Wicked Ways (Solo)

[Valentina L. Snow]

((For those of you who never got to read Never Forgive Me, Never Forget Me, a lot of this will seem strange or confusing. Just roll with it for now, I promise I won’t make a lot of references.))

It had all started with a strange dream. In the dream, much the same as in her waking life, Valentina had gone to bed beside her sister. She had left the balcony door open, allowing a chill breeze to sweep through the room, and went to sleep watching the curtains flutter wistfully on each small gust. This is where things changed. The wind picked up. Harder, colder, and reeking of stale air, it whipped her hair about her head and grew stronger still. Undoubtedly curious, she’d sat up. Unsurprised by the supernatural or worse, Valentina’s eyes drifted to her red-haired sibling, still peacefully asleep beside her, hair still, breathing calm, as if she felt nothing at all.

Having decided it was just the wind growing strong, Valentina left her bed, the chill air gripping her naked form almost as if it were tangible. As she walked toward the door that she assumed closing would quell the wind, she was suddenly yanked from the ground and outside. She shot through the air, tugged by a force that she could not see and couldn’t understand. Below her, the city was still alive, lights shone, the world went on, unnoticing of the woman being pulled along in the sky. The speed grew and grew stronger still until at last she was unable to keep her eyes open. That’s where she got lost.

When Valentina awoke, the air was still cold, stale, but now still. The floor beneath her was not the hard-wood of her apartment but cold, slightly damp stone. Surprised and ashamed to admit slightly afraid, she rose and looked hurriedly about her. She found herself in a tunnel. Long and strangely familiar. At the farthest end was flickering light that hardly lit anything that could be discerned, but at her back is what made it all settle in. A door. Inoccuous and unmarked, it sat closed, it’s handle coated in a thin layer of dust. With a furrowed brow, Valentina eyed the door suspiciously, unsure if she was still dreaming. It was the very door that had allowed her to return home. A portal opened by the fallen Angel Creed, who had attempted bringing an army to Althanas in hopes of ruling. He’d failed, Valentina contributing to the downfall with the aid of a man she considered her worst enemy: Renneau Aequitas. United against a common foe, it was down the very tunnel in which she stood that she tossed Creed’s lifeless body, allowing him passage back to Blackfield. The tunnel that was in fact a pit. Where all the other corpses that had no doubt been lost to its depths went was no concern of hers, as Creed was dead in both worlds now.

“This… makes no sense,” she told herself, the statement echoing back on her almost mockingly. Without pause, she put her hand upon the door and twisted the knob. She pulled, but it did not open, and so she pulled again, harder, and stumbled back, her hand having slipped from the knob. Already far too confused in the situation, she allowed herself to trip over her own feet and fall backwards. When she reached back with her left arm, there was nothing there to brace herself. Her body flopped to the stone floor, and in the darkness, Valentina’s eyes went to her arm, as did her hand. Her claw was gone, leaving her with but a couple inches of stump below her elbow. The final gift of the very man she’d joined up with to stop Creed. None of it made sense.

“Alluria!” she called, trying to summon the shadow being that created the arm. Normally silent, as it was Valentina’s fault she was relegated to such a position, it was in neither of their benefit for her to simply leave.

Valentina called the name once more, and upon receiving no response decided to hunt her down herself. Attempting to conjure forth a shadow portal in order to enter the domain that Alluria called her own. However as she stood there, trying to activate a skill she’d grown quite accustomed to, it was frustratingly out of her reach, as if she’d never known it at all. It was about there that an uncontrolled whimper escaped her mouth. A moment of absolute panic that she hadn’t felt since before her “rebirth”. She started toward the mouth of the tunnel, a brisk walk at first, then a jog that turned finally into an all-out sprint. Valentina had almost completely forgotten the strange change at the lip of the tunnel, where the thing she had been running in became a pit, and the world suddenly righted itself around her. Disoriented, she stumbled, but caught herself on a simple stool that screeched slightly as it held her weight.

Around her, eternally lit torches still burned with strange, dull glows, and her keen eyes could spy the blood that still stained the chamber. The stool on which she leaned held strange memories as she spied a streak of crimson that trailed down a leg. The body of he woman she killed had been moved. Taken, no doubt by her lover, who, if ever informed that Valentina was back on Althanas, would certainly make it a point to track her down.

“Hello?!”

