Author's Note: Welcome to my new fanfic! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. This first chapter is quite 'action' oriented, and not a style I write often so it might be a little... messy? But please stick around as I promise it will get better. I'd love to hear feedback or suggestions! Thanks and enjoy!

The breeze blew through the tall grass that spread across the field just ahead of me. As I closed my eyes, my ears picked apart the sounds of the night. An uneasy feeling swept over me. Someone was following me. I could almost feel their eyes settling against my back. They had been following me for days, if not longer. Eventually I found what I was looking for. An uneasy breath cutting through the breeze. The rapid beats of a heart.

This would be the third person to seek me out in less than a month. At least the other two hadn't wasted time skulking about and watching from the shadows. No, they had charged at me brazenly, shouting about the vengeance they sought. They had quickly met their deaths. But this person was different, more cautious, smarter. I didn't appreciate whoever was taking advantage of my talents for free by sending these men on some false mission of vengeance, but I was ready for the entire ordeal to be over. My day had been long and enough blood had already been shed.

"My tattered and bloody cloak whipped into the backs of my muddied leather boots. "Is there a reason you are following me?" The words came out slowly as I opened my eyes, letting my vision adjust to the dim light of the moon. No answer came immediately, but I knew they were there. "Maybe you have come here seeking vengeance?"

A loud sound cut through the night, something heavy slamming against the ground behind me. "Princess Yona. That was her name." A deep voice followed the slam. It was a name I had heard before, but only in passing.

Whether I had killed her or not wouldn't matter. All that mattered was what this man believe. "Hmph." A half smile dawned my face. "If you think I've learned the names of the people I've killed you will quickly find that you are mistaken."

"A woman with long raven hair. One who carried a double scythe wrapped in chain. That is who they say robbed her of her life. The Reaper. The Widow. Death." So convicting was the sound of this man's voice. Being accused of killing a Princess could turn out to be quite the ordeal, but this was clearly much more personal.

I gripped the top edge of my hood, pulling it away from my face. Shaking my long raven hair I let it fall haphazardly down my back. I peered back, just enough so I could see my stalker from the corner of my eye. "Isn't that an oddly specific description?" Reaching back again I pulled the huge double scythe from my back with a jerk. I spun around, bringing the blade in front of me, and slammed the end into the ground.

He had done the same with his weapon, a long and shining glaive. I couldn't make out his features through the distance of the night, but his frame alone told me that he was much taller, and much bigger, than myself. "I hate to tell you, but someone has sent you on a fool's errand. One that can only result in your death."

A loud hearty laugh cut through the silence of the night. Like the wind itself the man lunged at me, cutting the distance between the two of us, his dark overcoat flaring out behind him. I barely met his charge, but I did, my scythe clanging loudly against the edge of his glaive, forcing it to the side. His attack too strong for me to push back. Without hesitation he came at me again and again, his attacks only increasing in strength. He was far stronger than me, and somehow he managed to attack with not only strength, but control. A deadly combination.

I deflected every lunge, each sweeping attack, as I spun my scythe to meet him. His glaive was pushed to the side time and time again. On a glancing blow he managed to catch the edge of my cloak, the blade slicing clean through until the pole hooked into the fabric. I pulled a hand away from my scythe long enough to unsnap the clasp, releasing the cloak and the momentary hold he had on me.

The man stumbled back, off center as he tried to free his glaive. I rolled my shoulders, adjusting my grip on my scythe, and glared at him. Bright blue eyes burned into me from only a few feet away. Before he could fully regain his footing I sprinted and slid low past him. He whipped his glaive around like lightning, the blade following me closely. The grass was wet with dew and my momentum propelled me out of his range.

Turning and sliding backwards, I flicked my wrist like clockwork, detaching the bottom blade. Something I hadn't done in a very, very long time. I had made the mistake of underestimating my opponent. The chain lurched as the scythe spun, threatening to rip free from my grasp. As soon as I could, I flung the free blade low, aiming for the bottom of his legs. It happened so quickly that there was no way he could have predicted what I was doing, and yet he still managed to jump and dodge my attack. He landed with grace, the long grass crushing beneath him.

He was nothing like the others who had came before him. He was something completely different. I retrieved the blade with a sharp yank, managing to catch it back into it's lock on the end of the pole. Years of practice hadn't failed me. Flipping the scythe I grabbed hold of the chain, and spun it up my arm, connecting myself to the scythe. This fighting style gave me strength, make me one with the scythe, but also was a huge risk./span/p

We lunged at one another once again, almost simultaneously. But instead of meeting my scythe, he managed to duck under my attack, the blade slicing the tips of his long black hair. Before I could react he lifted his leg and caught me in the ribs with a solid kick. The air left my lungs and in a last ditch panicked motion I twisted my scythe, cutting into his bicep. My shoulder tore backwards with the weight of the scythe, nearly dislocating my shoulder.

Despite the pain, I did not relent, and neither did he. We danced with our blades, the moonlight shining off of them as they collided. But he caught me off guard. With each attack he stepped inwards, bringing himself closer and taking away my room. The scythe was an intimidating weapon. Foes typically made the mistake of trying to move away, of trying to range me. This is what I expected, what I could easily and expertly counter. He was defying all reason.

With each attack I attempted to launch, he deflected. With each deflection he leaned closer in, punching and kicking whatever spot he could reach as I attempted to recover. My leather wrappings provided little to no protection. No one ever managed to get close enough to me to touch me, it hadn't been something that had concerned me before. Now I was regretting that.

I could feel my aching body growing tired. As I became weaker, each hit seemed to become stronger. He was fast, faster than I could account for or counter. His movements somehow were erratic and unpredictable, but still controlled. I didn't enjoy being on the defense. Anger surged through me and I pushed at him offensively, but he simply let my attacks fall. My anger was nothing to compare with his burning rage.

In a last ditch effort I twisted my arm and tilted the pointed end of my scythe around his glaive, leaving myself complete vulnerable. I knew it was a dangerous move, but I was rewarded as I felt the steel ripping into the flesh of his chest. He fell back with a loud shout, stumbling to his knees in shock. I could see the blood already soaking into his torn clothing. His hand came to his chest, and he looked at the crimson that covered it before looking up to me. It was time for this to end.