Hey readers, this is a story that I entered into the second League Fanfiction contest, and much like the first story, I figured I might as well upload it here rather than having it stashed away amidst my documents somewhere. As always, I hope you enjoy!
The Blood Moon had risen.
Deep within a sacred forest of Ionia, blood was waiting to be spilled, and souls were ready, to be sacrificed to the Blood Moon.
He dashed forward, jumping from tree to tree, branch to branch, his feet moving with an almost elegant grace, his body in a state of natural flow as the moon shone down upon him.
His blades glimmered in the light of the moon, the blood red sky parting to allow the full moon to see all. His blades spoke to him, singing of their wishes for blood and silent deaths. He knew this sensation; he had felt it many times before.
And like every other time, he was content to allow their wishes to come to fruition.
He leapt high from the tree branches, preparing his blade for its first victim of the night. He landed, slamming his knees into the unaware target's back, and they collapsed to the ground. With swift intent, the assassin struck quickly, plunging his blade into the victim's neck, ending their life, and sundering their soul from their earthly body. Bloodstains covered the ground beneath his target, soaking his blade in red.
From within his mask, his single eye shot forward, spotting three more soon to be sacrifices, seeking to avenge their fallen comrade. The blade demon's left hand reached behind his back, grasping two smaller blades within his fingers. Silhouetting death with his cold gaze, he drew his arm in front of him, releasing the blades to seek his victim's hearts. The blades flew through the icy winds of the night, moving with unparalleled speed, and with an unerring aim. The blades found their targets before they could blink, slitting through muscle and flesh, penetrating their beating hearts. They fell, all life escaping from their bodies, the spilling of their blood singing to the sanguine moon above.
The last remaining target stared in fearful anguish as his brethren beside him decorated the forest floor with their bodies. Without a sound, the assassin vaulted into the air, gripping his blade, preparing it for its next sacrifice. The remaining victim watched in horror as the assassin soared above him, his cloak of blades flaring, and descended upon him, as if the moon sent him plummeting down from the blood-coloured sky itself.
With a cry of pain, the victim fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the assassin's blade embedded within his chest, his heart viciously impaled. His vision faded, the faceless mask of the blade demon grasping the very essence of his soul being the last thing he saw. The assassin rose from the victim's body, glancing up into the blood-coloured sky, and the moon which bore the same colour.
Vanishing into the crimson light of the moon, the blade demon knew, that more blood was going to be spilt on this night.
Within another part of the forest, the artist lay in wait, perched upon one of the many tree branches within the once sacred place. Blood had already been spilled on this night, but the Blood Moon was not yet satisfied.
Completing Whisper's full form, he took aim, analysing four targets far in the distance. His arms began to slightly tremble with ecstasy, but he kept his aim true. Their deaths would be beautiful, pieces of art that would decorate the sacred grounds of the forest with their blood. They would perform.
"One."
He fired, the sound of gunfire disrupted the quiet serenity of the forest. The bullet shot through the air at blazing speed, finding its mark within the first target's heart. The other victims watched in terror as their comrade fell to the ground, their body exploding with the beauty of a blood-coloured lotus, orchestrating beautiful perfection in their sacrifice.
"Two."
He fired again, a moment of pure bliss coming upon him as he watched the second shot penetrate his victim's chest, the very essence of their soul escaping their lips as they fell back, their blood sprayed on the ground, in the form of passion so ugly to the other sacrifices, but the blood calligrapher's eyes saw only pure beauty in his work.
"Three."
The shot spiralled from the sniper's position, taking the life of the third sacrificial tribute to the Blood Moon. The final sacrifice was frozen in fear as the artist prepared his final shot, the curtain's calling to his grand performance.
"Four."
Fired the fourth and final bullet from Whisper's barrel, the blood calligrapher's red eyes glistening in blissful insanity. The final shot pierced the target's heart, just like all of the others. The Blood Moon reflected the silhouette of the final target's shadow, blood spraying from their body, and falling to the ground, the beautiful performance of the sacrifices coming to an end, the curtain closing upon their lives.
The artist stood, pulling apart Whisper once again, resting the barrel upon the belt of his hip, and gazed upon his work in the distance. His performance for this night was over, but no performance he orchestrates is ever the last.
He had heard the shots firing, the sounds of victims being sacrificed to the sanguine moon singing in his ears. Destiny had known this, and summoned him here, for tonight, was the night that the Blood Moon would rise, and he would answer the Blood Moon's call. His cards would be the deliverers of the blood sacrifices to the sanguine moon. Sensing the presence of human sacrifices, the card master opened his gate, the entryway to more souls, ready to be sacrificed. He stepped into it, and the six victims turned to find the trickster demon awaiting them, the gate closing behind him.
Without hesitation, the card master withdrew six cards from his deck, each card signifying death, and humming softly with magical power. They sang to him, the spirits held deep within, craving the sweet sensation of blood. With a flick of his wrists, he set the cards free, soaring through the air, intent of finding their victims. They penetrated their targets, sharp as knives and just as deadly. Before they could fall, the trickster demon had withdrawn two more cards, deep red, the same colour as the night sky above.
"Blood Red."
Sending both cards towards his targets with a malicious thirst for blood, they discovered their target's hearts within two of the sacrifices on either side. The cards exploded from within the victim's bodies, causing them all to fall to the ground in a tumble, blood spraying out across the ground like paint spilled over paper. Their bodies were still, their eyes wide in traumatized shock as their spirits, their very souls escaped their bodies, only to be tributes to the will of the Blood Moon.
With a quick glance of satisfaction, the trickster demon turned, opening yet another gate, and vanishing into the night. Lady Luck always smiled upon him, and wherever he went, Destiny was sure to follow, as was the blood of his opponents.
The blood priestess waited, deep within the sacred forest of Ionia, lying in wait within the shadows of the night, the crimson hue shrouding the forest like a mist, which soon, she pondered, will carry the scent of the hunt. The ritual has begun, and now, fresh blood must be sacrificed, to fulfil the satisfaction of the Blood Moon. Through her will, the night will last forever. It is her duty, and she will see it through.
Rising from the shadows, she stepped into the crimson moonlight without a trace of fear in her step. She moved with elegance and intent, the sanguine moon calling to her, singing to her of what she must do.
And she will see it done.
Without warning, multiple armed men burst from the shadows of the forest, but she was ready. With graceful poise, she swung her blade, releasing blood red energy from the moon itself, arcing in a crescent which struck her victims in a deadly sweep. Many fell as the power of the moon cut deep within their flesh, a waterfall of blood soaking the forest floor, followed by their bodies.
The blood priestess moved with swift purpose, surrounding herself in a shield of moon-like orbs, before dashing into the awaiting tributes. She cut the lives from many of the men with a single swing of her crescent blade, delivering their souls to their demise. With a single cast of her hand, the shield around her detonated with energy, striking down the remaining sacrifices.
Observing her work, the blood-stains upon the ground, the littered bodies of those who would stand against her, she removed her mask, and the pale-blood light of the moon enveloped her. Her ritual was complete; the sacrifices had been made. The hunt of the Blood Moon had ended for another night. However, it is not the last time that the Blood Moon shall rise. Ionia shall forever live in fear of the cult of the Blood Moon.