Bad Moon Rising | Book 4

7: A Finished Battle

Art: Artist Not Found

The eerie stillness of a finished battle lingered over the field. At first glance, it would seem there had been no clear victor. Both sides had suffered major losses. Bodies littered the crimson-stained grass in indecipherable heaps. Only one figure moved across them.

The silhouette of a female form stood in the distance. Her hair fluttered in the shallow breeze, strands occasionally blocking her vision as she scanned the scene in front of her. Eventually, she came to a standstill over a small mound of remains.

As she knelt, it became clear why she had stopped. A soft moan escaped the lips of one of the bodies. She pressed a cold, gentle hand to the man's forehead, ignoring his blood-soaked brow. The man forced his only good eye open; the other pushed too deeply into his skull to work properly.

For a moment, all he could see was the dipping sun shining too brightly behind the woman's dark outline. Finally, she moved just enough to block the light and allow him to see her features in the unfocused haze of his damaged sight. Her russet skin blended with the burgundy edges of his vision; the light from behind poured over her shoulder and made the beads of sweat around her face gleam like diamonds. It seemed she had no true ending. She wasn't human but an ethereal being.

Maybe she was a spirit. He had heard stories of spirits guiding people through death. That must be what was happening. He was dead, and she was his guide. He never knew spirits could be so beautiful. If he had known, maybe he wouldn't have feared death so much. How could it be so bad if he was led there by such a divine being?

A ghostly smile appeared on his lips before he tried to move them to speak. Only unintelligible gurgles came out. "Shhhh," she cooed softly, stopping him. She rubbed her thumb soothingly over his cheek, and he quieted. "You're a fighter, aren't you?" she hummed.

Her question seemed odd, but he nodded nonetheless, determined to please her.

She smiled, pushing some of his sticky, scarlet-stained hair away from his forehead. "If only you had fought a little harder. I could have used you." His mind was too distracted by the pain to comprehend her words instantly. However, she waited until he had, watching as his smile slowly slipped.

Used him? How could she use him if he was dead? Of all the stories he had heard, never had there been a need to fight in the afterlife. He was supposed to be at peace. Was he actually dead?

Gurgles spluttered from his lips once more, dark thick liquid bubbling in his mouth and falling over his cheek. He attempted to lift his head, but the comforting hand on his face suddenly became a restraint, keeping him pinned to the ground. "Sh sh," she cooed again. "Don't worry. I'll put you out of your misery."

A desperate cry splintered from his throat just before a sickening snap filled the air.

The eerie stillness of a finished battle lingered over the field...

"What have you done?" an omnipresent voice demanded.