it, he held it in the palm of his hand.
Barely the size of a quarter, his callouses were larger, grunting, he stuffed it into his cloak, the armor underneath silenced by its mystical properties. Grasping the hilt of the dagger that protruded from the mans chest, he yanked it out with ease and stuffed it in the sheath on his boot. He swallowed, barely able to hold his pain and rage in check, Kane turned on his heal and strode from the chapel, shedding one last tear as he moved out and off the grounds, not stopping for his wife's grave, or even his child's, he spread his wings and took flight, damning the man who had thrice stolen his life from him.
[Author's note: Recomended listening during reading; Nightwish - 10th Man down or Nightwish - The Kinslayer ]
Foreword
Many tales have been told over the years, growing and changing, details added and removed, some forgotten or hazy, all based on the memories of the storyteller. In a way, this keeps the stories alive, keeps them from growing stale and old, yet some of us may find when we hear of our own exploits, things are changed, or completely wrong. Here I shall try to recount, with as much skill in the written word as I can muster, the war for the Manor, as best as my memory can serve. There is no prologue, and no epilogue, these people are not just some fictional tool used to convey a message, to entertain, these are the lives of real people. I cannot do justice to the lives of heroes such as these, and will not attempt to, not here, not now. Needless to say, it would be impossible to tell each of their tales leading up to this fight, so do not falter, and do not worry if you do not full understand the actions of the participants of this battle.
It would take more time than I have left to tell the tale of the Manor, or to give a description that would do it justice. The best I can do to help you understand is a brief description of the Manor and it’s lands.
Describing it as a large Homestead, converted into an Inn by the Mirtanna family, can best sum up the Manor. It sits amid a deep forest in an even deeper valley. Not far to the northeast lies the Mirtanna Lake, placid are its deep blue depths, and this is a place of serenity and peace. Farther east raises a grassy knoll; here is where the defenders of the Manor assembled before the battle. Continuing east the Valley bottlenecks as the ground rises up to meet the sheer cliff walls, a mile wide and several long, this is the only way to the Manor from the East. Here is where the Bloodhorn army marched from, led by their general, Greven Bloodhorn. To the west of the Manor, miles of forestry, and which eventually pan out into plains for as far as the eye can see, and here in these plains is the nearest bastion of civilization.
-End Foreward-
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Last edited by Nataku8188 on Jun 7th, 2005 at 09:16 PM
Any day like today would be considered an unusual day, a day when so many conflicting parties would band together, setting aside petty rivalries and conflicting interests, to unite with a common goal. Survival. Let no man tell you there was love lost between these uneasy allies, for on any other day they would be tearing at each other’s throats like a pack of wild dogs. Yet here stood the combined forces of the Mirtanna Manor, thirteen warriors willing to go above and beyond, to sacrifice everything, and nothing, to protect nothing more than a simple homestead on a lake. They fought not for wealth, not for power, not for conquest, they fought for an ideal, for the land that harbored them, for the Manor.
Although they fought the same fight, they did not fight together, some rivalries and conflicts had been driven too deep, for far too long to change that. The trio of bounty hunters sat together, discussing their plans for the upcoming fight, while the dark ones gathered in the shade of a large oak tree, their hoods drawn forward and spells of shielding protecting them from the light. Another three, the Bach twins and their close friend Tao prepared their weaponry, the Bachs checking the fletching of their arrows, and testing the pull of their bows. Tao recited ancient words of power, and cast spells of protection and enhancement on her allies. Lord and Lady Summerset lounged on an array of summoned pillows, eating fruits and talking in hushed tones. Their relaxed nature belied their combat prowess, as these two were among the most dangerous people in the known world.
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Alone stood the last two participants in this game, standing on the crest of the hill, they watched as the enemies entered the bottleneck. An eerie silence hung in the air about these two men, nay, there were greater then men, they were titans, giants in a world of gnats. Kane held his helmet in the crook of one arm, the other pushing his hair back behind his ears. His armor made soft metallic shifting sounds as he lifted the helmet and pulled it down over his head, flicking the visor up as he did so. Turning his head, Sarge looked at Kane and nodded, a weary smile crossing his face as he slapped him on the back, “Finally we get to see who the greater fighter is, eh old friend?”
