Separate Souls | #1 Tainted Series

Chapter Four

  " It would be favorable for him, a quick death. "

Makaria Reed: 

The sword's pommel smacked into the side of the man's head. As the man's body slumped to the ground, the weapon slipped from her hands, and she placed her hands on her knees, breathing hard. What had she done? She didn't understand, nothing about the situation made any sense to her.

Her heart thundered against her chest with every blubbering gasp she took. Soon, her arm pulsed, falling to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Blood had dripped down her clothes, and she noticed the cause: the spirit animal's claw marks. This observation made little effect on her, for it was the least of her worries. She'd fought it and lived, this strange spirit animal, along with the man with crimson red eyes.

Makaria had never believed in tales of folklore, but now she wondered whether this man was a demon after all. It seemed to be the only explanation, and then a rather more curious transformation occurred.

His black hair softened into a blond color, the sickly tones on his pale skin faded, and his muscles grew slightly, providing a far healthier outlook than the previous one. This man, evidently, shared more characteristics with a lion.

"What're you?" Makaria whispered in a shaking breath. She had seen him transform not once, but twice. The Tainted never had more than one human form, nevertheless a mutant spirit animal. Was he a new Risen weapon? Have they somehow found a way to modify their spirits? Was it some sort of spell?

Impossible. Only wizards could do spells, and there were none in this region. Makaria settled unto the fact that he may as well be, indeed, a demon. If that was the case, she quickly realized she'd defeated a demon, which was unthinkable.

The man's body twitched slightly before his chest began rising and falling. Trying to calm herself, Makaria grabbed the man's sword once more. Her hands trembled as she pointed it at the man's neck. His eyes remained closed, unconscious.

She could no longer risk taking him with her. The strength she had as she fought him vanished into thin air, leaving exhaustion behind. As part of the True Spirits, she needed to do her duty and kill him. If he was of no use, the next step was to murder the soldier.

Makaria took a step forward, the sword's tip inches away. This'll be quick, she chanted. If she was strong enough, the man wouldn't wake up and struggle, and she wouldn't hear his yells. She raised the sword, feeling a lump in her throat. It would be favorable for him, a quick death.

I'll count, she told herself. One. Her grasp on the sword tightened. Two. The adrenaline in her system dwindled away, exhaustion weighed upon her shoulders, too heavy for her to bear. The weapon in her hand suddenly felt heavy.

Three!

But her arm wouldn't move.

Three. Three. Three!

She couldn't do it. She'd dreamed about this moment for years, the moment where she could be able to avenge her family, to spill some of the blood back, but now that she was here...all her training, for nothing. She wasn't so confident in herself anymore. Was this what she wanted? Why did it seem so hard? Her hands have never killed, she'd defended herself enough to get by and never took someone else's life. No matter what she told herself, she didn't have what it took to kill, even if his people deserved to die, after everything they had done to the Fallen.

A phrase twinkled into her train of thought, "be better than 'em", Kale had once said, and though she hadn't agreed back then, she wondered if she could now.