She sighed, her voice echoing back upon her in a cacophonic drone. As if she’d never seen any horror movies before. Shouting was always how someone got found and killed, but even then, there was nobody. What remained of several bodies lingered in the chamber stands, some of which still upright, as if watching the newly returned guest at the bottom. Valentina didn’t linger. The path from the depths of the almost innocuous cathedral that the pit inhabited was still laid bare, the cold steps having not been traversed for some time. As she got higher and higher, it grew brighter. Unfiltered light seeping into the building from outside. Before long, she found herself in the church foyer. With almost nostalgic glances about the building, Valentina took it all in. The stained glass eye that stared out over the small town it seemed to dominate was shattered, and she knew why. Without even having to move, Valentina stared out of the large, splintered wooden doors that composed the church entrance to spy a body in the road. A strangely untouched corpse, one that had not seen decomposition, or even the touch of a carrion bird or worm. Renneau Aequitas’ body still lay in the blood soaked streets of Haven, untouched by time.

Cautiously, she strode out of the great stone building, eyes locked on the body before her. As she came closer still, she almost half expected him to rise, another one of his great tricks upon her, but he didn’t, and at his side, she knelt, analyzing him and the grievous wounds that ended his life. His left eye was gone, torn free by the claw he created in chopping off her hand, his shoulder was missing a large portion of flesh, bitten off in the brawl before his near-escape. But none of those were his end. Glancing back over her shoulder, Valentina saw the broken window, the shards of multi-colored glass that lay strewn around his body. That was her final gift to him. A quick death. She did not disturb the body. Simply rose and continued on. Other corpses still remained, none of which were decomposed, save for the malformed skeletons that were no doubt all that was left of the creatures she fought alongside as she took the town, and attempted to kill Renneau and all he sought to save.

Despite the subtle fear that still gripped her, Valentina looked knowingly upon the corpses of those she knew died by her hand, and by Plagueblade. Men cleaved in twain, skulls smashed in and limbs sent sprawling in opposite directions. It was her first large-scale battle. She recalled the fear of her first charge. The exhilaration at the slaughter she presented to the townsfolk of Haven. It seemed so long ago. Her life had become so quiet in Blackfield. Living the closest thing to a quiet, simple life as she could have hoped for in her days before becoming a monster. She could barely remember the last person she killed, or, even then, the last she ate.

The sun was rising over Haven, the trees of Corone that encircled the town glinting with new, green leaves of spring, and yet the town itself was frozen. Lost in what could’ve been the very moment she’d left. It all made no sense, that is, until she saw movement on the outskirts. The shape of a man. An armored man. As she started toward the edge of the town’s one main road, far from the church, the shape became a clearly defined figure, one who hadn’t yet noticed her, but instead seemed to be completing a morning ritual. One that would be suddenly interrupted.

“Hey! You there! What’s going on here? Who are-”

“By the light!” exclaimed the man, nearly jumping out of his armor. He stared at Valentina, shamelessly eying the body she had forgotten was still very much unclothed. He seemed mildly distraught, but it was not at her stump, nor at her nudity. But something else.

“You’re her, aren’t you? You’re… Valentina,” the man said, seeming overcome with a strange sort of awe and fear. “Oh, God. You’re her.”

And with those words, he fled into the woods, oddly nimble despite his plated armor. Uncomprehending of the situation, Valentina gave chase, making her way toward the treeline before slamming suddenly into an unseen force that sent her careening to the ground. She rose swiftly, growling as she glanced angrily about, hoping to find some feeble wizard that had played some trick on her, but there was none. She was alone once again. Tentatively outstretching her only remaining hand, Valentina found that it struck something smooth and solid. An invisible wall. She knocked upon it, but there was no sound. Hit it, and made no sign of progress or damage at all. That was one thing she hated about Althanas: magic.

Seemingly trapped in the town, she’d called out to whomever it was that seemed so shocked to see her, but got no response. It wasn’t until she had decided to return to the church and attempt the door once again that the forest bustled with noise, her attention being caught once again. From the trees came what appeared to be an entire platoon of men. Soldiers garbed in glistening silver armor adorned with crimson cloaks and golden, dangling chains and symbols. All of which stood on either side of a large man with even more gaudy and decorated armor, a gleaming helm held in the crook of his arm. He looked at her with disdain and hatred, disgust on his face.

“Welcome back to Althanas, demon. Allow me to be the first to tell you that you are, in fact, trapped in that forsaken town. I will also tell you that, as a Paladin of the highest order, I have been responsible for the cleansing of many filthy, impure women in my life, but never before have I gazed upon a more wretched and pitiful harlot.”

The men around him laughed. All of them. A horrible, echoing thunder of derision and taunts. It struck deep. Reminding her of that timid little girl she once was. The one lost deep inside of the beautiful body she know held that wanted to make it collapse in tears.

“It has also been imparted on me that I am to inform you of one other thing: You have been brought here for a reason.”

Through clenched teeth, Valentina asked simply, “What’s that?”

And with a reply that was as haughty and confident as the man who spoke it, he said, “So you aren’t there to stop us as we destroy your world.”