Kane stared straight ahead; lips pursed tight, his arms crossing over his chest, his tail slid from side to side methodically. The half dwarf sighed and turned his gaze back to the oncoming army, his hands reaching down to touch the runes carved into the heads of his war hammers, his mind anything but at ease. “Kane me boy, how did ye ever fight wars? Ye’ve told me the tales, before ye became what’cha’re now… goin’ ta war as nuthin’ more than a man… How could’ja do it? Knowin’ good and well that yer family was waitin’ fer ya back at home…”
Shifting again, the dragoon spat to the side, the words came from his mouth weakly, “A man has to fight to protect his family, to protect his home, in hopes that his children can grow up in safe in their homes, and that they will never have to fight to protect their family, and their homes. I’ve fought for many things Sarge, some I had to, and others I didn’t, standing here now, I look back and I would trade those moments for just one more day with them, one more hour, just to see one last smile, one last touch…” Having faded to an inaudible whisper, Kane lowered his head and closed his eyes.
“I understand… today I’ll fight for them, and after today, I shall fight no more.” Sarge watched as the last of the troops filed into the valley, the ranks shifting at the command of the officers. With a quick motion, he pulled the hammers from his hips and took hold of the grip near the heads. Lifting his head, with a look of grim determination, Kane’s voice had returned, full and strong, “ ’Tis easier said than done friend…”
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Far above, a crimson shape streaked downwards towards the assembled Manorites. Raising their heads, the Bach twins’ keen Elven ears and eyes forewarned them of the incoming shape. As the space between the Manorites and the shape closed, more details became visable, draconic wings, glimmering red armor, snow white feathers, a shock of blond hair, this was truly an unusual sight. Something stirred within Kane, and he knew who was coming, yet he did not move. Closer now, the Hans yelled to alert the others, who moved to prepare to intercept this possible new threat. Sarge turned and bellowed orders, which were obeyed for the most part. The lord and lady Summerset seemed to operate of their own accord, ignoring the fiasco entirely. Nocking arrows, the twins trained their shots on the figure. Tao readied spells of ice, the bounty hunters drew their weapons, Chaz and Claire clearly waiting for Alexa’s order before following Sarge’s. Necratice, the Vampiress Fallon and the apostle Vainya marked the newcomer, but did not move from the darkness, as the light was deadly to them.
With a flash of red, and a flutter of ivory feathers, the being was upon them. Staying their hands, the group stared in curiosity, this…man…. Shared a striking physical resemblance to Kane, his wings had angelic feathers, yet were shaped like dragon wings. He had the shape of a man, yet the aura of something greater; his brilliantly blonde hair cut short and wild. Scanning the assembly, his eyes stopped on Sarge, “I’m here…”
“You didn’t have to come.” Sarge had cut him off before he could finish, “I know what happened between you an yer father, ya did’nae have ta come.” Shaking his head, Fenix replied, “The Manor has been as much a home to me as it has to any of you. You aren’t in any position to refuse me, so I’m here to stay.”
By this point, the group had returned to their previous positions, leaving Sarge and Fenix alone. “Right then, would I be right in guessin’ that ya wanna speak to yer father?” Sarge questioned, holding his hammers idly at his sides. The young man nodded and moved in the direction that Sarge pointed, “Don’t be startin’ a fight now, ya hear, we need all the power we can muster fer this one laddie!”
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”Leave, now. This isn’t your fight.”
Kane’s voice was as cold and solid as steel. He wasn’t to be toyed with, not right now, not by his own son.
“Look, ‘dad’, I didn’t come here to fight with you, or to get into a pissing match. I’m here for the Manor. I’m old enough to take care of myself, and I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’m pretty sure I already made that painfully clear. So, you can either throw down with me again, or you can just leave me to my business.”
