Blue eyes of are hawks upon a great living portrait. Such a perusing pair belongs to a fair-skinned woman with long flowing vermilion hair. The visitation of breeze is making such a myriad of elegant strands sway about, though also bestowing bitter kisses upon her complexion akin to a battered shrew.

  The torn brown rags embracing her ravishing form are far from bespoke to exude her beauty. An unfortunate wench who dragged herself out of a great abyss of untold abuse, clawing and clinging onto what slim precarious ledges of hope she can find to be higher and no longer in such an incarcerating pit of deep despair. Back in the world of the living, robbed of her right to a good life and aching for the greatest of redemptions the likes which are worthy of a timeless song to then be passed onto future generations. That is the countenance Lady Eden is presenting at this very moment.

  Sultry sapphires around such an elegant visage, the latter kissed by dirt and bruises, are hanging between peace and rage whilst ever so mindful of the mural of malice miles ahead. Nigh-hundred strong, they are atop a long wall of high earth that is smothered by a curtain of snow.

  Each monstrosity has a fortress for a tough complexion with thick matte rock-like hides with a mixed palette of ivory, black onyx, and muddy silver. Great antlers of either stags or beetles, even shaped as symmetrical pairs of tall rocks jutting out like steeply-leaning towers, are on top of their oval-shaped heads resembling a shark, that is if each is made out of masonry. On both talon-like feet, they tower as fully-grown brown bears with burly legs. Two pairs of glowing red eyes are on each creature. Together, they make a sinister swarm of fireflies.

  Fortified by dark powers, they are a deadly blight for even the greatest of armies in this world. A hungry storm bred as unholy attrition to unmake a nation. To any who has never been embraced by the pangs of war, even scared stiff at the mere thought of harming another folk whether out of self-defense or for personal gain, behold and cower upon this moment worthy of letting blood bask in the blizzard. A scene from a nightmare though stillborn as an ongoing and agitating prelude.

  To meet them without a single ally is daft at the very least. Madness must be conquering this pain-embraced maiden all too well. What prompted such foolishness as a lonesome lady before a flock of ferocious fiends? ‘Tis quite silly but simple, really. She was scorned. Severely so.

  She can take much agony, a masochist in her own right. However, far worse than being in the heart of the prolonged devilry at work is drowning in the crushing depths of impotence to protect those she dearly cares for. To watch them be torn apart as food and comforting tools for monstrous lust was to let rivers of thorn and broken glass flood her nerves and lightning and acid passionately pervert every fiber of her being, her heart. Her senses going mad and her tortured screams from being an abused toy for demons herself are fleeting compared to those who she failed to keep safe.

  Many were gutted like a live game still breathing and flopping around. Plenty enough as well, mainly other women such as her, were each treated as a bound and drugged courtesan about to be thoroughly explored and exploited for countless nights by a league of seasoned torturers and ravagers. Almost all were promised through such demonic dedication to never see daylight ever again.

  Nothing would make her feel better than to exact vengeance on their behalf. Dedicated the coming slaughter to the fallen and the fouled. To finally cleanse this world of such frightening filth would be a miracle for the ages. At least, a triumph against of this evil of this caliber will be grand act of penance for her failure that could alleviate her ailing mind and heart.

  Lady Eden takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Slim fingers stride softly on her dirt-ridden face from temple to her jaws. Through this gesture, a polished helm with a long silver plume like that of a horse’s tail comes into being. It conceals well those lovely eyes of hers and a most elegant visage despite sullied by earthly mess and bruises. She presses the down on the top with an open palm to ensure it is secured enough.

  The lonesome lady begins to march ahead. Her first few steps are a pitiful limping, slow and pathetic. The wasteland floor with all its grains, waves and bumps crunch about with each slow step, lacking urgency and elegance. She hisses in and softly shudders away the sting in her own nerves from her too stubborn to cease her stroll, all begging her to let this fight be done another day. But no, her pride orders them all to form ranks and be onward. And if she even dares to forsake this gathering, a great tide of horror shall drown many who are powerless to stay farthest or hide deepest from its path that can gnaw through metal and sorcery as strong as the former, let alone best it.

  At the twelfth step, her posture is given a significant change. Her march now befits a proud queen, one foot gracefully gliding after the other. Her shoulders are mellow, her chest pronounced. What loud choir of malcontent is in her body, it is an enraged crowd but rallying up to honor her choice and deliver something only a storm can bestow upon the poorest of souls.

  Her raggedy clothes start to burn away through a great bush of flame that is unnaturally darker in its bonfire glow, almost red as blood in its the bizarre brilliance. For a moment, she is left wholly and shamelessly bare, a glorious gift for ravagers. But soon, a scarlet steel ensemble is embracing her goddess frame. This construct is making a loud metallic crunching and shuffling as it is conjured into completion, perfect to enfold this beauty and negate much of the harm her way. Streaks of its tarnished bulk glowing like that of steel during a dedicated smithing session. Smoke darker than blood is rising out from each luminous streak.

  A blanket of pale mist is soon covering her ravishing steel-embraced person. Much of this mesmerizing murk on her back is acting like an outstretched cape gracefully bespoke for a royal bride. It too has the majesty of a bright nebula of red and orange stars. The large strip of this cosmic curtain is effortlessly dragging onto the rugged earth behind her like soft fingertips on porcelain skin.

  Several seconds after, indulge in another deep breath. Each sip and snarl is soft and sultry. At her third draw to maintain a peaceful center, she can hear the mountain itself growling about. The great choir of war-demons is singing something guttural, gleeful and ghoulish her way. Their exposed rows of fangs have a few red smears from a previous prey, even nuggets of flesh stuck between the crammed crevices.

  Praise the return of an old adversary, an inconceivably beautiful one at that. She better brave the coming hour as a fierce warrior or become their meal, or much worse, an enslaved wife to many hellish husbands. At the fourth pronounced breath, the open strip of a window before her eyes is veiled by something translucent and glass-like, conjuring and crunching into being as a visor.

  To arms, lone maiden. Free into the dim-lit noon a slender steel conjured into existence a quick strip of blood red smoke on her right hand embraced by a gauntlet. Grip it well on the hilt. Let it bask in the free air while held on an incline to her right. The metal it is made of predates even this marble of life and death. A fabled tool to weave catastrophe if wielded properly. Pair it with her prowess for combat and the talent for sorcery akin to the miracle of gods, and a spectator, friend or foe, will be left with eye and mouth both agape in sheer awe from her cosmic artistry.

  Tens of the rock-like behemoths crouch forward. They let a knee and a curled knuckled kiss stone or snow. The cold air around each kneeling creature swirls quickly until coated in a shell of roaring gales. They produce another short sharp song. A proclamation their pleasure. How fond it is to be reunited with a former prey and perhaps a stern warning for her.

  Eden feels rather honored. Many of them, if not all, are so eager to play with her. Hunched down, the kneeling bunch is sprung down and ready to make miles of a gap be yards to inches through their incredible strength and agility. All are agitated with thrill to play the part of proud predators to this prettiest of a lonesome prey. A goddess who long fell from grace.

  O, she will writhe. She will fight. And if her wrath is done right, she will smite them all out of sight.