The End of the Harvest, by Pentamere

Published: Dec 11 2007

Even as she had her prisoner, the light was invading the dark, chasing the shadows into the farthest corners of the temple. No. She was not going to run. Never again would the vampires run from them and their blazing torches.

Pentamere gave a firm tug on the blonde hair wrapped around her tiny, pale fist, lengthening the neck of the Harmony Acolyte. The woman was brave. Silent.

"You are pure. This will hurt them more than taking their High Priestess."

"But you are just a child," she choked.

"Her chyld," Pentamere spat back, bringing back her other hand with the dagger, its blade sawing at the woman's throat.

The Acolyte finally screamed.

Pentamere moved the dagger back and forth, letting the dull knife tear, rather than slice, the arteries. Back and forth, back and forth, slowly, for half an hour.

"This is what happens when you harm us. This is what happens when you bring the light into places it should not be!"

The head flopped over, dangling by a piece of skin. Pentamere dropped the bloody knife, untangled the blonde hair from her fist, and put her boot upon the bleeding woman's shoulder for leverage.

"I am Razzori! I am Nekhet. Your kind travels on dangerous ground."

With unnatural strength, the daughter of the Damned tore the rest of the head from the body and threw it on top of the altar.

The head rolled to a stop, eyes wide open.