KARMA ~ Witch of Wrath, Vampiress of Vengeance

~Introduction: The Rider~

A hazy black smoke filled a blood red sky. The cries of battle rang high in the air, and dying men screamed under the wrath of blades and trampling horse hooves.
A corrupt general stood behind his forces, and as he did so, he smiled as he watched the men die. Men old, men young. Men meek, men young.
He watched in bliss as the men ran and ran.

The ground was charred to charcoal from the flames of war; the driving lust for combat provided this death and gore. Mounted on his pearl white horse, he turned away for a moment to address the remainder of his forces:
"To the attack, brave soldiers! Let the fear leave your soul, for no honor cannot be paid for with your lives!"

So they fled and scattered into the bloody field before him, their battle hymns bellowing into the filthy atmosphere. He looked to them again, and smiled his sinister grin, for it didn't matter how high the cost for his troops to win.

Suddenly, he made a sharp turn and galloped by steed to his escape. He cared not that his fat weight was heavy on his beast, nor did he care for the welfare of any man besides himself. All he cared for was glory and praise for his conceited, wretched title; it mattered little that he deserved it not.
In his pursuit for safety, he burst into the barren desert. The golden-orange sand was kicked away by his horse's frantic hooves. Indeed, he had escaped - or so he allowed himself to believe.

The redness of the sky turned dark, and by then his ride doddled in a exhausted gate. In the middle of nowhere, he found a gnarled, dead tree and stopped his beast of burden.
Oh, what a burden his beast did carry!
The deserter general dismounted at last, and the soles of his boots hit the cooling silver ground. He was all alone; no civilization could scorn him for the sin he had just committed.
At this, he moved to the trunk of the tree for a piss.

The heat of the day vanished in the night, and at such a sudden, unnatural cold, his horse dashed off in fright.
"Damned old ass," the general grunted in agitation; it wasn't until he turned around that he noticed the sinister fear floating in the air. Yes, the cold was excessive and it did seem odd. In anticipation, he quickly put away his rod.

The wind picked up furiously and howled like a ghostly wolf. The chill in his bones made him tremble and grasp his arms.
Despite the horrors of battle - of which never made him blink - it was here that he started to ponder and think.

There was something very wrong with this wind and cold, especially since our deserter was anything but bold.
Even the moon resembled a skull that watched him. Just suddenly, the howling wind brought in a mysterious mist that suffocated his vision. Yes - he was afraid!
The seconds passed him by like a ticking time bomb. His breathing grew heavy and started to quiver; his eyes grew wider than they ever had before.

The echos of large hooves came to him from the distance.
"Great God," he barely spoke. "What could that terrible sound herald?"
It wasn't long until the moonlight shone on the menacing silhouette through the mist. The beast was massive, black as onyx, and its head bore two red eyes that resembled flaming hot coals. 
It was a horse whose nostrils, he could swear, snorted smoke.
And the rider...

Who was the unknown, cloaked rider?


He knew his path was right in front of theirs. He would have run away, but he found that he could not move. Had the cold frozen him? Oh how he was terrified! The moments kept on slipping, and the seconds kept on ticking. There was simply no escape this time.

The mysterious rider finally reached him and came to a halt. Our deserter found that that the beast ridden stood one head taller than he; he tasted smoke in his mouth when it exhaled in yet another snort.

"Who is he that stands before me?"

Our deserter blinked quickly. The voice was deep, but it was no man's. He stuttered his answer:
"I-I am Hale...and I am...of a foreign land."

The serious voice spoke once more.
"I know of you, then. You are the head of a legion - an enemy of this land."

He trembled some more as he replied once again.
"Yes, that is true. Why? A-are you indeed my enemy?"

The rider steered her steed so she could look upon our deserter's face.
In a sense, she was more frightening than the animal she rode. Her cloak was the color of the charcoal battlefield in the night, her lips black and gleaming like ebony. A hood covered her eyes and her dark hair flowed in the harsh breeze.
Her claw-like fingernails were colored like her lips, and were in contrast with the pale and death-like white skin on her digits.
No emotion moved her mouth whatsoever. She was a chilling creature, therefore.

As the deserter stared at her, the rider's steed reared and let fly a bray that made every hair on him stand on end.
Once her beast landed heavily, she got him to stand still and answered:
"That is for you to learn, and me to teach."

Some of our deserter's fear turned to wonder as he observed her closer.
"What...are you?"

Her face was unchanged, and the only gesture was the descent of her sharp chin.
"I am."

Her ink-colored hair continued to fly around in the wind. At this, the breeze blew away some of her cloak as well.
The deserter's eyes suddenly flashed down to her body. The clothing she wore was tight fitting and low cut; the lacing scarcely covered her snow-white cleavage. He had no complications noticing she was well endowed.
A slight grin dared to creep on his face.

Unimpressed, the rider ignored his perversion and lust.
"You are the one responsible for a battle a long several miles from here. You directed; you ordered, and yet you thought not to fight alongside your men. They died, and you abandoned them."

His stance stiffened, and a scowl came about his brow.
"My safety was far more important than theirs! I am the mind, they are the arms. One can live without an arm, but a mind? No, without the brain, the whole body dies. In comparison, they are unimportant."

She shifted on her stallion's spine and the beast snorted angrily. Still, her mouth was void of expression.
"An arm...a mind...but what of the soul? Is the soul unimportant as well?"

His scowl remained, and he simply scoffed at her question.
"Bah, I don't believe in souls!"

Coldly, the rider replied:
"Really, mind? Are you so lost on your logic that you must dominate and strategize every morsel of life? From your battlefield, thousands of souls were ripped from the ground and thrown into the sky. They called on your name with loathing and hatred. If those souls are indeed illusions, then how do you suppose I found you?"

Again, the deserter's eyes grew wide. How did she hold such knowledge?

"Who are you?! What are you?! What do you want from me?!"
His fear was very obvious in his demands for answers.

A sudden thunderclap echoed in the sky, and a wicked smile grew about her lips ever so slightly. Her maniacal laughter rang in his ears louder and louder.
As his head flashed back and forth, storm clouds covered the moon and a lightning bolt revealed the fangs in her mouth.

Indeed, who was she? Now he dreaded to know.

"I am the instrument the cosmos uses when no other can be used. I am the conscience of a mind without a conscience; the revenge of those who cannot themselves avenge. I am a shadow - the stalker in a nightmare that forces repentance from the lips of those who never regret. You know who I am, deserter."

His breath was faint, and his heart was racing. Every hair in his beard was standing wildly. He had a bad instinct that he knew her for certain.

"Good God! You're...you're--!"

Without self restraint, she suddenly leaped from her steed and hissed through her teeth. Her talons pierced his flesh, and her fangs sank into his neck. He screamed in agony and terror as she drank crimson blood straight from his veins, but he was silenced as she tore out his throat.

None had heard him. He was all alone; deserted.

...

It was only moments before he fell dead at her feet. A thunderclap roared, and her steed reared and whinnied his haunting cry.
Sated, the rider grinned and pulled away her hood. Black markings like tears surrounded her eyes, and her irises burned with a flaming violet glow.

The deserter's blood dripped from her sharp canines as she declared:

"I am Karma - the witch of cosmic retribution! Take pleasure in your damnation, swine - if your soul can ever feel pleasure once more."

...