Leviathan's Daughter
GoldenEagle
Author's Note: *An evil laugh fills the room* Torture, torture!!! This is basically the shortest post yet, but you will tremble at my talent! MWAHAHAHAHA- Sorry, I'm a schitzophrinic. We will now return to our normal broadcasting procedures before mini-Dilandau here catches anything else on fire...
Chapter Seventeen
"So, he's stable?" Folken asked distractively as he passed shaken soldiers by in the cover of the forest around Corinth's borders. He had just arrived, the flight only about an hour and half trip, and he could get little rational conversation out of most of the men.
"Yes, Lord Folken. Lord Dilandau has few injuries. Mainly just a bump to the head. Not that it could do much more damage than what is already done..." Folken threw the young boy a disapproving look and the boy continued on nervously. "Most of our causalities came with the two air attacks." The man said quietly, noticing his leader's unstable mood.
"And survivors?" He turned, his voice more rushed now, the slightest bit of emotion twitching across the pale face of Folken. "Have you sent anyone to the city to look for survivors?"
The soldier he was talking to looked shocked as he stopped dead in his tracks. He gaped a few times before he answered. "Survivors? Sir, have you *seen* the city yet?" He asked, bewildered. Folken looked at him oddly. He could smell smoke and something much like sulfur, but surely... Surely it was just one of the local volcanoes acting up a bit. Folken felt a strange damp coldness enter his chest.
He strode quickly forward, the young soldier having to jog to keep up with his long and hurried strides. "I swear, sir, we would have saved her if we knew! We lost her in battle. She'll be honored throughout the empire for the victory here, Zaibach's first battle." The boy's voice was panicked as Folken reached the top of the hill Persephone had stood just the night before. As he took in the town, he swayed backwards as if someone's fist had connected to his own flesh. He stumbled and almost fell, ending up having to kneel down to catch his mind and give his head time to stop spinning.
The boy looked at him, not really sure of what he should do. Lord Folken was kneeled over, one foot behind him, the other set firmly on the ground. He put his head to his knee as he shook uncontrollably for a few seconds. Finally, the Zaibach commander stood, shakily, but strength still pushed from his body. There was a moment of awkward silence before the soldier finally found his voice, though it was barely heard above the burnt breeze. "We'd send out a search party to collect bodies, but..." These didn't seem to be the right words to be said to the ever increasingly intimidating Folken. "We would send out the guymelefs to look for her, but the magma hasn't cooled yet. Nothing would be accomplished besides piling up repair bills for melted guymelef legs."
Folken rubbed his temples quietly, trying to regain his thoughts, despite the fact that they still seemed to elude him. He felt light headed and jet cold throughout, and he slightly wondered if the feeling would stay with him permanently. After a few moments of continued silence, Folken looked up at the nervous, black haired boy. "What's your name?"
The question seemed to take the boy back a bit. "Uh- Sir, it's- Lord Folken, sir- I mean..." After a sigh was taken to control his trembling, the boy spoke. "Langer, sir."
"Langer, is it?" Folken asked, mechanically speaking to the boy. "Couldn't you have sent the guymelefs out in flight mode to look for remains?" He mentally flinched as he referred to them as "remains".
"No, sir." Langer had calmed considerably and was now standing tall, his shoulders stiff and his arms straight at his side. "We wouldn't have been able to bring them close enough to catch sight of anything. Our heat sensors also wouldn't work, for obvious reasons. Plus, we assumed that there wouldn't be any remains, Lord, sir."
"Very well." Folken said, trying to hold back the shaking that was resurfacing over him again. He licked his dry lips before he gave out the next order. "Bring the men out, Langer. I'm holding you fully responsible for getting our troops headed in the direction of the fortress." The young man nodded, a little bit of an eager look in his eyes, and a bit of excitement crackling about his form, as he ran off to do his master's bidding.
Folken gave one more, overly rushed glance over his shoulder. He turned his head back towards his men, trying to muster the strange pain that dove through him as best he could. He stepped back from his heart and watched as if an observer as it struggled under the weight of her blood. Finally, he shook himself free of his daze before letting his eyes swing back towards the still burning city.
'Goodbye, Persephone.'
