A/N
I have been reading through the older pages of this story and there is one word that comes to mind.
Cringe
So, rather than having the style totally shift half way through, I have decided to try to re-write the original pages.
Comments and suggestions welcome!
Enjoy
Amy

Chapter 1

Amelia Grace Cossland had never done anything special. Not in the twenty five years she had lived on this Earth. She was thin and not overly athletic. Her skin was pale, but not so much that she had to avoid the sun. Her eyes were the most impossible shade of blue, but were often distracted, rarely looking directly into someone else's. Over all, she was rather beautiful, if you squinted. The problem with Amelia's looks however, was that she would always hide them with some old, tattered and baggy clothes and a mess of long, red, usually un-brushed hair.

Her attitude rarely helped either. She had two settings. Sarcastic and flippant, or big headed and cocky. If she wasn't rolling her eyes, she was parading her 'skills', like her ability to switch to a false pleasantness to schmooze people, or her everlasting high score on Zombie Blaster VI at the arcade. Whenever she did find a flaw, she brushed it off or blamed someone else. For example, when she was asked to make dinner, she blamed the 'terrible' stove for causing everything to meld into one unappealing lump. It didn't matter if everyone else could work the stove, it was never her fault. This could quickly become intolerable in long periods.

Perhaps she over compensated, often exaggerating her actions to show off. She had no family to speak of, having grown up in an orphanage. She was never given a real reason for her abandonment. That is, she saw "not ready to give you what you deserve" as not good enough. Not that she spent her time crying about it. She felt her time was better spent showing anyone how awesome she was and what they had missed out on.

Her time in the Cornerstone Orphanage was fair, but she always felt that they favoured the other children over her. As such, she refused to give the others more attention until she was made equal. This made friendships difficult. It wasn't until she was nine when a four year old boy was brought in that she learned to play nice. He had lost his parents in an accident, and spent most of his time quiet and alone. Killing two birds with one stone, the staff implemented a buddy system, pairing Amelia with the new boy, Marshall.

He was quiet at first. He would sit on his own, simply observing Amelia's mannerisms and interactions. When a few weeks passed, however, Amelia was preparing for dinner when she realised she was without a buddy. She looked everywhere: the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the hallways, behind the potted plants, under the rugs… He was just gone.

Not wanting to risk the rage of the staff having lost the youngest of the children, she rushed to the garden and began calling for him. Listening intently, she followed a small whimper until she found him quietly sobbing behind the shed and covering his arm.

"What did you do?!" She yelled as she spotted the blood seeping through his fingers.

He sniffled. "He was all alone too." He whimpered. "I had to help! But he's angry… I don't know why!"

"Who's all alone?"

He looked to his feet. "I shouldn't tell you." He whispered, refusing to make eye contact.

Amelia felt for him. She suddenly remembered how hard it was when she was brought here. She was a little younger than him, but she remembered it well. She sat on the ground in front of him, ducking down to look into his eyes. "Why not?" She smiled. "We're buddies, aren't we? I'm supposed to look after you, and help you out when you're in trouble."

He glanced up. "You won't tell?"

"Nope."

With a hint of a smile, he nodded and pointed to the shed. Amelia got to her feet and slowly pulled back the door a little. Peeking inside, she spotted something round, brown and fluffy. Opening the door a little more, she identified the fluffy as a large puppy, curled up and shaking. "You found a dog?"

"He was in the bushes." Marshall explained, "He was all alone, and I couldn't find his mummy. I thought he could live with us, but when we went in the shed he got mad and bit me."

Amelia looked at the dog again. "He looks scared." She thought aloud, "I once read that if you make yourself real small, a dog will think you're real friendly! Maybe that'll make him feel better!"

Marshall teetered over and watched – from a safe distance – as Amelia took a step inside. With one toe apparently too close, the dog's head whipped his head up and growled loudly. She froze, holding her hands out and shushing the dog. When this didn't work, she quickly dropped to the floor, covered her face with her hands and huddled up as small as possible. The dog growled a little more, but eventually quieted down. After a few seconds, the dog stood, and slowly – very slowly – began approaching Amelia. Marshall gasped, covering his face, yet still peeking through his fingers. The dog sniffed the floor all around Amelia, before sniffing her hands. Then her head. Then, when she got the courage to look up, sniffing her face.

