Sometimes I have to wonder, is it really okay to live? Is it possible to take in the sights of everyday life with all of this blood on my hands, or will the chains that bind me to the dark deity be tugged, dragging me back into the darkness?
Master, a cruel man of lies, yet gentle-hearted enough to take in a woman whose very soul was impure. To this day, I never understood why he took me in the day I ran. The day I wished to become someone different.
To be free.
Yet the master took in another. He told me to treat him as my young master. He never gave me a reason, but it was not hard to figure it out. I've seen enough death to tell when a person is preparing to die.
That is why it hurt.
Judas was that man's name. Like master, his name was a lie. But unlike the master, I could see life in him. He was running, but not from something, towards something. From the first moment I laid eyes on him, I felt something stir within my heart.
I had hope.
I'll admit, I started off headstrong. I could see his slightly disturbed look whenever I tried something, but he still entertained my attempts and never pushed me away.
Truthfully, this pain in my chest is a first. I had never once found a man whom I had fallen for before him. What was it I liked about him? His strength wasn't close to a beastman's; he could not offer an intelligent conversation like a dwarf; he could not even compare to the elegance of a demon; and he was most certainly not twisted like an angel. So why? Why did I fall for a creature known as a human—a race sent from beyond the stars?
Whenever I looked at him, I could see a reflection of myself. A monster whose past hunted them. But I also saw a younger version of me pushing for a better future within his pained eyes. For once in my life, I had something I wanted to protect, not from obligation, but sincerely.
The sleepless nights, once spent alone, are now spent at the side of another. He probably thinks that I only sleep next to him because of my one-sided affection towards him. Honestly, that is the best misunderstanding possible. His sleeping face brought me life. He sleeps so peacefully in an unknown place, unaware of the shadows lurking beneath him. The same shadows that dare to claim my head.
So what changed?
I thought we were the same. That thought was crushed. The foundation of my soul, the endless days I have spent trying to atone for my past, crushed by a pair of eyes. The eyes that sought death.
That's why I ran again.
Under the moonlit sky, where the twin moons shone their graceful light, sat a young elven woman dressed in a maid's uniform. She plucked at the petals of a flower, lost in thought as a gentle wind played through her golden hair. She was waiting. What for? Not even she knew.
While sitting on top of a broken fountain, her green eyes glistened with the light reflecting off her tears as she stared off at the remains of a courtyard. Elves have significant memories, but perhaps it was due in part to her young age that she could vividly remember what the courtyard had once looked like.
A small garden, grown by a young girl dressed in a white dress. She was accompanied by a younger boy playing with two dragon hatchlings—a sign of elven nobility. As the seasons changed, so did the flowers. The courtyard was filled with a unique scent every season, each one bearing a memory of its own. The two children lived carefree. Their innocence, pure and sweet, untainted from the war-torn outside, in a small village owned by a king's consort, one of many.
"I wonder," Poppy spoke, releasing the petals into the air. They scattered in the wind like tiny stars fading into the night. Her gaze then shifted towards the ruined mansion before her.
A mansion, once beautifully crafted from nature itself, now reduced to a pile of rubble. In front of it were several graves. Many of whom were left unnamed—the servants who bore no importance to be remembered—but there were only two graves marked. The graves were just a sign of respect; they were all empty. Knowing that, it felt strange to Poppy that one of the marked graves had its dirt disturbed, as if a gravedigger was searching for something.
"What would that boy and girl be today, if not for that fateful day? The day that person snapped." Poppy spoke, letting her words travel with the wind.
The disaster, one that left scars on a certain nobility, was blamed on the invaders. That was the official declaration from the elven king himself. It was twisted, cruel, but it would only make sense if the king himself was in bed with the evil sect.
Poppy's long, pointed ears twitched. Footsteps, along with the soft crunching of grass. She held her breath. Then the faint clanking of metal equipment made her sigh. The crackling of flames filled her ears as the darkness was being driven away.
Who uses a torch in this day and age? She thought as she allowed the unknown figure to get closer.
The person then stopped, just behind the same fountain she sat on. Poppy was no fool; she knew who it was. It had to be a beautiful-looking male elf, around her age. A man whose reputation left much to be desired. A noble candidate whose very existence seems to be entertained by her master. Like her. Like her young master. This man was a pawn in her master's game. The pawn known as Adrian Locke.
