The Path Of Fate, Chapter 1.
A/N: AU, this fic takes place in a fictional world separate from the original Burst Angel universe. This story actually flows across two different time periods as well. A date will indicate the time period given.
1330 A.D
The female warrior was strong and proud. She sat erect upon her war horse, back arched as she held her sword in the air. The black horse beneath her clopped energetically back and forth, head swaying side to side, yet the girl had a relaxed grip upon the leather reins. Her dark red eyes gleamed dully in the quickly fading light; soon it would become harder to see. Her long silver hair was tied into a tight, high pony-tail on the back of her head, bound by a simple leather tie. Even bound, its lengths fell to her waist. She bore a tan from her many days in the sun; truly, she was beautiful, in an unrestrained, exciting way. The sword she held in her left hand was a deadly sharp blade. It was honed to a razor edge, clean and bright. For now. The hilt was wrapped in beautiful, dark purple cloth. It was worn in certain places, the fabric tearing and fading to mere strands, yet it was not time to rewrap it. She was adorned in her battle armor, a simple leather chest guard bound to her with two straps and ornate buckles. Under that was a black fabric undershirt. Her left arm had a forearm guard made of light leather. It was of simple construction. Her right arm held no protection, but hanging on the side of her horse, was one of her other weapons. It was a glove of sorts, that she could slip her hand into. Gripping it tightly, it was inset with long metal blades, about a foot in length. There were three of them. On the right side of her horse, hung her one handed axe. It was a blunt crushing weapon, and it had served her well. Her horse was energetic despite the weight of his rider, and his armor. Metal plating draped over it's hindquarters, and it had a chest plate as well. A quick glance took in her legs. She was wearing a skirt made of wolf pelt, and shin guards of the same. The fur was a dark brown color; slaying them had been a joyous occasion. Her sword sheath was on her right hip, a black strip of leather encircling her slim waist to hold it against her. The sheath was black, and she had been wearing it for so long that she could no longer feel it's weight; she naturally compensated for it when she walked, passed by others, and sat or otherwise moved.
She gestured with her sword again, and the ranks of men in front of her fell silent.
Her dark red eyes slid from one man to another, capturing the gaze of each. The silence was broken only by the soft clank of metal on metal, the occasional grunt or cough, and the sound of a dying fire trying desperately to cling to life.
"We will attack at nightfall!" The warrior yelled, lowering her sword so that it was by her side, pointing at the ground. "Kill everyone, burn the place to the ground!"
The bloodlust was evident in her voice, and her men greeted her words with a hearty roar of approval, weapons drawn and thrust into the air.
"Take what you want, kill who you want, our only objective is to wipe them from existence! Every last one of them!"
The beautiful, battle-lusting warrior tugged on her reins, then dismounted swiftly on the left. She rode her mount bare-back.
"When the killing is done, we shall celebrate with anything that is left! Try to avoid burning down the store houses containing the ale and food!"
She walked across the line of her men, sword by her side. She paused when she reached the dying fire.
Ignoring the hot coals, she reached into the center of the fire, grasping a handful of burning dirt and ash. She brought her hand out of the fire, staring at the glowing heat burning into her skin. She brought her sword up, and coated the shiny blade in dirt and ash. It swiftly masked the shine, lending it concealment. She tossed the rest of the dirt and ash in her hand away carelessly.
Standing, she looked at the twenty men she controlled.
"For each of us, there are ten of them, but it matters not." She said, her voice calm.
"We will charge in under the cover of night, slashing anyone who dares get in our way. By the time they have awoken, they will be burning in their cots."
Another cheer.
A satisfied smile crossed the girl's lips as her dark red eyes narrowed slightly. She walked back to her horse, and threw herself up onto his back. She righted herself, then snapped the reins. The horse tossed his head, stomping his hooves inpatiently.
"Time to march!" She commanded, pointing forward with her sword. She spurred her horse into action, taking up the lead as she always had. She never did like the idea of leading her warriors from behind. She missed out on the action that way.
She could hear the clanking of weapons, some being drawn, others being holstered. Within seconds, her warriors had materialized into a swift-jogging formation, taking up lead behind her horse. She didn't set the pace too fast; she didn't want to tire her men, and she didn't want to reach the village before the light had completely disappeared from the sky.
They arrived some time during the middle of the night. They paused on the outskirts of the village. They seemed to have some sort of guard patrolling around, but he looked to be alone. They were on top of a hill, laying in the dirt. They could barely make out the shape of the patrolling guard, but their village had a few torches lit, stuck in holders on the walls of the huts.
Slowly, her horse about twenty feet behind her so he wouldn't be seen, she inched closer through the dirt. About 150 feet or so separated them from the few houses on the edge of the village; only the torches told them they were where they wanted to be.
The graceful warrior inhaled deeply, the scent of dirt and grass strong. The cool wind carried with it the scent of human population. The sky was overcast with heavy, pregnant clouds. It would soon rain. The moon was nowhere to be seen.