Apparently satisfied that she was of no threat, the dog gave a sort of huff before trotting back to his corner. Amelia slowly rose to her feet before turning to Marshall with a smile and giving him a thumbs up. She approached the dog, and when he didn't seem to react, she cautiously reached out a hand and began to pet his head. A few moments later, he rolled onto his back, with his tongue out, and allowed her to rub his stomach.

After this, Amelia had won the respect of both Marshall, and the dog she had now named Terrance – Terry for short.

The orphanage never allowed her to keep a dog, so Terry was hidden away in the disused shed where they had found him.

After that, the three were thick as thieves. Marshall was never away from Amelia's side. They were always getting each other into trouble. The problem is that troublemakers are rarely top of the adoption list. After years of being rejected and annoyed, Amelia and Marshall accepted that they were in there for the long run. When they approached the age that required them to leave the orphanage, they agreed to stay together, taking Terry with them.

Aged 21, Amelia now lived in a hotel with her friends – as promised, the owners of which gave her a job that covered the cost of the room and gave her a little left over to spend on food Marshal was now 16. Amelia had convinced her bosses, Mr. Patrick and Mrs Margaret Gallagher, to apply for his guardianship with the promise that she would look after him. The eventually agreed, and brought him to work with her. The small quiet boy had grown into a tall and lanky man. His skin was pale with scratches and scars all over from his years of climbing trees and sneaking into small places that Amelia just couldn't quiet reach. His eyes were a soft jade, but were hard to see from under thick mop of black hair that hung over his features.

Terry was a large brown dog. Amelia had never figured out what breed he was, as no one she knew had ever seen a dog quite like him. Some people said he was a game dog bully mix, but she was never really sure. Though he was now verging on 10 at least, Terry was as fit as he was when he was a pup. He was tough, stronger than most dogs with muscles that sometimes made people feel uncomfortable. He was also though, the most intelligent and loyal dog Amelia had ever seen in her life. She could swear sometimes that he understood every word she said. No matter where she went, he would follow. He loved his mistress, and she him.

She spent time with them every day. Her bosses had become like grandparents to them, always lecturing and guiding them whenever possible. She worked in their quiet hotel during the day, and spent time playing games with Marshal and Terry at night. Things were finally normal, and yet life seemed to slowly but surely pass her by. But that was about to change.

Amelia and Marshal were sent on a late run to the local Cash-and-Carry to collect stock for the Shamrock Hotel, just as they did every Monday. Marshall, attempting to show off, carried as many bags as he possibly could and ran down the street, jeering at Amelia to catch up. This was also a weekly occurrence, and no longer seemed to have any effect on Amelia, not that that stopped Marshal from doing it.

"C'mon Amy! Keep up!" Marshall sniggered, "Those feminine little legs-"

"-Are holding me back." She interjected. "Yeah, I remember the last twenty-six times you said."

Marshall continued on down the street as Amelia followed, rolling her eyes. It was in fact this action that allowed a small glimmer from the shadows to catch her eye. She stopped. 'What is that?' she thought. 'It kind of looks like... a sword?'

Before she could inspect it closer, a large collective of loud barks swiftly grabbed her attention. Amelia turned to see Terry jetting towards her.

"Sorry boy." She smiled as the hound came to a halt. "Was I taking too long again?" She patted the dog on the head. "Alright, I'll pick up the pace." She then began quickly walking back to the Shamrock Hotel, looking over her shoulder every so often, thinking of the strange, shiny object.

The rest of the week continued as normal. Amelia and Marshall would try to make their job seem less relentless by having small contests for the fastest dishwasher, fastest bed maker and the waiter or waitress who could cash the most tips in one night. Other than that, the week flew by just as any other would.

It was soon Monday once more, and so time to collect the stock from the Cash-and-Carry. Once again, Marshal grabbed most of the bags and boxes, and fled down the road, leaving Amelia to trail behind. When suddenly, there it was again. That Glimmer.

