A Swordman's Requiem
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No one knew how she felt. No one cared.
A feminine figure stood among the wasteland of corpses, the massacre she created lay all around her, a shroud of crimson mist hung in the air. Two bloodstained daggers shone brightly as she clutched them loosely in her tainted hands. Her blood drenched cloak hung on her slender form as she walked away from the desecrated land.
The killer hung her head, her long magenta hair draped across her face limply, without its once beautiful luster. Behind the curtain of crimson matted hair, an unnatural smile adorned her forlorn features.
She was alone, all alone. Since he had been killed, nothing mattered anymore. A single crystalline tear made its way down her pale, porcelain cheeks as she pictured his gentle smile, his fiery amber eyes and his silky crimson hair. They loved each other dearly, but their time together had been cut short, her tears had long to dry up since the fateful day she had watched her world, her life, her everything, fall unexpectedly into the bottomless chasm of death…
More tears flowed from her listless lavender eyes as she continued to reminisce about her lost love. It had been a few weeks after his death that they held his regal funeral, housing many important figures and close friends, for he was the trusted king of the great desert enclosed kingdom.
She'd seen his casket; his broken body had been carefully placed in it, wearing a serious expression foreign to her. It didn't suit him one bit. He would've wanted to be more like himself, more serene in his final resting place. He would have wanted that. She knew him better than anyone else.
Her friends had consoled her at the procession, but it was no use. What good were their meaningless words of comfort, their pitiful glances? He would never come back. He would never rise from that bed of death again. Never again would she be able to feel safe in his arms where nothing else mattered. Her friends didn't really worry for her. None of them knew the pain she was going through. None of them truly cared.
A slight chuckle escaped her lips as she remembered them. They must be hunting for her, since she'd been missing for months now. But she couldn't go back even if she truly wanted to; they wouldn't dare accept her after what she'd done. A price had probably been set on her head, for the capture or death of the Crimson Flash. Her hands had been stained with the blood of numerous people; innocent or guilty, it didn't matter to her anymore. Anyone who dared provoke her was the one to taste her blade.
The wandering mercenary would never admit to anyone, but she wasn't terribly proud of the amount of blood on her hands, but it was far past the point where she could admit otherwise. Her actions were deeply tainted; no matter how wicked her victims might or might not have been, her power to kill made her an unsound person. The fact that she killed to make herself feel better, made her an evil person. Her mass slayings brought upon her a shadowy veil of distress, never giving her a moment's rest, causing sleep to always elude her grasps.
Remembrance of when she first lost hold of her sanity plagued her thoughts, the voices she heard that day, persistently buzzing in her ears, flashes of battle and what had conspired that fateful day invaded her mind. She clutched her head in an attempt to shut out the echoes and images, but it didn't do her any good. The hell she was being dragged through was like reliving that day over again, the day that ruined her life.
The sky was dark and foreboding as the battle raged on, with a countless number of fatalities on each side, as the theatre of war was littered with the bodies of the soldiers who had fallen. The Crimson Flash fought with the strength of ten men, her blood red daggers cutting through her enemies and their weapons clean in half. Her speed was unmatched, as she'd suffered minimal injuries, compared to those that lay dying around her.
A distance away from the crimson splattered beauty, her King fought valiantly, making clean work of the weaklings the enemy sent out as soldiers. The King and his general could have been more than a match for the whole army, but there were just too many of them, their numbers seemed as great as the grains of sand that surrounded them. The feared assassin darted up to a grotesquely huge axe wielder, hoisting up her blood covered stilettos; she swiftly brought them down on his unprotected head, mixing metal with bone and brain as she split open his skull. When he was no more, she moved on to another target, mercilessly ridding her country of this unwanted scum.
Suddenly, a burst of light erupted, and slammed into the assassin's lithe form, the magical energy coursing painfully through her veins. An attack from behind was thought to be impossible, as reinforcements were stationed there, a whole platoon of strong Jehannen knights. Quickly gutting her current opponent, she whipped around to survey her condition. The support forces were dwindling, the enemy men breaking through their line of attack.
