Lyra
The rancid, sulfurous stench that clogged the battlefield like a curse grew sharper behind me. I jerked in alarm instantly—an enemy. Before I could move, a sword plunged into my back. It crushed past my spine. And in one forceful push from behind, the long steel dug out of my stomach. Its silvery length gleamed under the bright night sky.
Death was here again. I had tried every possible means to avoid him this lifetime, and yet, he was here again. Taking me for the 177th time. Like always, I couldn't stop him. I am his prisoner, and he is my warden.
I screamed, loud guttural moans of pain tearing out of my throat, as an excruciating agony wracked the whole of me, sending waves of spasms rippling through every vein. I shivered as I dropped slowly to my knees, my sword slipping from my numb fingers.
I gurgled and coughed, choking on my own blood as it gathered in my throat, raising a coppery taste on my tongue.
