The Destroyer (TBC)

Naamah has tried to live a normal life as long as humanly possible. Unfortunately for her, she's not human. Once again, she's pulled back to the Underworld to defend the realm that is rightfully hers.

Finn’s boots echoed throughout the stone corridor with intent. Slaves held close to the wall, avoiding his gaze. They knew better than to get in the way of their liege in such a state.

            A guard made attempt to stop the hardened man, only to be pinned to a pillar. Furiously, he held fast to the guard’s chest piece. “Where is she?”

            “The execution yard, my liege. Sir, there are important matters to-“

            “It can wait. Tell one of the slaves to prepare a bath.” Finn released the man from his grip and pushed him out of the way. 

            He had been gone only a fortnight, and she had already turned back to her ways yet again. She was still in no condition to be in combat, yet her bloodlust was in full swing. Finn neared the yard, and the screams became quite apparent. Were this any other situation, he would have reveled in such things.  The marble floor was sullied with bloody handprints.

            He turned the corner to see his woman kicking a brutish man in the solar plexus, causing him to drop his sword and fall to his back.  She held her two daggers with the blades pressed against her forearms, dripping with blood. “Get up, you swine,” she hissed. He didn’t need to see her face to know that death was in her eyes. She would not take the life of someone who refused to fight - even if he was a criminal.

            Naamah spun on her heels at the sound of her name, but the black did not fade from her eyes. Finn could feel her energy crackling so strongly that the hair on his neck stood on end.  She said nothing - she merely looked at him as her chest heaved and a drop of blood fell down her cheek. It was not her own. As he took in more of her appearance, he noticed that her clothes were completely soaked in her opponent’s blood. He had not noticed it before, as the dark color masked the crimson quite well.

            “Come back.” He slowly approached her, reaching out a hand, mentally pleading for her to return from her rage. If he approached too quickly, she would surely do worse to him than the man she had been fighting. “I have returned,” he coaxed, “so must you.”

            She stepped away from the fallen man, dropping her weapons into the dirt. Two soldiers from across the yard rushed to drag the man back to his cell. Finn watched as her eyes softened, the black turning once again to their normal pale green. Knowing what would follow, he quickly lunged to her side just in time for her legs to give out.  He pulled her head to his chest, her usual honeyed smell overwhelmed by the sharp one of blood.

 

 

            “You should have let me kill him.”

            Finn gently pulled the braids from Naamah’s hair, letting it fall gracefully over her back and dip into the water. “The guards tell me you took seventeen lives already. There is hardly need to take any more.”

            She scoffed, wincing as he pulled her to lean back against him in the bath. “As if they did not deserve such a fate? They were all rapists and murderers. Pigs, the lot of them.”

            “Yet you toy with them for your own amusement.” He gently lifted her arm and used a cloth to wipe the remnants of blood from her bruised skin.  

            “I’ll not have them wiped from this plane quickly,” she snapped. “They will feel the pain and fear they inflicted on their victims tenfold.”

            Naamah’s energy began to crackle with fury yet again, causing Finn to pull back slightly. He kissed the back of her head, and gently ran his hands down her shoulders and arms before letting them interlace across her middle. Her energy quickly calmed, and she covered his arms with her own, pulling her legs closer to her body and sinking into him. Her head rested on his left shoulder, giving him ample opportunity to lace kisses down her bare neck.

            Her hands moved to wrap around his left arm in a sort of awkward hug, sighing contently. It was not long before she fell into slumber, likely for the first time in days.

            A slave hesitantly opened the door, only to be silently shooed away by Finn. She quickly bowed and left, her face reddening in apology. He would not have anyone wake her from much needed rest, not even himself. The water had cooled substantially, and his leg had fallen numb, but he refused to move her. That is, until goosebumps formed on her naked skin and she shivered slightly in her resting state.

 

 

            He awoke in the dark to a sight he had much missed. His queen was facing away from him at the edge of the bed, pulling her silk dressing robe over her milky white skin. He looked on silently as she wrapped her weapons belt around her hips, a stark contrast to the feminine cloth draped from her shoulders.