Through the muddled chaos of battle, the level headed general called out orders to her subordinates, while holding back the invading forces. Using her assassin's disappearing trick, dozens of enemy troops were incapacitated, sending sprays of warm, crimson liquid in every direction, causing a bloody rainfall to encompass the small vicinity
Having her trump card serve its purpose, but nearly drain the life out of her, she fought rather sluggishly. Wiping her face clean of the blood that blemished her stunning features, she continued on her way whilst cutting down Jehanna's intruders in her wake.
Engaged in a fierce battle between two heavily armored great knights, she found her strength waning, as her blade's precision wasn't exactly top notch anymore. With more effort than she expected to use, the two knights had finally been slain. The Crimson Flash paused for a minute, catching her fleeting breath, but at that moment, a steel shaft rammed into her right shoulder, knocking the air out of her and tearing through the flesh and leaving the white of the bone peeking out.
Her breath came in short gasps, as she attempted to pull the projectile out. Though in excruciating pain, she kept fighting, unwilling to give up, because of a mere flesh wound; she would defend Jehanna to the end. The gash bled liberally, the red substance flowing down her arm and dripping off the tip of her fingers. Her right sword arm hung limply at her side, the immense pain she felt when she moved rendered it useless.
A deafening bellow echoed out through the battlefield, and she recognized it as Jehanna's retreat signal. Having the order to withdraw was the primal sign that something had gone dreadfully wrong. A retreat would have never sounded at Joshua's behest. Ripping open her pack, she pulled out an elixir and doused her wound with it, and gulped down the remainder of the draught, feeling the chilling sensation of its magic working through her system.
With her strength partially restored, she dashed off towards Jehanna Hall. Barging into the throne room, bloodied and battered, Jehanna's finest officer demanded to know who issued the retreat. Aware of the authority she held over them, the emissaries explained the situation carefully as they lead her to the infirmary.
As they spoke, a gut wrenching feeling struck the swordswoman. She stopped in her tracks as the words she never thought she'd hear were spoken.
"He's gone, dead…"
She stood there, dumbstruck, her calm demeanor and uncanny composure were lost. Riddled with utter skepticism, the hot, angry tears that threatened to fall rolled down her cheeks, leaving streaks of white on her grimy face. Before the King's attendants could say anymore, she rushed off to the hospice, to see if their words were in reality, truthful.
The young woman felt the torrents of tears flood down her cheeks as she glimpsed his body lying still on the cot from the frame of the open door. The vibrant, crimson hair was unmistakable. It really was him… She stood and walked over to the corpse, her steps uneven, laden with unbearable pain. As she lifted the white sheets covering his body, she staggered back, agape with horror.
There was a deep gash in his midsection, almost separating his torso from his lower half. His face was deathly pale, and blood smeared his features. That day, she swore she heard her sanity shatter like a thin pane of glass. As the young general knelt, defeated, on the cold floor of the medical chamber, her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles turned a ghostly white. Tears continued to cascade down her face as she stared blankly at the sandstone floor, not knowing what to do.
Suddenly, a dark voice spoke in the fading expanse of her mind. Her head snapped up. The voice that was conversing with her. It was Lord Joshua, her King, her lover. It couldn't possibly be him, he was dead and proof of that fact lay right in front of her, but his familiar, tenor voice whispered to her. She was truly beginning to lose her mind.
Standing, she darted out of the infirmary, ignoring calls for her to stop. Her usually placid pink eyes were bloodshot, alight with rage, bloodlust taking over the sense in her head. He had spoken to her, begged her to fulfill his last wishes.
