8/3/2019 The Primal Huntress - Prologue

1/2

An unadorned golden bracelet was the only form of jewelry she wore. Her delicateform was smooth and rich, though covered in a thick, deep green cloak. Her ligh

t emerald hair flowed freely, unhindered by man-made accessories, and her eyes shone softly, unburdened by tears. Her face was a pale cream, clear but for a single, faint scar beneath her left eye.

Behind her, twelve men lay dead, their weapons still clenched in their hands. Th

ey and their clothing were undamaged, their eyes still open, their faces still angry. Two of them held short, curved swords that even now shimmered with viciousenergy. Another two held glorified clubs that crackled with electricity. Eight

held modern weapons - sonic blasters, thermal pistols, and a paralysis rifle.

She stood still, looking over the classical style painting in front of her. Thescene was mostly pleasant - an extravagant, wild garden - but in the corner, a golden doe stared at its reflection in a pond. It saw a twisted, half skeletal version of itself in a nightmarish garden.

Delicately, she caressed the painted doe and in so doing, her fingers reached through a resistant wall. Her fingers still within the scene, the painting sprang

to life. The doe shrank back from its frightful reflection and the Tormented plants within that garden began to shriek. A sweet tune contrasted their vicious moans - the golden stalks of corn had begun a melodious song. As the beautiful song overcame the wretched moans, the Tormented ripped free their roots and began amarch forth from the depths.

The Tormented formed devious, twisted blades from their bodies - blades coveredin blackish bubbles that oozed deep purple pus. Their gait was uncertain and they each stumbled, but they kept their pace until they stood less than five yardsfrom their singing adversaries.

The golden stalks of corn had not merely stood stoically as the Tormented had approached. They wore armor that shined, reflecting the sun above them, and held s

hields so fine that the Tormented could see their own reflection as they approached. They wielded perfect blades formed of light, and stood in a sound formationawaiting the approach of the Tormented. As the first Tormented plant reached hi

s target, he was attacked in unison by three singing warriors. Each strike was true, severing first the wretched blades from his torso and then his head. The ugly body toppled and crumbled to dust.

Moments later, a cloaked figure formed in the painting, two yards behind the line of golden warriors. In one swift motion, the figure stepped forward, drew a pair of dark daggers from its side, and slammed them into the sides of two goldenhelmets.

The golden corn stalks responded immediately, turning to face and moving to flank the cloaked figure before their two comrades had even finished hitting the ground. The golden warriors swung their perfect blades in unison, four swings at once, but the figure expected this and exploited it. The blades sliced through thecloak, but the figure was not within. Instead, her delicate form floated in theair above the warriors, each thrust of a dagger felling one of them and ending

their beautiful songs.

With the line of golden warriors distracted, a Tormented warrior swung his twisted blades. One blade glanced off of the golden warrior's armor; his second swingwas deflected by a quick parry from the now attentive warrior. The golden warri

or's response was vicious: still singing, he shoved his brilliant sword straightthrough the chest of his attacker. Pure golden energy burst from the sword, con

suming the Tormented warrior's body like a swarm of ravenous locusts. In moments, only golden dust remained.

8/3/2019 The Primal Huntress - Prologue

2/2

Before the cloak had even settled on the ground, it was snatched up and tossed back over the deadly woman's shoulders. Not a single mark showed on it.

She turned toward the remaining golden warriors, her back to the Tormented. As she planned her assault, the painted world around her faded. She shook her head,gazing upon the scene from afar. Thanks to her, the Tormented warriors now outnumbered the golden warriors three to one. They surrounded them, staying just outs

ide of the range of the golden swords, and renewed their lamenting. The golden warriors' song, overpowered, began to falter, and one by one, the golden warriorsfell.

The scene changed, painted over by a skilled, invisible artist. The remaining Tormented warriors now were sleek, grey wolves, free of the corruption that had held them. The golden warriors that lay on the ground now were unconscious, unwounded men and women, dressed in inconsistent garb. One of the wolves wore a simplenecklace about his neck, decorated with a small black key. The observers' adroi

t eyes noticed that key and her fingers moved quickly to pull it - and the necklace - from the painting. It felt lighter than it looked, though it was solidlyconstructed. She pushed the painting to the side. Behind it, the blank wall star

ed back. She pressed the key against it, smiling ever so slightly as the brightred LED upon the key activated.

Her smile did not last. A grinning, pale face stared at her, his voice echoing off the walls behind her. "It seems I've bested you once more, Huntress. I find it unfortunate that you are shackled by the conventions of your raw, physical form. Therefore, I have determined I shall provide you with a boon. The key you found and utilized here - though to no avail, thanks to my superior ingenuity - shall unlock still the artifact you seek, though through means disparate from thosenow tried. Huntress, though this game has just begun, I feel I'm no more the pl

ayer, but now the master... Seven-Three-X, Once more's a hex, Twice for pain andonce for gain; Blessed are the not quite sane."

The Huntress turned, pocketing the key. Her mind was spinning, though this wouldnot have been evident to anyone present. She turned and walked calmly from the

room, both expecting and hoping for some sort of tangible opponent to overcome.

Her desire was, regardless, not sated.