Amelia stared for a moment, squinting her eyes and tilting her head, before quickly giving up and catching up with Marshal. But the glimmer was never gone. For three weeks it remained, taunting Amelia. She would never have time to have a look at it however, as either Terry, Marshal or Mrs Gallagher would come and collect her. On the fourth week however, Mrs Gallagher had fallen down a small flight of stairs and injured her left leg. Marshal was left in charge of the Shamrock while Mr Gallagher took her to hospital. Amelia had to get the stock herself.

Though it was dark and she was alone, Amelia was not easily frightened and so could easily manage the task in two prompt trips. On her second, she was forced to stop by the galling glimmer. She had managed to pass it three times now without stopping, but four times seemed impossible.

She gently laid the boxes she was carrying on the ground, and slowly stepped towards the object. This street was located between the back ends of two old warehouse. This made it particularly dark. Even when standing directly over the object, Amelia could only make out a long Golden handle. Though this handle was the source of the glimmer, Amelia was now curious as to the rest of the object.

She grasped the handle and swiftly pulled the object into the light. Before she even got a proper look, she knew it was out of place, for nothing used in everyday life today could be so oddly shaped and weight quite so much at the same time. It was clearly solid metal.

She stared down at it.

"...A... A sword?" She uttered. Although that was her first guess, she would never have assumed it would be correct. "What on Earth is a sword doing lying out in the middle of an alleyway in this day and age?" Amelia stared for a moment, and then shrugged her shoulders. Her curiosity about the glimmer was sated, and that would do for now.

She was about to carefully return the sword to its place, when a strange groan startled her, making her accidentally drop it. She turned around, her eyes franticly trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. "Hello?" she called out. "W-who's there?"

Her eyes finally focused onto a tall, lanky figure slowly stumbling towards her from the shadows. She gave a sigh of relief. She could not fully make this figure out, but she came the conclusion that it was a local who had a little too much to drink. "You frightened me mister!" She laughed, "Lay off the whiskey a little next time, would you?"

As she turned to take her leave, she was blocked by another figure standing behind her. "Whoa! Excuse me guys..." The figures would not step back. Amelia's heart rate dramatically increased as the figures grew in number and drew in closer. One finally stepped out of the shadows.

It was no man.

It looked as though it was once a man, but its skin had been scorched from its somewhat yellow flesh. Its eyes were a dark and dull yellow too. Its bottom jaw seemed partially detached from its skull. Drool poured like a waterfall from between its sharp, discoloured fangs, and down its neck. It was wearing dusty, blood stained armour, and carried a long, curved sword.

It was a monster.

The others stepped forward too. They were also monsters. Some resembled the first, others were shorter, with small horns curling out from the top of their skulls.

Amelia gave a gasp and fell to the ground in shock. And then they suddenly stopped. She feared for her life. Why she thought. Why did I have to stop to look at that blasted...? Her eyes were drawn to the object.

"Sword!"

The first monster lifted his sword and gave an ear-piercing screech. The others began to charge towards her as she leaped towards the sword.

She had never held a blade properly in her life, but something felt... right. As she grabbed the sword in her right hand, she soon found herself fumbling. It was heavy, but it was her only option. She adjusted her grip and quickly turned, slicing through the throats of two of the smaller creators. If not for the three other monsters running towards her, blade in hand, she would have stopped to celebrate her strike.

She turned again and sank the blade into the stomach of one, using it's corpse as a shield from anther's attack. She then pushed the corpse towards it ramming the sword through it too, and smashing it into a wall. She put one foot against the wall to pull the sword from the depths of the walking nightmares. She then ran towards the last and smashed the sword into its skull. She then pushed down as hard as she could. The crunch of bone and squelch of flesh rang through her skull, but she had to keep going. Pushing, pushing, pushing ever harder, the sword finally slid down, slicing the creator in two.

She looked around her at the carnage. She could hardly believe it.

"This can't be possible?" She sighed. "...Can it?"

She noticed the blood that was seeping into her work uniform. Her hands began to shake as the blade fell to the floor.

She frantically tried to wipe the pools of crimson fluid off of her, as another figure crept from the shadows. Amelia looked up.

"...Who are you? Wh-what do you want?!"

"You are ready."