***********
The Mystic Moon hung straight above, its white companion and diamond subjects frozen and giving an eternal, silent applause in awe of it. The crackling growl of fire had faded somewhat, but there was still the sound of shifting and defeat as the flames and liquid fire continued to devour its surroundings. The heat was like an oven as it spiraled upwards. This was all taken in slowly and dimly by Persephone, her burnt hair spread out around her, her body twisted beneath her. She didn't have the strength to fight the pain that poured from her. She couldn't move and she contemplated if she would die from her burns or her seeping arrow wound first. She tried to decide numbly which she would prefer, but in the end, she couldn't decide. Both felt about the same to her.
Her back arched painfully and uncontrollably, and she clenched her fists and teeth weakly as she tried to will away the battering pain. A taste much like lead filled her mouth and she coughed out as her body fell, exhausted from the convulsions riveting through her. A warm liquid streamed down the side of her face from her mouth and she realized, in a delirious amusement, that it was her own blood. The slight amusement was lost almost immediately, though, as another wave came, her back pressing upwards, and she spit up more blood. So, it would be the arrow, afterall.
She felt as if this were her determined end, here among the ashes of the people she had slaughtered. She smiled a bitter, monstrous smile. Dilandau would be proud of her. It would all be okay, she told herself. She would fade here, laying on the one piece of land untouched by the stream of fire. But that was before she had felt him, not far away, but not close, either. She tried to move, tried to sit up, but couldn't quite do it. Suddenly she was terrified of her laying her, alone, dying...
She calmed herself. No, he would come for her. He would always come for her... And yet, after a painful passing of suspenseful minutes, she felt a defeat in his mind. His thoughts whispered into her mind. 'Goodbye, Persephone.'
She was too hot, too dehydrated to cry, but her face distorted into a sob. Her mind cried out in response to his. 'No! No! Don't leave me! Don't make me die, alone, with no one here! I'm sorry I broke the promise, just come back and I'll try to make it up. Please, don't leave me! Folken!' The cry emanated from her very being in a wave of guilt and despair. She breathed in deeply, only to choke on her own breath. She rolled over and coughed and gagged, a pool of her blood resting below her. Again, she spit up an immense amount of blood. She scowled through crimson lips and reached over with the last bit of strength she had, pulling out the arrow from her side. The pain hit her hard and wrenched her body into another convulsion, rendering her unconscious, her head resting in her own blood.
GoldenEagle
Author's Note: *An evil laugh fills the room* Torture, torture!!! This is basically the shortest post yet, but you will tremble at my talent! MWAHAHAHAHA- Sorry, I'm a schitzophrinic. We will now return to our normal broadcasting procedures before mini-Dilandau here catches anything else on fire...
Chapter Seventeen
"So, he's stable?" Folken asked distractively as he passed shaken soldiers by in the cover of the forest around Corinth's borders. He had just arrived, the flight only about an hour and half trip, and he could get little rational conversation out of most of the men.
"Yes, Lord Folken. Lord Dilandau has few injuries. Mainly just a bump to the head. Not that it could do much more damage than what is already done..." Folken threw the young boy a disapproving look and the boy continued on nervously. "Most of our causalities came with the two air attacks." The man said quietly, noticing his leader's unstable mood.
"And survivors?" He turned, his voice more rushed now, the slightest bit of emotion twitching across the pale face of Folken. "Have you sent anyone to the city to look for survivors?"
The soldier he was talking to looked shocked as he stopped dead in his tracks. He gaped a few times before he answered. "Survivors? Sir, have you *seen* the city yet?" He asked, bewildered. Folken looked at him oddly. He could smell smoke and something much like sulfur, but surely... Surely it was just one of the local volcanoes acting up a bit. Folken felt a strange damp coldness enter his chest.
He strode quickly forward, the young soldier having to jog to keep up with his long and hurried strides. "I swear, sir, we would have saved her if we knew! We lost her in battle. She'll be honored throughout the empire for the victory here, Zaibach's first battle." The boy's voice was panicked as Folken reached the top of the hill Persephone had stood just the night before. As he took in the town, he swayed backwards as if someone's fist had connected to his own flesh. He stumbled and almost fell, ending up having to kneel down to catch his mind and give his head time to stop spinning.
