The Bane of Light

The Scion of Nyx

Chapter One, Book Two in the 'Bane of Light Series' : The Scion of Nyx

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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, leather 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 Daele 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 Yvgenia, my immortal Saffin healer, would eventually cut it off herself and regrow the hair back.