Remnants of an Era

Bloodwalker went silent at these words. A Rainwing assassin? He thought the Rainwings were different. He feared for his life as Loyalty brought his arm towards her, and pulled his head towards her eyes. He knew now that he was going to die. Out of all the ways this could have happened, he had to meet the one Rainwing capable of defending herself. He braced himself for whatever was to come.

"Oh, don't give up that easily. This is an easy hold, just curl your arm towards you and push to the side." he heard Loyalty say. When he looked up, he saw her face riddled with disappointment. He followed her instructions. and surprisingly enough, it actually worked, and the tail was forced to move to avoid being broken. "There, have you had no training at all?" she asked inquiringly.

"Um, no, I was trained by my mother and father. They are both assassins." Bloodwalker replied shakily.

"Ah, so that explains it. You've never fought someone of a different tribe before, so you are exclusively dependent on your own tribe's fighting style. Let me show you how to actually throw those old things." Loyalty realized. She took a chakram that her tail held, and drew a vertical line on one of the wood posts of her hut. She brought the disc back between her fingers, and with a forward flick, sent the chakram directly into the line, straight, within the thin borders of the line.

Bloodwalker was flabbergasted. She did it so effortlessly, and it hit its mark directly. He tried it on the same spot, using the same technique, and while his was a little wobbly, it still hit the land as well.

"That is impressive. It only took you one try to almost master the technique? You have a gift for assassination. Just like I do." Loyalty replied, impressed.

Despite being literal enemies, Bloodwalker felt joyful. His parents praised him sure, but he always felt an undercurrent of nepotism and being an only child. But this Rainwing, who had clearly been a good assassin, praising him, felt like he was on the third moon Omniscience.

"Thanks, but I have to get going."

"Oh yes, on your little reign of terror. Don't let me stop you." Loyalty replied.

Bloodwalker's jaws fell open. "How did you?"

Loyalty smirked, "You think I was born yesterday? First off, chakrams are meant as weapons to be untraceable, since they are expendable and almost impossible to trace where they came from and can hit from a deadly long range. Second, you are traveling light, so likely you have a camp nearby for you to use to make this a several day assignment. Third is your eyes. Your age gives me a clear giveaway. There is no way they would put you up to the task if it wasn't to incite fear with those eyes. We actually had something similar in my mother's time, when we would disguise our eyes with camouflage to scare our enemies. So yeah, obvious."

Bloodwalker looked at her in admiration, her age and eyes did not define who she was. For that, ge admired her. She was a orime example of a dedicated assassin, and represented who he desired to be. Someone able to chose what they became, and not something to be used by others. Bloodwalker started to walk out of the forest after she let him go, when he heard two voices. These were deeper, grainier. Two mudwings came into the area. Both were in battle armor. He hid in a tree as they were talking, and he heard something very chilling.

"I can't believe after the war Otter is asking Moorhead to use Burn's army to conquer the rainforest. Seems like a waste of time."

"This war is a waste of time. Damn Nightwings and their stupid predictions and prophecies."

"I don't care what they are, next time I meet one, I'm ripping out his throat."

"I'm with you on that one."

Oh, that's how it is? Alright, let's see who's tough when your throats are on the ground in front of you. Whispered Bloodwalker's inner thoughts. He essentially had developed a seperate accessible personality. Where he was a bloodthirsty fighter. That was something most assassins learned in order to stop moral quandries get in the way. He shifted his personality. He closed his eyes, and the eyes opened, with no constraints on himself.

Stork walked through the forest after his little conversation with Bog. He could hear some rustling, but that had to be just the birds of this place, or the lazy Rainwings. He had heard the stories of how they had been strong a hundred years ago, but that was hard to believe.

He heard a grunt beside him and saw Bog fall over.

"Ugh, a nap, here? Of all places you could..."

This stopped as he saw a metal disk in his friends neck, layers of muscle and sinew just sliced open, and his jugular was pouring blood out. Bog was dead.

He yelled out, determined to get back and report the death, but as he looked up, something jumped out of the trees, something pitch black, and he was hit to the ground back first. He felt cold talons in his throat, he looked up, and the eyes of hell stared back at him. Those eyes burned into his brain as his eyes glazed over with actual blood, which he vaguely was aware came from his own throat that had been ripped out. He had yelled until he could no more, sent to the afterlife with the eyes of blood staring at him.

Holy crap this was a tough chapter. I wish I was a better writer, Peace!