Regrets of The Fallen (Victis Honor Book 1) (2 page)

Her grey eyes examined the girl
who shook with fear; it was unlikely that she would attack anyone under ordinary circumstances. Eyes filled with tears. Sad? Hands covered in blood but not her blood, she had no injuries. Family death? Parents, probably. She looked shaken. Both parents? If one were alive they’d have a hold on her. A new orphan, then. This wasn’t new, wasn’t unusual; Isabella had created many orphans. But something was wrong this time, different. That wall that kept all her emotions away had finally cracked. Unfortunately that had other effects, as well.

This new freedom is interesting, isn’t it? We should do something with it!

Let me have more control! I refuse to let you continue this slaughter!

Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!
Isabella began to panic as the voices started to overwhelm her.

The slaughter is the best part! Kill the girl while the others are watching, I’d like to see their reactions.

This is the last time your sinful influence shall be allowed!

The voices in her head were louder now. Both of them yelled at her, tearing at her psyche, her mind, her soul. She gripped her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth as if she could shut them up that way. The little girl was scared, even asked what was going on. Nearby soldiers asked Isabella if she was okay, but she couldn’t answer either of them.

The two additional “personalities” in her mind fought for control and their struggle shredded everything Isabella had built up. It was finally too much; she’d done this for too long. Her mind simply couldn’t take the strain anymore, and finally, that wall shattered.

Her scream was one of anguish, the sound of not only physical or emotional pain, but the pain of the soul. The soldiers and the little girl jumped back in terror and surviving rebels stared at her from their hiding places, neither group knowing what to think. Isabella fell to her knees, trembling. It felt like her mind was being pulled at by wild dogs, her soul being torn piece by piece. The pain was excruciating, but the worst part was that she felt…
she felt it… for them.

Emotion; that powerful force she’d ignored for so long refused to go unheard now. Her grey eyes opened, no longer devoid of emotion but full of it, overcome by it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the face of every person she’d ever killed flew past her eyes. The dam had broken and she had no idea how to close it again; her mind was too damaged, now, for such control. She fought for breath, fought the feelings of horror and fear and… guilt.

Guilt. She’d killed so many. She brought her hands down, looking at the blood covering her golden gauntlets. Only now did she realize it had bothered her all along, she’d simply shut it out. It was like she’d just awakened from a nightmare and realized everything she’d done was real. Her gaze darted around the town, taking in the burning and collapsing buildings, the blood, the bodies in the streets, the young girl. Men, women, children, animals, every living thing was bleeding or burning, and it was caused by her hand.

This was all too much for the little girl, who took off running in fear. The soldiers raised crossbows, taking aim at the small running form as if they were hunting a deer. Isabella moved before she could think about it, pulling the simple, almost crude iron sword from the ground, the one the girl had attempted to kill her with, and dash
ed forward as a blur, appearing in front of the men as if from out of nowhere. The one in front’s eyes widened, his surprise almost causing him to shoot her. “Knight-Comman-“

Her scream of rage and pain cut him off. His blood, and that of the other two with him, sprayed into the air as their now-lifeless bodies hit the ground. Every eye turned to her in shock. Her grey eyes were full of hatred and sorrow now, along with a new madness, and still the tears hadn’t stopped. Her body was shaking as her shoulders rose and fell with her deep, ragged breathing. None of them had seen her like this before; no one had ever seen The Golden Butcher break.

She moved like lightning, cutting her way through more soldiers. Eventually they realized they had to fight back, that she was mad, but it didn’t matter and they knew it. She destroyed them without difficulty, hacking each one down whether they resisted or not. At the end of it she stood in the middle of a pile of bodies, dripping with blood and panting heavily. The iron sword in her grip had chinks and dents but it had held strong.

The survivors of the town came out slowly, staring at her in fear and confusion. None of them knew what to think and she couldn’t tell them as she was as lost as they were. Iron sword still gripped in her hand, Isabella turned and scanned the town. She found the little girl beside her parents’ bodies, as she expected. She knelt down, ripping her cape from her back and laying it over the bloody forms. The girl watched her nervously, but after a moment they both simply watched the blood soak into the cape until not a trace of white was left.

After several minutes, Isabella lifted her cape again, staring at its new, blood-red color. She hooked it back to her armor, giving the girl a final look. She had nothing to say and briefly considered taking the girl with her, but she knew the survivors here would give her a far better life...so she left her. She left her and she started walking, leaving the town and walking for a day straight, making no stops. She was met at her city with confusion, having arrived covered in blood and with no soldiers, but she gave no explanations to anyone.

She walked straight through the city to the keep and walked in without pausing for a step. Lord Faust met her in the hall, confusion written on his own face. “Isabella…? What is this? Have you…” He trailed off as he noticed the look in her eye and the fact that she was continuing towards him, sword in hand. He backed up a step, but before he could call the guards Isabella moved.

The iron sword pierced the king’s chest, erupting out his back as if it met no resistance. His eyes widened in shock as she lifted him bodily into the air with bared teeth and a glare full of hatred. She then turned and threw him off the sword and through the keep’s doors. The wood splintered outward and his body hit the road outside, bouncing a ways before coming to rest.

Soldiers and citizens alike stared in surprise and horror, looking from the body to Isabella as she stepped back out into the sunlight. No one made a move to stop her as she walked down the road past the lifeless body of her former king. She continued past hundreds of curious onlookers, guards and soldiers, all of them moving out of her way and making no attempts to say anything to her. It was just as well, as no one had any idea what to say.

She made her way along the road and continued out of the city heading east. Isabella of Two Faces left the country of Areya and did not look back.

