Unknown by Poppy Page A

Villid’s nostrils, warriors battled around him and the screams of the Elves echoed around the square. He looked round desperately at the mayhem, which only moments ago had been harmless celebration.
“Glorious battle!” Shade yelled, effortlessly cutting down two or three E lf men who ran at him, desperately flailing their weapons. They groaned and fell, red spattering the ground, limbs rolling away from them, watching their own guts spill out to the floor. Shade stood triumphantly above them, as if loving every second of their pain and torment. He glanced greedily at one of the nearby Elven houses.
“The men fight, but where are the women?” he smirked. Slowly he approached one of the houses that weren’t yet on fire, and Villid made to follow him – this was too much, he had to be stopped. But he was bombarded by five more E lves, looking terrified, clutching small swords. Villid tried to dodge them, but he felt a blade catch his arm and yelled in pain. Anger rising in him, he slammed his battle axe into the offender’s face and with a sickening crack, and the young man fell backwards. Swinging his weapons madly, he crossed his sword and axe and sliced an E lf warrior in two; he turned and cut the arm off another, and he ducked and took the legs off the last. They all collapsed, almost simultaneously – the Elf with no arm screamed in anguish and stared up at Villid, falling to his knees. Villid could feel adrenaline pumping through his body, the fierce triumph raging in his heart, covered in the blood of his victims...
But then horror hit him. What was he doing? There was no glory in this...
The Elf boy stared up at him, his cheeks wet, clutching the bloody stump where his arm had been sliced off his body, his hair sticking to his forehead. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Villid felt shame bubbling inside him – something he had never felt before...
Then a sword swiped through the air and the E lf was dead. Swift grinned at Villid. “Playing with your food before you eat it?” he said tauntingly. Villid glared at him. Shade licked his lips again and gestured towards the E lf houses. “Plenty of lovely Elf women,” he said greedily.
With great difficulty Villid tore his gaze away from the Elf corpses and Shade’s gloating face, and forced himself to run through the battle and towards the towers up ahead. His heavy boots pounded on the white pave stones, which were rapidly turning scarlet as more Elves hit the floor, crying in anguish and screaming for mercy that would never come.
This battle was completely different from anything Villid had experienced before. He felt no excitement, no glory, no satisfaction, just cold, shameful dread. The Tyrans were dooming themselves to the mercy of the Darkma, and for what? Slaughtering these Elves as if they were animals?
He could see a stone tower ahead. Most of the Elves that hadn’t been caught by the Tyrans had disappeared from sight, running into buildings or towers that weren’t on fire. Tyrans battled either side of him as he sprinted towards the nearest tower, knowing now that without saving the Seer girl, the whole point of the battle would be lost to him.

“Stay here,” Flint growled, pushing Aya into the south tower. “Go to the top. Protect the Seer. Don’t come out until father and I have come for you,”
“Flint, no,” Aya cried, clutching Flint’s sleeve. “Come with us... you’re no fighter...”
“I can fight,” said Flint, not looking at her. He pulled a sword from the wall, where daggers and arrows hung in rows. He placed his shaking hand on Aya’s shoulder. “I must go and find our father. Keep the Seer safe. Lock this door when I go. If the worst comes, use the escape passageway. It leads to the forest.”
Aya forced back tears as Flint swiftly kissed Aya on the forehead and ran towards the door, clutching the heavy sword in his hand. Wiping her face on her robes, Aya made herself run up the spiral staircase, her heart