Shadow Marauder

That night, Erza's sleep was shallow and troubled. It was impossible for her to entirely relax, under the gravity of her circumstances. Her muscles felt tight and contracted, a result of the day's strenuous endeavors. A line of vibrating tension had formed between her head and the base of her spine, a line that pulled her out from her dark, strange dreams at frequent intervals.

As a result, she woke easily when a soft, dull thud sounded outside her tent.

Her eyes shot open, and she found herself staring at the panel of fabric above her head. The interior of the tent was barely visible, and only because of the faint line of orange torchlight that seeped through the gap between the flaps and the entrance.

The air felt cold and dead against her skin.

Erza shivered and kept her breathing as slow and shallow as she could while she listened for any other noises. The loudest thing she heard was the beating of her own heart, which grew stronger and faster as the thin line of tension within her neck thrummed like a plucked lute string.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Then, just when she began to think there was no cause for alarm and the hammering in her veins began to slow, a shadow fell across the front of her tent, blocking the light from the torches beyond.

Erza's pulse tripled, her heart pounding as hard as if it were going to burst from her chest. Whomever was there could not have come to rouse her for the assault on Ceris, nor to bring her some piece of intelligence, for they would not have hesitated to call her name and barge inside.

A black-gloved hand – only a shade darker than the surrounding murk – slid between the entrance flaps and felt for the tie that held them closed.

Erza opened her mouth to raise the alarm, then reconsidered. It would be foolish to waste the advantage of surprise. Besides, if the intruder knew he had been spotted, he might panic, and panic could make him even more dangerous.

With her right hand, Erza carefully drew the dagger from beneath the rolled-up cloak she used as a pillow, and concealed the weapon beneath the fold of the blanket. At the same time, she grasped the other edge of the blankets with her other hand.

A rim of golden light outlined the shape of the intruder as he slipped into the tent. Erza saw that the man was wearing a padded leather jerkin, but no plate or mail armor.

Then the flap fell shut, and darkness enveloped them again.

The faceless figure crept toward where Erza lay.

Erza felt as if she was going to pass out from lack of oxygen as she continued to restrict her breathing so that it would appear as though she were still asleep.

When the intruder was halfway to the cot, Erza tore her blankets off, threw them over the man, and, with a wild shout, pounced at him, drawing back the dagger to stab him in the gut as they crashed to the ground together with a thud.

She leaned in toward the man. "Who are you?" she growled, staying her dagger in place.

A half second later, she gasped as she felt two hard blows to her left kidney. The pain nearly incapacitated her as the air escaped from her lungs, causing her to roll over in submission.

Before she could recover, the man swiftly pulled her off the ground, and her legs gave way as she fluttered in the air: his large, thick fingers encircling her limb. She hung limp like a doll from the man's grip, her arm twisted at an awkward angle above her head.

For a moment, he simply held her that way, looking over her as if she were an unfamiliar creature he had encountered while hunting.

Then, handling her as easily as if she were a small child, he threw her crashing back to the ground, hard.

Erza bellowed as pain lanced down her spine from the base of her skull.

The man approached her, wheezing slightly, binding her to the floor and incapacitating her arms and legs.

Erza kicked like a rabbit, straining against her oppressor. For all her efforts, however, she could not stop the man. His limbs were like iron beneath her blows, his grip unwavering.

Desperate, she sank her teeth into the man's right forearm. Hot blood gushed into her mouth, salty and coppery. She choked but kept biting down even as blood leaked out from under her lips.

The man, seemingly annoyed, let go of her left wrist and slapped her across the face, hard.

A white light flashed behind her eyes. Her head snapped to one side, and her teeth clacked together as pain bolted through her.

Letting out her last breath, she went limp and stared aimlessly into the dark, sapped of her will to fight. Utterly beaten, she understood she was at his mercy…

So this is how I die.

For a moment, despair and self-pity bedeviled her. She had barely begun her life, yet now it was about to end, and in the vilest, most miserable manner possible. What was worse, she had accomplished none of the things she had hoped to. Not war, not love, not birth, not life. Her only offspring were battles and corpses and oaths of fealty.

And here she was, lying at the mercy of a man she did not even know the name of.

She was ashamed.

Rousing her from her melancholy, a soft, moist pair of lips touched against her neck. A hand brushed through her hair, fondling the side of her face, groping at her skin.

The nape of her neck prickled as she realized the man's true intentions. Terrified, she tried to let out a scream, but was promptly hushed by her assailant.

"Shh…" he whispered, pressing aside her bangs, as if assuring her all was going to be alright.

Distressed, she bit into his hand, hard as she could. Between her teeth and against her tongue, she could feel the muscles and ligaments which encased his bones.

The man grimaced in pain, slamming her head hard against the floor with a bang, holding her down like a misbehaved mutt.

He smacked his tongue, wetting his lips as he beheld her body: all for his taking.

She could feel his erection pressing against the softness of her belly, enlarging in concert with his labored breathing, which reeked of wine and mulled cider.

Without preamble, he spread her legs as widely as he could.

He was going to rape her.

Erza panicked. Her pulse hammered in her ears like a mad drum, drowning out her disheveled thoughts.