The boy looked at him, not really sure of what he should do. Lord Folken was kneeled over, one foot behind him, the other set firmly on the ground. He put his head to his knee as he shook uncontrollably for a few seconds. Finally, the Zaibach commander stood, shakily, but strength still pushed from his body. There was a moment of awkward silence before the soldier finally found his voice, though it was barely heard above the burnt breeze. "We'd send out a search party to collect bodies, but..." These didn't seem to be the right words to be said to the ever increasingly intimidating Folken. "We would send out the guymelefs to look for her, but the magma hasn't cooled yet. Nothing would be accomplished besides piling up repair bills for melted guymelef legs."
Folken rubbed his temples quietly, trying to regain his thoughts, despite the fact that they still seemed to elude him. He felt light headed and jet cold throughout, and he slightly wondered if the feeling would stay with him permanently. After a few moments of continued silence, Folken looked up at the nervous, black haired boy. "What's your name?"
The question seemed to take the boy back a bit. "Uh- Sir, it's- Lord Folken, sir- I mean..." After a sigh was taken to control his trembling, the boy spoke. "Langer, sir."
"Langer, is it?" Folken asked, mechanically speaking to the boy. "Couldn't you have sent the guymelefs out in flight mode to look for remains?" He mentally flinched as he referred to them as "remains".
"No, sir." Langer had calmed considerably and was now standing tall, his shoulders stiff and his arms straight at his side. "We wouldn't have been able to bring them close enough to catch sight of anything. Our heat sensors also wouldn't work, for obvious reasons. Plus, we assumed that there wouldn't be any remains, Lord, sir."
"Very well." Folken said, trying to hold back the shaking that was resurfacing over him again. He licked his dry lips before he gave out the next order. "Bring the men out, Langer. I'm holding you fully responsible for getting our troops headed in the direction of the fortress." The young man nodded, a little bit of an eager look in his eyes, and a bit of excitement crackling about his form, as he ran off to do his master's bidding.
Folken gave one more, overly rushed glance over his shoulder. He turned his head back towards his men, trying to muster the strange pain that dove through him as best he could. He stepped back from his heart and watched as if an observer as it struggled under the weight of her blood. Finally, he shook himself free of his daze before letting his eyes swing back towards the still burning city.
'Goodbye, Persephone.'
***********
The Mystic Moon hung straight above, its white companion and diamond subjects frozen and giving an eternal, silent applause in awe of it. The crackling growl of fire had faded somewhat, but there was still the sound of shifting and defeat as the flames and liquid fire continued to devour its surroundings. The heat was like an oven as it spiraled upwards. This was all taken in slowly and dimly by Persephone, her burnt hair spread out around her, her body twisted beneath her. She didn't have the strength to fight the pain that poured from her. She couldn't move and she contemplated if she would die from her burns or her seeping arrow wound first. She tried to decide numbly which she would prefer, but in the end, she couldn't decide. Both felt about the same to her.
Her back arched painfully and uncontrollably, and she clenched her fists and teeth weakly as she tried to will away the battering pain. A taste much like lead filled her mouth and she coughed out as her body fell, exhausted from the convulsions riveting through her. A warm liquid streamed down the side of her face from her mouth and she realized, in a delirious amusement, that it was her own blood. The slight amusement was lost almost immediately, though, as another wave came, her back pressing upwards, and she spit up more blood. So, it would be the arrow, afterall.
She felt as if this were her determined end, here among the ashes of the people she had slaughtered. She smiled a bitter, monstrous smile. Dilandau would be proud of her. It would all be okay, she told herself. She would fade here, laying on the one piece of land untouched by the stream of fire. But that was before she had felt him, not far away, but not close, either. She tried to move, tried to sit up, but couldn't quite do it. Suddenly she was terrified of her laying her, alone, dying...
She calmed herself. No, he would come for her. He would always come for her... And yet, after a painful passing of suspenseful minutes, she felt a defeat in his mind. His thoughts whispered into her mind. 'Goodbye, Persephone.'
She was too hot, too dehydrated to cry, but her face distorted into a sob. Her mind cried out in response to his. 'No! No! Don't leave me! Don't make me die, alone, with no one here! I'm sorry I broke the promise, just come back and I'll try to make it up. Please, don't leave me! Folken!' The cry emanated from her very being in a wave of guilt and despair. She breathed in deeply, only to choke on her own breath. She rolled over and coughed and gagged, a pool of her blood resting below her. Again, she spit up an immense amount of blood. She scowled through crimson lips and reached over with the last bit of strength she had, pulling out the arrow from her side. The pain hit her hard and wrenched her body into another convulsion, rendering her unconscious, her head resting in her own blood.