“I always wondered why people would complain about life so much and do nothing about it.”

The two assassins drew too
much attention in the tavern downstairs, so they spoke in the room they had rented on the second floor, in the comfort of privacy. Night had fallen outside on the town of Stahl and Haruka stood at the window, watching the last light of the sun fade. She was a tall woman, just over six feet in height. Her brown hair was waist-length, straight and silky with bangs across her forehead above her green eyes. Though she was an elf, her ears were small and round, as were those of most elves. She looked like a slender human; only High Elves had the sharp features and long ears that stereotypes often included.

She had a stern and serious appearance, her body hard and fit. She was easily thought attractive, but her stance and attitude warded off most potential pursuers. She wore a long ankle-length green coat with three-quarters sleeves over a similarly-c
olored tunic; both were a dark green with cream-colored accents. On her hands were matching fingerless leather gloves with hard bracers over the back of her hands and forearms, with a gap over the wrist so it could bend easily.

The most identifying mark on her was the tattoo of
a black sun on her right wrist, the symbol of the Black Sun Monastery, visible in that gap between the bracer pieces. Her partner, a younger woman with blonde hair and a similar outfit, bore the same tattoo in the same spot. This was Sarya, a less-experienced yet harsher monk who took a little too much enjoyment from assassination for Haruka’s comfort, as to her it was just a profession. At the moment she spoke of their target, but it didn’t really matter; it was some politician with no fighting ability. His guards were the only obstacle and they’d be able to deal with those easily enough if things went as expected.

After the
y had gone over the details yet again, Haruka turned to her partner, nodding her head towards the window. “Walk,” she said, receiving a nod in response. She opened the window and dropped silently out of it. The town of Stahl was fairly large and, at the moment, colorful; apparently they were celebrating some sort of festival this week.

Almost every buildi
ng in Stahl was made of wood but very well constructed, each two or three stories tall. Colored paper lanterns were strung up between them on long wires giving the town a friendly and welcoming feel. Larger lanterns with intricate designs hung in intersections of the town’s dirt roads. Haruka walked through the town towards the lake; she’d always been partial to water and she wanted to see if it had been decorated as well.

She was impressed once she arrived on the shore, seeing that they had floating colored lanterns all across the lake, as well as colorful lights decorating the piers and nearby gazebo
, causing the water to reflect the colored lights in a pleasing manner. The gazebo itself was interesting due to the banners streaming from it; it would, she assumed, be used in some part of the festivities. On her way to investigate the gazebo she heard coughing coming from inside, increasing her curiosity.

Inside the small white-wood construct her eyes caught a lone woman who immediately drew her attention for reasons she couldn’t identify at the moment. She was a little shorter than Haruka
(about six feet even) and softer, but there was both an underlying weakness and strength in her, in the way she moved, that gained Haruka’s respect. She had dark blue hair, thick and long, that curled gently about her neck and shoulders. Her skin was lightly tanned as if she spent most of her time travelling.

She wore a simple golden robe, but on her hip was a belt that held two swords; one was a large broadsword with a grey
cross hilt and handle. Oddly enough it was tied into its dark brown scabbard with wrapped bands of grey cloth in a way that prevented it from being drawn easily. Beside the broadsword, slipped through a belt loop with no sheath of its own, was a contrastingly simple - almost crude - iron sword that bore many chips and marks.

The woman turned towards Haruka as she entered the gazebo, grey eyes (with an
oddly  deep appearance) landing on her as a smile appeared on her lips. “Hello,” she greeted softly. Haruka had identified her as a warrior instantly, but she looked tired, gentle even. “I don’t recognize you, and I’m pretty good with faces.”

“Visitor,” Haruka answered, inspecting the woman more closely.

She didn’t seem to notice the analyzing, or at least she ignored it. “Oh, so am I. Did you come to Stahl for the festival?” she said with a curious tilt of her head.

Haruka found her endearing already, which was fairly unusual. She shook her head. “Business.”

“I see. Well you should take advantage of the festival while you’re here; I hear it’s pretty enjoyable.”

The monk gave a shrug. “Perhaps.”

The woman smiled in amusement. “You don’t talk very much, do you?”

Haruka blushed slightly, avoiding her eyes. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s kind of cute actually,” she said with a soft laugh, increasing Haruka’s blush. “Can you at least tell me your name? I’m Isabella Enyo.”

Isabella
. It was a fitting name, she thought; it had a soft, classical sound, as opposed to her harsh name. “Haruka Saito,” she answered. She wasn’t sure why she gave her real name; it wasn’t a normal practice of hers, especially while on a mission, but for some reason this woman made her want to be honest.

“Haruka Saito,” Isabella repeated, as if trying out the name on her tongue. She gave her a smile. “I like it. It fits you, Haruka Saito.”

Haruka raised an eyebrow. “Fits?”

“Sharp, dangerous… A name for a fighter,” Isabella said with a smile, and Haruka felt in that moment that Isabella could read every detail of her. “But it also has a lot of promise.”

She frowned in confusion. “Promise?”

“Haru,” she said with a nod, mentioning Haruka’s nickname. “Ruka.” She then gave a happy smile. “Ruki!”

Haruka blinked. “Ruki?”

“It’s cute,” Isabella responded. “And I see no one says it, so it goes unseen.” Her grey eyes gave her a more serious look. “Just like that side of you.”

Haruka looked away. She didn’t know
what
this woman was talking about, she really didn’t. As far as she knew the ‘sharp, dangerous’ side was the
only
side of her. She looked back to the blue-haired woman after a few seconds to see her staring out over the lake now. She was glad for that; the woman’s gaze had been a little intense. “Yours?”