She could hear him unloosing his belt, grunting like a boar, fidgeting over his zipper as he struggled to relieve himself of his constraints. Then with a deep and hollow sigh, they came undone, and his stiff cock sprang out into the air: hard, discolored, and veiny.

The foul odor which followed was nauseating.

The man hunched himself over her body, snorting like a horse. A moment later, there was a faint tugging sensation at her panties.

Frightened as a fawn, Erza kneed him in the ribs three times in quick succession, and then bashed her forehead against the man's nose, breaking it with a loud snap.

The man snarled and thrashed across the floor, but Erza refused to stop there.

Retrieving her beveled blade, she lunged forward with a cry and tackled the man, somersaulting with him into one side of the tent, which collapsed on top of them, trapping them under heavy wool.

Erza growled, slowly pushing the dagger toward the man's chest. As they strained against one another, Erza was vaguely aware of people shouting outside the fallen tent.

Finally, the dagger plunged through his jerkin and into his flesh. The man convulsed, blood spurting over her face. Fast as she could, Erza stabbed him several more times, striking him wildly, then drove the dagger through his heart. Twice more the man shuddered and jerked, then ceased resisting and simply lay there, panting.

Erza continued to hold him as the life drained out of him, panting beneath the oppressive weight of the wool, their embrace as intimate as any lovers'.

Then his body went limp, and he was no more.

Erza let her head fall forward against the man's chest and gasped for air, shaking from head to toe as the shock of the attack racked her limbs.

Outside, people had begun to pull at the fabric resting on top of her. "Get it off me!" Erza shouted, and lashed out with her left arm, unable to bear any longer the weight of the wool, and the darkness, the cramped space, and the profound odor.

A breach appeared in the panel above her as someone cut through the wool. Warm, flickering torchlight poured through the opening.

Frantic to escape her confinement, Erza jerked to her feet, grabbed at the edges of the slit, and dragged herself out of the collapsed tent. She staggered into the light, wearing nothing but her undergarments, and looked round in confusion.

At least ten warriors were standing there, among them Captain Doranbolt, all of whom held swords and axes at the ready. None of them were fully dressed, save for two, whom Erza recognized as sentinels posted on the night watch.

"By Erübus," someone exclaimed, and Erza turned to see one of the warriors peeling back the side of the ruined tent to expose the battered corpse of her aggressor, whose nose was crooked and squashed flat – broken by Erza. A mask of blood covered the lower part of his shaved face, and even more stained the ground below him.

It was unclear whether he was of the Dominion or not.

"General Erza", said Doranbolt. Erza continued to stare at the man, unable to tear her gaze away. "Erza," he said again, but louder. "Erza, listen to me. Are you hurt? What happened? … Erza!"

The concern in his voice finally caught Erza's attention.

"What?" she asked.

"Are you hurt, General Erza!?"

Puzzled, Erza looked down at herself. Her torso was matted with gore from top to bottom, while streaks of blood covered her arms and her lower mouth.

"I'm fine," she said slowly, looking away, hugging herself in the cold. It was an unusual look on her face: one of loneliness, and uncertainty.

Doranbolt appeared to have noticed. And if it weren't for timing, he would have said something.

"Take yourselves to bed," she said. "We'll be leaving in a few hours, and I need you to be alert."

"Are you sure you'll be alright, General Erza?"

"Yes, yes," she lied, waving at them dismissively. "I appreciate your help, but go now. How am I supposed to rest with all of you hovering over me?"

After they had all departed, save Doranbolt, Erza rubbed her face and then sat on one of the stumps they commonly used as stools. She felt wrung out. Empty. As if she had done an entire week's worth of work in just a few minutes.

Doranbolt scratched his head, and then looked over at Erza. "Will you still be able to fight?"

"Yes."

With a deep sigh, he took a seat on the stump next to her. For some reason, he felt inclined to accompany her.

"You should get some rest," she said without looking at him. "Dawn isn't far off."

"What of you?"

"I'm going to wash, and find some clothes, and... -"

"Aren't you going to lie down?"

"No."

For a moment, there was utter silence.

"I understand." Doranbolt slowly rose from the stump. "I'll be in my tent if you need me."

Erza watched him dissipate into the darkness. When he was no longer visible, she closed her eyes and sighed, trying to calm herself. Summoning what little strength she had, she went over to the collapsed tent and dug through it, locating her clothes, weapons, and armor. The whole while, she avoided looking at the corpse of her pony-tailed aggressor, though she sometimes caught a glimpse as she moved about the premises.

Finally, Erza knelt and, with eyes averted, yanked her dagger out of the corpse. The blade came free with the piercing sound of metal scraping against bone. She gave the dagger a hard shake, to remove any loose blood, and heard the splatter of several droplets beating against the ground.

In the cold silence of the night, Erza slowly prepared herself for battle. She practiced her sword technique, and then she walked the perimeter of the camp, reviewing every aspect of their upcoming assault on Ceris. Afterward, she sat, alone, gazing up at the stars.

Yet, no matter what she did, her mind returned again and again to the scene which had occurred that night. It brought upon her a question of upmost importance.

Who decides that one should live, and another should die?

Thanks guys for the reviews. I'm very excited about this story, and look forward to continuing it as soon as I am able. So sit tight, and bear with me!