Stalker becomes Hunted

No one goes near her. Not unless they want their arms chopped off (and I assure you it would not be pleasant...). Xyliar only has one family member... her brother. But they lead less than normal lives. Others live in fear of the demonic creatures that haunt the darkness in the night, but then you have the hunters. They turn the stalker into their prey.
She finds it oddly difficult to accept other people, but who needs other people? Who needs anyone? All she needs is the katana at her hip and the murderous hatred of those who prey on the weak and vulnerable.


10. Nodachi, Kodachi, Katana

She lay staring up at the ceiling. The bed that had been put in the room was hard and uncomfortable, so Xyliar had settled for a comfortable piece floor. The fan light that she was staring at spun gently giving off a cool breeze.

            It was better at nights. She didn’t have to stay cooped up in that damn chair. Xyliar stretched like a cat and stood up, pacing the floor restlessly. An idea struck her suddenly.


She waited all night, not sleeping once, waiting for Caecelius to come in to secure her back into the chair. The door slid open and she rolled silently under the bed.

            “Xyliar?” The blind man called, seriously, who sent a blind man to watch a silent girl? “I know where you are.” He made his way to the bed and lifted it off her. He didn’t even feel the swish in the air as the fan blade hit him. He dropped like a fly as a drop of blood oozed from beneath his hair.

            “Sorry.” She said shortly and made her way towards the door.


Zenith slowly slipped his feet out of bed. His leg was completely healed, not even a twinge of pain coming from it. He bundled up several daggers from his bedside table and got up quietly.

            The door was hanging open, revealing the empty hallway outside. Everyone was out on jobs, even the doctor, so he could navigate around freely.

            He silently crept from the room, but was stopped by the hand that flew out in front of him.

            “Zenith. Please go back to bed.” Varian said, removing his hand from in front of the boy and continuing the plate that wove his hair.

            “I wanted to stretch my legs.”

            “Okay then. I’ll come with you.” There was a threatening edge to the boss’ voice, one that was rare to the usually light hearted man. They set off together down the stairs until they reached the training grounds. “Let’s have a play.” A grin stretched his face. Zenith had always hated training with Varian. He usually ended up with several broken fingers, he sighed.

            “Oh come on! I’ve just healed.”

            “I’ll go easy on you.” It was hardly consoling. But even so Zenith pulled out a couple of daggers. Varian pulled out his nodachi (A Japanese sword with a long, curved blade) and flourished it through the air gracefully. He was the one who had trained Xyliar how to use her katana so well; they’d worked for hours to make her as good as she was. Her skill was almost on par with Varian’s by the time they’d finished. She’d long since surpassed him after the many years passed.

             The nodachi clashed against my two daggers with a clash, nearly knocking the boy backwards.

            “Wait, wait! This is hardly fare, I only have daggers!” Zenith said at him with a moan. Varian considered for a moment then drew out a kodachi (a Japanese sword of medium length that was shorter than a katana, and could be used as a lethal throwing weapon. All first year knowledge) and handed it to the boy.

            “It’s about time you learned how to use a proper blade. Those daggers are hardly your style, Zenny!” Zenith weighed the sword in his hand. It was considerably light and was the perfect length for him to hold comfortably.

            “I’ve taught you before right, but with a normal sword?” He asked him.

            “Yeah. I can still remember everything you said.” Zenith said, a hint of pride entering his voice. The long lessons to teach his sword play were hard; he’d ended up with numerous cuts and bruises.

            He could never understand how Xyliar could be so amazing at everything.


The door was ajar, and she crept through it, hearing the camera in the room buzzing after her. It was silent outside, the slightly yellowish glow of the dim lights piercing the dark.

            A set of stairs led upwards, the stairs they’d bodily dragged her down to put her in the chair in the room. Punishment quarters were never great. She’d found that out the hard way.

            The building she lived in was not the only one of its kind, there were many different branches of Praelia all around the world. She actually used to live in the one in Japan, but they’d moved her when she was very young, when Zenith was only one year old. She was three at the time, and was already named and powerful. That was when she was open and kind to everyone, she had friends. People she thought of as family.

            Xyliar was completely devastated when she had to move to Britain. All her friends. Gone. Forced to live in a country that didn’t speak her language. That was when she started to become bitter. But then it happened. The thing that really changed her. The day that her faith in life withered away and died, leaving the empty shell of a girl behind…

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