She pleaded—begged—to herself, to any being that could possibly listen upon and lend help. This summons to her master was as any other: her heart and body aching, hoping for some sort of praise. A sense of pride upon the face of her beloved master, at the very least.
Nothing made her more joyous.
She had been lost, useless, living no more than a prolonged death until her master found her. She had been taught her worth, given a meaning, a purpose—she had been saved—and being called into her master’s presence always reminded her of that fact.
The purpose she had received was one to be proud of, carrying out her master’s wishes, as an extension of her master’s self. Purging the world of vile people who would happen to taint it, leaving it imperfect. That was her glorious mission entrusted to her by her master: to bring the world ever closer to perfection.
Her master had taught her much about perfection. While, much of her life, she had felt far from it, her master saw the potential for perfection within her. Perfection was the only purpose of living, she had long ago learned from her master. Perfection of one’s self and the world surrounding. To bring about such things, she became a part of her master, an honor in and of itself, few being higher.
Over the years, she changed dramatically. Now, coursing with power, she was feared and respected, not as much so as her admirable master, though. Legions of warriors carried out her whim—she knew it was simply due to her master’s influence, not so much her own, but that she prided just as much as anything else.
She did her best, nothing less. Working without rest to fulfill her master’s wishes. Hoping to attain perfection so her master would be proud, would hold her in high regards.
To be irreplaceable to her master.
She hoped for nothing less and such thoughts controlled her every movement.
Now, having been called to her master’s side, she trembled in hope. Hope that she had accomplished something to make her master happy—something to edge herself ever closer to the goal of her master considering her as perfect as her master’s self.
Still kneeling in a position of reverence as she waited, she opened her eyes, gazing at the figure of her master standing before her. Perfection. Perfect knowledge, perfect power, perfect beauty.
“Lady Sonia.” Her voice was steeped in modesty. She felt her heart beat faster and her body quiver in the presence of her master.
Her master stepped closer. She looked on in awe at the graceful strides made by the slender, smooth legs reaching out from beneath the trimmed dress. She watched the smooth, gentle arms swinging in stride and eyed the wide cleft of the ample bosom left open, again by the craftily sewn dress. She quickly spared a glance to her master’s face, which appeared as if chiseled by a remarkable and renowned sculptor. Brilliant yellow eyes gleamed with calculating intelligence. Hair as dark as ink fell in a river down to a slender waist. Ruby lips spread out into a thin smile.
All the while, her master’s body cackled with power.
She always felt so small before such perfection, her own body aching ever more so in both awe and fear. Her master held the reigns of the vicious Black Fang, along with being the most powerful person in that very army.
Hoping to gain such power so that her master would consider her more than a mere servitor, she followed any bidding to the end, always completing every task with the utmost efficiency and flawlessness.
Though her hopes for rising in her master’s eyes pulled her forth, the thought of the Fang’s judgment a step behind her heels also served as an effective motivation. But, if she was worthy of the label ‘perfection’, such worries were unfounded, true?
Bowing her head, for only a moment, in appreciation for her master’s acknowledgement, she stood, attempting—and not ineffectively—to appear calm and collected. Her eyes, glistening intently, awaited her master’s orders.
“Ursula. There is an errand that must be overseen. I would do so myself, however, I am currently busy with assignments for Lord Nergal. I would like to entrust you with seeing my task to completion.”
A warmth fell over her: a sort of pride, in a way, rooted in the fact that she was being given the opportunity to fulfill a task deemed worthy of her master’s own attention.
And it was her master giving her the duty. Selecting her, above all others—above the Reed brothers, above the rest of the Black Fang, and anyone else. Her master had an endless number and supply of subordinates, yet she was chosen. Her chest swelled.
“It would be my honor and pleasure, Lady Sonia. What is it you would have commanded of me?”
The edge of her master’s thin, crimson lips turned up in a slight smile and another flutter went about her body. Those blood-red lines moved, “I would have you watch over another Fang and ensure his task to be done.”
“Another Fang, Lady Sonia?”
Her master nodded, “There is to be an important job—assassination, specifically—to be completed by the Black Fang, but I have doubts concerning the member chosen for the mission. Go forth to Prince Zephiel’s manse. If either the prince or Nino are seen alive, kill the Traitor—along with Prince Zephiel and Nino—immediately.”
Despite proficient and experienced self-control, her eyes grew wide, “Kill Jaffar and Nino, My Lady?”
