“With dour eyes,

I raised my blade; took his life,

Along with so many others.” 

VIII

The Doryu of the Poison Dragon, Rya, was running. All she knew that she was bleeding and running- running for her life. With each step, pain both red hot and blazing shot through her arm. Fingers slick with hot blood, she clutched her bleeding arm close to her chest. Like a torn banner, her camouflaged cloak fluttered in the wind. Rya kept her head bent low, keeping the hood up. Curled in the fingers of her good hand, was a throwing knife. 

 Rya ran. Never slipping in the sleet. Never pausing for a breath. Never faulting from the pain. She ran. Rya ducked and wove beneath low hanging branches. ‘I can't go back to base…  that would show my attacker our location… I have to lose her.. Weave back around and kill her….’ A coy smirk briefly flashed, across Rya's anguished expression. ‘I know these woods like the back of my hand..’ 

 In a half-moon motion she curved her arm behind her; she flicked her wrist ready to throw the knife, but never released. Her foot slipped on a piece of sludgy snow and ice. Rya fell. Instinctively Rya pulled herself into a ball and rolled, keeping her momentum. She rolled along the snow and rocks, battering her body. Stumbling, she leaped back up running. Rya ducked. A flash of red and silver sent her staggering, as a yelp erupted from her. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to keep running, and ignore the blood running down her cheek.

 An idea formed in Rya’s mind. 

 She stopped running.

 Closing the distance was the masked girl. The demonic mask, which was made of polished dark wood, was all fangs and horns: the rims of the eye holes were painted a ghostly white. It had a wild tangled mane of long white fur, that was knotting in the snow flung wind. She wore clothing that was in stark contrast to the serenity of winter: black pants, black turtleneck-shirt, black leather boots, black shoulder guard, which was emblazoned with a blood red emblem, and an oily black chest and backplate. She moved with the clam grace of a mountain lion- A predator in the chase. In a fluid motion she lifted her katana. It arced to slice off Rya’s head. 

 Rya ducked and spun around. She used the center edge of her throwing knife to hit the center of the katana. The greater blade knocked it off its course. The impact sent a sharp pain shooting down her spine. Rya kicked her attacker in the gut, sending her tumbling into the snow. The girl in black was forced to let go of her weapon, to avoid being impaled. 

 The katana spun. Lashing up snow, before spiraling to a slow stop, half-buried.

 The masked girl landed on her back. Rya pounced; brandishing the knife, aiming for the girl's exposed throat. The girl used both feet to kick Rya in the chest. Rya grunted, as she was sent flying over her attacker’s head. She landed, tumbling in the snow, awkwardly staggering, trying to rub the blinding sleet from her eyes. 

 The masked assassin pulled a throwing knife from her boot, took aim, and threw it. The blade sliced flesh and nerve. Blood fell and soaked into the snow. It buried itself into Rya’s shoulder. Rya screamed as pain burned; she staggered and fell to her back. 

 The attacker retrieved her katana, never keeping her eyes off of Rya. She raced forward, swinging her blade downward, toward Rya’s chest. Rya rolled. The sword stuck into the snow and dirt, where she had been mere moments before. 

 Rya threw her knife. It struck. 

 The masked girl collapsed to one knee, as she hissed and snarled in pain. Her fingers trembling she pulled the knife out of her calf- blood spilling. As she did this, Chest heaving, Rya pulled herself to her knees. She wrenched the knife from her shoulder, taking a chunk out of flesh with it. Rya glared and cried in pain, as hatred and anguish boiled within her. 'I WILL kill you.'

 And truly Rya wanted to kill her attacker. 

  Rya roared and leaped for the assassin. The masked girl turned, alerted by the battle cry, and buried her knife into Rya’s side; awhile dodging the slash for her throat. Instead her upper arm was gashed open. 

 Blood sprayed, staining the snow.

 Rya was frozen. She felt it, the scrape of metal grating against her ribs. The sudden flowering pain, the choking, and the shortage of air. She coughed, her brown eyes wide, as blood dribbled down her bottom lip. Unable to move she slumped forward resting her head on her murder’s shoulder. Her hands went limp, and her knife slipped from her numb fingers, falling uselessly into the snow. She felt a cold moisture, slipping and dropping against her cheek. And heard a soft far-away voice whisper; sounding like dead leaves rustling on the breeze. 

 “I'm sorry."

 Then there was the sound of paper- no, flesh slicing open. 'Did she cut herself…?' Rya’s throat burned and her vision doubled. '....oh.' Wet warmth sprayed and poured down her chest, soaking her clothes. There was a slight nipping tug at her heart. And the bathing sensation of a single something, and everything slipping away into the cold- out of her grasp forever. One last thought accumulated as her vision blurred and her heart came to a sludging stop. ‘Why didn’t I use my magic..?’ Rya’s vision turned black. 

 Rya Syr-Gracelynne O’Gale was dead. The assassin had been assassinated.

  The masked girl cried, the tears rolled down her mask falling onto her target’s cheek. She moved back the Nightinggale’s hood, tucked a long strand of her chestnut hair behind her sliced ear, and once again whispered, “I’m sorry.” 

 She held the dead assassin even as blood soaked them both. 

 Finally, though still shaking with remorse, the assassin laid the fallen assassin onto the crimson snow. She set her mouth in a grim line, as she stood, raised her katana over her head and brought it down on Rya's corpse- breaking the ribcage. 

 Shaking her head, she dislodged the sound of bones snapping from her ears. The masked assassin focused on her task. After forcing the broken ribs aside, there was the heart on open display. And pulsing beside it was a glowing green crystal. Silently, she cut away the flesh attached to the crystal and wrapped it in a cloth tissue. She covered the corpse with its own cloak. 

 “I’m sorry.” Whispered the girl. “I’d rather you than my brother.”

 She sheathed her katana and knife, put the crystal in her pocket, and limped off to find her crossbow.