Poppy turned to face him. His sapphire eyes burned with a silent rage. He was clad in royal armor stained with fresh blood. In his hands, one held a torch, and the other held a head. Like Poppy, he was no fool to believe his father's decree. Adrian knew the truth of that day, and the truth stared back at him with guilty eyes.
"The wind," he said, masking his true feelings. This was unlike him, but even he would never want to make a scene in front of his sister's and mother's graves. "It carried your words towards me." A romantic line, if the air was not tense with hostility.
Adrian tossed the head towards Poppy. It rolled until it stopped, face up. The dead eyes of a young elven man stared at her, with a cursed branding in the center of his head.
"I was told that you ran from this sect," Adrian spoke. "Seeking life away from your sins. They had sentries watching you. Perhaps you knew, as many cultist bodies were found every night. While a noble deed to cleanse the village of these impure elven brothers of ours, it will not help you find the path you seek. The blood that stains you will never be washed away."
This was the truth she wanted to deny. No matter how hard she tried, there would always be those who denied her salvation. This was why she hated them—the nobles who never understood the feelings of those beneath them. But of all the nobles, this one was the only one she could not argue against. His anger, his actions, they were justified. He would never forget. He would never forgive.
It was a cruel twist of fate. The deity she was born to, celebrated by the elves as the freedom maker, was binding all of their followers into the madness of sin that the previous, forgotten deity denied. The man who stood before her was like her master, denying that deity, living in an isolated world. His eyes were sad and lonely. He was fighting several battles, each tearing at his soul, carving a mask that was slowly chipping away the more he spoke.
"This man was quick to sell you out," Adrian said, reaching behind him, dropping his torch onto the ground. He pulled out a strange-looking mechanical bow. It looked brand new, as if it had never seen an arrow before. It hummed with power as he pressed against its sides. Along the base was a seal from a legendary craftsman from the dwarven country. "When creatures beg for their lives, it hurts me a little. I don't understand how my brothers can do it so effortlessly, as if it's just a normal sunny afternoon."
A faint blue light traveled down the base before exploding into a blinding blue light that quickly dimmed into a solid line on the bow. The edge of the bow narrowed into a sharp point, one made from dragon fangs. Both ends of the bow sparked, indicating that this bow was more than capable of melee combat.
"Poppy Sorna." He spoke, his voice demanding. "Thief of the night, bear your branding. If I am mistaken, I shall let you walk free."
"Ironic," Poppy said, standing from her spot. "You spoke as if you knew of my sins, yet you stand before me asking for confirmation? I am a servant of Korne; you should know his alignment matches yours. He would never let me live should he even find out I was impure from the forgotten deity."
Her master was an unpredictable man. But it was that same unpredictability that made him somewhat predictable. Poppy was not here by chance. This encounter was not random; it was planned. Korne wanted to use Adrian to achieve his goals. Poppy knew that she was a tool to accomplish that.
"That man who runs the bar?" Adrian's lips curled into a frown as the fire of the fallen torch flickered in his eyes. "That snake is hiding a lot of skeletons, even an alien. He should count his blessings that my brothers aren't in this village." Then his lips formed a smug look as the eyes of a beast stared at Poppy. "Enough stalling. Strip. Otherwise, I will strip you down myself."
Poppy felt a bitter rage boiling inside her. Nobles, always high-strung. Moving to the beat of their own drum. Adrian pretended to be the nice prince. The underdog who believes that he can gain support by claiming to be different. However, deep down, the same corrupt blood of the noble flows through his veins.
Poppy bit her lip in frustration. Her only saving grace was that she was not about to give this man the show he wanted. She undid only the top buttons of her uniform and showed him only the top of her cleavage. Between her modest, pale breasts was a nasty scar that covered up a branding belonging to the evil sect.
Adrian grunted with disappointment as he stepped back and aimed his bow at Poppy. The bow hummed as an arrow of light appeared on the bowstring.
This was a magic bow. A legendary relic of the past, whose origins dated back to the origin of time. Well, relic was no longer the proper term as it bore the seal of a dwarven craftsman.
Poppy reached for the daggers beneath her skirt. She did not know what her master had intended for her to do here, but she knew that a single misstep would cost her life. She was against a noble, one whose God's Stamps were visible even in the night's darkness.
