TWO3DELTA

Sitting amongst a battlefield, a lone soldier sat. She was made of human blood and flesh. She hated the sounds of the fire as they crackled, the mountainous flames rising to ever grander heights than before. She looked around as the flames continued to raze the land, watching as it burned the home she had just come back too, only to find it destroyed. The people who attacked, she knew not their names, nor their faces. She had come back to find what remained of her family, but all she uncovered were ashes of those who were unfortunate enough to be in the village.

The forest that had once sat here now coated the ground, ashes upon ashes, burned wood upon burned wood. The wind howled as she held her umbrella, it hanging uselessly by her side as it no longer rained. The smoke hung in the air, choking the life out of what little remained. She held her breath, the smell of charred corpses was making her gag. She had seen death before, the memories of her past drawing her back to her days of fighting. Now, she only yearned for the peace and quiet of the country life, not the war and roars of fighting.

Even now, as she stood there among the gray powder that littered the ground, she could hear the screams of the dead, the fire snuffing out what little was left. She tried not to cry as she looked upon her family home, the only thing remaining was the outmost shell of the house, allowing her to look through the house, watching as the flames ate everything. She cried, the floodgates having opened, her tears running rapid, forming streams that flowed down her face. The saltiness of her tears and the smoke having been inhaled, she started to have a coughing fit, the gruff sounds coming out of her mouth at an frantically fast pace.

Crying and coughing, the two intermixed, the morose melody reveraberating within the valley, the mountaintops being the only witness to such a terrible situation. Try as she might, the mix didn't end until she heard what was coming. The silent symphony of voices gradually growing louder and louder, chanting words that radiate bloodlust. The sounds of chain boots scraping against the dusty ground, the miniscule clangs as swords bounced in sheathes, the heavy pounding of the beasts bred for war, their riders howling for blood.

Shakily, the woman stood, her rough breathing mixed in with the blood that rushed to her ears. She sighed as she rubbed her ears absentmindedly, the chanting growing longer and louder. She thought about when she was a fighter, and shuddered at the thoughts. She wanted to escape the life of killing, she had wanted to stop taking away the lives of men who fought only for what thet believed was right.

She fought on only because she demonized the enemy, because it was easier than facing the truth that what they did was wrong. She demonized them only because if you believe that the enemy is evil, then killing them is no longer as bad a burden. But she knew, deep down within her, she was meant to be a warrior. She picked up her umbrella, and called out the name of it, "Spera."

The umbrella growed brightly, changing into a blade of the darkest black, the blade shining in the flames of war. She had never used it before, the blade having been given to her by her father, moving from generation to generation. The calls of blood grew louder, and she felt herself changing along with it. She felt the emotions leave her, the only thing remaining was a emotionless face of neutrality, one that showed that she had no problems with the task that lay before her.

The bloodthirsty mongrels had approached her, and eyed her cautiously. Good, they should be. She chuckled cruelly at her own thoughts. She looked past the grunts of the army, towards where the leader sat, upon his beast of war. She locked her eyes with him, his cold demeanor replaced with the fear of the unknown. He feared her, and she hadn't even done anything. He eyed her, the sword in her hands, and the flames that razed the land behind her.

Then the wind blew into the area, knocking everyone aside like chess pieces. He looked back to where he last saw her, finding nothing but flame. He shivered as he felt cold, even as flames roared around him. He cried out hysterically as he felt the coldness of a blade press against his neck. He turned, and blackness enveloped him.

She sighed heavily, and chanted a mantra too herself as she walked away, "There is war in peace, as there is peace in war."