[Valentina L. Snow]

Despite Valentina’s first reaction to charge blindly at the man and attack him, Valentina was not dumb. A wall still separated them, though invisible, so she kept her rage in check.

“Destroy my world? How do you plan to do that?”

The tall commander shook his head, grinning faintly to himself. His teeth were impeccably white and straight, and Valentina wanted nothing more than to kick them out of his head.

“Perhaps you’ve noticed that your door no longer opens? And, though you are unable to use them in the shield, your portals will not allow you any entrance to your world. Do you know why? Because we took them. Your way home is now our path to conquest.”

Chuckling, Valentina shook her head, and the commander only seemed to grow even more confident.

“I know why you are laughing. You believe technology will be their savior,” he stated simply, brushing a strand of long, black hair from his face. “This is an ancient battle, girl. And an ancient battle will be fought on an ancient battlefield. There will be no technology. Only claws and steel and blood.”

What little humor Valentina had about the situation began to fade. This was not how she expected her return to Althanas, if she ever decided to make one willingly. There was, currently, no way for her to do anything, that she saw. Her arm was missing, her clothes and weapons lost in portals she couldn’t open, and worst of all, she was trapped.

“Pray I don’t get out of this thing, Paladin. Pray to whatever Gods you worship,” she hissed, red eyes narrowing on him.

“Oh, I do. I know full-well what you are capable of, and that is why we made sure you ended up here, trapped inside of that bubble. Perhaps you remember our friend Justice? He was a spy. We found him deep within a secret passage underground, having given up what little of his life remained to form this bubble around the town. Your magicks are negated in there, and because of the nature of your… origins, you are trapped like a rat in a cage. Only you have no viable food, as these corpses of the fallen are protected, and what trifles remained in the town when the refugees fled are no longer edible.”

The commander took a deep breath, appearing far too proud of himself as he slid his gleaming helm back upon his head. The metal obscured all but a pair of blue eyes that stared at Valentina with utter disdain.

“You cowards. Watching me starve as opposed to fighting me? What’s the worry?”

Valentina had hoped her taunts would inspire a scene of bravado. Perhaps they’d be foolish enough to let her out of the shield and allow her to regain her powers. It was a long-shot, but she hoped.

“Like I said, girl, I’m fully aware of what you are capable. Do not play us for fools.”

“What I’m capable of?!” Valentina screamed, clenching her one fist tightly. “You know nothing! Imagine your families. All of you. Imagine your wives and your children. When I get out of here I will find them all. I will find them and I will peel flesh from their bodies. I will devour portions of them you didn’t even know could be eaten! Do you hear me!? When I’m out of here I will destroy every single thing you hold dear!”

Valentina’s shrieking left her red in the face. For a long time she hadn’t needed to rely on threats to get her point across. But given the situation, she had very few other options. Their reaction, a grim silence, left her mildly pleased. However, it wouldn’t last.

“You believe so? Well, it just so happens one of my children is right here. Perhaps you should attempt to do so,” the commander bellowed teasingly. He rapped his plated knuckles upon the breastplate of the man next to him, and he stood forward.

“This is my boy. Rupert Magnus the second. He will come at you unarmed.”

The men began to chatter to themselves, but only briefly, their soldier’s discipline kicking in immediately. The commander’s son removed his helm, revealing a strong face and hair similar to his father’s. He set the steel helm to the ground and then removed the sword at his hip, driving its tip into the dirt before stepping nonchalantly past the invisible border that separated Valentina from the contingent of paladins.

“You just made a huge mistake, kid,” she hissed, starting toward him with cat-like grace. Her lack of clothing and a hand would not stop her. Not after the humiliation she had already suffered.

“Come, then, wench.” the younger Magnus stated blandly, walking toward her as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Valentina stepped in close, throwing a swift right hook at the boy’s head. She didn’t need both of her arms if the hit connected. She’d devoured hundreds of people in her lifetime, their strength adding to hers exponentially over the years. One solid hit would be all it would take. When her fist collided with him, however, he did not reel. There was not the familiar sound of a shattering jaw or a breaking neck, but an unfamiliar jolt of pain that shot up the entirety of her arm. The surprise of her sudden lack of strength or her legendary threshold for pain was nothing compared to the sudden blow of metal knuckled to her lower ribs. Every ounce of air was launched from her body, and with nothing more than a whimpering gasp, she collapsed to her knees, trying desperately to breathe again. Without pity, the paladin sent a boot colliding with her side, sending her sprawling onto her back.

“Peel my flesh, demon!” he taunted driving his boot into her back as she curled up, vainly trying to avoid the blows that hurt more than she’d ever imagined it could. It was so long since she’d known pain. Since before she’d begun cannibalizing her fellow man. It hurt so bad, and not just physically. Over the sounds of clanging plate metal and the blows to her back, she heard the deep guffaws of the men watching, her assailant’s father among them. They didn’t see an armored man beating up a helpless, naked woman, but the monster they’d heard so many stories about. But without her powers, which was she now? The former or the latter?