“I don’t care how old you are, you’re my son and you will listen to me, and you will obey. Go home, now.”
“No. I’m staying god damnit, and that’s final. Mom would’ve…”
With a tone sharp enough to cut the tension in the air, Kane interrupted him, “If you’re so damn big, then why do you still act like a child.” An air of silence fell upon them, and Fenix lowered his head. Turning, he walked off to a clear section of the knoll and knelt by himself to pray.
Coming up beside Kane, Sarge set his hand on the bigger man’s shoulder. “I tried ta warn him off …but….” Realizing his words were having no effect, Sarge let his hand fall free and drift to the neck of his mail hauberk. Reaching down, he drew a locket from under his armor and flicked it open, staring at the picture inside.
“Lord allowin’, I’ll live to return to my family again…”
Kane reached up towards his visor, “Find solace in the knowledge that you have a family to return home to…” with a flick he snapped the visor down and began down towards the enemy. Sarge stared for a second before turning and rallying the rest of the group.
“Together now, let’s show them what the Manor is made of!” with a might yell, he raised his hammer and was met with several stares, and a handful of ‘Aye!’s. Waving them forward, the bounty hunters and Fenix falling in behind, the Summersets following a short ways behind on a pair of gigantic white tigers. “I swear to god, if one of those cretins lays a hand on me I will simply die” Lady Summerset proclaimed as the tiger crossed the crest of the hill.
Kane’s footfalls widened, becoming more rapid as his stride shifted to a jog. Ahead of him, Pike men stepped through the ranks, forming up two ranks deep, reaching nearly from wall to wall of the Valley. Along the edges and in the rear, Kane could hear the sound of bowstrings being pulled taunt, yet he did little to acknowledge this. He no longer cared what they did, who they had fighting for them, he knew only one thing, he was going to kill them all.
Deep within his soul, Kane felt something stir. Buried beneath the endless emptiness, the all-too familiar embers of bloodlust cried out for air. His instinct told him to stoke them, to feed them until they grew into an uncontrollable blaze, yet something held him back. He could not let himself go, it was as if someone had locked him in a cage, and left him to freeze to death.
Sarge broke into a run in an attempt to catch up to Kane, but by now the titan was sprinting, each step covering two yards. The distance between he and the front line closed rapidly, his massive strides covering half a mile in just under a minute. With an almighty roar, his wings snapped outwards, tossing the cape that covered them into the air. Leaping into the air, he snapped the wings down and was airborne, covering the last half mile in what seemed to be an instant. The pike men followed him with the tips of their spears, as if to protect themselves if he fell from the sky. Alas, their doom came not from above, but from the threat on the front that they had not paid head to. With a wet crunch, Sarge’s war hammers struck home, caving in the skulls of two soldiers unlucky enough to pull front-guard duty.
Arms outstretched, Kane dived into the ranks of the lightly armored footmen. Their blades bounced harmlessly off of his armored body, most scattering in fear. Of those who didn’t, two found themselves sprawled out on the ground with their heads in the hands of this unruly beast. With a wild roar powerful enough to shake the heavens, Kane stood, crushing the helmets in his hands. Like broken eggs, the contents of their skulls poured out from the shells, and with a flick of the wrist, Kane tossed the bodies into the crowds, bowling over several soldiers. Fighting like a cornered beast, Kane leapt upon the nearest fighters, crushing their heads in his hands, he swept his tail from side to side, demolishing attackers foolish enough to come up behind him.
On the front lines, Sarge had waded several feet into the enemies, each fall of his hammer brought down another fighter with the swiftness of a lightning bolt, and the sound of a thunderclap. Blades skittered and bounced across his Mithril chainmail, yet his arms and face were littered with rogue cuts and gouges. His forearms and boots were painted with blood, with splashes of the red across his chest and face. Yet little of it was his own, for he was no ordinary man, half dwarf and half giant, he was a titan walking among mortals.
