Decadence

a cloud of warm breath misted in the cool morning air. the sigh originated from a tall, toned, armoured figure. she stood with her back to a tree, the only natural structure left standing amidst the sea of bodies stretched out to the glowing horizon, the sunrise a soft purple in contrast to the dark red stain that was now the soil beneath her feet. grit and gore clung her sparse armour, and to the ghostly pale exposed skin of her arms and legs. the long, simple braid of raven hair that stretched down to her delicately curved waist dripped crimson, none of the blood hers. Daria was the sole survivor to the end of the world. it had all come crashing down on their arrogant, closed minded heads. she wished the leaders of this world could be here to see the damage they had done but alas, they were drawn and quartered long ago, when the world went mad. Daria had been a diplomat at the beginning, an ambassador for her quiet race of elves, chosen from birth and raised in the arts of negotiation and healing. that was years ago, a lifetime ago... before the pox.

when it first started, there were only a few. the first poor bastards to develop the welts, then limbs would inflate and rot, finally the infection would reach the spine and the brain, and it would be all over. the body decomposed while the spirit remained inside. unable to speak, to feed and bathe themselves, unable to die. the disease spread quickly, and the governments tried their very best to quarantine the infected. the situation became dire as leaders became greedy, not only containing the people, but the commerce as well. nations collectively starved to death as their people continued to contract the disease and rot into throbbing, screaming lumps of mutilated flesh. one by one, they snapped. soon, the pox ridden dead were flung over the high walls of almost every citadel, and it was war. men, women, children, anyone able to stand was suited up and sent out to loot and defeat the enemy; anyone standing in the way of sustenance.

eventually a scientist developed a cure for the pox, and the sickness was slowly defeated, but the war that had started years ago was not to be undone, and so it waged on, until today.

Daria was there for the end, just as she was for the beginning. man killed everything in his bloodlust, every intelligent race was now completely exterminated, except for her. she had fought only as a means of survival, and only when attacked. mostly she stood and watched man kill its self, the inevitable demise the likes of which not seen since easter island.

it was a clear night, though the moon slept and cast an impenetrable shadow of black over the battlefield. a single pair dueled in the darkness, the clanging and grunting of the men filled the air, along with the stench of sweat, fear, and the death surrounding them. they knew they were the last two, but by then it was too late to go back. the fought and fought until the sound of their labored breathing was almost louder than the twang of metal and the wet crunch as the victor stuck a mortal blow to his opponents torso. the man watched the other die, an odd look on his face. he stood there panting in the starlight, and only then did he look up at the scene around him. as the beaten man stopped breathing, a strange aura passed through the air and the victor cried out into the night, the agonizing scream of one unaware he was not totally alone. daria watched in the distance, leaning against a tree about a league away. she watched as he knelt in the dirt, still damp with fresh blood, and thew himself on his sword. daria felt an odd, wrenching loss as his lifeforce drained into the soil, she was alone.

she stood at her post awhile longer, watching the sun rise and contemplating what just happened. she supposed she should look for survivors, but it seemed a futile task. time had lost meaning in the years since the war started, there would be none alive but her.

it was a miracle she had survived, and she wasn't exactly sure how it had come about. she was no one especially noteworthy, as an ambassador or warrior. she was built for speed, however, and that may have made the difference. her armour was a testament to that, since there was enough to protect her vital organs, but not so much as it would restrict her mobility. the sword she held was a joke, three feet of solid iron, and she had received a total of 3 days' training in its use. her knowledge of anatomy had proved far more useful, as she could dash around and break their unsuspecting necks with one quick twist before they knew what was happening.

in the beginning daria had attempted to heal the men the came across, but gave up as soon as she realized that every man she saved would just go and kill another. the futility had almost been her end, the knowledge that this was the end, there was absolutely no going back. her friends Celeste and Gabi were long dead, along with her parents. and Daekin. her heart tore at the memory she wouldn't allow herself to relive.

'its time to move' she thought to herself, time to get out of the sun that would soon become unbearably hot, time to get away from the sea of the dead that surrounded her. picking her way across the broken bodies and oozing puddles of gore, she began to walk.