'Kill them. Kill them, as they have killed me…'
In an instant, she had once again reached the bloody battlefield, the smell death and decay evident in the heavy atmosphere. The enemy army was spotted in the distance, getting their arms together, and planning their next line of attack. The senseless killer approached their camp, unsheathing her daggers as she started off in a mad dash towards them.
The enemy scoffed at Jehanna's one man attack, and grew more confident that the lone warrior wouldn't even reach their front lines, as their attacker was clearly outnumbered and nonetheless, inferior, being a woman.
A volley of arrows came pouring down on the baleful beauty. Vengeance was the goal set in her splintering mind, driving the urge to kill all those around her. As the flying projectiles pierced her body, her will to fight was slipping away. But another voice, an overpowering and sinister voice had emerged, telling her what to do, and unleashing the strength that lay dormant in the abyss of her soul.
'Are you going to just give up and die here! As Joshua lived and died by the sword, so will you! Fight to the end, his death must be avenged!'
As she cut them down, she found herself numb to the multitude of arrows and projectiles that had lodged themselves in her thin form, but relishing in the fact that she could now continue on without the hindrance of pain. With every stroke of her twin blades, her tears subsided, only to be replaced with laughter most unsettling.
Blood spilled over the grains of sand, transforming the dry desert into a thick sea of endless sinister red. The screams that pierced the dark sky were like music to her distorted ears, the crimson splatters, pleasing to her bloodshot eyes. She was like a demon of the sword, invincible, immortal, as wounds that would have been fatal to anyone else, covered the whole of her body, but the pain never reached the closed off depths of her mind.
Finally, when there was one man left, she made him squirm with pain, giving him a slow and painful death, digging the tip of her blade, deep into his chest cavity. The assassin savored the pleading cries, making the kill even more satisfying for her demon thirst for blood.
Her revenge exacted, the evil inside her began to quell, and recede into the dark recesses of her consciousness. The pain came in waves, crashing down on what was left of the broken woman. With her hatred, fading, she felt the throbbing course through her, as her temporary emotional shield had retreated. All her strength was gone, and she collapsed onto a bloody corpse, willing for herself to die, to be rid of the pain, but she only slipped into a deep unconsciousness, a mere thread holding her soul to earth.
The young swordswoman awoke weeks later, having finally recovered from her grave wounds. Her battle worn body was stiff and sore, as she'd done naught but rest for weeks on end. All of Jehanna Hall recognized her as their savior, and showered her with praise. With the combat experience of a veteran soldier and the gifts of an unwavering political ambassador, some thought her worthy to be the late King Joshua's successor, to lead their country. But after weeks of light observation, they began to think contradictorily.
Up until Joshua's funeral, the swordswoman seemed normal enough, but after the procession, it seemed like she'd become a different person as there were tell-tale signs of how her psychological state had weakened. She was often heard talking with herself, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Her increasing bouts of anger exploded at times, blaming herself severely for the king's death. It was terribly uncharacteristic for the usually stoic swordsmaster, but they dismissed her peculiarity as her way of dealing with grief, but they didn't know how far gone she already was.
One night, she convinced everyone of where her mental health stood. The palace officials were aghast to find a whole subdivision of their finest soldiers, brutally slain. And their elected future leader stood there, with a smile bright enough to light the dark hallway. With her daggers unsheathed, they saw the blood dripping off and onto the castle floors. Currently, she was reprimanding the deceased soldiers for talking ill of Joshua. "Ha…that'll show them…"
They stared at the scene, traumatized as the prominent assassin walked away with a distressing sneer upon her lips, muttering darkly under her breath.
After that unpleasant incident, they had no choice but to banish her from the castle, seeing her as a growing threat to all those around her. They chose their words carefully, hoping that she wouldn't take out her displeasure on them. But to their relief, nothing of the sort happened. Her left arm twitched, and rested on the hilt of her sword, but nevertheless, she strode out, an outwardly accepting smile on her countenance.
