Warning: Dark themes, violence, attempted assault (no on-page rape).
The commander dropped to one knee beside Rya. Slowly, he hooked his fingers under the crimson gown with its silver-and-black lining and dragged it down her shoulder.
The fabric slid lower, lower, until her pale chest was half-exposed to the cold night air and the hungry eyes of twelve men.
"Commander, don't hog all the fun," one of the soldiers called out. "We're here too."
The commander only grinned. He peeled off his leather gloves, tossed them aside, then slipped his bare right hand inside the torn neckline of her gown and squeezed softly.
Rya's body jerked, but her arms were weak and useless. She tried to twist away but nothing happened.
"Don't struggle, princess, the sooner I'm done, the sooner my comrades get their turn," he muttered, shoving his other hand in as well. "
His palms moved greedily. "Gods, you wouldn't believe how soft they are," he said over his shoulder, loud enough for every man to hear. The soldiers leaned forward with enthusiastic looks.
"To think I'm actually touching a real princess, how did the stars line up tonight?" He laughed, almost drunk on the moment. "
He tugged the gown lower, all the way to her navel, baring her completely to the waist.
Rya's mind screamed Stop, please stop, but her lips only trembled.
"Unreal, look at those pair. My eyes are so blessed, " one soldier breathed as he stared. "
"You don't get to be a daughter of Nyxelene if you're not this gorgeous."
Another added, rubbing his palm together.
Then a small, clear voice cut through the dark like a silver bell.
"Mom… what is that mean-looking man doing to the lady's boo-boo?"
Every head snapped around.
A little boy, no older than seven, stood at the edge of the torchlight, clutching his mother's skirt. His eyes were huge and completely innocent.
The commander froze with both hands still on Rya's bare chest.
"Who the…"
He turned and gound a woman who stood behind a child.
A tall, dark-haired maiden dressed in simple travelling clothes with calm expression.
"Don't worry, darling. They're just playing," the woman told the boy with a warm voice.
"But the lady doesn't look happy. She's hurt," the boy noticed as he pointed at Rya's bloodied lip, at the bruises blooming across her ribs where the gown no longer hid them.
"Really. We'll in that case, mama would have to ask them politely to stop. So now, why don't you be a good boy? Go hide behind that big tree. Cover your ears tight. Don't come out until mam calls for you." She brushed a hand over his hair.
"Oyo, mama." The child obeyed instantly, padding away and disappearing behind the tree without another question.
Then the woman looked up.
In an instant, the warmth was gone. Her eyes were now winter.
"I'm not going to ask what she did. I don't care what crime you think she committed. But every eye that has seen her half naked tonight will not see tomorrow's sunrise," she said in a finalized voiced.
The commander let go of Rya as though her skin had turned to hot iron, standing slowly.
"Now who in the layers of hell are you? What are you doing in these woods at this hour with a child?" He demanded, wiping his hands on his tunic like he could wipe away what he'd just done.
The woman didn't answer. She just started walking toward them in measured steps.
The commander's mouth twisted into an ugly grin.
"Silent type, huh? Doesn't matter. A woman travelling alone with a kid and still looking that good? Boys, looks like tonight just got better. Two beautiful women. Everybody gets a turn before lord Javier arrives," he glanced back at his men and spread out his arms.
The soldiers cheered crudely, already moving forward.
One of them stepped right up to the woman.
"Don't care who you are, lady. Blame your bad luck for walking in at the wrong time."
By then Rya had slipped away into blackness.
The last thing she saw was the woman's gaze flicking down to her half-naked, bruised form sprawled on dead leaves and broken sticks.
Then the world went dark.
"You really have some unique eyes," the soldier said, stepping close enough that his breath stirred the loose strands of her hair.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. "But they're not the only pretty thing on yo—"
The words ended in a strangled gurgle.
Three fingers closed around his throat with surgical precision.
A single, measured pull, and the cartilage of his windpipe tore free, half-exposed, protruding from the flesh. Blood poured in an immediate stream of thick liquid.
The soldier collapsed to his knees, both hands clawing at the ruin of his neck, trying and failing to draw air through the shredded passage. He would drown slowly in his own blood; she had made certain of that.
