Clashing of swords and screams around them could not make them stop fighting. Orrin Rani, Prince of Amara and commander of the Nephilim Warriors was pinned to the ground by a spear through the meat of his shoulder. He could do nothing as he watched the battle before him.
Flames lifted through the air from a single smiling figure; a woman. Her long spiraling white hair caressed her beautiful features and sharp jaw line. The shrill laugh that protruded from her mouth matched the screams of her victim. It was the Botan, the Nephilim Warrior, the Elemental of the Forest. The man’s bark like skin turned to ash in a matter of seconds under the screaming flames surrounding him.
Orrin lay there unmoving with no sounds as he watched the beautiful death sweep over his father. She cast her flame for only a second on King Sezan Rani, the man screamed in horror, dropping his now red hot sword and shield, unable to block the heat from biting his skin and armor. She left him there, making a slow snake like walk towards Orrin. She knelt next to him the sound of his fathers tortured cried the only sound left of the warriors that had approached this girl in their forest.
“Hello there, Prince Orrin.” Her voice was thin and nearly as shrill as her laugh. “What have you done!?” He screamed, trying to rip his arm off of the ground and spear that held him. She watched, her fire eyes widening just before she let out, what he thought, could only be some kind of giggle. “Why, Prince Orrin, don’t you see? Don’t you see your perfect Nephilim Warriors in me? Their Elemental blood in my veins?” She clenched her teeth together in a snarl like smile as her skin traced with fire along her veins.
“No! It isn’t possible! You’re not of their blood!” Orrin struggled against the spear the pain lost in his rage.
“Here, let me help you with that, my PRINCE!” She ripped the spear from his arm, clumps of grass and rocks embedding itself in his blood and skin. He coughed and was dizzy with pain. “Oh, my Prince.” She hissed. “You’re bleeding so much!” Her voice was the mother of all lying concerns. “Let me tend to your wound.” She smiled, her hand glowing bright red as she pressed down hard against his torn flesh, her fingers guiding through both sides of his shoulder.
Orrin woke in his room in the castle. The sun glared down on him so brightly he thought he would go blind. As he went to move his arm to cast shade before his eyes he was reminded of his fate by the searing pain that shot through his shoulder and down his back. Several servants scrambled into his room and attempted to hold his struggling body down and hushing him with gentle coos and promises that he was safe.
An hour or so passed before everyone left him alone to his thoughts. Unsure that he was stable on his own. He had screamed about a girl, that she had killed them all. Murdered his father and the warriors in a matter of minutes. They already knew. She had left her hand on him, a print that now scarred over the strength of his chest, over his heart. She had tried to rip it from his body. He thought.
A flash of him screaming and somehow a spear guiding from his hand was embedded in the white haired girl’s heart.
When he came to he had no idea if it was true, or if it was a dream. What he did know, was that this was the solution of that bastard self proclaimed King Orjain Gallous, his solution to the endless war of Amara and her Elementals and their Nephilim Warriors.