“Please…” she managed to whimper, breath coming to her lungs despite the many hits she kept taking. Rupert heard her and ceased his attack, instead kneeling and grabbing her firmly by the hair. He lifted her like a hunter would a prize kill, and she was simply too beaten to fight back.

“This is the great Valentina Snow! Devourer of men! See her now? See how she weeps and pleads for her life!”

The commander laughed and clapped his metal hands together, the other paladins joining in. She wasn’t weeping until that part.

“What’s the matter, girl? Did that hurt?” the younger Magnus teased, turning her to face him. “Be glad we’re holy men. You are not ugly, that is certain. Not yet, at least.”

Snickering, he threw her to the ground, and she curled there in the dirt, trying vainly to cover her tears with her remaining arm. All the while, Rupert Magnus the Second was greeted like a hero, patted on the back and given knowing nods, and orders were given to keep her watched at all times.

“And if she tries to leave your sight, remind her of the beating my boy gave her today. I’m returning to Alabaster to begin preparations for the invasion. As it stands, Rupert is in charge of the camp.”

“I won’t fail you, father,” the eager to please son said firmly. The commander took one last look over his shoulder at Valentina’s curled, sobbing form and laughed.

“I’ll give my regards to your sister,” were his last words before returning to the depths of the forest, and every ounce of her wanted to kill him and his son, but all she could do was lay there and cry, silently apologizing to her sister, her lover, that she believed she’d never see alive again.

[Valentina L. Snow]

The first day Valentina spend back on Althanas, she sat on the very patch of dirt upon which she got her ass kicked, staring at the two paladins that had been left in charge of watching her. Most of the others had given up on finding her interesting as she no longer had much fight left in her, thus the task was left to the youngest and most inexperienced among them. Both kept their helms on, remained rigid and calm, as if having only recently been trained and whipped into behaving as soldiers should. They did not converse with one another until their superiors had returned to the camp that lay somewhere within the woods, and even then they remained curt, professional, as if putting on a show for her. She didn’t care.

Sitting with her legs hugged to her chest, Valentina simply watched them. Reading their movements and their expressions whenever she could glance their faces within their ornate silver helms. Though she appeared beaten, and felt pretty much the same, a rage burned deep inside of her. A hatred that overrode any fear or worry she may have felt for her home. She’d find a way out. No matter how long it took, she’d find a way out.

The hours went by, and day slowly turned into a cold, unforgiving night. The thin clouds that had peppered the sky earlier became black monstrosities, spilling a torrent of rain onto them all. At some point during the start of the storm, some men from the camp arrived with supplies for their whipping boys. Enough to set up a tent and a fire. They were not being relieved. And sleeplessly, Valentina watched them. One going to sleep and the other staying up until they switched partway through, and when morning came, they resumed their posts, though weariness had already taken its toll. They conversed openly and without concern for their silent, shivering watcher. Spattered with mud and still huddled tight, they only gave her casual glances as if to make sure she was still there. This went on again and again for several more days, their attention upon her slowly waning. That is, until she stood.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the guard on the left asked, kneeling down to grab a resting spear.

Wobbling on her feet, Valentina sighed, giving the guard an exasperated look.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she stated lifelessly. The paladin shook with a silent chuckle.

“You aren’t leaving our sight,” he said, the other guard sighing softly.

“Just let her go, Karl. There’s nothing she can do in there anyway.”

The guard on the right, apparently named Karl, removed his helm and tossed it angrily to the ground, causing Valentina to cringe noticeably at the act. If he reacted that way so easily, another beating was sure to come.

“And I say she’s not leaving our sight! If you’re going to the bathroom, you go in the mud like any other bitch!”

Valentina swallowed hard and shook her head, barely managing to keep her tears at bay.

“I’m already naked. I’m bruised, I’m defeated. Do you have to humiliate me more than you already have?”

He said no more. Opting instead to nod and point the tip of the spear in her direction.

“I’ll hold it, then.”

Not but a moment before Valentina had almost resumed her position on the ground, the paladin had stormed past the invisible barrier, swinging the blunt end of the spear violently into her ribs. She had screamed as she returned to the very same spot she had found herself but a few days prior, curled up, being beaten. This time, however, it ended quickly. There was no accompanying laughter. When her red eyes opened, Karl was being dragged back by the other guard, who seemed furious. Once they had left the dome, Karl was tossed to the dirt, the other paladin standing above him menacingly, a primal act of dominance.

“Go for a walk, Karl.”

