Not too impressed with this chapter. But, too lazy to ameliorate it... xD
The first cannon was shot. It flew across the sky like a meteor and shattered the castle wall with a deafening bang. Hungary's horse reared up in fright and jumped to its hind legs. Refusing to be thrown off balance, she immediately strangled it back with her halter. With the clash of a crop, she began to charge forward into enemy territory with her whole army following behind. Men roared in their rustic tongue as hooves trampled over fresh grass. The flag of the Hungarian kingdom billowed with all its might against the tumbling winds.
Drawing out her sword, Hungary began to slash wildly at whatever drove her way. Heads, arms, neck, chest. There was no discrimination between which parts of the human anatomy to rip through. The first clap of thunder rang across the battlefield, but no one could hear it over metal banging metal.
Liquids were beginning to soak the inside of her armour. She could feel her body squirming inside a pool of perhaps blood? Sweat? Well, what mattered was that it wasn't her own blood. She knew that she felt fine. There was no time to stop, to think, and no room in her heart for mercy. The Ottomans didn't show any mercy when they ransacked her villages and slaughtered her people like livestock, so why should she extend them this pleasantry?
The jolt of lightning was ignored, as well as the torrent of rain that plumetted to the ground like arrows. The scent of ravaged flesh swelled up in Hungary's nostrils, invading her, choking her. She saw nothing but red, and wanted nothing more but to kill.
She saw a skillful arrow aimed at her head, and smirked at the attempt. Tilting away slightly, she bit down and caught the weapon between her teeth.
Nice try, but Hungary wasn't going to let the war end that easily.
Looking up to the archer, she met eyes with Turkey himself. He was a head taller, wearing a long red cape, odd-looking hat and a white mask.
Only one as shameless and cowardly as he would conceal his identity in front of his foes!
Growling in rage, Hungary spat the arrow out and charged towards her enemy. Her sword clashed with his blade, matching his strength with her ferocity. One clash happened after another, and Hungary did everything she could to keep him from getting the upper hand, even if it meant using half her body to atone for his one arm. But, she was growing tired, her arms were getting sore, and her chest ached with every heartbeat.
A stroke of vertigo caused her to fall from her horse and face-first onto the ground, swamped by blood and muck. He walked in front of her.
Hungary could feel, in her heart, that her army was deteriorating. She didn't know if she could hold on for much longer.
Smirking, Turkey raised his weapon and bore for the kill.
Hungary closed her eyes in acceptance.
She waited, but death never came.
When she opened her eyes, she saw that he had been stopped by a sword, a perfectly clean one. She raised her head, and saw his gleaming eyes, matted white hair, and that smirk that was at least tenfold more devilish than Turkey's.
"That there, is my girl." Prussia said to his opponent simply, but dangerously. He lifted both of their weapons up from Hungary's neck, and taunted Turkey to fight him instead.
Hungary looked up and saw that the Teutonic knights had arrived.
The rain had stopped, and sunlight finally peeked out from between two angry clouds. It showered the ground below, forming a halo around the retinue of marching soldiers. From a distance, Hungary could hear the priests begin to chant, preparing the warriors for another holy battle. A flock of ravens were gliding in circles above the army, while some found roost upon the bars on which their flag hung. As the Ottomans charged towards them at breakneck speed, they stood their ground and drew out their swords in silence.
The mass of white swept across the battlefield, slowly but steadily, leaving behind nothing but stillness. These soldiers showed no remorse, anger, nor emotion of any kind. To them, fighting wars was as natural as walking or breathing. The ravens had descended and began their scavenging, cleansing the earth. Hungary, and what was left of her army attempted to help the Teutonic knights by finishing as many lives as they could, but in the end, all was swept with the grain.
With a holler from the general, the Ottomans began to retreat. Prussia also freed his sword from Turkey's neck, granting him the chance to stumble away.
They had finally won.
The clouds had been blown away, allowing the sun to set on a clear blue sky. Gil and Liz decided to stay behind. They didn't know what for, however.
Their horses walked side by side as they sifted through the remains, searching, with every step, the best footing for the next one. His hand was in hers, their fingers intertwined in a lovers nest. They hadn't spoken much, but her green eyes never left his red ones. They may had grown up, and what was previously child's play had become a gruesome reality. But, there were somethings that never changed. Perhaps it was because they hadn't fully matured yet, or maybe they didn't want anything to change between them in the first place.
Liz's horse neighed and came to a stop when a bloody hand grabbed one of its ankles. The hand belonged to a human boy, a Turkish one, who seemed not to be over the age of thirteen. His skull was fractured, and he was bleeding down his face. But despite that, he wore a look of determination, or perhaps desperation. Liz dropped to the ground and knelt in front of him, musing the thought to take him home, and save at least one life. He crawled closer to her, and gave her a weak smile, despite that she was Hungarian. But, Liz saw that he was beyond help. The bottom half of his body was dismembered and probably had been trampled into bits.
Liz thought that this was probably his first battle, and imagined how proud he must had felt to be able to serve his country.
The Turks were no different from her. They were all people, after all.
After extending her hand out to brush a bit of blood from his face, she rose and mounted her horse, and never looked back. Gil followed her in comforting silence.
Truthfully, Liz hated war. She hated watching others writhe in the pain that she had caused them. But, they must fight in order to achieve the Greater Good. Her country was what she had been born to protect, and she must do so at all costs.
Though she had no idea what the future held, but at least she could enjoy what she had right now. Gil, as if he could read her mind, held her even closer, caressing the back of her hand lovingly. Beside them was her horse that was left to walk beside them, temporarily without a rider.
Gil reached a finger up to her cheek and brushed away the blood that dripped from a scar. "Sorry I didn't come quick enough, princess."
She was going to open her mouth to retort, but instead leaned closer into Gil's chest, taking in his warmth, the warmth that she had missed so much. A pang of guilt struck her chest. She sighed inwardly, how would Gil feel if she were to not survive the next battle?
"You'll never lose me, Gil. I promise." She said.
They rode into the bleeding sunset.
Note: The Ottoman-Hungarian wars lasted from the 14th to 16th centuries. The Ottoman empire, in its expansion, originally wanted to invade Serbia, which pulled Hungary into war. And, of course, Prussia and his Teutonic knights helped in a few of the battles that took place.
Pft, Hungary. Don't make promises you can't keep. xDD