Author's note: This is something I came up with concerning my dark knight Mithra on Carbuncle. I thought it'd be interesting to delve into the mind of a dark knight and see just what they're thinking when they kill. Anyway, enjoy. I don't own Final Fantasy XI and Caira is my own character on the game.
The Heraldic Imp hovering in front of me bobbed in the air as it slashed at my fellow comrades. Its tiny, clawed hand was clutched tightly around its horn. In one single movement, it raised the horn to its cracked, fanged mouth and belted out an abrasive, out-of-tune melody; a tune that may have at one point been beautiful, but was forgotten over time.
My sapphire cat eyes followed the creature's every moment, observing it as a wild cat would its prey. Now, I was not like my primitive relatives for I had no intention of eating the filthy imp, but I couldn't suppress the ancestral desire to kill. My ears twitched slightly as I tightened the grasp I held on my scythe. The weight of the massive weapon tugged on my thin arms, but I ignored it. In one fluid movement, I pulled the scythe back and slashed the tiny imp with ease. It comes from years of practice. Wait, scratch that. Years of killing; years of slaying souls. I should feel sorrow for all those that I have slain in battle. But I feel no pity, no remorse for the acts that I have committed.
My foe brought the horn to its lips once more, this time playing a deafening tune. It was trying my patience and it was quickly fleeing, being replaced by irritation. A thought occurred to me and I smirked, exposing my cat-like fangs. I would be the one to silence this nuisance. I would be the one to end its insignificant little life. Summoning malevolent spirits, I encouraged them to feed off of my soul, in exchange offering my unspeakable strength and power.
Once sapphire, my eyes gradually turned a beautiful shade of ruby red blood; how appropriate for my current mood. I once again pulled my scythe back and slashed one, two, three times at the creature. I narrowed my eyes as I brought the scythe back for the final slash. I knew the imp would soon lay dead at my feet so I could loot it.
A menacing laugh escaped my lips as I felt my muscles pull the scythe towards the imp. But then those very same muscles froze as my eyes turned sapphire again. A thought occurred to me before I delivered the final blow.
I was a cold-blooded killer. I was nothing but a heartless beast that killed only for a sick pleasure of watching blood smear on my blade. Why did this have to occur now of all times?
"Caira?! What's going on? Kill it!" I could hear my comrades yelling at me, urging me to hurry up. My arms went limp as the heavy scythe pulled them down. My strength seemed to flee from my body as my weapon of many years seemed too heavy for the first time.
"…Caira?!" Are you okay? Answer us!" The imp now lay dead as the thief deftly ransacked its body for the few treasures it possessed. The remainder of my comrades were already placing weapons back in sheathes and adjusting displaced armor.
However, I remained standing with my scythe, in realization that I was nothing but a device for murder with overwhelming primal urges. Urges that I couldn't suppress, try as I might. And my path in life would only feed those urges. I was destined to remain a killer. Now and forever.