“The commander told us we could beat her! I am simply reminding her who-”

“Go!”

Without another word, Karl rose, brushed himself off, and stormed into the woods. With a heavy sigh, the other guard strolled toward the barrier and removed his helm, revealing a cold face with kind green eyes. He wore no beard and no moustache, but had a mop of brown hair that escaped from somewhere within its metal prison to dangle nearly to his shoulders.

“No matter what you have done, I do not believe it is the will of the Light that we torture or exhibit unnecessary cruelty.”

Groaning, Valentina rose to her sitting position and simply stared back.

“I suppose I should thank you.”

“No, you needn’t thank me. I am fascinated by you.”

With a faint, bitter grin, Valentina asked a quiet, “Why?”

“To me you’re a woman with one hand, no clothing, and are easily defeated. I have heard of your exploits, to be sure, but seeing someone with such a past crying and quivering before me… you seem nothing short of just a regular human woman. And if you are just that in there, then I find myself wondering why you need to be guarded at all. What threat is a mere woman to me? A crippled one at that.”

“Sounds to me like you just want an excuse to leave your post. I would think a young man such as yourself wouldn’t find an issue with watching a naked woman all day, no matter how… deformed she may be,” she replied, waving her stump in the air.

“Oh, I do not have an issue with that. And I believe that is the problem. This is a test for Karl and I, our final trial before we are admitted into the order and our souls cleansed. As it is now, either of us could be trapped in there with you were it not for the imbuement upon our armor.”

Valentina narrowed her eyes at the comment, her faint grin growing just a bit more. Her chatty jailor seemed to smile and he shook his head.

“I wanted to take a moment to talk to you simply because Karl is an ignoramus and you seemed interesting. I’m sorry to have put my doubts in the order upon you, but I figure I will be here for a while, and I wanted you to know that I am not cruel or malicious. I believe we could take the time we will no doubt have together to talk… share knowledge.”

“There’ll be time for that, sure. But while your partner is gone is it possible I can go to the inn to use the bathroom?”

“Of course. Be quick, however.”

Valentina rose and started a slow stroll to the only three-story building in town, that which she knew was the inn, as she had stayed in it once, seemingly forever ago.

“By the way, my name is Lucas,” the guard behind her said. He couldn’t see the smile that came to her face. A plan was already forming. They were all going to pay for what they’d done. All of them.

[Valentina L. Snow]

The door to the inn had been removed completely from the wall and lay in splinters in the dining room. Stale bread still sat on tables with long-rotted meat. The owners must’ve gotten away at some point during the battle. Sunlight beamed in, illuminating much of the room and the dust that had been kicked up by a new visitor. Old, unlabeled bottles took light and gave the room strange green spots in certain areas and it was still well furnished, untouched by time. Valentina lingered there for only a moment. Without hesitation she crept behind the bar and into the kitchen, searching for a weapon. Something she could use quickly and quietly, but it proved to be a vain effort. Any sharp object must have been grabbed by the owners in their escape, and potentially used in the process.

“Find her!” she heard someone yell outside. The sound of clattering plate and hurried men made her panic. She grabbed a pan at first, clutching it weakly in her hand. It wouldn’t really work against an armored soldier, but it was something. And it was time to take a stand. There would be no waiting to die in the streets of an abandoned town for Valentina Snow. If she was going to go, it was going to be bloodied, in a fight. A damned good fight.

Then came the sudden sound of boots upon the wooden floor, something that startled her at its suddenness. She clutched her pan and tread silently to the edge of the doorway to the kitchen, ready to strike.

“Where are you!? There’s no point in playing this stupid game, bitch!”

She recognized the voice as that of Karl, and keeping her breathing slow and as soft as she could, waited for him to approach. Each footstep seemed louder and louder, echoing within the building as if it were rolling thunder. Finally, she attacked, swinging the pan through the doorway at what she calculated was about head-height. Karl was surprised, and the thing struck him in the forehead with a resounding clang. He stumbled, and Valentina came at him again, but it was not enough. He caught her wrist and held it out. Her strength gone, she could not stop him from overpowering her, sending them both crashing onto the floor behind the bar.

“You filthy whore! You’d dare strike a paladin?” He yelled, holding her wrist to the wooden floor, his heavy body suffocating her.

“You’re… not a paladin yet,” she hissed, smiling bitterly at him. Without mercy he swung a meaty punch into her face, knocking the smile right off and nearly sending her into unconsciousness.

“So the traitor told you, did he? That’s fine! When I am cleansed, my soul is free of all sin, all previous transgressions against my fellows! But there was always one sin I always wanted to enjoy! One pleasure that I have been denied in my life!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Karl used his free hand to begin unfastening the buckles of his armor and undoing his belt, and a moment of abject terror gripped Valentina.

