Hallowed Damnation [#Wattys2016]

2

She rushed to the messenger and grabbed the letter, opening it with frantic and shaking hands. She read the letter once. Blinked. She read it again. She bolted from her spot, leaving the messenger without a word, and made her way in a terrified run toward her home six towns away. She ran toward her family that was being massacred.

After two stolen horses and a full day of riding through dense forests and back roads without rest, she arrived at the outskirts of the City of Scabbal just as the last light of dusk disappeared. She did not dare to stop for food, water, or sleep. She was consumed with panic and the pressing need to get home.

She discarded her mount in the forests a mile from the city itself and trekked the rest of the way on foot. She did not know what dangers were lurking and it was best that she get in through stealth. Scabbal is one of the largest cities in Armen and usually the city would still be bustling with people and business at this hour, but everyone was indoors now. Soft lights shone softly through the cracks of their boarded up shutters and doors and not even the street lights were lit. Everything was quiet and still.

Carefully, she made her way through the city by lurking in the shadows and using little known passes toward the Brotherhood's Keep. Her brothers. What had happened to her brothers? And her father. She swallowed the panic that was bubbling inside her and clung on to the hope that she was not too late.

She quickened her pace through the small rundown houses and cracked asphalt streets until she saw the familiar estate that housed Armen Continent's greatest warriors. It was a medium-sized estate and was not all that impressive. A three-story Victorian style house with chipped blue paint and shutters falling off. It was only in slightly better conditions than the rest of the houses there, but it was home.

It had been her home for fifteen years. 15 years since Cyrus, her adoptive father and master, had scooped her up from her life of begging and wandering in the streets as a child of seven years and gave her a home. A family. The Brotherhood of Blades was by no means a warm and welcoming family being a collection of Armen's most ruthless, effective, and skilled thieves, mercenaries, guns for hire, and spies. All were men except for her.

Her training took over as she crept without a sound closer to her home. There was no crunch of leaves under her boots, no sound as she breathed. She hid in the shadows and ducked behind the house as she peered into a window. It was fortunate that the back part of the house was the mess hall and kitchens leaving plenty of room for her to crouch behind. She slowly opened the old door, scowling in the dark as she hoped no one heard the slight creaking. Quickly, she crouched below the counters and made her way toward the main room at the front of the house where the only light seemed to come from.

As she made her way toward the main room, voices started to meet her ears. There were several deep male voices and none were familiar to her. Curiosity burned inside her with each step forward. Who were these men? Where were her brothers? Questions circled her mind almost making her dizzy. Taking a deep breath, she pressed herself flat against a column. Far enough from the commotion that she would not be easily spotted yet close enough for her to see and hear them.

Salina inhaled sharply to steady herself before peering at them from her hiding spot. The breath she took caught in her throat and threatened to choke her as the blood drained out of her. She felt an icy numbness spread from her head to her toes while her body froze completely.

No.

A word. A denial. A plea to the heavens. A single word that embodied the devastation she felt as she stared at the main room of her home. Normally, the main room was spotless and sparsely furnished as it was used for training and skill demonstrations. Now it was red. Blood red. Blood was everywhere, splattered and smeared through the walls and in puddles on the wooden floor.

However, what truly shook her to her core was the littering of limp bodies all over the room. They were barely recognizable with all the blood and injuries, but she knew them immediately. They had been part of her life for 15 years. Even in the carnage, she recognized each and every one of her brothers.

"This one is skilled. Maybe we can keep him and train him," a low male voice muttered pulling Salina out of her horror and agony. She narrowed her eyes and snapped her attention to the other end of the main room, rage slowly filling her.

She saw seven tall men she has never seen before standing in a loose circle around one man on his knees. Their clothes and weapons alone signified that they were not from these parts. One of them was leaning against a wall and toying with an ornate looking dagger. The dagger's metal shone slightly and she found herself wondering where she could get one.

Quickly, she focused on each one of them to assess how difficult it would be to put them down. Three of them, including the one playing with his dagger, wore identical uniforms; dark pants under a dark blue tunic and an emblem on their chests. She supposed that they looked regal in some regard, but the blood splatters made them seem more sinister. She had spotted a number of dead bodies in the room wearing the same uniform. She concluded that they were soldiers of some sort.

She moved her gaze to a gigantic mass of a man standing nearer to the other three. No, that could not be a man. Half man and half machine was more like it. The other two were more nondescript save for one of them having an obscene number of guns visibly strapped to him while the other had long purple hair.

The final man was what held her attention the most, his very presence was commanding as he stood with them and yet he seemed apart from them. Tall and lean but obviously strong was his body clad in black fitted pants and a black undershirt that clung to him underneath his long dark coat. He practically looked like a shadow if it were not for his fair skin contrasting starkly with his jet black hair. He was not wearing any armor nor was he armed to the teeth. There was only one sword strapped to him, the hilt glinting from beneath his coat. His voice as he spoke was even more compelling than his presence, a low baritone steady and mesmerizing.

"I'm not all too sure if he can be tamed," he said with a hint of a sneer in his voice.

Tamed? Did he take them for animals? Salina fumed as she stood witness, but the ice cold panic gripped her once more when the man kneeling spoke.

"I will never answer to the likes of you," he spat. She knew that voice. She knew whose face it belonged to even if it was low and muffled. As if to confirm what she already knew, the 10-foot-tall man in elaborate armor stepped aside giving her full view of the man at their feet.

"Damon," she whispered to herself. A single tear rolled down unnoticed on her cheek at the sight of him. Damon was Cyrus' biological son and one of the best in the brotherhood, but more than that he was everything to Salina. He was her brother and her one real friend. If she was being completely honest, there was one time when she felt something more for him. She could barely stomach looking at him now; forced to kneel at their polished boots, one eye almost completely shut and bruising, dripping with blood from multiple cuts. Her heart broke for him.

"We should just kill him," the walking weaponry said. Her eyes widened.

"Agreed," said the handsome shadow. He gripped the hilt of his sword and smoothly brought it up. He raised it before Damon's defiant face, but before he could swing it down to chop his captive's head clean off Salina made the most ludicrous decision in her life.