Even as she cast her eyes to the black sky, the first few icy drops of rain fell upon her, dotting her skin with moisture. It was refreshing, invigorating, and it stirred the warring desire inside of her.
"Gullvieg," The silver-haired girl spoke. "We strike."
The bearded man beside her nodded. "Yes, Johan." He turned to the other men lined up behind them, and raised his fist in the air.
"We strike!" He said in a hushed whisper.
Weapons were drawn, as Johan stood. She drew her katana, grip firm around the purple hilt. She turned, and walked back to her horse. She quickly mounted him, then spurred him forward. She charged down the steep grassy hill, the men following behind her. They were trying to be silent, she knew, but it wouldn't be long before the guard was alerted.
Faster than her men on foot, she was nearly upon the guard before he realized what was happening. He turned, a yell forming in his throat. A bellow erupted from his throat, but was cut short as Johan galloped past, her sword coming down to slice his throat. His head severed cleanly, flying off and hitting the ground. As fast as she had been riding, she still felt specks of blood peppering her arms and slender, bare waist.
Seconds behind her, her men opened up with a war cry. Some of them grabbed torches from the walls, intent on using them to burn down the villages huts.
The war cries were met with warriors flooding the village, streaming out of every hut. They were armed with swords, spears, and axes.
Johan charged them, slashing left and right. She managed to mortally wound two men, before one tossed a spear in her direction. Fearing more for her mount than herself, she veered to the right sharply. The spear impacted the edge of her leather chest guard, but the tip lanced off, slicing through the soft skin of her chest. She could barely feel the pain, and she flung herself off her horse. She quickly slapped her horse on his rear, then grabbed her battle axe as he took off, bowling over anyone in his way.
Raising her sword, she slashed down viciously at an attacking swordsman. He raised his shield, and her sword bounced harmlessly off. She gritted her teeth, and brought her axe up in her right hand. She raised it above her head, then brought it down with all the strength she had. The man had just been lowering his shield to attack, and she watched in pleasure as his eyes widened in fear, mouth open in a silent scream before her axe crushed through his skull. The weight and force carried the blunt weapon down to his jaw, before she pulled the axe out. Blood and brains flew out of his bifurcated skull. A savage growl escaped Johan's throat as she violently spun around, seeking a new target. All around her, her men were delivering swift and gruesome death to the less-than-prepared enemies. She watched in morbid satisfaction as Gullvieg thrust his long spear through an unprotected enemie's gut. The weapon sliced through the soft flesh easily, blood spurting out and speckling Gullvieg's face and beard. The force of the weapon carried the spear-tip through his intestines, shredding fat, slicing muscle and tissue, breaking or pushing aside bone. The spear-tip emerged from the man's back in a sickening squelch. The man looked up at Gullvieg with a shocked, and horrified expression on his face, and Gullvieg grinned widely in return. A second later, and the burly man ripped his weapon from the now-lifeless body, the sharp points on the end of the spear doing twice the damage coming back out. There was a shredded loop of pinkish-grey intestine wrapped around the spear, and as the body flopped to the ground, Gullvieg laughed heartily.
They continued to mercilessly grind away at the enemy until they were either all dead, or retreating. Johan and her forces chased them as they fled, following them to a large building on the far side of the village. The few remaining resisting soldiers barricaded themselves inside the holy house with the trembling women and terrified children, but Johan paid them no heed.
Her back warmed by the burning hut less than ten feet from her even as cold rain plopped down on her in an ever-increasing torrent, she pointed to a demolished hut.
"Grab the timber, stack the pyre!" She roared, wiping blood from her cheek.
Her men were quick to obey, as Johan walked over to the flaming hut behind her. She pulled out a piece of timber that had it's end on fire, and held it like a torch. Her men were swift at gathering wood from the other broken, yet unburned house, and just as swift at piling it around the house of worship.
Within minutes, they had the survivors inside the holy house surrounded by both dry wood and her own men. She offered a short, barking laugh, before tossing her torch onto the dry wood. Within a minute, it had caught, spreading slowly.
She stood silently as the fire spread, eventually catching the holy house on fire as well. It was only a matter of time.
The tortured screams of the men, women, and children being burned inside, choked by acrid smoke, fell on deaf ears as the roaring fire reflected in her dark red eyes.
After a few minutes, one of the doors was thrown open, no doubt by a man lost in desperation. The second a figure emerged, two of her archers unleashed swift, unforgiving death. The body flopped to the ground with a strangled gurgle, two long shafts protruding from the throat.
"Any one else?" She roared into the night. "Face death!"
She was answered by only screams and tortured sobbing.
A/N: This will be multi-chaptered, with quite an original idea. I was hoping to bring something unique to the fandom with this, and I eagerly await your reviews. Next chapter focuses on Meg and a few other characters, in a present-time sort of situation. Thank you for reading!