The newly waxed moon shone, contrasting the midnight black sky with a piercing sliver of pure white light.
Pure, however, was the exact opposite of what was happening below.
Gleaming crimson eyes were illuminated by the shining moonlight, tinged with a glow of bloodlust and malice. Cerise bangs caked with dried blood framed the figure's face, pressed to the skin by the red liquid that sustained life. A marred tan hood obscured the rest of his hair, undoubtedly covered in blood like the rest. The figure was clothed in steel armor over his neck and covering his shoulders, and a red shirt with a white stripe down the middle—and then a black stripe down the middle of the white stripe, but only around halfway—clothed the rest of his torso. More steel armored the bottom of the shirt, and a white cloth with red borders and some black emblem on it flowed from the bottom, and the same with the back. Wide black trousers were suppressed at the feet with red silver-embellished boots of sorts, and a sharp crimson steel sword framed with silver was clutched in his hand.
The most terrifying feature, though, was his smile. Moonlight gleamed over his teeth, white and shining. A smile that could only really be pulled off by someone truly terrifying, like a terrorist or serial killer. This man, however, was both.
The sound of horseshoes plowed through the silent night air, no doubt Velder's knights again. This time, though, he was ready. As the light illuminated the army, he simply glanced their way. Ill prepared, he thought. Incredibly ill-prepared. Maybe they didn't know he was here. Unlikely; that was probably the only reason they had come. After all, this forest was abandoned, the forest ruins even more so. The rural forest town of Ruben used to stand here.
Until he massacred them all.
He didn't care than Anne had given him gifts, or that Hagus had helped him find his way to Elder, which led him to his adventures with a few friends. He didn't care about anything anymore. He'd simply slaughter anything and everything that stood in the way of power.
A loud battle cry interrupted his malicious train of thought—quite a long trip, if you were to travel down its length—and the Velder militia grew on him, still flowing over the hill in an unbroken wave. Who knew what would happen—nobody, that's for sure. Maybe the terrorist's raw power would overtake them all, or the Velder troops' sheer number would overcome him.
Ah, but hope would never stay. It'd come for a second, and then leave you in the dark, lonely, hopeless, and melancholy. So why find it—if it were only to betray you and leave you again?
Foolish Velder imbeciles, crashing down the hill, he thought. Simply running to their own deaths…
What would happen? It was obvious. Without evil, there can be no good…so again, crimson waves would murder all the troops at once. Perhaps he would take mercy and let them run, their tails between their legs, back to Feita or wherever their stupid headquarters were while the Demons overran their precious palace.
Ridiculous thoughts. What kind of hunter would let their prey run?
And so, the whole army seemed to explode, bits and pieces flying everywhere. Some stragglers tried to make it over the hill with severed limbs, but they were quickly dispatched with a storm of sand sending them upward. If that didn't kill them, either the recoil or thirty-foot drop would.
Ah. Black gloved fingers pulled out the shirt. And I only just washed these clothes too…
Only someone like this could do this. What, you ask? Dispatch an entire army and not bat an eye, caring more about crimson liquids staining your clothes scarlet, flesh and innards splattering over your face, obscuring any vision you once had. Ignoring the cries of pain, not even finishing them off as one last favor.
I wonder if they had…her….with them…he thought. No telling who it was. If someone inquired, they were executed immediately. Not publicly, or by royal decree. And so the peoples learned not to inquire, or else. And sometimes it was worse than execution, like severing your limbs and letting you die a slow, painful death, or maybe killing all your loved ones in front of you.
Absolutely not. Surely they wouldn't…And so this was where his thoughts stopped. Picking up a piece of torn mauve fabric, he twirled the bloodstained piece between slender fingers. Crimson eyes scanned the vicinity. All the animals were surely scared off by now, if not by the militia, killed by the waves.
There goes my chance of a decent meal. Whatever anyone said denying it, the man was quite kind to the animals.
"I'll protect you," he had once said to a dying squirrel. And he had. He stayed by the furry creature's side for a whole night, scaring off creatures that wanted to feast off its dying carcass. After a night, it had died, but anyone there could've sworn by El, or whatever was valuable to them, that they could've heard a small whimper from the squirrel, as if it was thanking him, and giving him a blessing with its dying breath.
All in the past. It was all in the past. And so it was. Some kindness was reserved for animals, one could even say whatever kindness he had was for the animals.
Tell whoever said that they were right. It was.
The fabric was flung out into the night with a toss. Blood sprayed out around it, attracting flesh-eating birds and carnivores. He stood up straighter, cracking his back. Stalking away, a steel sword dragging behind him leaving a trail of blood—he had asked for his own sword, they'd said no. Anyway, he was glad. Polishing a sword was not something one wanted to do every day—and a horrid tune coming from his lips, birdsong echoed across treetops.
A little quiet, isn't it…he thought. The little tune he had carried stopped. This wasn't the time for that. Maybe, he thought bitterly, if she hadn't left me, then none of this would've happened. We'd have died together back in Sander. At least we'd both be happy. Look, are you happy? Velder troops dead, and their innards piled around Ruben? This is where we met. This could've been happier. But instead, you chose to use me as a diversion to save your own sorry ass. Someday…someday I'll kill you. I swear it. You'll die by my hands someday…
Aisha.
AN: It's kind of short. 1,099 words, not including AN. Anyway. Second fanfiction, suppose it's set in a medieval-ish time. Hope you enjoy it~