The sky was a smoldering ash filled with cinder and crimson. The sun was dreaming now and resting for tomorrow's dawn. Screams that suffocated the air toned down now to a quiet hush. Trees were waving for the rain to come as the warriors cleaned their weapons. The sounds of metal being swiped of their day's slaughter was a familiar sound.
The warriors had durable leather armour that clung to their skin allowing deadly strikes and crisp dodges. Each warrior had subtle differences in their armour. Some accustomed to fit the female physique and others male. However, all of the pulled leather chest pieces had the same brand burned into the skin representing their deadly clan.
A clan that pillages castles and villages to claim the reward of iron potency. Blood is what urges them to inhale the metallic smell and bask in the warmth as it slides down their throats. They had no need for meager things such as money and treasures. All they wanted was blood and the resounding muscle memory of slaughter. A clan that fed off innocent and guilty alike just because of the intoxicating lust for death.
A clan called Seraphim Mortem.
Villagers around the country tremble in fear when they see them. Not only because of the look of seething hunger in their eyes, but because of the giant haggard wings burned in their armour. Forewarning the trembling onlooker, that not even God can help them.
YOU ARE READING
Lux
Action"She withdrew her sword and smirked in appraisal to the familar shrill noise that occured, knowing she was not alone in the urge for blood and wrath. She was not alone because she knew by that noise, the unsheathed instrument would always be there b...
