Destruction

Chapter 1: She is not living, then she is, then she goes to Hell.

She awoke. She went to school. She went home. She sat in silence. She did homework (she was good at biology). She made dinner. She watched the sky grow dark. She waited for time to pass. She ignored the sounds of the garage lifting. She looked for the moon. She sat until the house was silent again. She tried to feel and be nothing. She failed.

She walked down the hallway. She made no attempt to quiet her footsteps. She passed the glowing doorway to her mother's room. She did not say good night. She kept going as her mother also remained pointedly silent; practically comatose in the light of the television. Walking into her own room she closed the door; felt sadness settle into her lower lip. That was no good. With more viciousness than necessary she angrily slapped her cheeks. She closed her eyes and listened to the buzzing silence. She sighed. She got ready for bed. The last thing she saw before turning off the lamp on her bedside table was the unnatural electronic green glow of her alarm clock. The time was 12:12.

The first thing she saw when she woke up were the dimly glowing numbers on her clock reading 3:42. The second thing she saw were a pair of grisly yellow eyes. They were the yellow of something rotten, with veiny streaks of red leading to a pair of green irises that happened to be the exact same shade as her alarm clock numbers. She pondered that horrifying coincidence as she closed her eyes and attempted to return to her more familiar nightmares. Reality didn't set in until she heard the rustle of clothing, of something lightly dragging over the floor, of a long breath being drawn in through clenched teeth.

Adrenaline and awareness burst over her body with such intensity that she didn't even realize she had leapt out of bed until dizziness swept through her from the sudden motion. Before she could grasp a breath she was being shoved against her closet door and pinned there by one giant hand, another wrapped tightly over her mouth. What she clearly identified as claws anchored themselves lightly behind her ears to keep her head in place against the sturdy oak door. She hardly even noticed, however, preoccupied by those beacon eyes, now mere inches from her own. They were closer in size to a deer's than a human's, and seemed to give off their own inner light as they were the only things she could see in the darkness.

She was so captivated by the eyes that she forgot about the creature existing behind them, and gave a start when a male voice spoke plainly.

"Ara Layla Emmott, you are hereby summoned by my Lord as one of the 13 Chosen Purveyors of Destruction. When I release you, you will not scream." And with that, the clawed hands let her go and retreated back to their owner. Ara took a slow breath, still cautiously slumped against the door, trying to process her present circumstances. The informational voice kept swimming through her current thoughts; it brought to mind memories of a bored secretary or a slightly irritated principal, and it certainly didn't match the intensity of the creature's eyes or the threat of its claws. Instead, the bureaucratic tone sent a familiar itch of annoyance down to her fingertips, which she lightly flexed while silently pondering screaming. That idea was quickly discarded when a voice whispered if she heard you scream would she even come help- and no, no, not worth thinking about. Shut up.

Ara guessed that the thing took her external silence for acquiescence, as it took a step away from her and closer to the window. She remained as still as possible as she observed it in the insufficient moonlight. The figure stood at close to six feet in stature, except for the jutting horns that rose to brush the ceiling, resembling a kudu's in their twisting elegance. The outline of the body seemed to match the typical human male physique; only the hands gave away his inhuman status. Scales glinted dully in the light, leading down to sharp, curving claws. As he turned back to face her, the light schwiiiiiip noise she recognized from earlier made her look closer, to realize it was the sound of a sword's tip dragging across her wooden floor. The weapon was easily four feet long, the wicked curved edge of the scimitar captivating her full attention.