He felt the chil as the mist of red formed through the air. His armor the only thing protecting him from his surprise. His body guards lay slain by the roadside. The evaporation of their blood condensing into this desolate mist. To a killer, this mist was as passionate as making love. To an innocent, it made their hearts stop.
The blood pumping through his viens screamed for air. He had been running without his horse for 20 minutes. Fear had begun to course through him. He questioned aloud, "Is this what they felt when I ran them through? Is this what I felt when I cut open their chest and ripped out their still beating heart to their horror?"
He was certifiably insane. That much was clear. He was what one would call a nutcase. He betrayed and killed those who helped him. He remembered it. The feeling of his cold steel running through the little girls throat. He had cut her down to her naval and put his handprint from her blood on the walls. He loved the sight of blood.
She could see his damn pony tail. Oh yes. The ponytail that held part of the ring from her husbands fingers. Hell wouldn't be enough to stop her. She felt the heat of anger as it kept her body strong. There would be time for greiving after revenge was had. She pushed herself to do this. She pushed herself to kill this man that was so destructive. There would be mercy for him. She could imagine him on the ground, eyes begging for the mercy that would never leave his parched and peeling lips.
Time was his enemy. He could see just beyond the ridge what was there. A city, Varismo. It was the city of parties. He felt the blood pumping through him as hope reached him. Get there and he could find a way out of his sisters clutches. It was not to be. He felt something trip him. He landed, armor causing a ringing in his ears as he pulled his helmet off, throwing it to the side to put his hands to his ears. His mistake came when he realized what he had done. He turned, scrambling on hands and knees for his helmet. The kick to his ribs bruised one and broke another. He rolled over in pain to see the fierce green eyes of his sister. The blade in her hand was black on one side, white on the other. It was the sword of vengeance in their family. He felt the blade cut through his skin into the tender flesh of his neck. What followed was the entropy of pain. His lungs filled with blood, a pink bubbled blood pouring from the giant wound in his neck. He felt the sword in the ground. He couldn't move his body.
"My brother, I take your life for the life you have taken. A thousand eternities of pain will not be enough to send my husband back. I do this because we are what we are. Killers." She cut through the dirt and his neck, doing the same. His head rolled away with a haunted look. His eyes would stay open until the maggots ate away at his rotting festering corpse.
Her name was Angel. She knew now why she was Angel. She was the angel of death. She found the way to his heart easily opened, and looked at the red organ. She squeezed it in her hand slowly, then put it to her lips and bit into the muscled flesh. She ripped the part of the heart away. Her first brother was dead. She had 10 others. She sheathed the blade of their family. She walked to the town, eyes blue. Only when she weilded the blade did it change her into the green eyed beast of vengeance.