Post by Cullen Rutherford on Dec 9, 2014 22:11:04 GMT -5
"You prick! One of these days, someone one is going to shove dat sword right up you-"
The sentence fell short as a blade, embedded in the woman's chest, was twisted and tore through the muscles of her heart. Her eyes stared straight ahead, blank and colorless from death. Blood lingered on the edge of her mouth, but that was hardly her only marking. Most of her face was covered in bruises and swollen from the fight she had lost. Her plate armor was full of scratch marks and dents from what would have been killing blows initially. The woman, short and very very much dead, was actually a daemon. And daemons were chaotic sum that needed to be purged. Or that was what Cullen believed, anyhow.
The angel grabbed the hilt of his long sword and tore it out of the woman's chest. There was no effort to close her eyes or wish for a peaceful passing. He detested these things and wanted nothing to do with the corpse. As he stepped away, Cullen tore off a shredded portion of his gambeson. He pulled the blade close to him and attempted to soak up as much of the crimson red blood from his blade as he could.
He had been lucky this fight.
His men and himself had been hunting a daemon woman that was notorious for killing angels that scouted in Litharia. She was a menace, more so than most, and needed to be dealt with. Cullen had ordered the others to rest while he scouted ahead with little-more than the silver shaded gambeson he had on now. He had just so happened to have the green belt tied around his waist with his sword in its sheath when the daemon woman had attacked from behind. The angel assumed she had been after his wings first, since they were the most fragile and exposed part of his body, but he had turned in time to briefly blind her with an intense ray of light followed by an intense fight to the death.
Now that it was all done, the angel did not realize how tired he was.
Bags had formed under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and every muscle in his body ached from the fight. There was a steadily growing sense of pain in his right calf, so he assumed the woman must have landed a strike at some point.
A nice trait about the Cliffs was the amount of rocks to sit on. He chose the one with the least amount of snow, dusted it off and sat on it. The amount of tension released made it all too tempting for him to just sleep, but that was not an options. Though daemons usually worked alone, the woman he had killed did not.
The night was cold, but at least the moon was bright and provided a form of light source. Cullen was ready to fly back to his men, but not just yet. For now, all he wanted to do was gaze at the stars that twinkled in the sky. Star gazing was a form of relaxation for him, especially after using so much adrenaline and stress in a fight.
The sentence fell short as a blade, embedded in the woman's chest, was twisted and tore through the muscles of her heart. Her eyes stared straight ahead, blank and colorless from death. Blood lingered on the edge of her mouth, but that was hardly her only marking. Most of her face was covered in bruises and swollen from the fight she had lost. Her plate armor was full of scratch marks and dents from what would have been killing blows initially. The woman, short and very very much dead, was actually a daemon. And daemons were chaotic sum that needed to be purged. Or that was what Cullen believed, anyhow.
The angel grabbed the hilt of his long sword and tore it out of the woman's chest. There was no effort to close her eyes or wish for a peaceful passing. He detested these things and wanted nothing to do with the corpse. As he stepped away, Cullen tore off a shredded portion of his gambeson. He pulled the blade close to him and attempted to soak up as much of the crimson red blood from his blade as he could.
He had been lucky this fight.
His men and himself had been hunting a daemon woman that was notorious for killing angels that scouted in Litharia. She was a menace, more so than most, and needed to be dealt with. Cullen had ordered the others to rest while he scouted ahead with little-more than the silver shaded gambeson he had on now. He had just so happened to have the green belt tied around his waist with his sword in its sheath when the daemon woman had attacked from behind. The angel assumed she had been after his wings first, since they were the most fragile and exposed part of his body, but he had turned in time to briefly blind her with an intense ray of light followed by an intense fight to the death.
Now that it was all done, the angel did not realize how tired he was.
Bags had formed under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and every muscle in his body ached from the fight. There was a steadily growing sense of pain in his right calf, so he assumed the woman must have landed a strike at some point.
A nice trait about the Cliffs was the amount of rocks to sit on. He chose the one with the least amount of snow, dusted it off and sat on it. The amount of tension released made it all too tempting for him to just sleep, but that was not an options. Though daemons usually worked alone, the woman he had killed did not.
The night was cold, but at least the moon was bright and provided a form of light source. Cullen was ready to fly back to his men, but not just yet. For now, all he wanted to do was gaze at the stars that twinkled in the sky. Star gazing was a form of relaxation for him, especially after using so much adrenaline and stress in a fight.