Rage

Rage
With the dawn, breaking over the hillsides of the field, came the first stirrings of the stench of metal and the sounds of war’s past day. Cyrus woke up to see Agnes marching towards the battlefield like a woman possessed a frown etched on her face. 

"Agnes, wait!" Cyrus called out to her again, but she acted as if she didn’t hear him. She acted like a woman with a mission and she had a look of wrath in her eyes that could strike a frost on his spine. 

“You won’t get away with this Agnes,” Cyrus warned but the woman merely glared at him and shook her head. "This ends today." 

Cyrus put out his hand to touch her arm, but she jerked herself free from him, a force he did not expect from her. He understood she wanted to kill him, her grief had been replaced by the lust for his blood. It was now impossible to persuade her to do a particular thing. 

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In the field, Agnes was as harsh a woman as any soldier could ask for. She attacked with the rage of a warrior who had nothing left to lose; her blade danced through the air with incredible agility giving her mere opponents no room for protection. What she wore on her two hands were swords – sharp, so every slash of it signified a killer and a duel meant death. The soldiers she fought died one by one and their squawks of pain disappeared in the confusion of the battle.

She was graceful and her evil was dance-like in its feel of when she moved through the mass of enemies. There were stains of blood on her face and body but she obviously did not care. Her attention remained sharp, her mission obvious- she had to get to Xeik. 

Cyrus battled nearby, trying to keep an eye on her at all times. He had no idea that Agnes could get so mad and the way she moved and acted scared him and inspired him at the same time. Agnes was unstoppable, a whirlwind of death that none could withstand and she had heaps of people foaming at her mouth.

Agnes's mind was consumed by a single thought: Xeik must die. Her grief and anger fueled her, each fallen enemy bringing her closer to her ultimate goal. She saw his figure in the distance, his dark armor standing out amidst the chaos. 

"There!" she shouted, her voice a primal roar. She cut down the soldiers between her and Xeik with brutal efficiency, her body moving on pure instinct. The closer she got, the more focused her attacks became, each step bringing her nearer to her target. 

Xeik turned to face her, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You're persistent, I'll give you that," he sneered. 

"Your reign of terror ends here," Agnes spat, her voice dripping with venom. 

Their swords clashed with a resounding clang that echoed through the battlefield. Cyrus saw them engaged in a fierce duel, their movements a blur of steel and fury. He tried to reach her, cutting down any soldier that stood in his way, but the distance between them seemed insurmountable.

Agnes fought with everything she had, each strike aimed to kill. But Xeik was a formidable opponent, his experience and strength matching her fury. They were locked in a deadly dance, each seeking the other's death. 

Cyrus's heart pounded in his chest as he saw Xeik gain the upper hand. "Agnes!" he shouted, desperation in his voice. He fought harder, pushing his way through the battlefield, but it felt like trying to move through a nightmare. 

Agnes's breath came in ragged gasps, her body protesting the relentless pace she forced upon it. But she would not stop, not until Xeik was dead. She saw an opening and lunged, her sword aimed at his heart. 

Xeik sidestepped her attack with ease, his sword flashing in a deadly arc. Agnes felt a searing pain in her side as his blade found its mark. She stumbled, her vision blurring as she fell to the ground. 

"No!" Cyrus's scream tore through the air as he saw Agnes fall. He fought his way to her side, his mind a whirlwind of fear and rage. When he reached her, Xeik was nowhere to be seen, his dark figure disappearing into the chaos of the battle. 

Cyrus dropped to his knees beside Agnes, his hands trembling as he pressed them against her wound. "Stay with me, Agnes," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "You have to stay with me." 

Agnes's eyes fluttered open, pain and determination etched in her features. "I... tried," she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

"You did more than anyone could have asked," Cyrus said, his voice choked with emotion. "Now we need to get you help."

Cyrus carried Agnes back to their tent, his heart heavy with fear. He laid her down gently, his hands slick with her blood. "Fetch a physician!" he shouted, his voice filled with urgency.

The physician arrived quickly, his face grave as he examined Agnes's wounds. "She's lost a lot of blood," he said, his tone grim. "I'll do what I can, but she's very weak."

Cyrus watched as the physician worked, his heart aching with each passing moment. Agnes's breathing was shallow, her face pale. The physician's efforts seemed futile, the severity of her injuries overwhelming.

"Will she make it?" Cyrus asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The physician shook his head. "I don't know. Her body is trying to heal, but the wounds are too severe. We can only hope and pray."

Cyrus nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He sat by Agnes's side, holding her hand, his eyes never leaving her face. "Stay with me, Agnes," he whispered. "I need you."

"She's going to make it, right?" Cyrus asked the physician one more time. 

The look in the physician's eyes told him otherwise and he said words that made Cyrus tremble. "Only if the moon goddess wishes it."