Dark Fall (3rd Book)

Chapter 21: Never the Slave

Tears of red streamed down his withering cheeks, appearing cracked. Molten gold glowed from the crevices, giving the half-demon the guise of a shining demon. Quite ironic, Melissa thought to herself, her body like water as she slithered to and fro against the runt's clumsy strikes.

Quick, yes, but still to predictable. Strong, of that there's no doubt, but against the Disciples? He would not last a chance. Melissa grinned despite the hotness that was spreading within her. She knew the Disciples, and she had personally fought against one. She remembered how she left that fight: with limbs clad in glittering gold strewn about, blood flowing in gushes as the head rolled, the face forever the mask of frozen agony.

Still, it would not do to become lax against their enemies. They were formidable, and much like them, very ruthless. I find that odd. Why is it... it must be because of the blood of their leaders. It was no secret that Merec was the youngest of House Matran at that fateful time, the bloodseeker, the one to capture and bring forth sacrifices for whoever the House worshipped then.

Her thoughts almost succeeded in straying her too far off as the boy's blade bounced off her own. He's lucky to hold the Lich Blade. Mine own would shatter any normal steel with that blow. Edge on edge was never good for a thin blade, yet the Lich Blade and her own endured such trials.

I grow tired of this. She thought, and with that, swept the boy under with her slimy tail again, holding down with one hand on his chest, and another holding a blade that pointed to his neck. She breathed heavily, as did he, and her perfume wafted through dead air, blown by dead winds. "How many times must you die before you learn?" She asked him, batting her eyes at the wide-eyed boy.

At times, Melissa wondered that he is a boy even now. Her Lord's transformation heavily twisted his features to that of the demon of shadows and blacks, but still, that same spirited youth remained. That eagerness for blood, the unrelenting want for war, that fascination with blades and their uses, it was all an alien world to him, but an alien world that seemed to do well for him.

Yet he needs to grow up. His own youth would kill him in time. She knew that too. That same lesson was forced onto her. The gorgons were stone-turners, but how could the stone be turned if the magic of the yes of the gorgon was to be plucked out? It was a question that she wanted answers for, and a sore mistake she rued the day it revealed its little face.

"What must the little novice do before he learns that a zeal such as that would be of little use against war."

"It would...!" He attempted to fire back at her, but she already knew the words as they came blathering out his lips, lips of gradual black, as cracked and glowing as his whole body.

"...lessen your pain, that much is true," She told him as she rose. The blade vanished as she dropped it. That was the magic that she still held, one she treasured. A bow appeared on her back, along with a quiver of arrows belted on her serpentine side. "Yet we are accustomed to the spoils of war, and the plagues of it too. You're not, you won't ever be with your ignorance. In battle, your eyes should be swift and calculative. Lose sight of the enemy, and the next second your head's on a pike in the field."

Her left hand automatically went for an arrow, and she nocked it, looking out in the horizon. The snake, sharp eyes, sharp reflexes, swift actions. I deserve more. "Your arms must be quick and strong. Be accurate. One second is a lifetime in battle, and this battle we're waging right now is one that can easily fall on our heads to kill us all.

"And your mind must be closed off on all distractions. As I've repeated numerous times, a single distraction that deters you from the enemy will cost your life. And our Lord Merec has no time to squabble over petty weaklings gaining his favor in their spirits, and certainly not the prophesied Champion of the Dark." She released, and the string would have broken the skin of the wrists of any normal man, but hers was the skin of the serpent, and snakes have control over their grace. By the dark and its demons, we can molt our skin to change at will. Only that the snake remains outside and inside.