Meanwhile, another contingent of pike men and infantry that had continued towards the manor found themselves battling Fenix Darkfang. Unlike his father, who appeared to be nothing more than a raging beast, Fenix’s mix of draconic and angelic features had caused many men to label him a Demon, or the Fallen Angel himself. These soldiers were no different, many fleeing the instant he plunged from the sky into their ranks, his glowing red blade cleaving through armor and flesh like a hot knife through butter. Yet while he was larger than the average man, he was not as large as his father, or even Sarge, and while his armor was flashy and intimidating, it had many openings and flaws. He soon found himself being overwhelmed, ringed by pikes that stabbed to and fro, wounds being scored often enough to weaken him.
Drawing his wings in to protect his face, he screamed in anguish as their blades pierced the feathered veil. Swinging his blade in one last-ditch effort, he disarmed several of his attackers, yet still the assault continued. As he fell to his knees, the world around him closing in, he suddenly felt an immense heat on his back, and the jabbing had stopped. Turning his head weakly, he stared at the sight laid before him. The wall of assailants had broken rank, screaming in wild agony and striping themselves of breastplates and greaves, dropping to the ground and attempting to roll out a fire that wasn’t actually there. A gentle hand touched his face, and he looked up to see a sight he would’ve traded the world to see, “… Claudia…” Moving swiftly, she grabbed him by the collar of his armor and jerked him upwards, the gentle motions replaced with firm and decisive movements. “No time for that angel-eyes, Tao’s spell will only put them out of commison for so long, you gotta go find Lady Summerset to fix you up. Last I saw, she was over there.”
She pointed towards the Lord and Lady Summerset, both still mounted on their tigers. The Lady appeared to be lounging, while a stream of magical energies leapt from the Lord’s hands to the sight before him. A summoned Hydra and a pair of Cerberi tore into the footmen. Apparently he had a soft spot for three headed beasts. Fenix nodded and began to move towards the duo, yet Claudia stopped him. “Don’t you go off and die on me, you still owe me for last time angel-eyes.” Grinning, she blew him a kiss and took off in the opposite direction.
Standing atop the grassy knoll, Tao summoned up the energies of the land, her fingers weaving intricate patterns as she wove her magic. Beside her Diane and Hans picked off the soldiers that were finally recovering from Tao’s blood-fire spell. Their arrows flew with an uncanny speed and accuracy, finding their way into the eyes and throats of their targets. “How many brother?” Diane questioned, to she and Hans this was a challenge, to see who was truly the better shot.
He frowned, firing arrows without pause, “Two, that damned spell had them jerking around unnaturally, missed them only by a hair, quite literally!” He wore four quivers, one over each shoulder, and two at his left hip, each full to the brim of red-fletched arrows. Diane wore hers opposite, with her fletching an electric blue. “Sure….” She teased, she knew how this would rile him up. “This isn’t some game you two, stop playing around and help out the ones who need help! Fenix almost died, and Sarge is being overwhelmed!” although her eyes were closed, Tao’s voice was firm, and they knew she was right. Growing stern, they shifted to readjust their aim to assist Sarge, yet found he was no longer surrounded by enemies. For once in many years, Hans lowered his bow in awe, “Well I’ll be damned…”
Sarge now fought at the head of a company of undead, corpses reanimated by magicks issued from Necratice. Standing a hundred feet behind Sarge, the Tauren necromancer’s hands moved erraticly, the circle of protection surronding him glowing brightly as he enslaved the souls of the ever growing population of dead. Rising from the ground, the broken and bloody bodies lifted their weapons and charged recklessly into the soldiers. Unlike normal soldiers, the undead didn’t even pause to acknowledge the assorted blades protruding from their slack skin.
Somewhere along the line there was a distinctive exploding sound, like a fleshy balloon being blown to large and then popping. Diane blinked and stared in amazement at the spreading ring of noxious gasses emanating from the corpse. Soldiers within a dozen yards clutched at their throats, and those within ten feet fell to the ground dead almost instantly. “What the…” blinking, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her, Diane watched in utter astonishment as the single spell carved out an entire section of the front. Not only that, but no other soldiers could move to fill the gaps, as the air was still thick with whatever the poison was.