“I have reason to doubt the Angel of Death’s commitment to the Fang. If my suspicions are found to be correct, carry out the Fang’s Judgment. As for Nino, her use to the Fang has run short as well.” Her master moved a strand of ebony from the gaze of a golden eye. “That is all.”
She, at a loss, was overwhelmed with various thoughts. Being assigned to deal with a traitor—who was none other than quite possibly the most renowned and feared tool in the Fang’s arsenal. Atop that, with the failure of the traitor, she would be given the task of eliminating Prince Zephiel—the soon-to-be crowned prince of Bern.
The task was of ever greater importance than she could have ever imagined, much less hoped for. The thought that her master would place such a task on her shoulders left her speechless. The very inclination that her master trusted her enough to fulfill such an important—and difficult—mission filled her heart with more pride than ever before.
Kneeling before her master once again, she closed her eyes and bowed her head in reverence and appreciation for the responsibility placed upon her. “Your will be done, Lady Sonia.”
“Now that the Reed brothers have fallen and the Angel of Death has lost face, you are by far my greatest asset in the Black Fang, Ursula.”
She felt smooth hands—gentle, yet strong—grasp her chin and her eyes opened. Her master firmly coerced her upwards, but held her head so that she was unable to stand at her full height and, as a result, her legs and back were bent.
Her head was only to her master’s chest. Her master, still grasping her chin, stepped forward, and she found her face close to the crevice of her master’s bosom, almost wedged into the great cleave. Her violet eyes, though, questioning and curious, looked up into the face of her master.
At first, she felt frozen, unable to tell whether she still breathed or not, but the feeling of her master’s saccharine breath on her face proved that she had not lost feeling. Those lips, thin and crimson, turned up into a appreciative smile.
“You will accomplish this task fully and efficiently, yes, Ursula?”
She frantically searched for her voice, only to find it moments after her master questioned her. “Y-yes, Lady Sonia.”
Those red lips came closer, slowly closing the space between her master’s face and her own. Her pounding heart was the only part of her body that moved: the only proof to her that she was still of the living. The sweet tufts of breath stroked her lips.
“You understand that others—the majority—are human refuse. Only few are worthy of Lord Nergal’s appreciation. He found myself to be one of the few worthy. Perfect. You still wish to be perfect, as myself, Ursula?”
She spoke immediately, although in a hushed, subdued tone, “Yes. I live for nothing more than to be worthy of perfection—To be worthy of your appreciation, Lady Sonia.”
“Good, Ursula.” Those golden eyes fell shut and the crimson lips drew closer. She tensed, her breath catching in her throat, but her eyes refused to close. The tiny space between their faces became ever smaller, yet the time seemed to drag on for an eternity. As soon as she believed what her master was doing, those red lips went past her own, past her flush cheeks, and arrived at her ear.
“The only alternative is the Fang’s Judgment.”
With that final, single whisper, her master let go of her and walked away. Straightening herself and regaining her composure, she watched. Her master gave her not a second glance, instead continuing on: rounded thighs elegantly moving back and forth, naked shoulders caressing the raven hair, and rounded posterior moving fluidly as though it possessed an awareness of its own.
At the moment, every thought, feeling, and action from the night had finally sunk into her consciousness as she watched her master—the epitome of perfection—walk away. She felt a renewed, fiery pride and determination within her. She called out to her master, who, not turning, simply gave a gentle laugh and a wave of a black-gloved hand in response:
“I shall carry out the will of the Black Fang quickly, diligently, and efficiently. I shall carry out the will of the Black Fang with nothing less than perfection!”
Wave after wave of Fang members—some of the most hardened and skilled—fell to the ground, each one being bested soon after her commands to attack. Each fell without a fight, simply because the opponent slew each one with a single blow. The corpses littered the area and the number continued to grow.
She watched from afar as even her second-in-command, a blood-craven paladin, fell to no more than two blows. Amongst the bodies, standing as expressionlessly as always, was the opponent—the single opponent who had slain dozens upon dozens of Black Fang members without so much as a sweat.
Angel of Death indeed.
She had heard of his skills at length and had been in the man’s presence numerous times, but to see his abilities accomplish such a task as this was something else altogether. She had hoped to find him as the traitor her master had thought. She had, but her hopes accomplishing her mission quickly and without casualty had been quickly demolished.
