Uncrowned

Ch 2: Cloaked Murderer To The Rescue

I despise the cold.

The cruel autumn breeze splays against my pale cheek, the icy touch a slap to the face. I pull my tattered, black cloak snug around my body to generate whatever heat I could.

It is not yet winter, but the weather stubbornly defies that. Despite the war occurring near our border, citizens of the Capital continue to litter the streets, swarming like ants to their destination.

I move against the grain of the crowd, weaving my way through the tightly knit space to the concession stands.

The money I found meant we could at last afford more food. But with the lack of resources and supplies, all there would be left are week old, rotten spoils. As I near a produce stand, sounds of an argument catch my attention.

I turn to follow the crude voices and spot two men cornering a brunette woman in an alley. One of the men, grotesque and burly, grabs her wrist, slamming her roughly into the damp, brick wall. She shouts in protest and attempts to shove him away, but fails miserably.

He proceeds to rub against her in an unbecoming manner; while the other man -lankier, yet just as repulsive- runs his arm along her thigh.

Crime has always been common in these parts of the Capital. It is even more prevalent now as the sentinels have been sent away for battle, leaving the common people defenseless.

The crowd does not give them a second glance, as if their lives are much too precious to waste on a distressed stranger. I allow myself a moment to ponder.

Should I assist the damsel in distress?

I move away from the stands and stalk towards the scene, hands on the hilts of my daggers.

Curse my heart of gold.

The unneutered dog of a man turns as soon as he notices me, not stopping his animalistic movements he stares down, predator to a prey.

Already, I feel the tempting urge to slit his throat.

"Hah, look at this." He jabs his finger in my direction. "This little slut wants to join the party."

The scrawny twig smiles; yellow, rotten teeth flash before me.

"Come here, sweetie." He beckons sickeningly.

The lanky man reaches his arm out, ready to grab me. Swiftly moving out of his grasp, I duck under his twiggy arm and slash my weapon across his throat.

Disgusting beast.

His companion gawks at me in shock and I decide to kill him too. Before he has a chance to act, I jam one blade into his torso and the other into the nape of his neck as he doubles over to clutch his abdomen.

Two less bastards on the streets. I should become a hero.

Cloaked Murderer to the rescue.

I remove the bloodied daggers from his corpse, wiping them clean on the cloth of his shirt. The woman I had saved stares at me in astonishment and horror, her mouth agape.

"If you are not careful, insects could enter."

She bites down on her lip with such speed, I worry it may bleed. With a curt nod, the poor, frightened creature scampers away into numbered protection of the crowd.

All in a day's work for the Cloaked Murderer.

I proceed to leave the alleyway as well, when a hallstatt sword comes straight at me. Purely on instinct, I evade the blade, hands unsheathing my own weapons.

I study my assailant; blonde curls cover her burlap cloak, golden eyes glimmering with many secrets to tell.

Before I am able to decipher any other information, the stranger attacks once more. I manage to defend myself against most of her strikes, but it is apparent that I am being driven back. I struggle to retaliate, slashing my blade at her chest. She simply steps away, avoiding harm's grasps.

Brawling street rats is not a comparable activity.

"Your steps are too wide," she advises.

Her weapon swings across my face, recognizing the movement I take a stride back before lunging forward. I reattempt my previous attack, slicing at her chest; she eludes it, but I change the pacing of my steps and manage to lacerate her waist.

Crimson liquid becomes visible against the dull, brown fabric; but the woman does not seem to care.

"You are a fast learner," she commends.

"Why are you attacking me?" I demand.

The stranger's eyes shine with a hidden agenda lurking beneath her eyes, a shark's fin in the waters of her golden gleam.

"To test your strength."

I part my lips to speak, but the woman interludes, "Thoughts on the war?"

I blink at her sudden question, taken aback by her abruptness.

"What is the purpose of this?"

Instead of answering, she closes the gap between us, shocking me with her unexpected agility. It is unnatural, superhuman even.

"Answer the question," the powerful stranger commands.

If I truly angered her, I could not guarantee my life. This much I am certain of.

"As long as my family is alive, I could care less of the victor," I disclose truthfully.

My attacker remains eerily silent, and I wonder if my answer is not to her liking. However, a second later I find myself being pressed against the rough brick, the woman's hands around my wrists.

I bring my leg around, aiming at her side; but as the kick continues on its trajectory, a shield of threads comes to life and deflects my assault. Cogs begin to churn in my head as I realize her identity.

I am not allowed a chance to speak as the Champion's hands begin to illuminate. Incredible waves of power rush through my veins, pain and a small sense of thrill tremor the core of my very being.

As a luminescent light blinds my vision, I hear the woman speak.

"I've finally found you."
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Things are starting to heat up, aren't they?

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