Eyes of Evil

ARC 01

Warning!
This fiction contains sensitive materials, including graphic descriptions of violence, blood, gore and implications of sexual torture. Viewer discretion is advised!

~~~~~~~~

"A battlefield is no place for the kindred. It is a fight for survival. One way or another, the other must fall."
-Quartermaster Imdir of Darra.

Daenos Forest, Valris.

In this charred plain field, thousands of souls once gathered under one banner, fighting against an opposite foe similar to themselves. Amidst the sea of blood, bodies, and scattered weapons, only six souls remain.

One of them was a werewolf. This terrifying beast can rip and tear you to pieces with both their claws and jaw. Their speed unmatched, and their hulking stature of a beast will make anyone, even those with an iron will cower.

One of the injured warriors from the earlier battle cried out for help, wailing as death loomed over him. The wolf has chosen, and almost in an instant, the sound of bone being crunched can be heard. The warrior's neck broke, twisted into whatever angle the werewolf snapped them to. The werewolf's fang embedded deep into their flesh, they kept pulling and pulling before his head was finally removed, followed closely with a shower of blood that stains the otherwise majestic white-ish grey fur. Despite their savagery, the werewolf masterfully threw the decapitated head in the air, before finally crushing within its mighty jaw. Blood spurts out of the wolf's mouth, dripping slowly as a wicked grin slowly worked its way onto their face.

Another was a man covered in dark clothing, a hood covering their face as well as a cape hanging around their shoulders. Two swords sheathed on his hips, one seemed like a curved sword while the other a longsword, an odd combination.

The man was kneeling over a pile of three bodies, looting for whatever valuables he can find among the dead. As he went over to the third, a weak groan can be heard and immediately the man rushed a finger over to the pulse of the injured. Alive still, but not for long. The hooded man quickly unsheaths a dagger hidden within his sleeves and raised in the air.

For a moment, he could see the injured warrior's eyes opened before he plunged his dagger into his throat. The warrior's eyes went wide, letting out a strangled noise as the hooded man twisted the dagger even deeper into their necks. The injured warrior still manages to place their bloodied hands onto the man's own, their eyes gazing into him as their life ebbed away slowly.

As soon as the warrior's eyes rolled to their backs, the hooded man finally pulled their dagger out, leaving out a nasty gaping wound on their throats. The hooded man checked himself for bloodstains, and after seeing none, he wiped the blood off his dagger with his hand. He then stood up to find another body to loot.

The third seemed like a Ranger, a warbow hanging on her left hand as she stared at the descending sun. Tomorrow, when dawn approaches, she knows it will be stained in a reddish-orange hue. Her pet hawk soared above the former battleground, and thanks to a spell, the hawk shared their vision allowing her to see through the hawk, like a second pair of eyes.

Seeing barely a movement, she let out a shrill whistle, calling her hawk down and raised her arms for it to perch onto. The hawk flew down and it did take roost on her stretched right arm.

The fourth was a large man, standing around six and a half feet. They carried a large Warhammer on their right hand without much difficulty. He was more armoured than the rest with their engraved silver chest plate, seemingly a rune of some kind. He then rests his Warhammer over his shoulder as he watches another man loots a body.