"Poppy Sorna," like the true noble he was, overconfident with a smug grin, Adrian spoke. His voice pierced the night sky. "I hereby formally declare your death sentence. As the judge, jury, and executioner, your crimes are as follows: disturbing the graves of the dead; working for an evil sect; running from justice; and worst of them all—"
Adrian's smug expression faded as he bit his lips. Blood trailed down the corner of his mouth and between his fingers that held the bowstring. His eyes narrowed, and his tone came out hollow, yet full of suppressed anger.
"—Stealing the life of my precious older sister."
"Wait!" Poppy said, stepping back a little, staring down the arrow that was drawn at her. "What grave did I disturb?"
Adrian answered, not with words, but with his bow. He turned, just inches away from Poppy, and released his bowstring. The arrow flew. Flew faster than a shooting star in the night sky. It slammed into one of the graves with the force of a cannonball, shooting dirt and rocks into the air.
"…"
"…"
Both looked at the grave. One with shock, the other with a burning vengeance. Seeing what sat in the grave, the thought fully clicked in her head. This was why she was brought to this place. Everything that happened this day. It all connects to what was laid in that grave.
She was the princess in this play. The princess in distress for the unlikely hero to save her. That must have been what Korne had planned. But Korne, with his powers of foresight, could only operate within the confines of possibly. Meaning, fate was not predetermined.
In the grave, the grave meant for his sister, was a suit of armor. A bulky metal suit whose identity strikes fear into all those who recognize it. The invader's armor—most importantly, their leader.
Adrian pulled back his bow and glared at Poppy. An arrow of light, along with a green circle that surrounded him. He had cast a haste spell. Poppy gripped her daggers and lowered her stance. A circle of wind surrounded her, a guiding wind.
This crime was not hers, but that did not matter to him. Somebody had to pay for defiling his sister's grave with the armor of his sworn enemy. The armor of the man who currently hides in this village. A man who has connections to Korne. A servant of Korne. The dots connected in Adrian's head.
"What kind of sick joke is this?" he said. Poppy said nothing but studied him. "Well, if you want to play it that way, I'll make you suffer. Suffer a fate much worse than you caused my sister."
The fight began with an explosion, not from their battle, but from a distant building off in the distance, crumbling down. Whatever it was that fell, Poppy had no time to wonder as she dodged arrow after arrow.
Adrian was a skilled archer, skilled enough that his skill with a bow was his only redeeming feature. Each shot grazed Poppy's body, tearing flesh and cloth. Even with her wind guidance, his precision caused her to play on the defensive. She waited for an opening, as brief as it was, and threw a dagger. The wind led it towards him, but he simply knocked it down with the fanged end of his bow before returning to the arrow onslaught.
She gracefully moved towards him, taking only shots she knew would not be fatal. With a twist and a leap, she found herself behind him. But as she went for a strike to the back, he parried with his bow. He aimed for her hip, tearing flesh, ramming into her bone. He flipped the bow around and slashed at her thighs. Luckily, the blades hidden beneath her skirt deflected the attack, but the throbbing pain she felt in her hip forced her to fall back.
Adrian was not so kind as to let her create space. He shot three arrows in the blink of an eye. Her left shoulder, left elbow, and left hand. The arrows, not as strong as the arrow that flew into the grave, impaled themselves in her flesh. They burned hotter than anything she had ever felt, forcing her to let out an involuntary scream.
After a few moments, the arrows dissolved into the night sky. Poppy, standing at the fountain, glared at Adrian. He made no move. His sapphire eyes just stared at her, mockingly.
This was a hopeless battle. No one in their right mind would ever wish to pick a fight with a noble without the proper equipment, not especially one who had trained to fight the invaders. Poppy's body was torn. Her left arm was rendered useless. And she felt the effects of mana deficiency. In her pockets were mana stones, but they were a last-ditch option. She cursed her body, one cursed to be unloved by the deity.
If only he did not have that bow. Poppy thought.
It was wishful thinking that the bow was the only thing keeping him ahead. But that would be a foolish wish. Poppy could tell that even without the bow, she would have been easily taken care of had he not been toying with her. Poppy was not one to boast about her strength, but she believed she could take on a low-level noble. The issue at hand was that Adrian was not a low-level noble.
Nobles aren't just rich, money-grubbing fools that prey on the poor. They were loved by the deities. They were blessed with power far greater than that of the ordinary person.
