the War

October 21, 2009
Death and destruction. It was all certain yellow eyes could see. Bloody dagger in one hand, gun in the other, frozen in front of a corpse. Someone he killed with his own hands.

Bodies, blood, war, it was everywhere, it almost terrified the boy to the point of where he wanted to just curl up into a ball in the warm, comfortable arms of his mother. But he could not. His mother was gone, life taken by the enemy. By the elves. Their leader... what was his name? He had overheard his lord saying something about it earlier before he was shoved into the field of battle.
It was ironic, even though his race was no where near elven, his last name was of elven heritage.

Suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts, a familiar tanned, brown haired boy with eyes much like his rested a bloody hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him.

"We're going to get through this. Our lord will not let them live for what they have done." The boy said, giving him a small grin, just as the his father walked up beside him, two guns in hand and firing off rounds at oncoming elves, the armor barely standing a chance against the bullets.

"No time to chat, you're going to get killed out here!" The boy's father said in a stale tone, deep, rough voice making him sound scary and angry.

"Yes sir!" The boy said immediately, taking one of the guns his father handed him and stayed beside his friend and his father. "Sylindril, snap out of it! We need to focous here. Do you WANT to get killed out here?" He asked, glancing over at the frozen boy before taking aim and shooting an elf in the eye, though he tried to aim for the forehead, the recoil throwing his arms back and causing him to blink at the sudden noise.

Syl stared at the dead body for a moment longer, letting the words sink in before looking up and around him, face turning expressionless. No. I don't want to die here. I WILL not die here. He tightened his grip around the hilt of the dagger, "Has anyone reported back to our lord yet?" he asked, turning to the other two.

"Not that I know of." The young gunman's father said, glancing back at Syl for a split second before shooting an elf dead between the eyes, and quickly reloading the two weapons before firing off a few more shots, not missing a thing. "Ill go report--" The man was cut off by a loud, ear piercing shreek. Elves and Lucretians alike shouted in commandments and fear as eveyone looked up. The three followed their gazes and watched as winged creatures dropped from the sky toward the ground.

"Demons...." Sylindril muttered.

Demons were horrible, ruthless creatures. Their true forms were twisted, usually multiple things mixed together. Now upon the battlefield and with their inhuman strength ripping heads and limbs off of both armies, just pulling past them all without even getting scratched. Some had raven wings, some had bat wings, some walked on two legs, some walked on eight. Some were six feet tall, some were nine feet tall. Either way, they were near indestructable minions straight from hell.

"Run!" One of the Lucretians shouted, running right past the three. Sylindril and the other two followed closely behind, along with a few other society members. They fled back toward the Lucretian base, which seemed like a big, dark castle that loomed over a vast land of nothing but dirt, nothing to see for miles.

Sylindril looked over at his friends and suddenly saw a giant spider's leg impale the six and a half foot tall gunman right through the heart, and he dropped his weapons as his eyes widened as the spike-tipped leg slid out from the man's body, and he tumbled to the ground.

"Father!" The boy exclaimed, immediately at his fathers side, tears in his eyes, dropping the gun beside him.

"Alexanderus... Eliminus...." His father choked out weakly, blood spilling from his mouth and the wound, "Use her... well..." With those last words, he exhaled his last breathe as all emotion in his eyes went dead, and his head fell to the side, body becoming still and lifeless.

"Father, no!" The poor boy screamed out, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Sylindril stared up at the giant spider-demon, it reminded him of Aezra, the obsidian skin and hair, dark, peircing and reflective eight eyes scattered on the forehead of the beast, though the matching obsidian spider legs protruded from the back of a tall, lanky male figure.

As the hellian was about to strike out at the young half demon, Syl fired the whole clip of his gun at the creature, not caring where he hit it as long as he hit and did some damage to it. The creature wailed and stumbled back a bit in pain becfore hissing and striking at Sylindril after the clip was emptied.

This was it, Sylindril thought as his eyes widened and he fell backwards, dropping the empty weapon and the knife. He would die young, trying to save the only person he could consider a brother he was so close to Nith. He shut his eyes tight and waited for the strike to impale him, he waited for the breath taking pain, but it never came. His eyes popped open immediately and directly in front of him, arms outstretched and a silver, long barreled pistol in his right hand, holding tightly to it, was Nith, impaled by the obsidian leg through the shoulder. Nith gritted his teeth, a yelp of pain escaping his lips, but he pulled his arm foreward and pointed the barrel of the demon anyway, firing off a few rounds, hitting the creature in the chest three times, but it took no effect. The creature growled and threw the boy off to the side, and pulled his attention back to Syl.

"Now you will die!" The demon hissed irritatingly as he swiped downward at Syl, who was helplessly sitting there, frozen in fear staring wide eyed at the creature as the leg came down upon him, cutting the right side of his face open from his brow to the bottom of his cheek, and then the creature reared suddenly and wailed in pain as five shots went off, four out of those five shots hitting it in the head.

Sylindril screamed in pain as the creature froze and dropped off to the side, collapsing to the ground, spiked tip of the leg raking sideways accross his face as it did. Nith got up, not letting go of the gun, and ran over to his friend.

"Are you alright?" He asked, fear, pain and worry clouded his voice and face. His reply was a wail of pain and Syl looked up at him, blood flooding through his fingers and ran down his arms, staining his shirt sleeve with blood. His jaw dropped slightly and hauled his friend to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulder best he could as he lead him back inside the Lucretian base as quickly as possible before anyone else decided to attack them. "Medic!" Nith cried out franticly, his voice echoing out into the hall as he called for a medic over and over. Eventually one heard the boy and his friend's moans and sobs of pain, and immediately went to patching them up as quickly as possible.





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