She had gathered her things and left that night, but when Jehanna Hall awoke to a new dawn, there was a horrid bloodbath out on the magnificent stone steps, as all the night watches had been slain and laid out on the front steps. It was no doubt, her grisly parting gift…
The former mercenary snapped out of her pained reverie, getting up off the woodland ground and continuing on as if nothing had happened. Her solemn and slow paced steps brought her to the heart of a deeply wooded area, the insipid light of the full moon illuminating her path through the leafy branches of the great trees. She collapsed; her lithe figure slumped dejectedly against the base of a tree.
Her sharp ears picked up the faint and quiet elegy of the forest, the feeling of her lover's warm embrace haunted her yet again. Her wounds pained her so, but could not be healed and the block of despondence had already crushed her frail heart.
After moments of silent reflection, the roseate assassin found that she was tired. Tired of killing, tired of living without a purpose, the fatigue gripping her body more often. Had she really wanted to stop? The killing was an outlet for her, to soothe whatever fiends racked her mind. But she knew if she kept going on, living like this, the darkness of her mind would completely consume her. The guilt pierced deep down into her soul, ripping at the vestiges of her will to live. She had lost a love one too many, and had never dealt with loss well, but this time, it forced her into the profundity of her madness.
The depressed young woman pondered how she could end her miserable existence, thinking earnestly about her decision, as the tattered remnants of her worldly attachment slipped away. She scanned the area for a means of taking her own life and the wicked metallic glint of her dagger caught her eye as she picked it up off the lush, green grass. She'd never thought it would come to this. Two years ago, she would have laughed at the mere thought of this, for she was once Jehanna's cold and aloof general, where nothing would have disconcerted her this much. She chuckled weakly, thinking to herself.
'Too much death can do anything to change a person…'
Her haggard and worn reflection stared back at her from the shiny metal of her preferred weapon, mourning her very being. A disturbed expression was painted on her ashen face as she spotted the dark circles that had framed her now emotionless eyes. But she no longer paid any heed to her physical disdain as she got on with the task at hand. Her shaky hands raised the long knife, its curved blade gleaming in the pale moonlight.
Whispering softly, she reassured herself of her succinct verdict, the mysterious woodland dirge growing louder, pounding in her ears, urging her on to finish the task.
Gathering up her strength, she plunged the dagger deep into her chest; the thick red liquid gushing out, flowing like a geyser from the open gash. A dissonantly calm smile graced her lips as she fell to the ground.
Her body lay on the grass of the jarringly still forest, tainting the vibrant green with the dark red stain of her blood. The corners of her lips curled upwards as she stared in morbid enthrallment.
She watched as her life slowly slipped away in the streams of red that poured out from her. Her world was so dull before, dark and lifeless, but now it peculiarly turned into a bright red. The crimson red of her own blood...
A burning tinge resonated through her bleeding body, bringing a slight grimace to her pastel countenance. Last thoughts filled her fleeting mind, her consciousness, fading. She had never thought she would bring herself to execute such drastic measures, but as she thought of it now, she truthfully had no regrets about her decision, she was finally liberated from the depths of her abysmal mind.
She lay for a moment until she felt her strength being sapped from her, her limbs slackened and her weary eyes closed slowly. Her soul was finally being set free from the heavy burden of that which was her life, as she drew her last breath...
The quiet requiem continued to play somberly, mourning the defeat of yet another of Jehanna's brave swordsmen.
Marisa the Crimson Flash was dead.
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A/N: Well…My first attempt at a fic… I hope it's acceptable, since my writing is pretty mediocre in my point of view. So, Joshua's dead, Marisa's dead… but eh…w/e…They're still my favorite characters… The plot wasn't so solid, and the characters were a bit OOC, but it was my half-assed attempt at an angsty, Fire Emblem suicide fic… So, umm…hope you enjoyed it, and review if you wish to do so…
Oh, and I have to thank my DarkKaz Sempai for beta-ing some of my fic. Also, thanks to Dummy, for the advice and encouragement.