Rise of Fire: Dragons Reborn [COMPLETED]

Chapter 1 (E)

Edits: 1

Darkness settled in like the tides of the ocean and along with it came the cold. A woman sat alone in a small log cabin that lie a short distance from a larger stead. She sat silently, fiddling with a shining blade as the darkness flowed in. Night was her time after all.

There was a man once that had once lived there, a wretched creature with thin papery bones and terrified desperate eyes. He had begged for life, his voice hoarse with the years of hard labor he had given his masters. In the end it was a mercy, cutting his throat and lying him to rest in the nest of soiled blankets that had once been his bed. It was the best she could do for such a creature, her pity dissolving into disdain as he cooled with the rising moons.

Bitter hatred seethed in the woman's soul, a hatred for the kinds of humans that would enslave another living creature such as they had. He was a man once, perhaps a proud one, and yet she never met him when he had the light of life within him. Instead she found only the remains of him, a creature too entangled in his suffering to recover. He would have surely squealed to his masters for a scrap of bread. He was no more than a mongrel to the other humans he had spent his life serving. She continued fiddling with the blade, marveling at the crimson that danced across the subtle magical glow it emanated.

"Weak blood, unworthy of my blade... And yet." She stood as the chill creeped into her bones. The time had come. All souls were lying asleep, perfect lambs for her slaughter. As she creept out the door she peered at the twin moons, ever watchful over the world of darkness. Ever watchful over her.

"May Hephatus smile upon me this night as I claim these souls in her name." She started the prayer under her breath, carefully stepping across the grass as she meandered towards the fences of the home.

"May the eyes of the night see my deeds and honor me." She spun the blade in her hand, brushing the mask on her face which was concealing her true identity.

"May the marks die swiftly and silently, their last breath belongs to the goddess." She climbed the fence, leaping nimbly to the other side. Distantly she could sense dogs, although they too slumbered under the heavy blanket of darkness. She raised a hand, calling upon ancient magic to cover her scent and muffle her sound. They would not bark, nor would they wake.

She had studied her mark closely for several days, studying his movements and his security. For such a high priority target he was poorly guarded, although she would not complain. She eyed the back door. A lantern hung at the edge of the porch glowing dimly, the only light the house had to offer the night. He had come to the remote stead to stay with his mistress and bastards, feeding them money for another month of quiet and hidden living. Did he love them? She couldn't say, they were not his only hidden family after all, just the most removed one.

She didn't love them, that much she was well aware of. She wouldn't weep as she cut their throats. She wouldn't look away as they bled to death and clawed at their own throats. Their deaths would be silent, hidden in shadows. Marcell would never return to his life, he would never scam and lie again. He would never fuck a wench and impregnate her again, only to have his bastard children killed if they weren't worthy enough of him. No, if she had an emotion to describe herself as she murdered, it would be hatred. She hated her targets vehemently. Hated their sins, their lies, their secrets. There was a reason she was called, a reason she was contracted to kill them. Very few of Hephatus's victims were ever innocent.