            At last, he could wait no more. Reaching across the bed, he took firm hold of her belt and pulled her towards him. Naamah yelped in surprise, but smiled as her lover rolled on top of her and pulled her in for a kiss.  “You temptress,” he teased. “Look what you do to me.”

            Naamah pulled his hand from her skin and interlaced her fingers with his, kissing them. Then, to his surprise, she flipped him over on his back, straddling his hips. “You’ll not have me yet,” she whispered, quickly jumping off the bed and escaping from the room.

            Finn groaned in frustration. The gods had granted him a fiery woman that he could barely handle. But then, he’d have it no other way. He waited a moment before rising from the down covers, his muscles instinctually tensing at the sudden cold air.

            He pulled on his trousers and boots before belting his sword. He opened the door, squinting at the intrusion of light from the hall. Two guards across from his bedchamber bowed their heads. His face quickly turned inquisitive. “You let her off alone?”

            The blond soldier spoke without hesitation. “She said she was going to walk the gardens, and wished to go on her own.”

            “Very well,” he sighed. “Take your leave.” The soldiers bowed yet again, and walked off.

           

The cold spring air bit at Naamah’s skin.  She found unexplainable beauty in the gardens under the moonlight.  But the voices called at her yet again, cursing her to return to the cage she had only just escaped from. Their faces permeated her consciousness, demanding attention. She reached to take an apple from her favorite tree. Focusing intently, she bit into it, taking note of the smooth skin and crisp taste. Perhaps she could push them out, force them to take their leave.

She could feel the darkness pulling her back. The two symmetrical scars running down her back began to burn, her eyes turning black. She pushed back, commanding the voices to leave under her breath. They would not give. The apple in her hand rotted, falling apart before her eyes.

“Kill him,” they whispered. The voices overlapped each other and demanded her attention.

 Naamah dug her nails into the bark of the tree, fighting to quiet the voices, but she knew she could not.

            She turned, hand on the hilt of her knife. She could do nothing to fight it any longer. The part of her mind that begged her to stop was gone. Any inkling of humanity she possessed, destroyed. Her bare feet silently paced through the garden, her heartbeat filling her ears.

            Finn rounded the corner of a hedge, nearly running into his wife. He grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She paused, only to throw his hands from her and continue walking. He spun on his heels and chased after her. “Naamah, stop!”

            Naamah continued on, her robe billowing behind her. Finn struggled to keep pace, the dark energy weighing heavily on him. She moved gracefully, like a true queen; there was something chilling about the severity of her stride. This was a dangerous creature that none would be wise to cross.

            She threw open the door to the holding cell without even touching it. It slammed in Finn’s face, Naamah’s energy locking it.  The guards were cowering in the far corner of the dungeon, for right reason. The man in the cell backed to the corner, falling over himself in a feeble attempt to escape her. But there was no escape - she was the Destroyer.

            Finn could feel the air vibrating within the cell as the man started to scream. She stood there, motionless. He begged her to cease, but his pleading was cut short as the unmistakable sound of bones being crushed permeated the air. Finn looked away, all too familiar with the sight of what she was doing.

            The man’s eyes were burned from their sockets, every bone in his body shattered. His heart and lungs were punctured, and the back of his skull sunken in. The entire cell was splattered in blood, save a circle surrounding the queen; she remained untouched.

            The Destroyer calmly left the cell, the air suddenly stripped of all feeling. The overwhelming sense of emptiness left Finn lightheaded, grasping for something to hold his weight.

 

 

            The silence the next morning was deafening. Finn cringed at the sound of putting down his cup. Naamah did not eat, only looked at the food in front of her with disgust.

            “I thought you said they were gone,” he finally braved.

            Naamah didn’t respond. She moved her hands from her lap up to her face, resting her elbows on the table. She had changed from the black dressing robe into a pale green one. Finn had no doubt it was in attempt to distance herself from the events that unfolded in the evening. He was surprised she even had such a delicate color at her disposal, but he couldn’t deny it suited her pale skin impeccably. The ivory lace on her sleeves draped haphazardly down to the table.

