[ WP ] She 's a blood thirsty tyrant and he is her loyal protector ...

The village in front of me burned like roses in a wildfire. Red on red, blood on dirt, carnage lingering in the wind. The smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils and danced on my skin, a wicked ballet of the devastation a blade and a torch can create. In the distance I could see my soldiers riding on their mounts. I could hear their laughs as they sliced through the veins of children running for their fathers that were already dead. A small wound on my lower leg ached as I took a step forward. With two fingers on my left hand I dabbed at the cut, small and pathetic, but strong enough to rend my skin in two. I deserved so much more then what was given to me. 
 
 `` Men!'' I roared out. They turned to face me, the drum in my throat booming beyond any other sound. `` Round up the survivors. Bring them to me.'' Within minutes they'd created crude shackles made of rope around their hands and feet, as the innocents that lived so simply the day before walked towards me. I could see the hunger in their eyes to see me perish. I could see the fear on their mouths to plead for mercy. I could feel their souls cry out for release. 
 
 `` Put them in a line.'' I asked of my men calmly. The damage had already been done. There was no point to cause doubt in my men. To make them second guess themselves. I can carry that burden alone. With knives in backs and fists in ribs, my men pushed the survivors down to the ground and held their heads back for me. The throats of them all glistened from sweat and tears. I came to the first, a young woman, no older than 16. She was blubbering. With a single stroke I sliced the life from her body. She collapsed quickly, loudly and left the lower part of my armor drenched in her blood. I stared at the new red tinge that covered my form. My men cheered. 
 
 `` Beautiful,'' I heard one cry out. `` Blood for the Queen! Bleed the cattle dry Sir! Bleed them out!'' I turned to face him. My visage covered by my helm, no one could see how pained I was. 
 
 `` Blood for the Queen!'' I yelled. Instantly, my horde of soldiers echoed my chant. I turned to the next survivor. An older male. He had lived most of his life and was nearing a natural death before I rode in. 
 
 `` Monster,'' he said with a bite. `` Do you feel pride in your march? In your wars you cause?'' I leaned down and stared into his eyes. Part of me was happy. Knowing this man would die with courage in his heart. With another slice, I tore him in two. In my younger days I would have struggled to push my sword through the bones he had, but with my years came strength, and with strength came the devastation only I could provide. Again, my men rallied. I walked to the third survivor. Another male. Quiet, no tears, silence echoed through his form. I stood in front of him and waited. I wanted to feel his hate. I wanted him to lash out at me. To tell me the things I know in my heart are true, but I dare not to speak. 
 
 `` Your insignia,'' he began to say, not moving his eyes from the patch of ground directly in front of him. `` You ride for Queen Uriel. We all grew with the stories of her. The angel born to man. What angel could ask her servants this?'' I waited for a few moments again and pondered the question. Gripping the hilt of my blade I motioned the tip just under his chin. With a firm push up, I moved his eyes to meet where mine were. If only he could see them. 
 
 `` The angel of death.'' I replied, resisting the urge to choke on the words. I pushed my sword forward into his throat. Blood spurted out his lips, like a child choking on water. One last survivor knelt to my side. I moved in front of her, a woman of tender age. One who had lived old enough to fall in love and have a family. To have dreams. Oh, how I hoped her dream was to not have a family. Because, and it tore my soul in two to know, that if I was to be a mother, then today was the day I murdered her dream. 
 
 `` I pray that God can forgive you.'' She simply said to me. I looked around myself to see my men, jeering and smiling. They wanted something magnificent. Who was I to let them down. With my right hand I grabbed her throat, and held her into the air. The yells of my men drowned out my words, as I brought this stranger close to my body, so only she could hear me. 
 
 `` I pray that God does not exist. For if he does, then the wrath i have caused, will pale in comparison to the wrath I am owed.'' With my left hand on her face, I twisted her spine, and broke her in two. Her lifeless body clumped to the ground. Oh, the cheers of my men. The blood in their hearts, the hope in their minds, the pride in their blades. I let them have their moment. When the cheers stopped, I simply yelled once again. 
 
 `` Onto your steeds. The day is young. We are not done.''
