"'The archer is the true
Weapon
The bow is just a long piece of wood'"
- Sebastien De Castell
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"Where are they!"
"I told you," the soldier cried out, as the collar of his shirt was pulled forward,"they're all dead!"
"Liar," Lovota hissed, twirling a knife between her fingers, before plunging it into the side of his throat.
Blood gushed from the wound, dying her fingertips red. His hand limply grabbed hers in an attempt to save whatever few seconds of his life he has left.
Sneering at the soldier, Lovota ripped her dagger from his throat, making the individual fall lifeless to the floor.
Putting her fingers beside their neck, she felt a fair heartbeat slowly fluttering away to nothingness. Flipping the blade, she smeared the blood off of the knife onto their sleeve.
"Taim emo laik stedaunon, den ai don ingen grunn gon yu kom bo."
Standing up, Lovota continued on her way down the hall. An arrow now in her grasp, her bow stretched out infront of her, as she listened to the sound of voices catching off the walls.
She could hear the machinery of this place whistling, stepping over two bodies, she shoved open a door and peaked through the crack. It must've been an engine room.
Stepping further in, she softly closed the door behind her, quieting her breathes and sharpening her footsteps. This place was slightly hollow, therefore, any sound would be a beacon of her existence.
The room was a light tan, overhead ran artificial lighting flickering above. The light was so intense, her hands almost twitched to turn the lights off.
Swinging herself around a bar, she planted her feet silently on the bridge. The string of Lovotas bow, stinging her arms skin, as it dug into her flesh.
That was, suddenly, when an alarm started blaring.
Looking through the gaps of the wire infront of her, she watched as the man she was with before ran down the long stretch, weaving between hallways.
Two men were running after him, suddenly splitting up in their chase to better their odds of capturing him.
Now, Lovota thought, a game of cat and mouse.
Wringing an arrow to her bow, she felt the wire tear that callouses on her fingertips. Bloody droplets from the soldier before made the task slightly harder than it had to be.
Feeling the pull of her bow, she wrenched her arm back so that the feather aligned with her vision. It wasn't the most practical shooting style, but it was effective if done right.
Watching Bellamy fold himself up against a wall, the girl held back an exasperated sigh. It was truly disappointing to see someone as good looking as him, be so very stupid in his hiding choices.
One of the soldiers from before gradually made his way around the corner, and before Bellamy could react, the man fell to the floor in agony.
An arrow sticking out of his skull.
One down, Lovota analysed, rushing out from her hiding spot, one more to go... you're mine for the kill.
Bellamy didn't stay around to see who was his guardian Angel, and what possible skewer technique they would fasten on him.
Pulling herself up to the next level, Lovota practically crawled, feeling every ripple and dent implanted in the flooring. Lifting her feet, she used her arms, and wiggled across the floor.
She didn't want her shoes to make a squeaky noise, as simple as that, really.
The sound of radio coms were heard in the quiet room, the last soldier calling out for his fallen comrade. It almost made the girl smile with how bitter sweet this is.
They weren't a challenge, they were just a little pebble, tripping her up on her way to success.
Pulling herself up into a squatted position, she grabbed an arrow from over her shoulder, touching the tip with the end of her finger.
These black tips always found their target when launched by her. So, for these soldier to be calling out as reckless as he was doing, practically guided the missiles of death.
They mountain men fertilised their gardens of eden with the bones of her people. Yet, here she was, hunting them down in hopes that one would dig up from the dirt it wasn't buried on and call out her name.
"Skitt," she whispered, venom liquefying the word, the title burning from her lips like alcohol.
Hunting came easy to a wolf like her, just a whiff of death from her preys armour, and her teeth were already ripping their heart from within their stomach.
Raising her bow and arrow, she fired it upwards, through the holes in the metal bridge above her. Rolling to the side, she smirked with an unladylike snort leaving her mouth.
The soldier above fell to his knees with a cry, as he grabbed a hold of his groin, where the arrow imbedded itself.
Taking the steps to her left, Lovota walked up them carelessly, a smug expression on her normally placid face. Wringing her bow over her shoulder, she stepped up on to the bridge.
Clapping her hands together, she sound made the soldier wince, as he turned towards her with snot coming out of his nose.
Making her way towards him, she ripped the keycard from his pocket, before stepping back to look at her handiwork. She should've been surprised at her shot through the little gap in the floor, but precarious shots were as natural to her as breathing.
"Hurts, doesn't," Lovota mused, realising who the soldier was infront of her.
He was the one who always ended up shooting electricity through her body whenever she resisted from her anklet lock.
Now, here they were, a change of scenario with a change of roles. Lovota know became the one who could torture, who could hurt without fear of him striking out.
Now, all he was was a little snotty, tear eyed man who could definitely have no children down the track. His line ended today, as-well as his pride.
"Now, let me ask you one question."
"Please!" The soldier cried out, wrenching his fingers around the rod,"I'll do anything, just help me!"
Wrenching her arm forward, Lovota slapped the man across the face. His right cheek now haunted with a red, glowing handprint.
Sure, the slap must've hurt him, but knowing he wasn't in control of his pain receptors well enough to take a little arrow to the nuts was of greater concern.
"Where are my people," Lovota warned, twirling a knife between her thumb and ring finger.
"Answer me, lik."
Using the tip of her knife to make the man look up at her, Lovotas eyes darkened when his widened. The realisation of who she was, sliced him across the throat.
"Y-you..." he stuttered,"how did you get out... of your cage!"
Not caring to answer his question, she stepped forward and wrenched his hair in her hand. The tip of her shoe, kicking the arrow in further.
The knife held at his throat, delicately carved the skin as she bent pulled his head back so that she could watch her work at play.
The knife drew lines softly through his skin, but it was so sharp, that blood bubbled to the surface. He bit his tongue from crying out in pain, worried that if he does so, she'll gut him.
"Your lucky I'm nicer than you'll ever be."
"What-" his words stumbling on his tongue.
Then, Lovota ended his life with a knife to his heart, making sure his eyes were on her face the whole few seconds he was alive. Just so that would be the last thing he remembered on this earth, being killed by the girl he'd tortured for years.
"Vaere takknemlig ai ga yu a rask wamplei."
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Authors note
To all of you who add my book into your rude titled book list, let me give you a wake up call. Maybe, first write a book, then we can talk about what makes a good book and bad book.
It's disrespectful to authors, so maybe use your pettiness for something helpful, like criticism. I think I speak for most writers when I say that it's immature to hate on a book so 'proudly.' If you don't like it, move along to the next, we aren't forcing you to be here.
Taim emo laik stedaunon, den ai don ingen grunn gon yu kom bo - If they are dead, then I have no reason for you to live
Skitt - Dirt
Lik - Corpse