All it takes is one bad day. Nerith laid on the grass, numb, feeling the cold rain fall, like sharp needles piercing through her face. Funny how the same feeling had comforted her in the past.
The tendril-like arm slowly retreated from the impaled body in front of her. Shadowed by the storm, she could see nothing but silhouettes, but she knew. He was dead. He was truly dead.
Were those shouts? Or the heavy wind of the storm? She could not tell. Did she care?
A familiar mask fell next to her, unmoving, and her mind went blank. The scheming, the plotting, the planning. It all stopped, and she simply observed. She felt the grass around her, wet, muddy, and torn from the fighting, but somehow soft and comforting. Her fingers found a puddle next to her that felt surprisingly warm and sticky. Odd.
The black raven flying over her dissolved into nothing, and she realized what that meant. And the smell, that horrible smell.
Lighting from the storm lit up the sky and she could only watch, as a blood dripping vine slowly ascended into the air, now aimed towards her. She found herself feeling surprisingly serene, and yet unable to process what was about to happen.
She was going to die.
YOU ARE READING
The War of Gods
FantasíaBased on a Dungeons and Dragons Campaign: Twelve people all around the world get chosen by God to find three Godly artifacts. Whoever is holding on to those artifacts after a year gets to keep them. Things get bloody, fast.
