Completed Under the Skin

[Vittoria Larrainth]

Vittoria smiled, a gracious and most pretty expression to bring life to her face, yet again, the beams of moonslight between the gaps in the wall obscured her facade. "I like that. Archon of Ashes."
But footsteps hurried outside, pricking Vittoria's ear and tilting her face towards the barn door that was half open. That smile widened when a lone man came into view.
"Dreadlord Ophir." The Initiate greeted, standing up and innocently waiting on the Dreadlord's words.
He was in his mid forties, fighting for near three decades for Vel Anir, and yet the sight he had been greeted outside with had turned his face pale. His eyes drifted to the Initiate, to the perfect visage she put on. "You defied my orders." Then his eyes went to the woman benhind Vittoria.
He sucked in a breath.
Vittoria began walking towards him, just a few feet before pausing. "You knew I would."
"I—"

"You saw me leave. I looked straight at you and you turned away. Yes, I went against orders, but you did not stop me."

"I didn't think you would be this hungry for blood and destruction!" He roared, looking every bit of a Proctor disappointed in their Initiates. Her sly smile did not help either, for he marched up to her and towered above her. "And this! She is half mutilated. What kind of girl goes to such lengths?!"

Vittoria did not answer, she kept a smile on her lips.

Ophir grabbed her by the collar, pulling her towards him. "This is an abomination. There will be a record of this, Larrainth. Punishment must be dealt." And just as quickly, he dropped his hold on her. He knew one wrong move and he could be her next target.

"Leave this place."

Vittoria listened.

After a moment, Ophir slowly stalked forward, peering down at the woman. He looked over her injuries, saw the cuts and blood on her arm. She was not going anywhere anytime soon, and perhaps would bleed out over time if a god took mercy upon them. He turned, and walked away.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Death was right there, found in a blade that carved through flesh with an artisan's delight and in the blood that flowed from a multitude of cuts. She accepted the end, had accepted it a long time ago even when it had not accepted her in return, insisting on survival, that she had to carry on with the weight of her massacred squad on her back.

Syele Wilhart was ready.

Yet once more, death walked away, and in its place stood the form of a man, a Dreadlord who scolded the monster for having her fun, piece by piece.

An Initiate.

Almost a child.

She could have laughed just as much as she could have cried.

The Dreadlord chastised the end of the Larrainth line for her sadism, his disgust writ large over his face and in his tone. They could preach until the end of time that the Revolution had brought meaningful change, but from where Wilhart lay, all she could see was that the machine that made monsters was just as fertile.

As if washing his hands of the Initiate's actions, the Dreadlord didn't even bother to finish the job. The former Sargeant's eyes, filled with nought but venom and despair, watched them leave.

Alone.

Dying.

Slowly.

Again.

A hoarse, strangled howl echoed throughout the rafters of the abandoned barn.