            Finn knew better than to push her to answer - she’d do so in her own time. It was clear that the smell of food was nauseating to her, so he motioned to her slaves. One took her food from the table, and the other waited for the queen to stand. She avoided all eye contact with her husband at the other end of the mahogany table, and walked quickly from the room.

            The king leaned back and sighed. A guard entered, pausing to bow and wait for his invitation. Finn waved him on. It was the guard he had pushed around the day earlier, no doubt returning to bring up the matters of importance he spoke of.

            “I’m sorry to disturb you, my liege, but this cannot be left untended.”

            “I understand.”

            “The fissures in the west have resurfaced. Your people are concerned that . . . the queen is responsible.”

 

 

            “I can dress myself, thank you. Take leave.”

            The women bowed, leaving their queen and closing the door to her chambers. The energy in the room began to electrify.

            “I won’t go back,” she snarled. Naamah turned to face the shade that had manifested in the middle of the room. “You promised I could stay - lead a human life.”

            The shade laughed. “Human? Don’t fool yourself, daughter. You are nothing of the kind. You are the Destroyer and you will do your job.”

            “You have plenty of w****s to seduce men to the Underworld. Is that not more entertaining to watch?”

            “Don’t act as if you do not find enjoyment in what you do. I watch your work. Your soul gets in your way. Destroy it as you do with others, and return with me. Your father.”

            Naamah strode closer to the figure. “You are not my father. You have no right to such a word! You killed my parents - something you can never be forgiven for.”

            “Tsk, tsk. I did no such thing. You’re the one that killed them. I merely . . . gave you the extra push you needed. They were holding you back, after all. Now that b*****d of a king is.”

            Fury burned in Naamah’s eyes. If this demon had any form, she would have driven a sword through his chest. “That b*****d is my husband - and you’ll do right to remember that! I care not that I hail from you. He is my family, my soul. You are merely my jailer.”

            The shade floated motionless for a moment, black energy radiating from its center. “You will return to the Underworld - your home. And you will play the role you were created for. Until then, your kingdom will rot.” The tyrant’s voice faded as the blackness did from the room.

            Naamah released her hands from their tight fists, marks from her nails beginning to bruise. She took a deep breath and walked to her dresser with as much dignity as she could conjure. Dropping her dressing robe in a pile around her ankles, she browsed her options for what would surely be a long day.

            Before she could reach for her underdress, her husband burst through the door. She gasped, backing into the cold stone wall. Even though he had seen her in such a state many times before, he couldn’t help but stumble slightly at the sight of her. He cleared his throat, stopping quite a distance from her. Finn had to remind himself that he was not angry at her.

            “I love you,” he started, “but we need to talk about this. Did your father come back?”

            Naamah’s stature immediately tensed. “He is not my father!”

            Finn took her response as an animate “yes”. Rather than approach his wife, he began to finger through the clothes hanging in the dresser. He pulled a deep purple dress adorned with black embroidery from its home, along with her underdress and corset.

            “I’m sorry,” he responded. “What would you rather me call him? Your life-giver?” He scoffed inwardly at his choice of terminology as he approached her with her clothing.

            Naamah let her husband slip the overdress over her head, smoothing it down the front of her body. “He created me. Nothing more.”

            “Okay, but you haven’t answered my question.” Finn reached around the small frame of the queen to close the busc of her corset, doing his best to not get distracted by the warmth of her skin. “Did he come back?”

            Naamah turned and pulled her hair to a side, allowing Finn access to her corset laces. “Several times. He wants me back.” She paused to let him tighten the laces before continuing. “I won’t kill for him again. I won’t take the souls of innocent people.”

            Finn took his wife by the hips and turned her to face him once again. He took her face in his hands, kissed her forehead, and looked her in the eyes. “I know you won’t,” he whispered. “You’re strong enough, I’ve no doubt.” His eyes hardened. “But we need to do something about the fissures. It’s worrying the peasants.”

            Naamah tore her face from Finn’s hands. “Fissures? Finn, what fissures?”

            He looked at her with confusion. “The ones your - he - created. My guards say they reopened in the west.”

