Kylar Knight
Kylar Knight saw the hope.
The bond the clan shared was like no other, for the tendrils of each member had been intertwined together tightly to become united as one; it was a single vine, a strong symbol of the clan as a whole. Those who fell, lost to friends and foes forever, broke away from the living of the clan as the lush green of their own offering to the family's bond dried to a parched yellow as it withered to nothingness. However, it were fresh green tendrils of such youth and new blood that grew in the place of those lost, the next generation of the family that would continue to thrive, to expand and to flourish.
A leader had passed on, her own tendril that had once been a part of the strong foundation from which the clan had prospered had shriveled as the life diminished from the once spirited green. When the light inside of her faded, the darkness that had once consumed her eyes finally conquering her crumbling soul, the vine's life force had receded. A heart and spirit had been taken, and the clan had grown vulnerable in death's presence, and as a result, more were lost to its lethal blade.
The clan was fragile, yet to Kylar, the faith was a promise.
Those who had once knelt, stood taller, and those who had once kept their sight within their own shadow, extended their vision to the horizon. Some fell, but they rose, their eyes shining with the raw hope of possibility which was driving them forward. A leader was gone, but not all. Some were lost, but others were not. Despair was looming, but they kept their sight on the beacon of hope that lit not only their own surroundings, but the entire night sky. They held faith within their hearts, and it was only honorable that Kylar did the same.
And so he chose; he chose to fight.
Kylar embraced the hope they shared, and he stood- a guard to protect those who could not themselves, a fighter for those who fell, no longer able to continue. Teeth, his own, flared a white too pure, clean of the blood that tainted those who had immersed themselves within the battle to seize control. They had come to battle, to begin a war, to defeat the weakened clan, and he would give them that. He would fight blood and tooth for his new family, and through every moment of both, light and darkness, he would hold onto the hope as he had learned he should from those who had perished.
It was a bloody massacre.
There were those who leaped her his legs, while there were others who bared their pointed teeth with pride, the luster, a pearly white, shining in the light emitted from the sky of what seemed to be a dulled gray with streaks of red painting it as if it were the canvas, and the red was the paint of blood. Kylar jumped at a challenger, his own legs wrapping around the legs of his opponent. He reeled his curled fist backwards before pushing it out into a punch, making contact with his adversary's soft stomach. The man, young but slightly older than Kylar, coiled back as he spat blood, the droplets of red soaring through the air with his ragged cough. Kylar's grip tightened as his teeth met the flesh of the man's neck, and he bit hard as the taste of blood, refreshing and sadistically delicious, brought him ecstasy. The body crumpled beneath him, falling to a heap on the ground as puffs of dust exploded at the impact.
The life had bled; the death had conquered.
The hope Kylar had vowed to hold until his last breath was fading quickly as bodies dropped at such a rapid rate. Red tainted the dying green of the grass, and the sound of tooth meeting flesh completely annihilated any silence that had once brought peace or the words that often brought verbal conflict. His faith was dwindling like a string of such fine threads as it crumbled to dust as if it had never once existed. He stood amidst a lake of blood whose magical waters rippled, the crimson shade shimmering under the tender touch of the gray sky in the mourning.
