"Civil War is the worst form of war known to mankind, where brother turns against brother, father against son, and neighbors on each other. No other form of war brings such misery and suffering." - Attributed to an unnamed historian.

The quote came unbidden to Halmout Mansoor's mind as he took measure of the situation he found himself in. Behind him stood princess Dinah Haroone, last survivor of the main line of the Al-Shan Empire's royal family, the sickly woman looked even paler than usual. With Halmout stood roughly a thousand men, warriors whose loyalty to their liege outweighed greed and temptation. They were all the loyalists he could assemble at the time, with others present but spread elsewhere in the archipelago.

Arrayed against them was an army over double their size, led by Salim bey Mansoor, Halmout's own nephew, who took the side of the usurper. The coup d'etat took everyone by surprise, made worse by the fact that a good portion of the military officials chose the usurper's side, whereas most of the loyal officials were put to the sword. The ones that survived were the ones who weren't in the capital when the coup happened. Halmout was on vacation with his family, and thanked his fortunes that he had kept the promise he made to his daughter.

The daughter that now stood beside the princess behind him and tried her best to encourage her in spite of the situation they were in.

"Surrender, uncle! You know resistance is futile! Hand over the princess and I shall plead for the Emperor's mercy for you!" Shouted Salim from across the field.

"May a pox claim you and your whoreson of a usurper, bastard nephew!" Shouted Halmout angrily in response. "We shall never yield the princess! Over our dead bodies!"

"You had your chance." Said Salim. "Commence attack."

At that moment Halmout felt the weight of his forty-five years of age, his hands gripped the curved saber so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was no warrior, that he had no illusion about, and he knew that should an enemy soldier reach him, all he could do was to sell his life as dearly as he could, in order to buy some time for his princess and family behind him.

They might have had a chance if the enemy was led by an incompetent buffoon of a commander, but while Salim had been dishonorably expelled from the army before, it was caused by his undesirable violent behavior, not due to incompetence. As much as Halmout would hate to admit it, his traitorous nephew is a competent commander at the very least. A competent commander with more than twice the men he had.

"Dear, please take Samira and the princess with you to safety." He said to his wife, though his tone of voice was more of a command. The frontmost lines had already begun to clash, blades and spears ended lives with abandon, no heed paid to who or what the man slain had been in life. The front held for now, but even Halmout could see that it would not have lasted for long.

"What about you, father?" Asked Samira, his daughter of merely fifteen tender years of age. If he had a choice he wished she would never have had to witness sights like war, but fate conspired otherwise.

"I will do what I can to buy time. Now go!"

"No, Father! Either you come with us or we won't go anywhere!"

"Samira, now is not the time to argue-" Halmout cut off his words as he saw his daughter's eyes widened at something that happened behind him, so he turned in panic, for he feared that the enemy had already advanced so far.

The sight that greeted him was something else entirely.

To the right flank of Salim's army, Halmout could barely spot that a lone slender figure in white had charged through the ranks, as many a soldier recoiled as the figure sent heads and body parts strewn everywhere in their wake.

Salim's army was professionally trained, however, and they quickly had a portion perform an about-face towards the new intruder, soldiers positioned to circle the intruder and attack them from all sides. While Halmout appreciated whoever it was that came to their aid, he also had no illusions as to what would happen should a lone soldier get encircled within the enemy formation, and gave a silent prayer in his heart for his unknown ally. He only hoped they would be able to buy them at least a little bit more time before their demise.

Instead, what happened next widened Halmout's eyes in disbelief, as the distant figure in white flew into a rage and literally demolished the soldiers that had encircled them with a long polearm. Blood splattered everywhere, and it was a lucky soldier that died with an intact body amongst those that faced the figure. By now the clash at the frontline had even stilled, as the disturbance caused by the intruder grew in magnitude. From his higher vantage point Halmout could see the figure - their attire now more red than white - as they cleaved a straight line through the enemy ranks, headed straight for Salim.

