Black Veil Brides Imagines

The Art of War (The Legion Of The Black)

The wasted landscape stretched out before them as The Wild Ones made their rounds through the Expanse. It wasn't uncommon for rebels to be found in the desert land surrounding F.E.A.R.'s compound, and every soul The Wild Ones managed to save meant another pair of hands to help in their battle against the oppressive regime The Matriarch had built.

They had suffered a loss a few days ago. A skirmish between the agents of F.E.A.R. and their rebels had broken out, and they had suffered causalities. They ached for their fallen, who had all been given proper burials after their bodies had been retrieved. All but one, that is. F.E.A.R.'s agents had taken one hostage, and The Wild Ones knew she was now locked away in their compound, either behind bars or lying on a rack.

The Prophet clenched his fist at his side as he thought about her; the black cord that she'd worn as a necklace was wrapped tightly around his fist. It was his reminder, not that he needed one. They were close to all of the rebels, but she was one they were particularly fond of, a close friend who had been with them since the beginning.

"There," The Mystic said suddenly. Far off in the distance, he could make out the form of a young girl, lying on the desert floor.

They made their way over quickly, and The Mystic was the first to make out her face. His exceptional sight was only one of the reasons he had been chosen for lead the rebellion.

"It's her!" he said, quickening his pace. The others followed without hesitation, sliding to sudden halts as, one-by-one, they recognized the face underneath the smudged, black paint.

The Deviant lifted her head into his lap, placing a gentle hand on her neck. "There's a pulse."

"We have to get her back to camp," The Mourner said. "She'll need to be treated."

They fell silent as she stirred, her head lulling as her eyes fluttered. Her fingers twitched, and she sucked in a deep breath. When her eyes slid open and she saw The Deviant leaning over her, she gave a weak smile. Slowly, she smoothed her hand under her shirt, pulling out a large, crumpled document.

"What's this?" The Prophet asked quietly. She offered it to him silently and he took it, watching her arm fall limply back to the ground as she slipped into unconsciousness again. He unfolded the thick paper, eyes scanning the faded lines before widening in surprise.

"What is it?" The Destroyer asked.

"They had her," The Prophet began slowly, "but she escaped." He turned the document around to show the rest of his company. "It's a blueprint of F.E.A.R.'s compound...she just won us the war."