Magnus Academy: The Cursed Blood

Chapter Sixty-Seven

If War is A Melancholy, Then Death Must Be the Hymn

She saw the face of man, her expressions immediately distorting to that which look of fear. Her long red cloak dangled behind her as she pushed through the building crowd of her followers aside, and there was something about her quivering lips that told me she had never been that scared all her life. I have seen thousands of people, watched them all live and die--and then there's people like her too.

Once was a proud and an optimism of life now contorting into something their normal selves wouldn't even let others see. Yet there she was, her knees meeting the dampening soil no more than a few seconds later as her arms surrounded the man's head, placing it above her lap.

His bloodied and scarred face reminded me only of those who have died in the past because of the unnecessary wars and violence. I have never wanted this, nobody truly does. But sometimes, scars and blood are inevitable for the sake of people's own beliefs. They have to fight to force others to bow or accept their ideas and orders. Those who do not have any choice in the matter have no other option but flee or retaliate. In this case, most chose the latter.

Perhaps because it's pride. Perhaps simply because they have no other places to run to. Perhaps because the only home they ever have is the battlefield. Or perhaps they have found the reason to keep on fighting in this war. This particular man is an example of those things. The exchange, however, is him possibly losing his face forever. One does not leave the battlefield without scars, this one will be of the man's.

I do not gamble in emotions, but anyone could see the regret and fury in her eyes as they landed on another woman. Her reddish brown hair fluttering violently boosted by the overwhelming dark energy emerging from her body as she finally stood, her darkening glares directed at a pair of pale blue eyes. She screamed the woman's name in rage, walking slowly towards the person she held all that anger for, as though her slow pace could actually make a difference from what she was feeling.

The sound of the rain hitting the ground used  to soothe me down, along with the heavily-blown winds and the silent brew of thunders hidden amongst the gray clouds. Now there's only unrest and suspense being drawn in the air. There were no stars nor was there a visible moon, the light coming from lanterns and flashes from airships and strange looking armaments were the only things enlightening the entire area.

This part of the country is near the docks as told by the nearby scent of seawater carried by the visiting breeze. I could see more and more people reinforcing either of the groups.  Three powerful energy types are dancing all around, even the air keeps on vibrating through the heavy atmosphere, as though they would all explode if triggered by something.

"Kill me."

The woman spoke, her voice steel as the blankness on her face. Yet despite the walls built around her, I could perfectly hear the tune of her slow-pacing heartbeats, and I've never heard anything so melancholic all my life. It sounded so fragile as though a glass about to break. If anyone could have seen past their rage, they would have had noticed the way her fingers would tremble as they write unseen runes and law formations on the air.

They could have noticed how massive and accurate the nether energy being generated out of her body, disappearing in an instant they became one with the invisible magic circles scattered over the skies of Elydia. But she wasn't done yet, she knew she couldn't exactly do anything for the meantime. She needed time to set the circles into their right patterns and positions, and she was going to buy that time by entertaining those who wanted her dead. She was going to use their rage to distract them from what she was planning to do.