Shuyin and Iris

A Story by Shaibelle

Just some more characters of the phantasmagoria- this is not finished. I will update when it is.

The golden blade whirred across the battle field followed by a streak of crimson blood-red flames. Mirroring the streaking metal was the woman’s sun-lit hair flailing in the unnatural wind of war. Scarlet armor of dragon scales adorned the swift and gentle curves of her body, leaving all, but her profile, encased. The flare of flames from her hands followed by a clearly animalistic roar echoed across the desert in a comparatively icy hatred. In her wake warriors fell without ever landing a single blow, she was untouchable, or so it would seem. Blood drained from every crack in her armor and ever more from her mouth as she fought to breathe. She was dying.

From the distance, kicking up a cloud of dust immense enough to cover over nearly a mile in any direction, came a single creature. It towered nearly six times the size of any man, its silver-white fur swirling as it ran. The air around it seemed to bend light towards the massive beast’s glowing golden eyes and spiraled evil grin. Appearing a cross between a sky dragon and an enormous wolf of some sort, the animal was effectively terrifying in all essences of the word. When it roared a response to the girl with the golden sword, everything froze for a matter of seconds, the battle stopping altogether.

Throwing itself into the air the beast sailed overhead of a human battalion, taking out the next when it landed and skidded into them. Roaring a second time it came to stand over the girl as she stabbed her sword between a set of stones and used it to support herself. This roar was worse than the first, tearing through the minds of men like the horrid snap of one’s spine, resonating with the sounds of thousands of wailing and shrieking men and women as they died. Numb from the sheer pain of the sound, the woman places her hand gently on the animal’s leg and pants as her body drops to the ground.

In a panic now, the creature lifts its paw to examine her, then draws her further under itself, and unleashes a third and final bellowing roar- many times worse the other two combined. Every soldier on the field realizes they are about to die, and begin their terrified fleeing, knowing in their hearts it is in vain. The beast tears after them, kicking sand and rocks everywhere in its frenzy, shredding with tooth and claw anything that merely resembles a human being. Clamping a man in its jaws it snarls and throws him across the sands, slamming him into a rock wall with force enough to shatter his armor and leave a splash of dark red across the stones. All others within range of the creature were slammed to the ground by the creature’s elegant and whip-like white tail.

Turning its great head it narrows all six of its amber eyes and grins, the demonic spiral twisting its way back into view. The men do not see, nor will they ever. Its jaws hang open now, wide enough to fit a full grown man, and it hisses. It was not a sound made by the beast, it came from somewhere else, from the purple haze materializing within its mouth…The haze devoured the air as it sped towards the men, surrounding them and then eating away at them until only a skeleton was left to crash to the earth where they once ran. Even the bones began to age until they were simply blown away in the desert winds, hidden forever among them. Every living thing in that dared to threaten the woman was annihilated.

The haze returns to the creature’s still open jaws and flows into its mouth and eyes, the beast breathed the substance, creating another hissing sound. Glancing back at the stilled woman lying upon a crop of rocks, the beast snorts and paces to her side; blood was smeared across nearly all of the once pearly-white fur of its face, only worsening as it nuzzled the woman at its feet. Gradually the beast’s body alters and it becomes a man, a man in the simple black garb of the Victorian ages. Encasing the woman in his arms he unclasps the belts of her armor that lined her back and sides, until the plates release and allows him to free her. Barely any of the white on her shirt remained; it was all the deep maroon-red of blood.

Immediately he begins running his hands across her stomach, feeling for something unseen. Within her curved and blood-soaked frame was a baby somewhere, he knew not how to tell if the poor child was alright, but at least it remained inside her, for the time at least. His face hardened in worry, he rests his head against her heart, vying desperately to hear her heart beat. Instead of a heartbeat he hears her voice, “What’re you doing-?” Her words were weak and slurred from fatigue. She pressed at his head to move him and sighed in a manner most exasperated. “Iris, get your fat head off me.”

The man, Iris, sits up, still clearly worried, and rubs at his earth-toned, wavy hair. “I thought you were dead,” the innocence in his voice fights with the woman to create a smile.

“Not yet, Iris,” her movements were subtle, and her voice softer than usual.

Knowing nothing else to say he blurts, “What of the baby?” She doesn't respond to the inquiry, and stares with void eyes upon him. The matter of a minute drags on as an hour, and he whispers in a small voice, “I should have come sooner.” His heart visibly sinks.

The blond forces her hand into his and mutters, “At least I'm here-” she hesitates a moment too long and wavers into broken sighs.