The End of His Tale

end

When fighting in such a condition, saving energy is more important than ever.

Oriana knew this.

She never extended her range more than necessary and to prevent further pressure on her leg, she did not do a lot of footwork.

She relied heavily on her arms.

Demon after demon was hit by the blunt force of the Bo staff and disintegrated after only one strike.

With her head down, she walked and walked, looking for a suitable building with just enough shade and cover.

She brought out her hand in front of her and stared at her trembling fingers. She balled them into a fist to stop the quivers but that was futile.

She struck the incoming Empusa with what little strength she had left and dragged her feet, keeping on moving.

Light sun hit her face but she couldn't raise her head to appreciate it.

What she could do was look around to see the nearest structure.

Her legs shook violently with every step, and she can no longer feel the pain.

A worn down stone path was what she saw.

It led her forward to a home.

She would be lying if she said that it was even a bit intact. The roof of the house was barely there and the only thing that was somewhat okay was the blurred painting hanging above a Victorian fireplace. To the side, there was a staircase that led to ultimately nowhere.

She took a step, but she didn't, she couldn't.

Her limbs stopped moving. Feet were frozen to the ground and her hands slid off the Bo Staff. The world around her faded to black as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The Bo Staff fell first, the sound of wood on pavement echoed in slow motion. Then she fell, face first into the cool pavement.

===

Once she grasped consciousness, she pulled a gun on the person tending to her wounds.

She pressed the barrel to the unknown person's head even before she opened her eyes.

"Please calm down, your grace,"

"Hah?"

She laughed shortly and lowered her weapon.

"Didn't think I'd meet someone like you here,"

"That may be because we are the only of our kind here, your grace,"

Oriana opened her eyes and looked at the person helping her.

It was a young boy, maybe 13 or 14 in age.

But she knew better than that.

She put her forearm over her eyes and laughed bitterly.

"I'll do it myself,"

She said as the ruffling of bandages on her thigh felt more and more messed up.

The boy let go of the bandages and walked away from her. No footsteps sounded as he instead seemed to have drifted away.

She looked around as she dressed her own wound.

She was propped onto the wall of the staircase and is right next to the fireplace. The area that she was in right now was the only corner of the house that still had some sort of roof hanging above. The painting was of a family yet with the faces scratched off, she could still recognise who each of them were.

"This is the former Sparda Household, your grace,"

The boy commented, after seeing how she was looking at the painting with awe.