Berandor
lunatic
*Crunch*
The dark brown hoof presses the skin to the ground, breaking the underlying bones in the process.
Weak anger-filled eyes light up once more, before changing to an empty stare. Under a mask of white satin, a narrow mouth opens for the last time, and a final breath emerges where no intake will follow anymore.
The head rolls to the right, dangling loose above the broken neck, staining the right side of the face with mud. Suddenly the stomach deflates, and a low noise escapes the already dead body, whispering coarse promises of doom in the air.
"For killing me, you will die!"
A gust of wind sweeps the voice away, and the body falls limp.
Zhou Ling is dead.
---------------------------------------------
The guards were looking the other way. Slowly, she crept to the right and entered the main hall without a noise. As the door closed soundlessly behind her, she relaxed a bit. Fifteen minutes, before they would be back.
Dark eyes searched the room, then fixed on a small pedestal.
There it was. She glided over the floor, leaving no marks. Bending like a snake, she went over, under, and between the laser lights guarding the old treasures on display here.
When a slow grinding noise entered her ear, she froze for a moment, then turned her head to see in the direction it came from. There stood a guardian bird, turning its head around to scream at intruders. Just a few more inches, and she would be seen.
Cursing her bad luck, the burglar went through the short gestures of a spell. A minor time bubble appeared around the bird, freezing it for the next ten minutes or so.
She turned back to the task at hand. There it was, her goal for tonight - the dragon dagger.
It took only a blink of an eye to disarm the trap at the glass container around the dagger, and a slight smile crossed her lips. Tomorrow morning at the latest, the rightful owners of this relic would be in possession of the dagger again, and the world would come to know its beauty once more.
Of course, the proprietor of this private "museum" would be angry, but that was nothing she couldn't deal with.
Slow and carefully, she lifted the glass guarding the dagger, turning her waist to lay it on the floor, before she would take the dagger and be gone.
"For killing me, you will die!"
The voice shook her bones and caused her muscles to contract. The glass fell from her hands, shattering on the marble floor. A few rooms away, the guards looked up in alarm and started running towards the main hall.
She didn't notice. Her hands still trembled, and she bit on her lips in barely controlled rage. She stumbled a step forward, resting her right hand on the pedestal and shaking her head to clear her vision.
"Mother! They killed her."
The first guard entered the room, and she spun about, grabbing the dagger in the course and throwing it with uncanny grace. The relic entered the guard's right eye and exploded in white light. The guard burst into ashes, and the dagger glowed in unholy light as it fell to the floor. Before it struck the ground, however, it reappeared in her right hand.
The second guard dived back behind the door, deciding to wait for reinforcement.
She lifted the dagger to her eyes, and the blade shone in the light of the full moon falling through a high window.
"Interesting." Her voice sounded as if it wasn't really hers, so cool and without emotion. She put the dagger into her black leather belt, while she already went through the words of another spell. The moonlight stretched to comfort her, surround her, and dissolve her into glowing motes of silver.
"Just the right tool for taking revenge. Whoever killed my mother, will pay."
Her words echoed through the hall, and for a moment a small part of her wondered why she was so bent on revenge, when she hadn't known her mother at all?
And how did she know her mother's history?
And what had she been doing in the museum before the message came to her?
And what, exactly, was her name?
As the part of her that stood for love, and kindness, and helpfulness was pushed back and suppressed by Zhou Ling's final spell of darkest magic, it occured to the woman that it didn't matter.
Her true self didn't matter.
Her name didn't matter.
She was nothing like before - she was new altogether.
Bent to a single purpose.
She was Wrath.
The dark brown hoof presses the skin to the ground, breaking the underlying bones in the process.
Weak anger-filled eyes light up once more, before changing to an empty stare. Under a mask of white satin, a narrow mouth opens for the last time, and a final breath emerges where no intake will follow anymore.
The head rolls to the right, dangling loose above the broken neck, staining the right side of the face with mud. Suddenly the stomach deflates, and a low noise escapes the already dead body, whispering coarse promises of doom in the air.
"For killing me, you will die!"
A gust of wind sweeps the voice away, and the body falls limp.
Zhou Ling is dead.
---------------------------------------------
The guards were looking the other way. Slowly, she crept to the right and entered the main hall without a noise. As the door closed soundlessly behind her, she relaxed a bit. Fifteen minutes, before they would be back.
Dark eyes searched the room, then fixed on a small pedestal.
There it was. She glided over the floor, leaving no marks. Bending like a snake, she went over, under, and between the laser lights guarding the old treasures on display here.
When a slow grinding noise entered her ear, she froze for a moment, then turned her head to see in the direction it came from. There stood a guardian bird, turning its head around to scream at intruders. Just a few more inches, and she would be seen.
Cursing her bad luck, the burglar went through the short gestures of a spell. A minor time bubble appeared around the bird, freezing it for the next ten minutes or so.
She turned back to the task at hand. There it was, her goal for tonight - the dragon dagger.
It took only a blink of an eye to disarm the trap at the glass container around the dagger, and a slight smile crossed her lips. Tomorrow morning at the latest, the rightful owners of this relic would be in possession of the dagger again, and the world would come to know its beauty once more.
Of course, the proprietor of this private "museum" would be angry, but that was nothing she couldn't deal with.
Slow and carefully, she lifted the glass guarding the dagger, turning her waist to lay it on the floor, before she would take the dagger and be gone.
"For killing me, you will die!"
The voice shook her bones and caused her muscles to contract. The glass fell from her hands, shattering on the marble floor. A few rooms away, the guards looked up in alarm and started running towards the main hall.
She didn't notice. Her hands still trembled, and she bit on her lips in barely controlled rage. She stumbled a step forward, resting her right hand on the pedestal and shaking her head to clear her vision.
"Mother! They killed her."
The first guard entered the room, and she spun about, grabbing the dagger in the course and throwing it with uncanny grace. The relic entered the guard's right eye and exploded in white light. The guard burst into ashes, and the dagger glowed in unholy light as it fell to the floor. Before it struck the ground, however, it reappeared in her right hand.
The second guard dived back behind the door, deciding to wait for reinforcement.
She lifted the dagger to her eyes, and the blade shone in the light of the full moon falling through a high window.
"Interesting." Her voice sounded as if it wasn't really hers, so cool and without emotion. She put the dagger into her black leather belt, while she already went through the words of another spell. The moonlight stretched to comfort her, surround her, and dissolve her into glowing motes of silver.
"Just the right tool for taking revenge. Whoever killed my mother, will pay."
Her words echoed through the hall, and for a moment a small part of her wondered why she was so bent on revenge, when she hadn't known her mother at all?
And how did she know her mother's history?
And what had she been doing in the museum before the message came to her?
And what, exactly, was her name?
As the part of her that stood for love, and kindness, and helpfulness was pushed back and suppressed by Zhou Ling's final spell of darkest magic, it occured to the woman that it didn't matter.
Her true self didn't matter.
Her name didn't matter.
She was nothing like before - she was new altogether.
Bent to a single purpose.
She was Wrath.
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