Lifting his bow, Hans took aim and dropped a young runner as he moved to bring reports back to the general. “Tsk tsk… never send a boy to do a man’s job.” Hans grinned and fired off another arrow, this time into a banner-carrier, “That ties us up sister.” Laughing, she nocked another arrow and drew back the string, “For now…”
Here's one of them. Feel free to PM with comments, questions, etc. Feedback here is fine, but try to limit it, don't want this thread to become cluttered.
[Author's note: This is a different writing style than my usual. Feel free to comment on it. Recomended listening during reading; Nightwish - Angels fall first ]
Flesh sizzled as the blade skimmed across His back. Letting loose a guttural roar He swung about and smashed His attacker in the face with a backhand. With eyes full of bloodlust, He pounced on His stumbling opponent and easily overpowered him, driving him to the ground. Behind Him she screamed, her voice shrill and full of fear. His fists rose and fell, blood sprayed across the floor and painted His knuckles red, and each swing splattered droplets of blood across the room.
The screams pierced His veil of bloodlust, and He whipped around again, hands dripping blood, to face the distraction. Battered and bloody, she stood between He and the young girl, the stub of her left wing still bleeding profusely and her face swollen to the point where she could barely be recognized. She called out, yet her voice fell on deaf ears, for His mind was not His own, and to Him she was nothing but an obstacle to cross.
He moved with an inhuman speed, His arm moving from His side to her face in a flash. There was a muffled scream and she clawed at His hand with bloody hands, her legs kicked wildly as He lifted her into the air. This sound was digging into His brain, He could not stand to allow this continue, and with a flick of His arm he sent her sailing to His right, through the wall and out into darkness.
Falling to her knees, the child screamed, tears streaming down her face as she held her hands up as if in pray. One step brought Him within arm’s reach of the girl, and she opened her eyes, her voice dulling to a soft sob. More words, how He hated words, He did not understand them; they would say these things, knowing He had no understanding, it must be to mock Him! They only succeeded in angering Him even more. Yet, here He felt this child was genuinely afraid of Him, and kneeling slowly, He reached out to wipe the tears from her face.
She jumped to her feet and ran to Him, wrapping her tiny arms as far around His chest as she could. Staring in surprise, He reached down and ran His fingers through her hair slowly, as if reliving some long forgotten memory. The same sound, over and over, what was she trying to tell Him? There was a crash, and He snapped to his feet, clutching her to His bare chest with one hand instinctually. Facing the threat, He disregarded the bloody woman leaning against the doorframe. Her right cheekbone had been broken, as well as her nose. Only taters of her clothes remained, and the entire left side of her body was badly burned. Yet here she stood, clutching the hilt of His massive broadsword in her right hand, the blade laying on the floor behind her, she spoke to him. The child whined and fussed, moving about in His hand.
It annoyed Him.
Pulling her off of His chest, he threw the child at the woman in the doorway. They both screamed, and the woman dropped the blade and caught the child as the collided, the force knocking her off her feet. The world seemed to fade in and out, and she was numb, watching in horror as He came up beside her, knelt and took the sword. Standing over her, He held the sword with both hands, blade down, staring into her eyes.
For once in her life she cried, she was too weak to stop Him, she couldn’t even defend herself or her sister. The child did not move, maybe she was already dead. It didn’t matter to Him, he would just kill the woman then, for getting in his way. Silently, He drove the blade down through her abdomen and into the floor. Blood sprayed as the blade split her spine in twine, the deep crimson spreading across the floor and staining His blade as He drew it from her with a wet shucking sound. She gasped, her last breath rushing in, and slowly seeping out as her body went into shock and shut down.
More screams from the child, who clutched at the torso in vain. He watched her with eagle eyes, her incessant screeching had drawled on long enough. With a flick of the wrist, He brought the blade up to strike her down. The blade whistled as it cleft through the air, moving towards the defenseless child who sat awestruck at the abominable scene before her. The blade quivered, it had not struck true, for it had met the blade of another in it’s path, and the two contested for superiority. Lifting His gaze, He stared into the eyes of the red one, the one who brought the burning blade.
