Story tiem!

[asreoninfusion]

Well, well, well. Look what I finally finished! Just… what, three, four months late?

In any case, this is the short story I started writing ages ago, based on that plot bunny Sky gave me. It’s been so long I can’t even remember what the bunny was – a war, the emotions someone experiences during a battle, something like that. I had the whole concept and character, started it and wrote about half of it, and then for some reason (probably involving exceptional amounts of procrastination) never finished the other half. So I apologise if it’s slightly disjointed. A lot of it was written before the summer holidays even began, and its just parts I added today ^^;;

Also, I’m not sure about the name. That was what came to me when I got the idea of the character, but that was three or four months ago, and since then I’ve decided it might sound a little silly. *shrugs* So, if it does, just ignore it, ‘kay? It’s not like the name’s important anyway.

Ooh, maybe I should call him Samael? That’d fit… (Yoda, you should understand the reference ^^) Meh *can’t be bothered to go through and change it now though*

I’ll just stop ranting and just let you read, ne?

   Malverno savoured the proceedings – not out of interest, for he had seen such preparations a thousand times before, and even the first time the chaotic scramble had only been a passing amusement. He watched for the mouth-watering sense of fear and anticipation, the electric tension. The shuffling of anxious feet, the light reflected off metal as it was polished one last time, the quiet murmur of final prayers. Delicious.

   It wasn’t as satisfying as the battle itself, of course – nothing could compare to that – but it was infinitely better than the years of emptiness. Those years… Yes. Peace, they called it. Ha.

   Malverno had never starved, not even in those years. There was always some drunken, jealous husband, some brawl, some thief for whom greed had turned to murder… on these sorts he survived, yet they were petty things, insignificant morsels, never enough to satisfy the crippling desire.

   But then, soon enough, came the power games; politics and lies, betrayal and hatred, stirring and boiling over. He enjoyed that. After all, there were only two way such a saga could end – either some poor scapegoat, conspirator or otherwise, would die a bloody death at the hands of his fellows, else war would surely erupt. Or both, on occasion; as was the case now.

  He descended with the dark, walking the winding passageways of the mud-stained canvas city. None of the soldiers paid any heed to him – what was one more stranger to them on this dreadful night, where darkness was safety and the light of day brought death? Even they, blind, senseless humans, could taste the bloodshed approaching, and, lionheart or coward, in some primal corner they all feared it. One cloaked figure who passed them by meant nothing.

   Yet while he was all but invisible to them, not one man there escaped Malverno’s scrutiny. These, after all, were to be his. He wanted to know what he was to have. Sometimes he would choose a few, picked out from among the teeming masses, to mark with death for no reason other than bitterness and whim.

   That boy – he was far too young, far too beautiful. The vibrancy of so much life in him was sickening. He would die.

   That man, worrying about his wife, and his beloved, sweet little child – well, wasn’t it nice that some people could have such joys. He would die.

   A wizened old man, alone, with tired eyes and a weary heart, longing for a chance for freedom. Let it not be said that Malverno had no compassion, for, for this one at least, he granted his wish generously. He would die.

   So it went on.

   Eventually silence conquered the early hours, and the torchlight flickered out of existence. The soldiers had long since retreated to the lumpy mats that served as beds, but none of them slept – instead they lay restless, tossing and turning, silently sobbing for left-behind loves, begging into the darkness to whatever deities they chose. Any who did sleep were soon reawakened by indistinct nightmares of blood and all-pervading death.

   This amused Malverno, for a little while, but he soon grew impatient. It was so close now, the death, the destruction, blood and terror. He could taste it coming in the air, and his spirit trembled with desire. Soon, soon...

   It was not soon enough that the sunlight speared the sky, piercing through the mountains to the battlefield. But when it did, the world let out its breath. No more deliberation, no more anticipation, no turning back.

   Row upon row upon row of infantry stood at either end of the valley, like toy soldiers awaiting command; a faceless mass where all humanity had been relinquished to the simple command to kill. Their clarion calls rang out, obscenely shattering the surreal silence, and the mass stirred. Limbs and voices rose together, battle cries escalating into a single wordless roar as the lines burst forward.

   Malverno’s spirit soared. For better or for worse – and it was usually worse, for the humans at least – the war was to be fought. Now.

   He took to skies, his favoured vantage point for the first encounter. Watching from the heavens, the fray seemed almost elegant; the charge on either side became a wave of humanity, two great tides colliding, becoming inexorably intertwined into swirling tumults as each side rose and fell with the swell of the advantage. It was mesmerising. Violence as an art form, and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

   But what is art, after all, if one cannot truly appreciate the experience it offers? So Malverno drew closer to the battles. The formless flow that so enthralled him from above was gone, but captivating, glorious details took its place. Every metallic scream as sword met sword, the ground slicked with blood, the sheen of sweat on tensed muscles, the eyes glazed over with unthinking determination to kill. The unheard sobs and whimpers of the fallen as their life bled away, and they realised this was how it ended, like this, lying on the cold, hard earth, unnoticed as the carnage raged on around them, surrounded by comrades but so desperately alone.

   Malverno was the only one who heard their desperate pleas, and he delighted in them. He would lie down next to the dying, letting them whisper their lovely little cries to him – “please… not like this… I don’t… want… don’t let me… don’t let me die like this, please…” – and when they breathed their last he would lean over them, drawing in their final dying breath as if it were their very life he was consuming.

   In these moments it felt like it would last forever. The writhing melee pulsed around him, caressing his insubstantial form, soothing the wrath that had grown throughout those damnable years of peace and hunger. The laments of the dying and the screams of the wounded were like music to him. Filled with their breaths, it felt almost as if Malverno himself could breathe once more. He laughed. Oh yes. He was immortal, and this, this was where he belonged.

   It was with great reluctance that Malverno eventually conceded the inevitable; the battle was ending. Those whom had survived the day retreated, heads bowed and stumbling with weariness. A few lone figures wandered the blood-strained fields, searching out those who could maybe yet be saved. One side would be celebrating their victory, but that meant nothing to Malverno.

   He remained among the dead, even as night fell. He didn’t want to leave. He would, eventually, but for now he would stay, holding on to that glorious fulfilment their deaths brought for just a little longer. Besides, they looked beautiful like this. The pale faces of the corpses whose last breath he had shared, almost translucent in the moonlight. Scarlet pools, and the darkness of a mournful night. Lovely.

   Time passed, and Malverno’s spirit sighed. He was forgetting already. He knew; he could feel the memory slipping away as if it were sand falling through his fingers. Such a waste, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. There never was.

   With a sigh, he rose and left, wandering on in search of another blissful fray, another massacre. He knew he would find one, given time. And when he did, those vibrant lives would be his for the taking. He would feed off their deaths, and, for one brief moment, he would remember what it felt like to be alive.

…Mm. I worry myself sometimes.

P.S. I did just finish this, and in my glee at actually having done so, might have posted it straight away without spending too much time checking for stupid errors >>;; So apologies if there are any typos or grammar problems or anything like that ^^;;

Comments

[nitemare-archer.livejournal.com]

Daaaaaaaaamn.

[I'm on the train right now, so there is no possible way for me to write a comment worthy enough of your epicness, and so, I shall do that this afternoon. I only thought it would be prudent to inform you of just how awesome you are, dear.]

XD *flails*

[dragon-infusion.livejournal.com]

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeee- Oh ma gawd that is so depressing. Depressing, yet AWESOME.

Argh, write moooore, I say!