The Shiverer

One

This might hopefully be a new book, here is a sneak preview :) please click on that star if you'd like an update!

Sweat pearled on the man's pudgy brow and a grunt of surprise came from his overindulged mouth as he saw the blood soak through his shirt. His eyes clouded with the phantom of death and he toppled forwards, his spectacles shattering on the linoleum floor.

The girl's periwinkle blue eyes sparked in the white neon light as she pulled out the knife. There was something nonchalant in her manner as she took a small square of cloth from a pocket and calmly wiped the razor-sharp blade clean in precise and practiced movements. Something about the set of her shoulders under the dark material of the military-like black gear she wore proclaimed her to be 'in the zone', like an athlete preparing for a big race as she places herself at the starting line.

She knew the faces of all the people she had killed, could visit them in her mind as sharply detailed as photographs, but they did not trouble her dreams. Every one of them had died for the Cause.

The woman could have used a curse, killing him instantly and trapping his soul in his body to prevent it from ever passing the first threshold, but she was feeling lenient today.

Her hands sketched the air in ritual movement, and a shimmering mark appeared over the man's body. It hung pensive for a moment, before it caressed the fat man's neck with thundering flames.
'I am giving you the funeral pyre reserved for heroes and great warriors', she said, her dark mouth twitching as the orange shadows in her eyes blazed.

And then the girl laughed.

~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Grace straightened under the bar as she lifted it for the 24th time in a row. She was met with a jeer from her training partner, Simon.
'You'll never beat my record, Gracie-wacie, unless you move that well-endowed derriere!'
The dark-haired teenager was really a pain in the ass, especially when she was trying to train, for goddess's sake, but she knew his nagging kept her performing better.
'We'll see about that, idiot.', she muttered through gritted teeth, sweat pooling on her eyelids and almost blinding her.
Interruption came in the form of Elder Igor's voice booming from the cave walls, making Simon jump and Grace almost drop her bar.
'A meeting at this hour?', frowned the young man, before assuming the traditional pose, hand over heart, last two fingers spread out to represent Zewyn and Aidarn, as the Elder swept down the center pathway. Both youngsters inclined their heads in the demanded respect.
'Igor's a fool, Grace whispered, he probably called the meeting to discuss the state of his bunions.'
Simon stifled his laughter against a hand and ended up snorting on a rather ungentlemanly manner.