“No!” she shrieked, struggling vainly against him. But he was heavy and she was weak and tired. He was strong, the grip on her wrist keeping her hand pinned to the floor. Helpless, tears formed in her eyes as she writhed and vainly attempted to keep him back. But then he made a mistake.

“Who knows? For this I just might be initiated on principle!” he exclaimed, laughing to himself. He let go of her wrist to finish removing his pants, assuming his weight and fear would hold her down when her arm would not. It didn’t. With a furious growl, Valentina shot up, clamping her teeth onto Karl’s throat and biting down relentlessly. It was an act that despite having been nearly removed from her life, seemed just as familiar as ever. She felt his heartbeat there as she bit deep, tasting blood and feeling the warmth spill down her chin and throat. Karl grabbed her head, trying to remove her from his throat. He did, at last, but when she pulled back, a great portion of it came with her, and he collapsed backwards, gasping for air and clutching at the grievous wound.

Shaking, Valentina stood up, tears streaming down her cheeks to mingle with the blood around her mouth. She glanced at her hand, which trembled uncontrollably as the terror of a near rape still worked its way through her body, and her rage burned. Re-ignited by the taste of human flesh and blood and fighting back Karl, Valentina felt renewed. She felt a fire inside of herself.

Once Karl had died, Valentina stripped his armor from him and put it on. It didn’t fit, but she doubted it mattered. As if not even in control of her own body, Valentina saw herself leaving the inn, sprinting madly out the back of the kitchen and toward the trees, desperate for freedom. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been running before she noticed that her claw had returned and she stopped, collapsing to her knees. Her face lined with tears, she wept loudly and openly, clutching at the dirt of the Concordian forest with her hand and her claw. Then, she began to laugh. A loud, mad cackle that traveled through the woods hauntingly. She was free.

Back in Solace, Rupert Magnus the Second stared at the naked, mutilated form of Karl, terror gripping his heart.

“Sir?” asked a paladin to his side, “What… what should we do?”

“We’re leaving. By the Light we’re leaving. Return to camp and tell the men. Take what you can. We’re gone by nightfall. Go!”

The men left quickly, the fear in their commander’s voice a more driving force than any order could’ve been. When they were gone, he fell to his knees at Karl’s side, clutching at his head.

“God… Oh, God… what have we done?”

[Valentina L. Snow]

A cold, forboding rain had settled on the forest since Valentina’s escape. Rupert Magnus the second was in his command tent, mulling over the current circumstance in which he found himself. Every ounce of his being wanted desperately to flee. The moment he knew that she was free of their clutches, he wanted nothing more than to mount his steed and leave them all behind, perhaps leaving the others, the uninitiated and the traitor behind to sate her bloodthirst, biding him just that much more time. In the end, however, it was not befitting of his position to do such a thing, and thus he sat in his splintered old chair in a massive tent assaulted by rain, wondering just when they’d be willing to make their desperate escape disguised as moving camp.

When the flap to his tent opened, his hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, and lingered there despite those who had entered. Two of the paladins under his command, soaked through their alabaster cloaks and breathing hard carried in a naked man in a set of stocks and tossed him to the ground, where he sat on his knees, eyes set steady on his once commanding officer.

“How far along is the disbanding of the camp?” Magnus asked the men. One stepped out, the other, almost despondently, replied “It is slow going. The cold, and the rain…”

“Move quickly. We don’t know how long it will take for her to recover and…”

He caught the words before he said them, and turned to his desk, retrieving a parchment he had sealed in a small box. A letter to his father.

“Are you good on a horse?”

“Very, sir,” The paladin replied, a glint of hope in his eyes. He knew the request that was coming.

“I wish fo you to take this to my father. Go quietly, don’t let the others know you’ve been allowed to leave camp before the rest of them.”

Eagerly, the junior paladin stepped toward him and took the box with a bow and hastily fled from the tent, relieved to be let go. Rupert’s attention turned to the man on his floor. The prisoner, Lucas Jarin, had showed promise as a fighter, but as a paladin he did not have the zeal. He questioned orders, and it infuriated the commander. He would revel in punishing him.

“So, scum. Tell me why you allowed our prisoner to leave your sight.”

“It was not my allowing her to relieve herself that got us to this situation. Karl informed me of his intentions before having me withheld by you and the others. When has rape been a part of the code?”

“He was not initiated and this is no time for you to be questioning the motives of your fellows! She has escaped! In not but a week I lost the most dangerous threat to this world and you simply spoke to her as if you were her friend! Why?!”

Lucas then grinned, only slightly, and looked at his ex-commander with knowing eyes.

“Because she would be less inclined to kill a friend when she inevitably escaped.”