Salim's personal corps of guardsmen intercepted the figure before they could reach him. From the distance Halmout could only tell that it was a struggle, and that many an injury had landed on the figure of his as yet unnamed ally, yet the figure fought on, the injuries unheeded. Thrice Halmout saw how one of Salim's guards grappled the figure and had his allies stab through his body in an attempt to kill the figure. Thrice he saw the figure shrug off the attempt to kill them with contempt, and by now many of the regular soldiers on Salim's side visibly inched away from the figure as they struck down his personal guards to the last.

Halmout saw how Salim turned his horse and whipped the animal into a run, as the figure chased with inhuman speed behind him. He lost sight of the figure in the throng of enemy soldiers, but thought he saw a glimpse of a bloody hand that caught the edge of Salim's cape and pulled him off his horse. There was a short ruckus, followed shortly after by a triumphant roar that echoed through the now-stunned battlefield.

"Your conniving whoreson motherfucker of a leader is dead!" Yelled the figure, Salim's decapitated head affixed to the end of her polearm - for her voice identified the figure as a woman at last -, raised high for all to witness. The enemy soldiers nearest her nervously backed away from the woman that had just single-handedly slaughtered no less than two hundred of their compatriots. "Come at me if you want to keep him company in hell!" She added loudly.

The few higher-ranked soldier that remained - Salim's close confidants and high officers had fought in his defense and lay dead, in pieces - looked at one another, the woman with their leader's head raised on her polearm, and the loyalists, who had gotten a second wind after Salim's demise. They came wordlessly to an agreement and signaled a retreat, giving the blood-drenched woman in their midst a very wide berth as they did so.

A completely unexpected victory was handed to him by a stranger, so Halmout took it as his responsibility to at least thank the stranger, his approach covered by two loyalist soldiers who came to guard him in case they were needed.

Halmout did not get to talk before he gasped in shock as he took sight of the stranger.

The woman was tall and slender, her elven ancestry obvious with her pointed ears. Salim's head was still firmly entrenched at the end of her polearm. The polearm which she used like a walking stick with her one good arm as she limped towards Halmout.

It was her condition that made him gasp in shock. At least a dozen swords and spears were stuck in her flesh, while cuts all over her body and face exposed her flesh to the air and bled freely, practically every surface of her figure scoured without exception. A very deep cut went halfway into her left leg, which caused her to limp, while her left arm was nearly severed, as it hung merely by a sliver of skin and flesh that remained. He could even see her intestines threaten to spill out from the cuts in her abdomen, yet somehow stayed inside.

Halmout truly wondered how in the hells had the woman even survived all that? A question that answered itself a moment later as he caught sight of what seemed like a tendril of blood as it coiled around the nearly severed arm and helped keep it in place. A blood mage. He had heard stories, but that affinity was particularly rare in Al-Shan and he had never seen one before, until now that is.

"Is Dinah safe?" Asked the woman as she spat out some clotted blood to the side.

The part of Halmout that was the former minister that served two generations of emperors wanted to have chided the woman for such an informal address to royalty. His rational side reminded him that this woman had just most likely saved his life along with every other loyalist, at great personal cost, and thus demanded respect. He never got to reply to her either way as another figure cut in before he could.

"Cal!" Yelled the princess as she hugged the bloody woman. "What- How- Why are you here? Like this?"

Halmout gave a stern glare at the two men who had escorted the princess there, but he at least felt relieved that the woman seemed to have known princess Dinah on a personal basis, and thus unlikely to do them harm.

"I got the news late." Replied the woman. "Made best speed to where rumors placed you. Glad I'm not too late."

"But- your wounds! Why would you go this far!?" Dinah stammered in between sobs, her white clothes now stained with blood all over, yet the princess cared not.

"That's what friends are for, Dinah." Said the woman as she brought princess Dinah into an embrace with her one arm. "Besides, it'll heal after a while."

As Halmout digested the scene before him, he could not help it as he juxtaposed the image with that of an old painting he saw before, that of a princess in white in a gentle embrace with a demonic figure covered in blood.