"What in the world just happened?" another soldier shouted as he stared at his comrade writhing on the ground with fingers slick with crimson.
"She's dangerous! Capture her, now!" the commander bellowed as he drew his sword.
Ten men surged forward in a ragged line with their blades raised high.
They halted as one, when the woman raised her blood-smeared hand and, without haste, licked the red from each finger. Her tongue moved slowly, gathering every drop while her eyes remained fixed on the silver wolf crest embroidered on every breastplate.
"Runevale soldiers. Still the same repulsive breed. I had hoped time might have forced some improvement in you. Evidently not. Then again, none of you would dare change while Nyxelene sits on the throne. She said in an uneven voice with her index finger in her mouth.
The commander's hand tightened on his sword hilt. Only one name in all the old records described a woman who tasted enemy blood without flinching. Only one name had ever been spoken in that exact tone of cold disdain.
Before the thought could fully form, another soldier broke ranks and charged.
His sword swept in a powerful horizontal strike from the left, aimed to sever her head from her shoulders as he shouted.
"She's just one woman, don't be intimidated. We have the advantage in head counts."
The woman lifted her open palm and caught the blade between thumb and two fingers. The steel stopped as though it had struck stone.
With a short, economical pull she dragged the soldier forward, off balance, and sank her teeth into the thick muscle where neck met shoulder. The man screamed as she shifted her bite to the opposite side, tearing deeper, then clamped down on the throat itself.
Cartilage shattered beneath her jaws. She chewed once, twice, the sound wet and unmistakable, then spat the ruined mass of flesh and bone onto the ground.
"Your meat is sour. The worst I have tasted in years," she informed the corpse as blood painted her lips and chin in vivid crimson.
The soldier's body joined the first on the forest floor, both of their bodies twitching in their final spasms.
What followed was no longer a fight; it was extermination.
Swords rose and fell. She deflected every strike with the flat of her bare hand or the edge of her forearm, steel ringing uselessly against skin that refused to part.
When blades came too close, she seized wrists or throats, dragged men in, and bit. Flesh tore an arteries opened.
One by one the search party fell, some with throats ripped out, others with faces half-consumed, all dead within moments.
The commander stood rooted eith his arm trembling. Not from the sight before him, but from the person who stood before him.
Nyxelene had destroyed entire bloodlines, killed more people than she met, but she never ate them.
'This cannot be the rumored cannibal,' he thought as panic clawed at his chest. 'If it truly is Aeloria, the most feared soldier ever born in Runevale, then only Lord Javier himself could hope to stand against her.'
A handful of seconds later the clearing was silent except for the drip of blood from leaves.
Eleven corpses lay in a loose circle.
The woman walked forward, leaving red prints in the dirt, and stopped directly before the commander.
He looked at her, breathing in an uneven rythm. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
"Your name… it is Aeloria, isn't it?"
Her smile revealed teeth stained scarlet.
"My, my. To think there are still souls in Runevale who remember the name. How very interesting."
Her hand moved faster than his sight could follow. She seized the gorget of his armor with one hand and slammed him backward.
His helmet struck the ground hard enough to ring his skull. Before he could draw breath she was astride his chest. She didn't bother to restrain his limbs.
He was no threat.
"That aside, I observed how thoroughly you enjoyed handling that young maiden's chest," she continued in the same conversational tone.
With deliberate ease she gripped the front of his breastplate and ripped it open. The steel buckled and tore like parchment, exposing his bare torso to the night air the same way he exposed Rya's chest.
Under any other circumstance he would have fought, would have drawn the dagger at his belt.
Against Aeloria, he could only lie paralysed, every muscle locked by terror.
This was the same mad woman who ate her child to survive the wilderness.
She regarded his exposed chest with cool detachment.
"So flat. You clearly admire generous proportions in women, yet you have neglected your own development entirely. All those years of training abandoned," she observed.
Her right hand hovered directly above his heart. The fingers flexed once, slowly.
"I had intended to repay your earlier enthusiasm in kind. To squeeze your chest exactly as you squeezed hers. But yours is disappointingly small," she added in an almost gentle voice.
Her palm lowered until he felt the heat of her skin against his own.
"That begs the question."
"What, exactly, should I squeeze instead?"