Years of fighting have left both sides weary and tired, but neither one wants to admit it to the other. Instead, they continue on their eternal war, Light constantly pitching herself against Dark, as darkness chips away at Light's defenses.
One warrior in particular, a man of massive size that has fought for the gods of Light for generations, swings his mighty sword at his enemies. His muscles ripple with his movements, the clanging of his blade against another his batter cry. Golden eyes bear into the souls of those he is about to slay, their tainted blood coating his hands.
At his side, a fury of a woman, is Avalon Nighthawke. Her brown tresses have been pulled back tonight in a tight braid, her sapphire eyes so excited at the acts of war, they have darkened to black. With a thrilled laugh, she plunges the blade of her silver dagger into the heart of her opponent, smiling as she watched the surprised gleam in his fading eyes.
On and on, they go, dueling with the enemy in an abandoned building of New York city. As quickly as the bodies die, they fade away. One of Avalon's friends, a beautiful woman who shared her skill of daggers, fell. In a flash of soft, warm light, the body fades away, a warriors welcome awaiting her in the Netherworld.
Suddenly, the tide of battle changes. In a altering change of events, a blood curdling scream of a man in pain jerks everyone to a stop. Whipping her head around, she catches the sight of her master, her best friend, with a blade through his gut. As the attacker yanks his sword from Kanis's side, a wave of red tinted fury envelopes the mighty huntress. She lunges forward with every intent to slaughter the murderer, when arms pull her back.
"Get Kanis out of here." A voice urges here. "We'll handle everything here."
It takes a moment for her to understand the words, and to realize her true duty. Sliding her daggers in their sheaths at her waist, she wades through the pooling blood, scooping her fallen leader onto her shoulders. With the sounds of yells, blades, and the dying behind her, she forces herself away.
On his deathbed, with bandages wrapping his torso, Kanis Lucien takes what will be among his last breaths among the living. His golden eyes, once so full of life and love, are slowly dimming to a faded version of what they used to be.
"Avalon, my child." He groans, reaching his weak hand out to his adopted daughter. "Come. I have something I need to tell you."
The rest of the Wharriors of the household, three men and two women, part to allow Avalon to his side. Taking his hand, she forces the tears from her eyes as she looks upon her father for the last time. "Yes?"
In his hand, a pendant rests. The palm sized pentagram is warm, its silver metal glowing faintly with the last of Kanis's magic. With the passing of the pendant, it changes hue, taking on the aura of its owners magical energy. Changing from green to white, it does; emitting a gasp from the surrounding audience, for there has not been a white magician in over two hundred years.
"You are now the Leader of the Wharriors." When she goes to refuse, a hint of a stubborn light appears in his eyes. "It is a great honor. You deserve it."
The twenty one year old woman finally lets her tears fall. Kanis motions to a box. "Take these, send them out to the families."
Picking one up from the antique chest, she lifts open the thick parchment.
If you have received this letter, it means that I am no longer on this planet and that you, as well as all you hold dear, are in grave danger. I know you have questions, I understand. To get them answered, go to 270 4th Ave in the wealthy district of New York. Seek out Lady Avalon Nighthawke, and she will explain everything. Merry meet, and may the gods be with you.
Lord Kanis Lucien
When Avalon looked up again, through her tear ridden eyes, she saw the light leave Kanis Lucien's eyes, a smile on his lips.
We will win this war with you are our leader, she heard in her head. Lead them well.
With a soft light that reminded her of the coming dawn, his physical body faded away, returning to the Netherworld and into the arms of their diety.
© Copyright 2017 Salem Locke. All rights reserved.
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