Clicks of steeled heels rang as they tromped across cobblestone, steel gray spheres showing but vague amusement at the city dwellers who fled with a particular nonchalance to their homes. Lisa had become quite familiar with the humans since her initial job request at the behest of her superiors. "Silver-eyed Witch!", "Monster!" they'd whisper behind hands; muttering to one another the rumors of demonic nobodies that'd just as soon chew a human in half as the Yoma's did their intestines. Pish-posh, she'd call their rumors. Such was the thankless job of being a "Claymore", that putrid title humans designed for them. Were it not for the behemoth blade they toted in travels, when dispatching their despicable threats, she'd almost question its creativity. Although, useless was that title, for it only struck additional fear in hearts of humans already uncertain of the pure-breeds that terrorized their very existence.
What were those pure-breeds? Yoma. Humanoid monstrosities. Capable of trudging their daily lives under the guise of the very thing that feared them the most; only emerging from their human masquerade when such an optimal time was right to gorge themselves on blood-filled intestines; their maw of razor edged fang-like teeth capable of sinking through even steel alloy like a down pillow. It was chocolate to a baby, and how these spawns from the pits of hell thrive ever so in their day. Yoma were no different from humans, in size. The average ones, at least. If anything, they were noticeably larger; muscular-wise. Sandpaper skin, rough around the edges with no appealing point to it, were complete with rows upon rows of ridges; lumps of hills on an already unappealing landscape. Elongated limbs were like a monkey; only barbaric with feral tendencies unlike the primate they so vilely familiarized their over-all posture with, complete with pinpointed digit tips. These monstrosities, what "people" like Lisa were assigned to dispatch, knew all too well that should they reveal themselves; they would become the hunted. Like the dogs they were. And after but forty-seven successful kills, she considered herself no longer an amateur in the art. If slaying ferocious monsters could be coined an "art".
On a click of a steel heel, Lisa submerged herself in what was the town's Elder's home. Protocol required her to check in with the village's lead before beginning, were a Yoma not discovered prior to.
"She has arrived!" one man called out with a tremor voice. It was natural for many village members encasing themselves within the presence of their leader; for he was the common decision-maker in requesting the aid from one, such as she, from their organization. They parted as she made headway, a path being woven directly before a simple, wooden desk. An aging man, much older than she'd give him credit for, sat beyond the rickety confines. His poor clothing, even for that of a head, suggested the town was less than fortunate in money ordeals. She could tell, no, sense that they were doing this as a last resort. Something that she cooly registered, but paid no attention to, in the long run.
"Thank goodness you have arrived when you did, miss. I fear chaos has spread due to our infestation," the Elder admitted. He rose at her approach to bestow manners on the Claymore, something he was not immediately sure of in his gesture. Yet he did rise, of which Lisa did not acknowledge.
Her stoney expression did little to turn onto worrisome eyes; anxious fellows. For she cared not about their emotions, nor their thankful gestures. "You should have done something about this sooner," she commented blankly, reaching a hand into the air, and over a shoulder where the lengthy hilt of her claymore rested within proximity. Unsheathing it with a yank, a startling momentum that was missed even should one not blink, it was motioned in a sweep to her immediate left; and cleanly aimed at the midriff of a townsman just beyond her natural reach following the devestating swipe. A deafening silence came with her attack, the horrified gasps only sounding when a shaggy, sandy haired man's head slid effortlessly from the base of his neck. It rolled worthlessly to the floor with a hollow clunk, violent purple liquid gushing like a man-made fountain from the now exposed, open wound. His body, only catching awareness that it was severed completely from it's brain flow, followed in a slump to the floor worthlessly.
"S-she's a monster!" cried one townsman, scurrying from the room and out the door with boisterous yelps. "We're doomed! They've come to kill all the remaining humans!"
Silver eyes panned slowly to catch his retreat in her peripheral vision. The splattering of Yoma blood did not bother her as it was flicked from the flat of her blade across the room. Several more humans grasped at their mouths to contain their sickness. With a final flourish, the blade returned in a similar swashing motion to the confines of buckles resting across her back.