Even if a person was blessed with the power to rival a god, not even the gods themselves are unkillable. Magic was a tool for the strong, just as weapons are a tool for the weak. One good hit. That was all she needed to take down this man.
Poppy, seeing that Adrian was waiting for her to make a move, grit her teeth and closed her eyes. She would make him regret his egotistical nature. The strong often overlook the minor details in the weak, and she'll make sure that minor detail will impact him for as long as he breathes.
She hated the nobles. Their carefree, tranquil lives. Their cockiness towards all they deemed meaningless. He was that little boy, living life peacefully, while she was forced to suffer at the hands of somebody else. Starved, beaten, used. He had never experienced that as a boy. That was why she struck that fateful day, tearing his sister apart, limb from limb. Keeping her alive until she was burned to death. This was her sin.
Blood trailed down her face. She felt burning pain from her God Stamps. The ground below her trembled as the wind wrapped itself around her. This was her final card. Dual casting chantless spells, she had no mana for. While the spells could be cast, they pulled energy from nearby sources. In her case, the mana stones were kept in her pockets. But even she knew that her body would pay the price.
Roots shot out from the ground, towering around Adrian. Like the wind, she disappeared. She bounced from root to root, increasing her speed rapidly. Adrian grinned as he pulled his bow back. He released the arrow.
"Hmpf!?" It flew wide as a root slammed into his back, staggering him. Poppy shot towards him, dagger in a reverse grip. She spun, thrusting the dagger into his right eye. "You bitch!" With a swift motion, he caught her arm and slammed her into the ground. He took his bow and rammed it into her abdomen. She had no strength left to scream as she pulled his bow out from her and held it high. As blood trailed out of his right eye, he glared at her with his left. Hate, malice, vengeance, she could sense it as he brought down the bow.
Sorry, Master and Judas. Those thoughts failed to leave her lips as she waited for death to grab her.
Death never came. Instead, something heavy rammed into Adrian, sending him flying backward. A suit of armor, one that should have been a symbol of fear, stood in front of her.
"Oh, great Lord Dazkareth." A priestly voice called out from the shadows as a hand reached out to Poppy. "Let this poor lamb's wounds be restored so that they may live a healthy life."
Poppy felt a warmth fill her body as her wounds seemed to close magically. This was different from the healing baths at the motel. This was the healing caused by a prayer.
After her wounds closed, she stood up with the help of the figure. A figure cloaked in black rags from head to toe. Her mana was still nonexistent, but her body felt rejuvenated. She had never heard of healing magic that could restore lost blood in a body.
Arrows of light rained down, each being blocked by the suit of armor. Adrian, in a blind rage, threw himself forward and engaged the armor in a melee brawl. They exchanged blows in rapid succession.
"You damn low-life scum. Just die already. Your tenacity is not impressive; it's nothing more than a desperate attempt to cling to hope. Get it through your damn head; nobody is gonna save you from your painful and meaningless existence beside me. So just kneel over already!"
In a flurry of words, he cursed out his target.
"DIE POPPY SORNA!" He roared.
"Huh!?" Poppy said in confusion. Did Adrian think that the suit of armor was her? Did he not see her standing just a few feet away?
She turned towards the figure who brought a finger to its lips. Illusion magic. The thought clicked immediately. Her savior was a demon. Not just any demon, either. From the way she spoke her prayer, only one demon could come to mind.
The figure shook its head after seeing the thirsty rage of the woman they had saved. "Can't be helped." She said as she ripped off the cloak that hid her appearance.
Long silver hair flowed down, past her shoulders, neatly resting on her purple and black dress. Crimson-colored eyes, peering deep into Poppy with a mix of curiosity and surprise. There was no mistaking this beautiful woman for anyone else from the demon world—Velantra Vaelshade, the sole member of her family.
She gave Poppy a charming smile as she snapped her fingers. An echoing sound rang out in the air as Adrian's bow flew and landed beside them. Adrian, panting heavily and drenched in sweat, fell to his knees. His armor was shattered, and the blood trailing from his missing eye stopped.
Before him was the invader's armor, seemingly damaged from the attacks by Adrian. It stood like a lifeless statue. Had she been controlling it somehow?
Velantra walked over to Adrian. His eyes widened with surprise as he seemed to just notice that Poppy and Velantra had been there the entire time.
"Well, now," Velantra said with as much grace and arrogance as Poppy expected from a noble. "Ready to talk now that you've calmed down?"