They were garbage, though.
Her master had taught her that long, long ago. Once, she fought alongside such refuse, fighting for what they believed they fought for. She was reluctant at first, she had to admit, but her master found something in her and took the actions slowly. Slowly, she began to admire her master—realizing the perfection—just as her master made her grasp her own capabilities and potential.
The others, though, were waste. Easily expendable and of infinite supply. They were so far from perfection that help was useless and death the only effective gift. Besides, their loss lead the world closer to perfection.
That is why, despite the great losses to be suffered there that night, she still felt her master would be greatly pleased and appreciative once she accomplished the task. All there was to be done was to slay the traitor and then finding the child and the prince would be simple.
Her master would be pleased…
That thought made her calm that night, despite the massacre occurring before her. The thought gave her confidence and allowed her to think and act clearly and effectively. The opponent, no matter how many of her pawns he fell, would not survive her. Nor would the child. Or the prince. All would fall to her own power, for no reason than to please her master.
Instructing the other refuse to fall back, she moved her mount towards the traitor, gaining his attention. Brandishing his twin daggers, the traitor leapt forth to close the wide distance between them. She waived her hand, sending a ball of fire in retaliation. The traitor dodged the magic assault easily, leaving not even a singe on his cloak.
Pulling on the reigns of her horse with her other hand, she moved back while casting another plume of fire, which the traitor ducked beneath. The distance, in only a moment, had closed to almost nothing. Attempting to dodge the traitor’s own attack, she had her mount stumble sideways quickly, but the blade connected with the horse’s thigh.
Perfect! Quickly, she turned her hand to left, aiming for the traitor as he attempted to recover from his miss. Before he had a chance to strike her, she quickly cast a thunder spell, sending lightning coursing through him. He flew back, hitting a wall, then slid down. She could tell he was alive, but his body was paralyzed for the time being.
Joyous that her mission for her master was near completion, she relaxed and smiled. Her master would be pleased.
When she contemplated what should have been done next, though, she heard voices. No, not only voices—clanging of weapons and armor, as well! The prince’s bodyguards had been removed from the area, so who could possibly be assaulting her forces?
“Jaffar!” from one of the shadowed halls came the young voice, followed by the owner: a young, green-haired mage who quickly sprinted to the side of the collapsed traitor. The mage was her master’s daughter, as well as one of her intended targets to deal away with.
From where the mage had appeared, others began to follow. A large, blue-armored man wielding a heavy ax, then a woman clearly from the northern plains, and, finally, a red-haired man with a blue-haired girl on his heels.
No, it could not possibly be! This… as quickly as she began to fret, realization set in, causing her to regain the fiery determination in her chest. She eyed the blue-haired girl. That is one of the dragon children Lord Nergal has been searching for! If I were to bring that to Lady Sonia, she would be more grateful than I could ever imagine!
The other three had made their way to the two traitors, but the dragon child could not move as quickly with such a frail body and confining dress. She urged on her wounded steed towards her target. Half way, the creature began to fail, slowling down ever more and whimpering, whimpering. Leaping off her stead, she ran on her own legs.
The dragon child saw her, but simply froze in fright.
Lady Sonia will be so honored! She…she will reward me so and I may…
“Ninian!” she heard a voice call out as she grasped onto her prey. “Ninian! Unhand her!” Turning on her heal, she saw the redheaded boy—most likely the heir of Pherae that had been causing Lord Nergal and Lady Sonia so much trouble—rushed towards her. Raising a hand, she cast a fire incantation, sending the small, concentrated plume towards the boy.
Whether he is hit or dodges, I will have enough time to escape as my forces finally get a hold of themselves and distract them.
Her smile faded as the boy, instead of dodging the attack altogether, simply turned his body ever so slightly to avoid the brunt of the attack. Although his right arm and chest were struck, his momentum carried on and he was not slowed. With no time and clasped onto her prey with one arm, she was unable to run or dodge.
The long shaft of the rapier plunged into her bosom. The strike punctured a breast, but, as she felt, wounded neither her heart nor lungs. Her grip on the dragon child grew limp and the blue-haired girl quickly stumbled away.
Lady Sonia… Water gathered at the corner of her eyes.
Her legs seemed to disappear from beneath her and she fell forward. The boy—the one who struck her down—grabbed her, preventing her fall. The smell of charred clothing and flesh filled her nostrils as she weakly looked around, watching her forces flee, not a one sparing her a glance.