Rupert unsheathed his sword and stepped around his desk, approaching Lucas menacingly. He did not fight or resist as the commander growled and plunged the sword into his abdomen, eliciting a subdued grunt of pain as he collapsed to his side as the blade withdrew.

“I suppose you’ll not be concerned with that course of thought anymore, Mister Jarin.”

“You’ll die… a failure,” Lucas said, grinning faintly and coughing blood. “You expect… a heroic end… but it will be quick, and you will die without having ever… struck a blow or swinging your sword.”

Red with anger, Rupert raised his sword high, ready to cleave the insolent traitor’s head free from his body until he heard it. The enraged banshee wail that accompanied their end.

Position be damned, he thought. I should have ran.

[Valentina L. Snow]

Her escape complete, Valentina had found herself lost in the tears and the joy, forgetting until it hit, the rage and hatred burning within her. But then it did hit. The blood and the flesh, their taste and texture on her tongue, the familiar warmth that trickled down her throat and breasts. She felt it infuse her tired, beaten form, felt the heat in her blood, making every inch of her body tingle. It was the blood rush, that near orgasmic state of ecstasy and murder-driven pleasure that she’d devoted so much of her life to reliving the past five years, and had missed so sorely for nearly another. It was only at her sister’s behest and her own desire for a quiet life back home that kept her from it, but now, back in the world where she’d flourished so wonderfully, it felt only natural to resume her old ways. The cruel ways of Valentina Snow.

As the rain began to drizzle from the sky, Valentina rose from the Concordian forest’s floor and tore the alabaster armor from her body, letting the cold water wash over her, taking blood and dirt with it back to nature at her feet. It was not a bath, but it worked for now, a temporary solution until a lake or stream could be found. This would be later, of course. There was still much more blood to be spilt upon her skin this night.

Mind racing, Valentina settled on one course of action first: rearmament. Unlike in the town, her mind no longer felt muddled by controlling magics. She recalled the mental command to open a shadow portal and instantly there one was, a body-sized hole of sheer nothingness before her. For many, to look inside was to gaze into the abyss. For her, it was merely a closet. Without hesitation, she stepped inside, awash in the strange place where there was no weather, and only a sense of gravity because she willed it so. Here, her tools resided. Floating before her, beckoned by her thoughts, were clothes, her old clothes. Black socks, a black turtleneck, her razor-lined trench coat, her thick-soled boots. But they were not what she wanted now. They sought to torment her in the nude, it was only fitting that her cruelty was to be doled out in the same state of dress. No, it was not clothing at all that she wanted there…

“What was that, Snow?”

A familiar, and yet seemingly forgotten voice. Alluria Lurenta’s soul, trapped forever in the claw that was now Valentina’s left arm, and existing in a bit more than sharp tips and glistening metal in the realm of darkness that was Valentina’s own personal storage.

“I felt as though I had simply… stopped existing.”

It made the experience uncomfortable. Alluria would never forget that Valentina was the one that killed her, and yet lost in the un-yielding black, she felt what she could only describe as a lover’s embrace. Cold covered her body, squeezing her tight. Holding her as if she needed her.

“It was holy magic. Designed to suppress my powers. I guess it works on you, too. It wasn’t until then that I realized how truly deformed I was thanks to Renneau and his stupid little knives.”

“It was… awful… I exist here, in nothingness… and yet I felt nothing.”

Alluria’s voice was soft and sad, a far cry from the cold dominatrix she had been in life. Valentina could feel her fear. Fear of a true and final death. In the darkness, two slits appeared before her, violet and thin, flickering like the eyes of a waking child. When they had opened, they settled on Valentina, unblinking.

“It’s over. We’re free,” Valentina said reassuringly. Feeling Alluria’s dependance upon her wain already. Thoughts of how Renneau saw her - a weak, frightened girl in the body of a powerful whore - came to her suddenly. Now she was two frightened girls, both in the same body.

“They stole me away from Rianna, Alluria. Beat me when I was powerless. One even attempted to rape me and almost succeeded! They want to destroy my world! The home I’ve fought so hard to return to and protect! Not MY fucking city!”

“Take up your weapon again, my sweet. Feed me their cries of anguish. Bury my claws in their stomachs and tear out their eyes! Avenge us both! Avenge ME!”

The eyes disappeared, and in their place came a familiar hilt, browned with old blood and worn slightly from use. As soon as her fingers touched it, she was back in Concordia, the rain pelting her unrelentingly. But in her hands now was an ever familiar object, the mere sight and weight of which gave her an overwhelmingly joyous sense of reunion. Plagueblade’s massive gore strewn blade, serrated on one edge and honed on the other, took the rain, the water unable to wash free the stains of a thousand murdered men, women, and children. A smile took Valentina’s face then as she began to stalk the woods.