            Naamah quickly slipped her dress over her head and pulled on her boots. “Show me.” She ripped her weapons belt from the bedside table and headed for the door.

 

 

            The king and queen dismounted from their horses, handing the reigns to the guards. The countryside would have been beautiful, if it weren’t for the gaping crevasse splitting the earth into ragged halves. A wall of blue mist rose from the broken earth.

            Naamah knew what was going on. She didn’t have to approach the rift to know. This wasn’t Chaorde’s doing - it was the prisoners in the Underworld trying to escape. What she didn’t understand was why she was not informed. More importantly, how didn’t she feel it?

            There were faint screams echoing from the darkness. No wonder the citizens were concerned. But this was not her doing. Something was wrong in the Underworld.

            She pulled energy from the earth, redirecting it to call the one being she hated more than anything. The black mist began to form, her creator being hailed from the Underworld by her request.

            “Why did you not tell me of this?” Naamah’s voice pierced the air.

            The shape lowered, looking almost shamed. “I told you, come back. They’re revolting.”

            He was no longer strong enough to hold the Underworld together. No wonder his visits were becoming more frequent - he needed a successor. As his only heir, Naamah would be the only one capable. If such a thing weren’t so dangerous, Naamah would have found sick pleasure in his failure. Death himself was approaching, well, death.

            S**t, she didn’t even mind the fact that she would be taking over. She could make changes, and wouldn’t have to fight to keep her soul. Granted, there were many of his little minions that would love to see her burn, but she could destroy them with nothing more than a look.

            That is, if she could repair the fissure and stop the revolt. It was time she returned to the Underworld.

 

 

           

            Naamah’s weapons clattered as she strode through the doors to her father’s throne room. Guards bowed, most of them only out of requirement.  The wanted her there no more than she did. The king of the Underworld dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand, and they darted out of the room. 

            “My love,” he chimed. “That is no way for the heiress of the Underworld to dress. You will change into fitting garb, then you are to scout out the rift. There are guards pushing souls back as we speak.”

            She bowed her head before spinning on her heels and leaving the same way she entered. The shale floor reflected the light from the candles on the wall, adding to the eerie surroundings. As much as she hated being here, she had to admit she loved how everything looked. It was her bloodline, for sure, that brought her to admire such darkness. A servant rushed to her side, being sure to make as much noise as possible. Naamah instantly knew who it was.

            “Kore,” she smiled. “The one face I can deal with in this place.”

            Kore said nothing, only looked at the floor as they walked back to Naamah’s chambers. Her hands remained clasped behind her back, hidden by her black servant’s gown. As Naamah’s personal servant, she was well-dressed and taken care of. As Naamah opened the door to her chambers, the scent of lotus and musk permeated the air.

            A mauve, floor length gown was laid out on the bed, along with gladiator sandals. Kore helped Naamah out of her riding clothes and handed her the gown. It had black lacing down the sides to her hips that contrasted the otherwise soft gauze fabric.  Where the lacing ended, the dress draped elegantly to the floor. Kore adorned her mistress with her crown " a black circlet of thorns and garnets.

            Now she truly looked like the goddess she was - the daughter of Death.

 

 

 

 

 TBC

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Really looking for suggestions of any kind. I'd like to continue it if there's enough interest.

Reviews

[Sesame]

Hello Scarlett,

I have read the first scene/paragraph. And this promises to be a brutal, bloddy and action-packed story. The entire piece is a bit long to give a casual review here, and I must save some time to do some writing myself I am afraid. Alright, after having said that: I think it is well-written technically. But overall it reads like something I have read or seen before many times. This could be a good thing as it means your descriptions are effective, but I fear it is also a bad thing because it reads a bit like a cliché . I do not like to say it like that, but that is the way I feel when reading. A way to address this issue would be by making your characters come alive first. Next to that, I have two suggestions:

A guard made attempt -> "a guard attempted" or "a guard made an attempt"

she had already turned back to her ways yet again. - lose the "yet"

Hope it helps! And I am very sorry to say that the first part has not made me want to read more.

Regards, Sesame.