Blaire(Working Title)

Chapter One

Author's Note: *Waves enthusiastically* Hi mom! And hello to everyone else! I know I am new to Wattpad and that I don't have a lot of followers and all that jazz but thank you so much for taking the time to give my book a try.  I do make mistakes and there may be some grammatical or spelling errors but I have edited to the best of my ability. Please comment if you do see any so that I may fix them:)

On the matter of copy rights, please just be cool and don't try to steal my book. All rights reserved, you know the drill. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of "Blaire" :)

Word Count: 2680

I roll to my side, dodging a dagger to the chest and stand, immediately unsheathing the spatha slung across my back. I turn to face the Wendylin that had been on top of me and metal clashes on metal, the sound ringing out through the otherwise silent room. My sword against the amateur Wendylin's dagger is a pathetic match. This Wendylin is at a loss for powers. While the Wendylin has the advantage of height, his six feet over my five feet and three inches, I am much more agile. His slimy green body towers over me. Not only does he have height, but my my is he wide.

He is lined with both immense fat and muscle, earning him the description of behemoth. His eyes are an oily back as the stares back at me and I can see his vomit colored teeth through his smirk. Yet, no power, and no agility.

Easy wins such as these are not helping me advance my skills in any way. Although, it's not as if my skills are completely necessary either.

I sigh a heavy breath as I block the Wendylin's thrust with ease and drive my own sword through where his black heart should be. It bats at me with its sharp and slimy claws, the creature's only defense. The large clawed hands bat my sterling sword across the room and leave a ragged and bloody gash in my cheek. The ruby red blood begins seeping from it slowly, making a trail down my face. I snarl at the Wendylin as my sword lands with a keen clink on the other side of the glass room.

I throw myself onto the wretched creature, pulling a dagger from my left boot as soon as I land. I scramble to my feet and kick the Wendylin in its side, rolling it onto its front. It makes a pitiful attempt to push its repulsive moss colored body up. I make sure to quickly push him back down with my boot, smearing the shimmering glass floor with blood. The once perfect floor is being destroyed with blood in the midst of our battle, creating a gory scene. I roll my eyes as I get a better grip on my intricately designed dagger. Now I have more cleaning to do.

I plunge my dagger into the back of the slimy Wendylin's neck and pause in silence, taking a step back to watch and see if it makes a move. As I stand in the quiet room, my own heartbeat is the loudest noise to be heard as I am pumping with adrenaline. A black and thick blood oozes from the wound as the Wendylin lets out a deep groan with its last dying breath. I yank my dagger, with some effort, from its cold neck and kick the Wendylin once in its side as payback for the newly forming scar on my cheek. I stoop down to see the Wendylin's black eyes staring off into the distance. Its mouth is open and growing dryer with each second, revealing his hideously broken and black teeth.

I go to glass home's kitchen and get a sip of water. After I take a moment to allow my racing heart rate to go down, I go about cleaning the once sparkling room. Whoever owns this home won't see the dead Wendylin lying on their glass floor. However, they sure as hell will see the bloodied floors and ripped curtains, along with the overturned oak table. As I begin to scrub the glass floor with some old rags that I found in a closet, I start thinking. I really should feel something, perhaps guilt, when I kill. I suppose that after you've felt enough loss, you just don't feel that much at all anymore.

I almost laugh at the thought of feeling bad about killing a Wendylin. Wendylin will forever be inhuman and wretched things. The second I let myself forget that will be the second my world comes crashing down around me. I shake my head, ridding my mind of the thought of ever showing those murderous creatures pitty. In fact, I regret the idea of ever giving anything pity. A Wendylin is nothing short of a leech on my skin; sad, and pointless. I take a wet cloth from the glass kitchen and wipe down the walls, painted in blood. My blood, red like rubies, mixed with the black ooze that runs through those terrible creatures' veins. Finally, I turn the heavy, overturned, oak table rightside up with an un-feminine grunt. The ripped curtains and broken window will make it merely seem as if someone has broken into the home. I might as well take something to make it seem more realistic, I think.