The Scion Of Nyx

I

Eulalia

⚭

With a satisfying crunch, I watched as my ax flew straight through the chest of the warrior in the enemy lines, his face frozen in shock as his body crumpled to the ground. I quickly yanked my ax out from his sternum, a hot spray of blood hitting my face, before kicking him back with my steel toed boots. The crimson dripped down my sharp chin as I went on to the next male, twisting to the side as I narrowly missed his silver blade. It nicked my ribs and I was thankful for the layer of protective, wyvern scales on my torso, the black material absorbing most of the damage.

I spun low behind the male, slashing open his achilles tendon with my obsidian sword, before throwing my weight into my other foot, and swiping at his nape with my ax. The ax blade only got half way through his neck before the momentum slowed, and I scowled as I had to yank it back out. I was hoping it would cut clean through this time around. I had been working towards a proper beheading for ages now.

My body fell into a rhythm as I went on to the next male, and the next, and the next, until I was no longer keeping track of how many beings' blood tainted my skin. I determinedly slashed and lunged and slit the skin of the Daele warriors, part mortal, part demon, refusing to slow down.

My hands were slick with the fresh, crimson blood, making my grip on my sword and ax slippery, as I cut through the lines of enemy warriors. This was only supposed to be a border skirmish on the borderlands of Nyx's realm, but upon arrival, we had found out we were badly outmatched. Now I had to make up for it, as her prized child soldier.

Eventually, after Mother knows how long, the Daema men stopped coming, instead turning to the warriors around me. I found myself at a standstill in the middle of a battle.

'Cowards' I scoffed before deciding to take matters into my own hands. Scanning the mess of blood and chaos around me, I began singling out the warriors and hunting them down in the field. I relentlessly slashed their throats, reminding myself that It was a mercy to slay them by blade, besides by soul, as Nyx wanted me to practice.

I ran forward into the enemy lines, breaking through their ranks to make openings for my own men. Somewhere behind me, Acheron, Nyx's Grand General and my personally anointed baby sitter, screamed at me to fall back into line and wait for the others, but I persisted on, cutting the men down like a sickle to wheat.

My shadows whispered in my ears, acting as eyes from all angles of the battle field. I relied on instinct alone, trusting my shadows as we worked together as a pair. They guided me, telling me when to duck, slash, and lunge, holding men to the ground for me, as I made the killing blow. The combat was like a sixth sense to me. I indulged in what I did best, and that was war and destruction. I found I was quite good at it.

A noticeable gap spread out before me, and I was satisfied in the knowledge that my own men could easily break through now.

My white hair, jutting out in a pony tail from my black helm, was now stained thick in crimson. Before my first ever battle, Acheron told me it was foolish and vain to wear my hair out like that, to have an opening at the top of my barbute helmet simply so that my silver hair could be visible. He told me it was a risk, to have long hair out in the open, accessible to whoever wanted to grab it. I ignored him and his unwanted opinion.

It had become a ritual now, after each battle, to cut my blood-cake hair off at the jaw, unable to wash the stain of red out. If I lost, I would let it matt and rot as punishment, until Yvgenina, my immortal Saffin healer, would eventually cut it off herself and regrow the hair back.

The effort was not in vain though, because, soon enough, the warriors on the enemy field learned to fear the white-maned warrior, whose silver hair represented death. My viciousness became well known, and I reveled in their fear. It made me giddy. It was, as of late, the only thing that could make me feel again.

Acheron, on the other hand, absolutely despised it. He claimed I caused chaos on the field. He protested my presence with every breath, claiming I was too unhinged and too undisciplined to fight in his ranks, with his hand-picked soldiers.

He made these protests clear to Nyx on multiple occasions, over the span of several months. She found the "Maiden of War" act quite amusing, especially since I was serving in her armies. She believed it was beneficial to have the support of a make-believe war goddess. Far less revolts of souls brave enough to rise against her.

It was the men's own foolish fault either way, for giving me this power. They wove a myth, a falsehood to coddle their overinflated ego's. The Maiden of Death was not a mortal girl, barely two decades old, but a phantom, a goddess even, that appeared on the battlefields of the victors.

A new wave of warriors swarmed towards me, believing that unity would provide them a fighting chance.

'Focus. Behind you' My shadows hissed to me in warning, just as Acheron shouted out for me. I looked sharply in his direction, wondering what the Hell he wanted, when a gasp ripped itself from my throat.

An uncomfortable, foreign pressure suddenly appeared within my chest, the feeling curiously strange, as it pressed through my organs where it did not belong. Muscle pushed against the cold, slender object. I looked down in shock, to observe a large piece of silver lodged within my chest, or stabbing out of it, to be more precise, right through my chest-plate of wyvern scale armor. I imagined the strength, the hatred it took to impale it through the scaled-armor, through my back and out my sternum. The force must have been monumental.

Instantly, hot, metallic blood bubbled up my lips and through my teeth, dribbling down my mouth like tar when I smiled at the soldier. A mix of fear and adrenaline was depicted on his face, the uncertainty making his eyes flicker around the battle field, as though yearning for direction. He killed Maiden of Death, and most likely expected Death himself to come after him. No. It was I that was going after Death.

"Imapling through the back? How cowardly" I mocked, still smiling, though choking on my mouthfuls of blood. The image above me only lasted for a few moments, before my vision blacked out, and I felt my soul slip away, before the pain could even process.

Relief was the only emotion that existed for me in the afterlife. It was the only emotion that processed for me in the eternal darkness, no matter how many times I came back here, to test the theory.

It only took a few moments of prolonged darkness for me to arrive to the Orchard of Souls in the afterlife. I never had to wait long, before the light slowly trickled in, and the fresh breeze of the sweet nectar trees brushed against my face, filling my senses.

When I opened my eyes, I was assaulted by the brightness of the garden. It took several moments of blinking to have my eyes adjust from the dim, dreary lowlight of the underrealm, to the brightness of the afterlife.

Death was as he always was; pale, cold, and lifeless, carved to perfection. His marble skin glistened in the warm sun, as he lay resting against a nectar tree, the branches hanging heavy with the fruit of the Gods'. His head was knocked back, revealing the white, porcelain skin of his defined throat, and tilting his sharp features to the sun.

I knew well enough that he was not sleeping. The corners of his sharp mouth twitched, before filling into a vicious smirk. Finally, lazy as a cat, Death blinked his golden eyes open. His slitted pupils turned round. Veins of golden flashed beneath his lids, before disappearing into the white.

"Hello, witching" He said, his voice cruel and amused. Despite how many times I had heard it, the icy, unnatural tone of it still unnerved me. I lifted the black helm off of my face, dragging my blood soaked, white hair through it, before dropping it unceremoniously on the ground. It hit the grass with a soft thud. Crimson blood droplets splattered his green meadow.

"Hello, Death. I am here to see Paris Arobynn" I announced, my sharp mouth set into a thin line, my eyes blank and impassive. My words were icy. Death's vicious smile split even wider, stained bloody from the nectar fruits he ate. He was absolutely delighted...