Anima Stuff

It was a thing of beauty.

Claws, as long as the fingers of a human, shearing through flesh as easily as a knife through silk, attached to the outstretched arm of a creature that could be called human, perhaps...

Of course, the debated humanity of that human is exactly what the soldiers who were more courageous than little John were dying for. The simple sad truth of the matter is that the scholars and leaders who swore to the heavens that Anima were not human were not the ones shedding red tears upon the rough cobbles.

And the little boy wetting his basic-issue armor was the one who lived, not because the demonic creature before him failed to notice him, but rather because she had met him not minutes before in a bakery. He reflected upon this as the monster in human shape stalked forward, eyes gleaming like beady jewels, claws thick with blood, coming towards him with wild eyes...

It had all started as he'd seen the girl. He remembered her easily, for her strange clothes. Heavy layered cloaks, all meant to protect their owner from the heat of the desert and the dust in the storms. He could scarcely see her eyes for all the billowing tan cloth. He'd been half scared to death when he first saw her stop in front of him, her eyes darkened by the shade of the cloth. However he was able to breathe when she pulled down the heavy scarves wrapping her head and stared at not him, but the shop behind him.

He instinctively stood aside as she walked towards it, staring at the rolls in the window. Her face was pale, her hair ashen. She was covered in sand, her hair and skin flecked with it. She was also starving, painfully thin.

John was always a softie. It only took the audible sound of her stomach rumbling for him to sigh and stand, grabbing a roll from the basket on his table. He'd been eating them, but it didn't matter. She needed it more.

He approached her hesitantly, tapping her on the shoulder as he half expected her to whirl around and bite him for some reason. Instead she merely blinked and turned to him, smiling a surprisingly tender smile. Hand shaking John held out the roll that would save his life.

Her response was minimal, but precious. She merely took the roll and took a bite of the soft baked good, smiling softly. She spoke, her voice quiet, but strident. He got the impression that she could talk quite a bit more, were he not such a stranger. “Thank you...My name is Rousou...What is yours?”

“John...Would you like to...Sit down at the table?” He stood aside, indicating the table, not noticing the fellow soldiers whispering and glaring in the background. However she nodded, raising a small cloud of dust as she sat upon the seat opposite him. As she ate, he found his eyes drawn to her hand. Black tattoos...? She didn't seem like the type...No, it has to just be the shadows of her cloak.

“S-So, where are you from?”

“Desert.”

“What are you in town for?”

“Learning.”

“Will you be staying a while?”

“Probably not.”

John sighs, tapping his fingers against the table as she licks her fingers. He needs another topic. However the idea is ripped from his mind as he notices two of the larger, burlier guards walk over and place a hand on her shoulders, one for each.

“Excuse me, would you kindly come with us?”

He stares in horror as the girl frowns lightly, shaking her head. “I'm sorry...No.”

They frown, tightening their grip as they lift her from her seat bodily. “I really think you should come with us, girl...”

There was a blur of moment, and a moment of confusion. One of the guards crumpled with a small gasp as Rousou stared dispassionately, much to John's horror. The people around them screamed and ran, though a surge of guards came rushing forward to replace them.

“I'm sorry...” John's eyes snap to focus on the girl, or more specifically the puddle of blood dripping from her left hand. Rousou sighs deeply, removing her many cloaks with a practiced flourish. John can only stare in a mixture of awe and horror at her body.

Small black marks, like tiny circles cover her arms and legs, forming a near perfect lattice. Even as he watches, the marks glow, each perfect circle turning to a green beaded scale. Her feet shred through the thin cloth that had covered them as they twist and contort, growing muscle and claws even as he watches. Her mouth stretches and contorts as it is forced to fit more teeth than it was designed to.

From there it was all a confused blur of blood and snapping bones as the person of debatable humanity slashed through the ranks of those who would discriminate against her. Which brings him to the moment where everyone is dead save him, and the monster before him...

She reaches forward, laying a bloodstained claw on his shoulder, holding him in place as the ill-fated guards had for but moments before. Johnathan braces himself, shutting his eyes as he prepares himself for the touch of death. It never comes, instead being replaced by two gentle, breathed words.

“I'm sorry.”