The boy gently set her onto the floor and stood above her. She looked up at him, pleading for death, which she expected, but he was not so kind as to oblige. Shaking his head, saying she may yet survive, he left with the others, including the two traitors.
Survive? She was already dead. The blood pouring from the wound may stop eventually, but she was dead.
And she would not be able to even apologize to Lady Sonia…
She laid upon the cold floor of the manse, the wound sending pain coursing through her body as she did so. The feeling, though, paled in comparison to the agonizing anguish going through her mind.
She was imperfect. Dreadfully imperfect. No better than the other refuse. Another pang of pain coursed through her body and her face began to dampen. She had been so close. Yet, if she had failed now, then all the work had been futile, anyways.
So far from perfection, she failed.
She yearned to see her master one last time. To apologize. To gaze upon the perfection. Her heart, despite being untouched by the weapon that plunged into her, hurt more than any other part of her body.
Even if she did not die there, she would not be able to see her master. The pain grew too great and she began to see white.
The voice shook her awake. The only voice that could do so. Opening her eyes, despite her body’s urges to not do so, she saw her master standing before her. The faint light of the moon accentuated each and every curve and crevice of her master’s perfect form.
Even in her current state, the feeling of awe overwhelmed all else. Fighting past the pain in her chest, she got to her knees then, shakily, stood upon her feet. She attempted to look as honorable and humble as usual before her master, despite her wound, pain, and the blood staining her dress.
“Lady Sonia, why…why are you here?”
Her master looked at her for a moment. “Someone must clean this mess and with morning approaching, the guards and soldiers will return. The situation has grown complicated. There is no one else worthy enough to be able to fix this.”
“I am sorry, Lady Sonia. This…this is all my fault. I was weak, imper—”
“You were the one and only that had the makings of perfection such as myself. One day, Lord Nergal may have saw that and allowed you a part in the new world.”
Once again, she felt her face moisten. No time before then had she felt so at a loss before her master. Never before had her master felt so far away, despite being so close. Her wound screamed once again, her chest in a flare of pain. She allowed her eyes to begin to close, as she felt not worthy to continue gazing on her master.
As soon as the eyes fell shut, she felt a gentle caress on her waist. Eyes shooting open, she saw her master standing right in front of her. Her master’s hands, moving from her waist, traveled up her back. Her master pulled her into an embrace, one hand on the back of her head and another between her shoulders.
Bodies pushed together, her heart began to race as it had long before. Filling with pride and confidence, despite the severe pain from both the wound and her failure. “Lady Sonia?”
“I had confidence in you. You were once the most worthy member of the Black Fang. You were close to the goal, Ursula. You were invaluable.”
The feeling of being in such a position was like a panacea to her pain. Her master’s head, with the perfectly beautiful face, was against her own. The giant bosom was right beneath her face, allowing her to see all. The strong hands pulled her tighter.
“You may have been worthy of my considering you an equal someday.”
Relief swelled in her. Her master, despite the failure, may allow her a second chance! Now that she knew how her master felt, she would work a hundred times more diligently. She would complete all her jobs with precision greater than any other.
The hand holding her head moved, gently stroking down her back, then to her waist. “But, Ursula.” The hand left her waist and, immediately after, a sharp pain, worse than that of the rapier, spread from a spot on her back. “You proved me wrong.”
A moment passed where all she saw was white and the only feeling was of pain. Once she regained sight, she saw blood on her master’s chest.
Her mouth tasted of copper, immediately telling her what was inside. She attempted to speak to her master, but no sound came from her mouth. Her master stepped back and, without any support, she fell to the ground fiercely.
Standing before her, her master eyed the knife in one of those gentle hands, then turned her attention to the blood spattered about the ample chest. Wiping the crimson stain, her master, without looking down to her, spoke, “I should have had less faith in such waste. No different than any other. I am the sole and unique one. Alone.”
As her master, with those thin red lips turned down into a sneer, turned to leave. With all her might—what little was left, at any rate—she attempted to yell to her master, to plead, to apologize, but to no avail. No voice—no sound—came from her mouth, but only spattering red liquid.
As her vision failed her, she watched her master disappear into the shadows. Her hand reached out, attempting to grasp her master. Tears fell and mixed with the blood growing around her. Her chest, now hollow and broken, ceased moving altogether.