The Darkheart Chronicles

You open your eyes and slowly yourself from the pile of rags you call a bed. Your back aches, every limb feels as if something had tried to rip them from your body. You rub your eyes and look around to ensure you are still where you thought you were.

Rising from the ground you walk to the pieced together shards of glass you use for a mirror and inspect yourself. You check for injuries or bugs, you find new scars forming below your right shoulder blade as well as across your abs. You run your finger along the length of each of them , feeling a sting for each moment of contact.

"How many do you think there were?" A gruff female voice asks from behind you.

You turn abruptly to face the voice. You find a woman with muscles that almost rival your own sitting in your windowsill. The curves of the spikey-haired blonde make the tattered black shirt she wears loose over her midriff displaying her solid, scar-touched abs; the sleeves, however, grip tightly to the woman's muscular arms, more scars escape from the fabric's grip. A tattered pink fabric is tied around her waist, tight messy-white pants trail from the fabric to a armored and spiked-kneepads that are attached to her steel lined boots. She swings one leg playfully as she glares at you from her position. You notice that she seems to be hiding the left side of her body.

"Well? You gonna answer?" She bursts, and stands from her position, crushing the glass from your broken window with her feet.

You see now that her left eye is a blood red, contrary to the sky blue of the right. The arm from her right arm is a purple color, scratch like markings, the same red as her eye glow and trail from her wrists all the way to her elbow where her arm becomes normal again.

You shake your head and ask who the woman is.

She clicks her tongue. "Petra." She reaches out her left hand and smirks. "What no handshake?" She chortles in response to your wariness.

"John." You reach grab her hand, feeling an energy you know all too well. "Now what is it you wanted again."

She smiles a full-toothed grin. "I heard you had a little fight with my boys." She begins to tap her foot, a failed effort to hide her excitement. "I asked how many you think there was?"

You let out a chuckle. "Not enough."

Her foot stops tapping, her smile grows wider. "Tell me. How did you do it?"

"You lead the Incarnates?" You tilt your head as you ask.

Her smile fades for a moment before returning. "You looking down on me, punk." She leans in. "Guess it would be better for me to find out how you did it myself, eh." She pops her neck and cracks her knuckles.

You sigh and grab your tattered shirt and jacket from the ground. You begin to put them on as you leave, ignoring the woman.

"Oi!" She hells as you close the door. "Fight me, bastard!" You hear her shout, your door bursting open behind you.