"One down," she jested, making note that the slain human had already reverted to that of a Yoma. It's head, maw wide, with large yellow eyes that held a connection to a snake, gave a terrifying, frozen glare directly at Lisa. He knew even before his decapitation, like they all would at that very moment; a "Claymore" had come to clean up the mess.
What were those pure-breeds? Yoma. Humanoid monstrosities. Capable of trudging their daily lives under the guise of the very thing that feared them the most; only emerging from their human masquerade when such an optimal time was right to gorge themselves on blood-filled intestines; their maw of razor edged fang-like teeth capable of sinking through even steel alloy like a down pillow. It was chocolate to a baby, and how these spawns from the pits of hell thrive ever so in their day. Yoma were no different from humans, in size. The average ones, at least. If anything, they were noticeably larger; muscular-wise. Sandpaper skin, rough around the edges with no appealing point to it, were complete with rows upon rows of ridges; lumps of hills on an already unappealing landscape. Elongated limbs were like a monkey; only barbaric with feral tendencies unlike the primate they so vilely familiarized their over-all posture with, complete with pinpointed digit tips. These monstrosities, what "people" like Lisa were assigned to dispatch, knew all too well that should they reveal themselves; they would become the hunted. Like the dogs they were. And after but forty-seven successful kills, she considered herself no longer an amateur in the art. If slaying ferocious monsters could be coined an "art".
On a click of a steel heel, Lisa submerged herself in what was the town's Elder's home. Protocol required her to check in with the village's lead before beginning, were a Yoma not discovered prior to.
"She has arrived!" one man called out with a tremor voice. It was natural for many village members encasing themselves within the presence of their leader; for he was the common decision-maker in requesting the aid from one, such as she, from their organization. They parted as she made headway, a path being woven directly before a simple, wooden desk. An aging man, much older than she'd give him credit for, sat beyond the rickety confines. His poor clothing, even for that of a head, suggested the town was less than fortunate in money ordeals. She could tell, no, sense that they were doing this as a last resort. Something that she cooly registered, but paid no attention to, in the long run.
"Thank goodness you have arrived when you did, miss. I fear chaos has spread due to our infestation," the Elder admitted. He rose at her approach to bestow manners on the Claymore, something he was not immediately sure of in his gesture. Yet he did rise, of which Lisa did not acknowledge.
Her stoney expression did little to turn onto worrisome eyes; anxious fellows. For she cared not about their emotions, nor their thankful gestures. "You should have done something about this sooner," she commented blankly, reaching a hand into the air, and over a shoulder where the lengthy hilt of her claymore rested within proximity. Unsheathing it with a yank, a startling momentum that was missed even should one not blink, it was motioned in a sweep to her immediate left; and cleanly aimed at the midriff of a townsman just beyond her natural reach following the devestating swipe. A deafening silence came with her attack, the horrified gasps only sounding when a shaggy, sandy haired man's head slid effortlessly from the base of his neck. It rolled worthlessly to the floor with a hollow clunk, violent purple liquid gushing like a man-made fountain from the now exposed, open wound. His body, only catching awareness that it was severed completely from it's brain flow, followed in a slump to the floor worthlessly.
"S-she's a monster!" cried one townsman, scurrying from the room and out the door with boisterous yelps. "We're doomed! They've come to kill all the remaining humans!"
Silver eyes panned slowly to catch his retreat in her peripheral vision. The splattering of Yoma blood did not bother her as it was flicked from the flat of her blade across the room. Several more humans grasped at their mouths to contain their sickness. With a final flourish, the blade returned in a similar swashing motion to the confines of buckles resting across her back.
"One down," she jested, making note that the slain human had already reverted to that of a Yoma. It's head, maw wide, with large yellow eyes that held a connection to a snake, gave a terrifying, frozen glare directly at Lisa. He knew even before his decapitation, like they all would at that very moment; a "Claymore" had come to clean up the mess.