To Imagine...

Chacda (1)

It was often hard to decipher whether others were right or wrong. Especially in times like these. Queen Tetherel--the tribal leader of Schak--a monstrous woman, a bit repulsive outwardly, governor of a long chain of tribes. It was a rare instance that I stood next to her, even for a moment. Tetherel, a name growing in notoriety as word of her latest alliance spread. Schak, Pteuli, Kitiki. For the first time since Tehit, three great tribes joined in an alliance to war. Three of dozens of great tribes, thousands if counting the young tribes. Such a small number--such a tremendous feat. The great tribes of Astaroth had been warring against each other for millennia in conflict, often with no reason. And it had not taken long for reason to be lost, after Perekneia, the beginning of the end.

Blood and conflict, that was all which had been left. Pain and anger, anger and revenge, revenge and the loss of self. Chacda. The loss of history. Sida. A world of chaos.

Astaroth. It was broken after the fall, bled for tens of hundreds of years, and still ached today. Once a great power, now a dark shadow of what it had once been.

Shadows.

What was really right and wrong?

Tetherel's sword swung fast in a great arc, a deep crunch punctuating the fissure ripped into the man's body from hip to skull. She yelled a command and jumped forward off the steps, swinging her sword like a righteous weapon, beheading a woman who hadn't the chance to even see her coming. The head rolled to the ground some distance from the collapsing body, its electric blue eyes wide and shining. My blood caught fire at the sight, hairs rising across my body and it clashed with the constant ice of my skin. A door had burst open and unleashed a feral torrent rushing its way to the surface of my mind, tearing over my thoughts until they were screaming for murder. Exhilaration blossomed like a giggle, my vision tunneling, red and flitting quickly from moment to moment. My daggers sank into the closest body to me, the breath in me shuddering out without a second to decide if they were friend or foe; I leapt after the trail of bodies Tetherel left behind as she cleaved an irreproachable path to the heart of the battle. She was impossible to lose--stuck out like a sore thumb, towering over others, swinging a massive sword that punished everything in its way.

My heart was pounding too hard and fast to keep up with, my arms bloodied as I fought my way to her, panting not out of exhaustion but of need. My dagger planted in a woman's chest and I swayed with the feeling that swept through me--so focused on her, I was caught off guard by a blade, surprised and forced to parry a blow aimed to my skull. Driven down under the overwhelming force, I ripped the second dagger from the woman's chest as we clashed and I slashed at his legs. Tumbling, he yelled and swung as he turned back to me scrambling away, lodging his sword in the ground where I had been. Self-preservation turned to madness and I jumped onto him, dropping my daggers in a furor, claws sinking and finding purchase in his skin. I couldn't see straight anymore; my fangs sank in and ripped the flesh from his shoulder before tearing at his face, arms, chest. He retreated on the defensive--I heard a deafening scream from seemingly far away before I realized it was my own. Blood dripped from my open mouth, panting, knee on the ground, and I slammed my fist into it, a shudder running through the earth. His face was torturous to see, watching through the blood in his eyes as I stood, pulling up a long sword of ice from the dirt. The air turned white around it, letting off such cold that it had frozen the earth I pulled it from.

Without a sound I stood before him, my heart soaring too high to make a sound, swinging up as he raised his arms to protect himself. The ice broke through his defense without resistance; I twisted my grip as he fell, grabbing the hilt with both hands and plunging it into his stomach. The look of shock etched itself permanently into his face and I left him there on the ground, staring at the hole in his stomach as he slowly died.

  It was often hard to decipher whether others were right or wrong, especially in times like these. "Queen" Tetherel; I stood at her back, showered in blood, the shining blade in my fist dripping red. I breathed heavily, watching as she swung and yelled to her men. My mouth watered, I raised my blade. I kept breathing in, breathing in, breathing in, but the air could never satisfy my lungs; my mind was blurring, head pounding, eyes tearing. I wanted it so bad. I wanted blood, I wanted the kill, I wanted the satisfaction, I wanted, wanted, wanted, wanted, want, want, want, want, want, want, want... crunch.

What a beautiful feeling.