Fate/Counter Order

8 - Coeur and Blood (Part 3)

"Run! I have to... keep running!"

Miles away from the sprawling grounds of Coeur Academy, a lone figure zipped through the untamed terrain. The air was heavy with anticipation as if holding its breath in anticipation of the news that this man carried.

His name was Desmond, a trusted member of the noble Zegrath Clan's elite guard, and he was racing against time to deliver crucial information to his leaders.

The magical power coursing through his veins seemed to lend wings to his feet as he leaped over the rugged landscape of brambles, trees, and rocky outcrops.

His once pristine uniform was now dirtied and torn. Burned wounds slowly regenerated on his face and arms. The air of confidence and nobility that usually accompanied him as a member of the esteemed clan had long since dissipated, replaced by a sense of urgency and trepidation.

Each breath he took burned with exertion, and beads of sweat lined his furrowed brow. Never before had he experienced such physical exertion, even amidst the chaos of war. He was accustomed to wielding his magical energy with ease, effortlessly vanquishing his foes with a mere flick of his wrist.

But now, reduced to fleeing like a wild animal, he felt a deep sense of vulnerability that gnawed at his core.

As he ran, his eyes darted anxiously from side to side, scanning for any signs of danger. He dared not look back in the direction from which he had come, fearing the power of those people who pursued him. What kind of monstrous MORTALS possessed such strength? It was a power that seemed to belong to the ancient Angels who had participated in the Great Supernatural War between the Pantheons, striking fear into the hearts of both Undead and Underworld beings alike.

Yet, the first one was no angel. She was but a mere mortal that Edward was supposed to steal power from while Desmond observed her until she manifested her Fantasm Arm and used holy light to burn Edward to crisps.

When Desmond withdrew to bring the news of his death to the clan, he was mercilessly ambushed by searing flames that reeks of unholy.

He never expected to witness another mortal–no... a demon hiding in human form to share a facial resemblance to the maiden. A sister? Possibly, but a sister that wields a similar but bastardly version of a bladed flag.

The magnitude of resentment and hatred reeking from that cursed flag had frozen his very soul.

The questions burned within his mind, but he dared not seek answers from this terrifying enemy. The memory of their first encounter haunted him, the unfeeling draconic eyes that had met his gaze, leaving him with a deep sense of anxiousness.

The mere thought of thinking the look of this foe sent a chill down his spine. He knew that her appearance would only further cement the terrifying image that had taken hold of his mind. A cold-blooded demon, capable of snapping him like a twig.

Fear gripped his heart, for he knew that his life hung in the balance. His cautious nature had been shattered by the realization that his own actions had led him to this situation. He had underestimated the power and cunning of the lowly humans that they prey on, and now he paid the price for his hubris.

As he ran, his mind raced with thoughts of the woman's sister he had stalked. Would her personality and character allow her to spare him, despite the sadistic gleam in her eyes? It was a ray of hope amidst the darkness of his predicament, a glimmer of possibility that kept him pushing forward, determined to reach his leaders and deliver the crucial news that could change the course of their battle.

Desmond sprinted forward, leaving a trail of dust in his wake, oblivious to the chaos he was causing.

It was an unusually scorching day, the searing heat blistering his skin and making each breath a struggle. He wiped away the sweat that trickled down his forehead, his lips parched and quivering in response to the scalding temperature.