The New Generation of Witches of West End

Reckoning

The sun shone brightly onto the well manicured lawn down from a cloudless, cerulean blue sky. A light breeze provided just the right amount of air movement. It was a beautiful day. Perfect to be out and enjoying what mother nature had to offer, or to simply be out and about.

As Olympia stared out through one of the windows in her over-extravagant chateau, the beautiful view was completely wasted on her. What she saw had nothing to do with the view. She could have been a thousand miles away and seen precisely the same thing. Unfathomable grief gripped theS- Which, in itself, was highly uncharacteristic. Traditionally her people did not mourn their warriors. They honored their them. Under normal circumstances this would have held true, for Olympia was a staunch believer of holding to her roots, but these were not normal by a long shot.

Nikolaos, her General, the father of her child, her partner, her love... Was gone. Dead. Killed in the line of duty. No... Murdered.

With him went one half of the Spartan legacy. Only she remained of the most fierce warriors the world had seen. The last of her people. For all these years she'd taken for granted Nikolaos would always be at her side, even when they were continents apart. She took comfort in that fact. Now? For the first time in her long life, she knew regret. A world of what-might-have-beens raced through her mind.

Something wet slid down her cheek.

Frowning, Olympia brushed her cheek and stared uncomprehendingly at the moisture on her fingertips. It took several seconds for her grief numbed mind to register the moisture was a tear. She was crying.

Rage didn't begin to cover what the Spartan felt. It was as if rage could be a living, breathing, feeling thing, and it resided inside her; a bottomless, seething pit of terrifying emotion. It bordered on insanity. She knew the feeling well. Once before, after their deaths and subsequent damnations, Olympia broke and spent years ravaging the countryside, slaughtering indiscriminately. It took a full on, no holds barred battle between herself and Nikolaos to end the bloodbath; the one and only time he stood against her.

Without him to stop her? Best not to think about that.

As a weird sort of calm settled over her, she moved to the desk and penned a quick note:

Nikolaos is dead.

Be well, old friend.

Goodbye? Maybe. She honestly didn't care anymore but she owed it to Kronos to at least notify him, though he likely already knew. She respected and valued their unlikely friendship enough to afford the courtesy. Honor demanded it.

Olympia sealed the note into an envelope, slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans, then made her way into the bathroom, grabbing a pair of scissors along the way. Once there, she proceeded to hack the long dark locks of unruly hair off. It would not do to have it impeding her vision or to be used as a handle for restraining her head. One less thing to worry about.

People stared as the deceptively petite woman prowled toward her target. The ones in her path hurried to get out of it, for fear of her wrath. Any other day she might have commended the messenger from not bolting once she reached him. "See this is delivered to Kronos the Ira. If you don't, I will come back and gut you where you stand," she almost purred, thrusting the sealed envelope forth. To his credit, the messenger managed to meet her eyes and nod.

Satisfied, Olympia turned on her heel and glided back out... To hunt.

Blood and thicker things, both old and new, splattered her body, covered the majority of her skin. What wasn't covered by the small amount of clothing, that is, or hadn't been streaked away by sweat. Her face was a mask of it save the patches over her eyes and lips she'd rubbed off by intent or design. The short, uneven locks of dark hair hung heavy, thick with the half-dried mess. Icy teal-blue eyes stood out in startling contrast.