Demon(#Wattys2017 Entry)

Chapter 12:Why?

The Demon had suffered a hard blow to the head during the landslide, and was now drifting in and out of consciousness. She was awake when Morz swore loudly, pushing up on the stone. She was awake when sunlight burst through, nearly blinding her. She was awake when he set her down, checking her over for wounds, and so heard a few comforting words of reassurance that she was unhurt. She also heard the cheers of charging enemies, running straight for the unarmed Morz, and saw him turn to face them, cloak billowing in the breeze. It was then that she passed out.

Her mind moved frivolously, and she pondered a simple question;Why? She had been so relieved to have gained a mission like this. Just walking along, acting as guards to scare away potential attackers. With the reputation Black Griffin had earned for itself, the chances that someone attack had been practically none existent.

There were so few missions like that these days, where she only had to put on the face of a warlord, where she could say what she would do and never actually have to prove it. A mission where she did not have to be The Demon in heart, only in appearance. A mission that she could get through without having to kill anyone, that wouldn't add more weight to her conscience.

And yet, it would be the exact opposite of that, a bloody mission. Her men would die. Some had undoubtably already died from falling debris and attacking soldiers. It always pained her to see that. These were soldiers who put their faith in her, trusted her to keep them alive. She remembered the faces of so many soldiers who served directly under her who had perished, of those who suffered terrible wounds, such as Av'rasca.

Every face, every flicker of memory dedicated to them was a reminder of her failure, of an inability to honor that trust. They had all been fine men, and yet they had been saddled with a reluctant and mournful leader. No matter the foe they had faced, or how they had died, their deaths were solely on her head.

And that didn't even account for the people she had slain herself. One hundred and fifty-four personally, though all of the enemies killed by her soldiers were, of course, on her head as well. True, some had been evil men, bandits, warlords, and the like. The vast majority, however, were just people who were in the wrong place at a terrible time.

Some, such as the Deena she had killed in the recent battle, had only committed one crime;being on the opposite side as her, a side who had been unwilling or unable to stoop to hiring mercenaries. She always tried to avoid it when she could, but sometimes, it just had to happen. A crazed berserker charged in the middle of a battlefield. Several men caught her off guard at once. Someone striking off her mask in the middle of battle.

That was always so frustrating to her. The Deena who had struck off her mask had not need to die. He was just standing there, staring like a madman, as though the fact that she were a woman was shocking to him. It was not as though she took great effort to hide it.

In some countries, she had heard, where women could not join the army, great efforts were taken by the more patriotic of females. They would trim their hair short, break a few teeth, give themselves scars...One such woman, she had heard, had invented a special girdle, meant to compress and conceal a woman's breasts!

In any case, her gender should not have been that big of a surprise. He could have run, surrendered, begged for mercy, hid...but no. He had only stood there, and she had had to slay him, for The Demon that people had heard of would have never forgiven such a slight.

Why? Why would a man allow himself to be killed, then have such a look of confusion when he perished. Why was she in the position to have to kill him? That was a simple enough answer. To save lives. To distract the enemy soldiers from seeing her tears, and stop herself from killing the last of them to keep the secret. To stop others from thinking of The Demon as a soft-hearted foe, undeserving of being hired, deserving of being slain alongside her men for cowardice.

But why? Why her, and not Morz who knew of the responsibilities of leading a warband and was willing to carry them out? Why not Vaussten, adored by all and with a calm head for battle. Why not Reba, a master of improvisation and strategy? Why her, the battle shy daughter of a warlord who couldn't even stand the cold? Why?

How nice, she thought, it would be to just lay here and never awaken, to pass on this burden to someone else. But, this was a selfish thought. Most warbands did not survive the death of their commander, unless he had a strong second-in-command ready to take over. She had none, for she did not want to shift or share the burden, only to be free of it.

If she died, the warband would lose work, would slowly drift apart to join weaker bands or be hunted down by vengeful survivors. Black Griffin would cease to exist, and her friends would suffer dearly. But still, she thought, why? Why was this her burden? Why must she be The Demon? Why must she kill?

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw Morz fighting furiously with a group of enemies. He punched out with great strength, shattering skulls and armor, whatever he struck. A few tears were in his robe, but fortunately, no blood leaked out. He moved with surprising grace, twisting to avoid a charge from a man with a spear.

As soon as he was past, he punched out, hitting the top of the man's spine and shattering it, killing him instantly. Another man charged from behind, but Morz quickly turned, grabbing his sword in a gloved hand and crushing it. The man blinked, releasing the hilt."What...What are you!?"

He stepped back. Morz gazed at him emotionless lay through his mask."On a normal day? A cook, and a very good cook at that. Today? I happen to be your worst nightmare." He punched the man in the chest, and he collapsed.

The remaining three men surrounded Morz, bearing weapons. They charged him all at once. He dodged out of the path of the first one, and pushed him to the ground. He whacked out at the second one with both hands, with enough force to collapse him and crack his skull.

He turned to the third one, but was unprepared as he swung a mace that struck his forehead. He staggered slightly, and the mask on his face cracked, slowly at first, then faster they spread across the entire mask. It soon crumbled, and the soldier blinked in surprise."Wh...what the..."

He could now see the look of agitation on Morz' face."You....dare!?" He quickly pulled his hood down to cover his face, then growled furiously, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him into the air, crushing his throat as he gagged and kicked desperately.

The soldier he had knocked down stood up. When he saw what was happening, he picked up his sword and rushed over to attack Morz from behind."Hey, get your hands off of him, you bea-" He looked down at the blade protruding from his chest in surprise. Guiltare glared, a tear running down her face as she twisted the blade.

She no longer thought the thoughts of unhappiness, of why she was here, of why she was leader, of why it was she that had to be in charge and kill. Her only thought was "Why do so many people make me kill them?" The man went limp and collapsed, sword falling from his grasp. She sighed."One hundred and fifty-five."

Morz dropped the man he held and kneeled forward, holding his head."Curse it curse it curse it curse it curse it!" He swore to himself, pulling the hood down further.

Guiltare walked over."Morz! Calm down, now!" She ordered, putting a hand on his arm.

He snarled and broke away from her. He kneeled, gathering the pieces of the mask."Giles! Or that accursed woman! Get me one of them, I need-"

Guiltare quickly pulled her own mask from her belt."Wear mine." She said, holding it out.

Morz looked up, and she saw his eyes for the first time, bright and glittering and pale, with a slight yellow tinge to them. The rest of his face was hidden by shadow."....No. It is your mask, and-"

Before he could say any more, she placed the mask on his face."You have your reasons. Keep your face hidden until you're fully prepared. I'll survive without my mask for a few hours, promise."

Morz looked at her through the mask, which fit surprisingly well."....Why must you always act like the foolish girl who I watched grow, hmm?"

Guiltare managed a smiled."I have few chances to do so, so why not?"