He saw the lips move, the fire in the eyes, yet He understood none of it. If the red one wanted to lock blades, then it was his funeral. Spreading His wings He threw himself into His opponent, driving him backwards through the outer wall and into the cold wilderness. Pushing off of Him with his free hand, the red one spread his own wings and broke away in a burst of blue energy and feathers. He had deep gouge across His chest and the flesh around the wound was charred black from the heat of the blade. This was not tolerable. He charged the red one swinging His sword in a heavy arc.
Yet the smaller opponent was faster than He and easily leapt over the blade, batting it away with his own. As the red one came down, he landed a heavy left on His temple which knocked him off balance. Capitalizing, the energy blade struck like a viper, cutting into the muscle and sinew of his right arm. Furious, He brought his arm up with such speed and strength that it knocked the blade from the red one’s hand, and batted him across the face and chest with the flat of the broadsword. He brought His left hand around and cracked the smaller man’s jaw, smashing the butt of the sword across his temple as he stumbled.
Falling to the ground, the red one struggled to raise himself up onto one elbow. Spitting blood, he watched as the larger man kicked the energy blade to the side, swinging His own broadsword in a circle at His side before sheathing it on His back. Oh, how alike this was to their normal fights, yet he would be allowed to go inside and have his wounds mended, his bones set and his muscles re-knit. Here though, this was no practice fight, he had given it his all and found himself lacking. Calling out in a last desperate attempt, he watched with grim acceptance as the big man stopped a foot or so away from him. As the foot came down on his chest, breaking more than a few ribs, he did not make a sound; he would not give him the satisfaction. Ready to accept death, he laid back and watched through foggy eyes as his opponent lifted His foot again to crush his skull. Closing his eyes, he whispered the only thing that came to mind, the last line of the nursery song his mother used to sing him to sleep with.
Death never came. Above him, the big man had drawn His sword again and was glaring at something inside the house. If he could turn, he would see her standing there in what was left of her former glory. Wings torn asunder, face and body battered beyond recognition, he would have given his life to save his mother, but he had already tried that, and it had failed miserably. Watching in unfathomable pain, he watched as the big man stepped over him and towards the house, holding the blade level, pointed at her with His left arm. Alone she stood, leaning on her once pearl staff, now as crimson as the blade which had spilt the blood to begin with. Gone were the tears, her face was one of grim determination, and she spoke in a language above what either of the men could understand.
He hated her. Why was she talking? The small man had tried to stop him, and He smashed him. Why couldn’t they all just leave Him alone? They kept coming back to yell and scream and say things. Things that meant nothing to Him! After He was done with her, there would finally be silence. He spread his wings menacingly, and roared, His tail whipping from side to side. Still, on she droned, her words meaningless and annoying. As her voice rose in a feeble crescendo an aura radiated from her staff. Pure white as bright and pure as anything to ever exist in this world, it swarmed from her staff to His chest and face. Yet, it made it no further than His sword, the metal greedily drinking up the energy and crushing her last bit of hope. With the last bit of her energy sapped away she could do naught but release her staff and fall to her knees. Barely able to even raise her head to look into His eyes as he pressed the tip of the blade to her throat, her lips mimicked the words that would burn into His brain for the rest of His life. He watched intently as if He understood what she was saying.
“I will die as you would, fighting to the end, for our love is one that shall rise above death and live on forever...”
Blinking, His arm lowered, the tip of the blade dragging down over her chest and stopping between her breasts. Raising his arm in protest, he screamed even with the blood in his throat for the madness to end, but it was no use. They all knew the outcome as His arm snapped forward and time stood still, the image frozen for eternity in his mind. She knelt there, head lolled back, the blade driven a foot through her, her arms hanging limp at her side. The only motion being the drip of the blood down the blade onto the ground.
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May 12th, 2005 01:33 AM
