𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲 - 𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐯

𝟎.𝟓 - 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐩

✧・❉・✧

If there ever was a hell, Valeriya was sure it was no worse than listening to Ivan make hissing noises at the girl, constantly.

"Have you been possessed by a snake?" Valeriya sneered at him, watching his eyes narrow further.

"You -" he began, but was stopped by Fedyor. Finally, someone who appreciated their head where it was.

"Aren't you - Isn't he the General's second?" Alina asked, finally a bit of composure returning to her, her cheeks reducing to a light pallor as the adrenaline wore off.

Valeriya scoffed. "We are placed in the General's command according to our skills. Ivan is only there because he is an expert at glaring at people," she smiled at him. He began to glower back but immediately stopped.

"So you are in the General's first line?" Alina asked, shrinking away from Valeriya a bit.

Valeriya nodded, her neck stiff as she felt an unrequited movement of metal outside.

The carriage shuddered to a stop on cue. As if on instinct, Valeriya brought one of her hands forward and used it to shield Alina. The sky was lighting up now, the gentle first rays of dawn reflecting off of the windows as Ivan leaned to the side a bit, squinting against the light.

No sound outside.

Then suddenly, everything.

The glass was flying in lethal shards as the window burst with a bullet hitting the glass, the carriage fell onto its embroidered side as the driver was knocked off and the horses neighed.

"Fjerdans," Valeriya said, feeling the make of the bullet that had hit the glass. She kicked on the jammed door of the carriage which refused to budge, her feet simply rattling the (now broken) windows. Muttering curses under her breath, her mind flitted back to their beloved Sun Saint, who was lying with a dazed expression on her face. Wasn't the First Army supposed to be strong?

"I am a mapmaker!" Alina shrieked amidst the chaos, and the already pissed off fabrikator blasted the door off in response, the noise in perfect melody with the chaos outside.

"Yes, you've made it quite clear to all of us," Valeriya grunted, her practically shod feet stepping into the flat and now grey grass, eyes falling directly into the blue ones of a drüskelle, his shining with rage, and hers, cold with muted fury.

"Drüsje," the man hissed, the sound of a bullet echoing in the field along with its other brothers, but it merely bounced off her.

"Get me with some real weapons, sweetheart," Valeriya replied, feeling ugly satisfaction as the man took out a wickedly curved blade. "Now we're talking," she said, rubbing her hands. No matter the formations she'd learnt from the Darkling, her power truly responded to her the old fashioned way — her palms together, the warmth of the rub igniting her spirit.

As he brought the blade down with a loud roar, Valeriya stepped aside and pushed the metal onto itself, until it stabbed the man straight into his heart, him not even realising it in the fervour of the battle until blood seeped through his clothes.

One by one, the Fjerdan soldiers dropped, and Valeriya forgot the true intent of their attack. In a moment of glorious triumph, she turned around and saw the carriage reduced to smithereens, their Sun Saint nowhere to be found, and raw, undiluted fear gripped her cold heart.

Not for the fear of the mighty saviour of her kind, but from Valeriya's mighty saviour. Oh dear, how furious was the Darkling going to be once he found that she had let the Sun Saint out of her sight?