1 To kill or to be killed

Dusk stretches to the western sky and with the whispering anguish of the wind, the once lively slum had ceased their laughter, and the well-lit torches had demised. Blasters of iron locks plucked in at very houses as one each do their best to stay noiseless.

To kill or to be killed, that is the question.

Men known for their chivalry are once again in their shiny armor. They silently strolled into this gloomy, filthy pathway as darkness is drenching the rough-hewn wooden shantytown.

Their heads were down, facing the ground that would likely be their grave. Their heavy footsteps loitered in their dead atmosphere as they held their sword hilt and shield with their shaky hands.

---Because whenever the night comes, all they could do is pray that they won't be facing any beasts tonight.

Despite the known doom that awaits them, amongst the fear-bitten crowd, was a peculiar fellow. With her chin up and good posture, not even a shield and a helmet. She walked to the frontline only with her light armor, a blessed rapier sword under her fire-resilient coat, and a pair of old leather boots. Her winter blue eyes cater no hints of fear at all, and her slim body was calm as the sturdy trees.

Her eyes were then stilled upon an old, mossy poster with a sketch of a humanoid beast that was posted on a wall. Oddly enough, she looked at it with loathing and disgust.

How could someone hate a person she never met before?

As they reach the outskirts of town, their fate is sealed.

The dark dreary forest was even eerier now that the sun had set. The mists and clouds, dawdling it was, withered away to reveal the full moon in its fullest and brightest form. Worse was, it possessed its once in a blue moon crimson red hues.

One knows the dangers inscribed on a bloody moon. One knows life here won't be some romantic fairy tale where love concurs all because in reality, no, one simple belief broke that possibility.

---They are a threat.

One never witnesses the prey love the predator or the predator being alluring to the prey. Every so-called weakling knows one should cast all the pride and greed for the sake of the longed price, PEACE. Though, in order to achieve that, one race must reign over the world.

Humans, it was ought to be them. With the power vested in them, they swore to capture and wipe all the devious beasts out of their so-called lands.

More or less, this chaos is nothing but the WILL of the King, but one thing is for sure, Unity is no more.

"Scouts," she coldly uttered, taking her troops' attention, "Dispatch."

In not less than a minute, not a single being was standing on that spot. They glide swiftly and quietly into the woods, searching for any sign of unwanted existence.

There, roars and rumblings shook the forest, as neon orbs of blue light fly up to the starry sky. Up back to the sky where they are bound to live, and they are now home.

It's been an hour of swinging and thrusting. With one last blow, the roaring had ceased, and the rumbling subsided. She swung her tainted sword to her right, making some drops of blood leave the blade.

Her eyes, cold as the night, she watched the beast she recently slaughtered, crumble away elegantly. Its corrupting blue light, though she knew they were nothing but monsters, is doling out calmness, and the oddest thing was, she recognized sadness.

"General," A blissful call reached her ears, making her glance towards that direction. She met one of her troops standing far behind her, which she recognized as Dane.

"Report," she instantly commanded.

"Ten dead dragons, no demon, and three casualties," Dane exclaimed with a bow. He then took a deep breath as he deliberately wanted to control his tears before finishing his report. "The southern forest is cleared!"

It was a piece of very good news, but,

'Odd,' That was the first word that she thought. With the five dragons she just defeated, it would make it 15 all in all. She sheathed her sword back and fixed her thin brown cloak before giving a reply. "Regroup and retreat for now," She, with her same impersonal voice, commanded.

"Roger," was Dane's reply before he vanished in front of her.

There is no way her troop made a mistake exploring the forest, right? 'Most especially in a night like this, where 'they are most active, and deadly.'

She sighed upon that thought and looked up at the bloody moon. As the sight was reflected on her empty, soulless orbs, she wondered why the Fates had been helping her, why they had been helping her kind.

'The dragons had gone entirely weak and are on the brink of extinction. Siding with the weak to obliterate a creature that they had created? Aren't the Fates a little too cruel,

---or quite boring?'

"Do you [Fates] all enjoy it that much," She mumbled with a smirk on her face. Her right hand immediately reached for the hilt and pulled her sword out as she made a stance. "Watching the weak die first?"

In front of her is the real deal. The devil had again made his appearance, as he stood on top of a full-grown black dragon. Hot and dense steam bulges out of the feral dragon's nose. Its sharp fangs were as long as her sword and its claws are on par with the eagles', but what took her attention were the stains of red fluid that adorned its thick black scales.

There, she knew. She will fight this demon alone. As if there's any difference. She's been fighting alone for a long time.

She glanced back to her enemy, who had been looking at her. The sketch and the person in front of her weren't really similar. Here, he was clothed like a human, his eyes were as the dragons, fierce and void. He possessed a long and spiky dragon tail. Two matching horns on top of his Sacramento green hair, and some uneven scales on his temple, on his hands, and likely on his feet.

The bloody moon had been a known weakness of the dragons. It was where they temporarily lose their ability to shape-shift, and because of that; It forces them to hide in the forest in the meantime, even if this significant day had increased their strength.

---They chose to keep cover.

She calls him a 'demon' because he was an 'exception'.

"I came to kill you myself," He coldly spat, "Sinner."

"Tsk," The fact that the devil came himself to slay her was exciting enough for her to not keep her from smirking, "My pleasure."