When she’d find their camp, a horrible, rage filled howl would fill the air. Terror would grip the contingent of paladins, and the slaughter would begin.

[Valentina L. Snow]

The younger Magnus, aged only 29 years, stepped warily from his command tent at the sound of what he knew was only one thing. A part of him wished to flee, knowing simply from stories told in the past of what happened to any who tried to escape the woman’s wrath. But then, stories were often just those. Men would speak of monstrous, murderous beasts born of nightmares and when sought out by those of courage, would find but wolves and lions. What was Valentina Snow, if perhaps just another wolf? Lacking whatever it was that kept another man from tearing his fellow’s throat out with his teeth hardly made a creature worth fearing. Simply a savage. It was somewhere during this train of thought, that which sought to bolster his strength and send him into battle without pause, that Valentina’s great sword had swung down from the thick of the treeline and the shadows, cleaving his body in twain just below the ribcage. He hadn’t yet died as he saw his own innards splay across the canvas of his tent, and between the bloody flaps of the opening, the knowing grin of a dying traitor.

Having cut down her first man, unintentionally killing the one she intended to take the most time with, Valentina had charged into the midst of the partially torn down camp, the remaining paladins clutching at their swords in futile defiance of the doom they had most willingly brought down upon their heads. Unwavering in her assault, Valentina dove into the ranks of armored men, her sword swinging down in a wide arc in her right hand. A man’s head was cut clean, and another lost his right leg at the knee. He collapsed, screaming as Valentina pressed her bare feet into the mud, leaping forward at the next man. His sword had come down in a quick, downward slice, which against an unskilled opponent would have left them without an arm. But she was fast, her forearm was metal. The blade slapped aside as though it were a fly, she drove the claws of that hand into the man’s throat, bloodthirsty smile plastered on her face as she tore at the flesh there and pulled away, taking whatever she could in the cold metal grasp.

“I’ll sharpen my teeth on the bones of your children!” she shrieked, trying to taunt forth a more valiant effort. Four men having been taken from the fight almost immediately left only six to continue fighting. As men often did when face with insurmountable odds, they succumbed to panic and fool’s tactics. One man lept upon her, unarmed, hoping his weight alone would encumber her enough to leave her open to attack.

“She’s one woman! By the light, take her down!” one of them shouted, attempting to tackle her from the front. Before his plated body could get close enough to charge her midsection, Plagueblade’s great weight swung at him from the side, his legs being cut out from beneath him. The force of the attack sent the leg-less man careening into another at an awkward spin, both of them falling to the ground.

“Get her! Get her now!” howled the man on her back, wildly slamming his metal helm into the back of her head. It was an annoyance, to be sure, and she had grown tired of it. Her clawed left hand reached over her shoulder, the razor-fingers digging deep into a gap in his armor, the fingers grasping at his collarbone and using the leverage to pull him free. With a hearty scream, he begged his now wavering fellows for help, and as savagely as to be expected, she lunged at his throat, biting down hard and deep with her predator’s teeth and strength and tossed the now dying man aside, much of the meat still in her mouth and dripping down her neck and bare chest.

She laughed then, suddenly, a lull in the fight having occurred at the sight of such a grisly and inhuman attack. Four men still stood. One, missing a single leg, had sat, screaming in abject horror at what he had witnessed and endured. Those still capable of fighting seemed to have lost their resolve as they watched the woman that they had been told was as fierce and awful a creature as any they had heard of before laughed in joy and what could almost certainly be bloodlust and arousal, the very flesh and blood of a man they had been eating boar with hours ago dripping down her chin, lost in the rain and mud.

It was then, with resolved hearts and minds, that the men unstrapped their plate chests and stood in a row beside one another. With knowing glances and an approving nod, they turned their swords in their grasps and plunged them almost simultaneously into their abdomens. This sight had ceased her mad cackle, and her red eyes, aglow with rage and the fury of battle, flashed with an otherworldly glow but for a moment.

“Disgusting cowards!” she screamed, another man’s blood spraying in the cold wind and steady downpour. “You’d beat on a woman and then kill yourselves as she fights back!? Pathetic! Pathetic!”

Her rage was nearly palpable. She could not hear the rain over the sound of her own heavy breathing and furious near-screams that died every time in her throat. Angry still, she propped her sword’s blade in the ground and tore at the paladin’s bodies until they were eviscerated. Ribs and bones jutting from piles of meat in the muddy slaughter that was once a camp. This had served to mildly calm her. But it wasn’t until she finally rose and stood back, admiring the nightmarish mess that she smiled, almost as an artist would upon completing a painting, and began to laugh. Not a bloodthirsty cackle like that during the kill, but one of amusement and mirth. A laugh of absurd joy at one wonderful realization: She was back.