Eye of the Beholder

Fourteen.

The disturbing scent of blood permeated the air—thick, coppery, oppressive, and stale. Eliana hated it with every fiber of her being. She hated how it made her stomach churn, how the faces of her now-dead brethren were all that she could see; hated how their screams had echoed around her, ringing through her ears until it had been the only sound she could remember hearing since they'd arrived at Zin-Azshari. More than anything else, she hated the ripples of agony and death that constantly passed through her, leaving her with a lingering, all-encompassing sense of loss.

So much death. So much destruction.

Even after days of fighting and struggling to stay alive, there still seemed to be no end in sight. She'd said a prayer for every soldier she could not save in time, and by this point, she couldn't remember how many times she'd done so. Every time her lips formed the now all-too familiar words, it was almost as if her mind went elsewhere, unable to process the fact that she was saying goodbye to yet another brother.

Eventually, the weight of it all would come crashing down on her, and she'd give in to the grief. But with the demons still coming, unrelentlessly trying to eradicate her people forever, it would not—could not—be now.

As her dagger sliced into the red flesh of the hulking, colossal demon that stood in front of her, she let out a strained, but determined cry. Despite how drained she felt, she knew she had to keep going, no matter how exhausted her body might be, no matter how much her mind was at its end.

She would not die today.

The demon retaliated by stomping its cloven hoof, causing the ground to tremble enough to knock her off balance. As she fought to regain her stance, it raised the ax in its hand to cleave her in two. Before it could bring its arm back down, the appendage was enveloped in a vivid crimson glow. Tendrils of slowly darkening red twisted around its forearm before winding their way up to the joint of the demon's shoulder.

Eliana watched as the red shade deepened to an inky black, and unexpectedly, the demon's arm was severed. It let out a howl of acute pain, cradling the bleeding stump of its shoulder with crazed eyes. From behind the demon, a familiar blade appeared and sliced across the demon's neck, ending its wretched life.

When the corpse crashed to the ground with a thud, Cytheas was standing atop its back with a grim expression on his face.

"Eliana, are you all right?" he cried, hopping off the demon's back and sprinting over to her. Relief flooded through her at seeing that he was still alive, until he spoke again. "What were you thinking, taking on one of these on your own? It takes at least three of us to kill one."

Normally, his concern would've touched her, but the condescending tone it was delivered with set her on edge. It likely didn't help that neither of them had slept in the past forty-eight hours, and everyone was running on fumes. That, and the fact that the last conversation they'd had, had been in a similar vein. It was one thing to worry about one another. It was a completely different matter for him to believe that she was incapable of keeping herself alive on the battlefield.

Clearly, she wasn't dead yet. What had he been thinking she was doing out here? Picking peaceblooms?

Irritated, she spat, "I had it, Cytheas. In case you hadn't noticed, I've been handling myself just fine."

Remembering that they were in the midst of a battle where either of them could die without notice, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before she opened them once more.

"But thank you for helping me," she added quietly. His harsh expression softened and he nodded before gently touching her elbow. When she nodded in response, he turned and ran back into the fray.