Girl With the Assassin's Blood (On Short Hold)

Chapter One

It was raining, her leg bleeding from a deep wound on her thigh, making it harder to run and the sheath of her blade slapping against her. She ran as fast as she could from the man, if one could call him a man, his eyes completely red, face contorted into something cruel.

She stopped, knowing she couldn't outrun this predator. Graflens rarely came this far into the city. Maybe he was a rouge, searching for a weak citizen to prey on, either way, she stopped, hopping slightly as she turned, her Damascus blade drawn and ready, glowing in the shadow of the night. "Come and get me, Graflen! I won't be easy prey for you!" She yelled, wielding the heavy blade in front of her.

As the Graflen, at least nine feet tall, skidded around the sharp corner between the buildings, she yelled loudly and charged, her five foot frame barely up to his waist while she plunged the blade deep into his abdomen, severing organs and vital arteries. That's when it happened, the blade burned brighter and all she could feel was pain. Her pain. The feeling of pure agony while it ripped through her frail body, her eyes flash open and they are black. Pure black. Her grip only tightens on the heavy sword she's holding in her pale, cold hands. She screams a silent scream and her body explodes into a ray of dark light, all she knows is pain. She cannot hear the screams of the people in the streets as she turns to darkness, transforms into the daughter of Satan.

She falls, her blackening hands crumbling as her body gives way, she could feel her heart turning to ash and her organs liquefying as she struggled to take a breath, finding no air, her skin falling away in pieces as the rest of her body and bones break away, falling softly to the ground as ash.

Silence.

That's all she hears, that's all she knows. She remembers nothing in this state of being. Perfect and still, everything floods back, her mind screaming, pain rushing in as she remembers, remembers her death, remembers her life. But there is more than that, memories that are not hers, memories she never had. Memories of the war, of people she never knew flash before her as if in a movie, someone fast forwarding through these images. She remembers intimate moments, lovers, friends, enemies.

But most of all she remembers the evil that is in the city. It is in the walls, not outside of it. A useless war is raging and all people know is what they are told.

She wakes up. Her body bound by ropes and her dark hair falls into her face. 'Dark hair?' She thinks 'But I'm blonde-' she hears a door slam open and she jerks up, facing the large man that came into the room. "Benita, we've been waiting a long time for you." He says, grinning "Who's Benita?" She says with a voice not her own. "Don't play stupid with me, we found you In the street, you lost a fight with a rouge apparently." He steps closer, making her tilt her head back to look in his eyes. "I don't know what--" she gasps, her head pounding as Benita's memories force themselves into her head. "I-I'm not who you think I am!" Alexandra whimpers through the pain "It sure seems like it sweetheart, I'd remember that face, no matter how long it's been." He snarled and slaps her cheek.