Blessing of the Vomit Heroine

'Twas
the birth of Gluttony that gave birth to Lust. The day Gluttony was
born into this world, was the day I was too, in a sense.

At
the time, I had not yet become Queen, I was merely Choco Valentine,
Princess
of
the Desert Elves. But, unbeknownst to me, this would be the day of my
coronation...

"Oh, if it isn't my little Chocobun! Have you come to give your old man
a good morning kiss?"

"Hoh?
Father..." I gave the man a polite bow, before continuing past him
into the courtyard. "'Twas my intention to train with the
soldiers this morning. As I do every morning. I was not aware you had
woken yet."

"Gyahaha!"
he laughed, his broad chest shaking with each hearty chuckle. "As
stiff as ever, I see! You should take a day off once in a while, you
know? Children should be out playing! Running around! Causing
mischief! Not stuck swinging a stick around with a bunch of sweaty
old bores like us!"

"Ah,
do not worry, father," I replied. "I do make sure to run a few
loops around the city every morning before sword practice. 'Tis a
part of my daily training, after all."

"Oh?
Is that my daughter cracking jokes? Or maybe she really is just as
airheaded as her old man! Either way, I'm happy to have such an
amusing kid! Gyahahaha!"

Strawburly
Valentine. King
of the Desert Elves. As well as my doting father.

Though
he was called a 'King', and the land under his leadership his
'kingdom', the city of Raisenbrot where our people called home
was more akin to a large village or township in comparison to the
grandeur of the cities you'd find today. The homes and buildings
were stacked tall and large, but there were no overly lavish palaces,
no marble colosseums, and no towering walls to hide behind. 'Twas
simply a place—far from any other—where people came to reside,
led by the one they judged most fit to lead them. And the one most
fit to lead them, was he.

With
skin as dark and rich as the earth, and crimson hair that fell down
past his waist and shone as brightly as the sun—the King of the
Desert Elves was a lot more jovial than immediate appearances would
suggest. Though the scars of battle adorned every visible inch of his
imposing, stalwart physique, for as long as I knew him, his vibrant
and carefree personality was always his most striking feature.

Elves
were a people known for lurking amongst the trees, but Strawburly
Valentine was a man who longed to feel the warmth of the sun, rather
than hide in the shade. And so he ventured forth, in search of warmer
pastures. Eventually, he found rest somewhere across the desert
sands, and him—as well as those that followed him on his
journey—came to be known as the 'desert elves'.

The
tale is, after leaving the forest behind, the man who would become
King of the Desert Elves met with the dwarves after wandering into
the mountains in search of a new home. In exchange for ridding the
lands beneath the mountains of the dragons that plagued them, the
dwarves gifted upon him a sword made of pure soulstone. A rare and
sought-after mineral with an iridescent purple sheen that's known
to be as sturdy as it is mysterious. With that sword in hand, my
father eventually reached the ocean. Claiming it as his own, 'twas
said that he alone marched into its waters, and—with soulstone
blade in hand—single-handedly slew the Seven Gods of the Sea,
draining the waters and leaving nothing but dry sand in his wake.
This would then become the desert upon which Raisenbrot would
eventually be built.

'Tis,
of course, most likely a tall tale boasted by those that followed and
admired him. But, knowing my father's strength, well, even the
tallest of tales have some smidgen of truth behind them...

"Gyahahaha!"
my father laughed once again. "Alright, how about we have a fun
little wager then?"

Following
me into the courtyard where the soldiers trained, my father watched
as I took a wooden sword from the training rack, before plucking one
out for himself.

"If you can beat me in a little
sparring session," he continued. "I'll let you train here to
your heart's content. But, if I beat you, you have to spend the
whole day with your old man on a little father-daughter date around
the city. How does that sound?"

"Hoh...?"
I mulled the wager over in my mind.

Though
I was not opposed to spending time with my father, the fact was that
my blood longed for battle. As a youngling of tender age in only my
forties, I had, of course, never seen battle before. But, as young as
I was, my father's blood ran through my veins, and I was already far
taller and stronger than any other child my age. At the time, I would
have been almost as tall as the average adult woman, and perhaps
twice as brawny. And as I had not yet seen battle, my childhood days
were spent training in eager anticipation for it.

"Very
well," I eventually replied. "'Tis a wager I will take."

At the end of the day, 'twas rare
for my father to train me himself, and so even if it meant losing a
day of training, a single sparring session against the man would be
worth a lifetime of experience in comparison.

"Gyahaha!
That's my daughter! I knew you would!"

My father's cheerfulness was quickly
met by the angry complaints of the soldiers at his back, playfully
pelting him with their wooden weapons from afar.

"Hey, hey, hey! You think you can
just steal the princess from us before we've even had a chance to
train with her? Stop messing with us, jerkass!"

"Yeah!
I don't care if she's your daughter! She's the only reason I
even bother waking up this damn early! If she's leaving, then I'm
going back to bed!"

"Screw
you, old man! If Princess Choco doesn't kick your ass in this
fight, then I
will!"

Though
their complaints were mostly in jest, 'twas true I was rather
popular amongst the soldiers. I suppose they found it amusing that a
child so young would choose to spend her days training with them, and
they would take pride in my accomplishments as they watched over my
growth. Before I knew it, I had already surpassed them all in terms
of strength and skill, however, they continued to praise and dote
over me nonetheless.

My
father, on the other hand, was somebody who I had not yet surpassed,
but I was ever determined to do so...

With
wooden swords in hand, my father and I took our positions in the
centre of the courtyard—a few short paces from one another—while
those in the courtyard halted their own training to watch our
sparring session with eager anticipation.

All
in all, 'twas a fight that lasted only a half minute.

Both
father and daughter released a relentless flurry of blows, each one
connecting with the sword of the other. Each crack of the wooden
weapons striking one another rung out like thunder, the shockwaves
whipping up a storm of dirt and sand from beneath our feet, and
forcing many in the surrounding crowds off of their own.

Though
the expression on my face must have been one of focus, I couldn't
help but notice his was always fixed into a carefree grin.

Seeing
an opening in his guard, I lunged forward with my weapon to strike,
however—

"...!?"

Before
I realized what had happened, his hand was already pressed against
the top of my head, stopping me in place. 'Twas my loss.

"Gyahaha!"
he laughed, playfully ruffling my hair with his large hand. "It
looks like I'm the winner this time! Gyahahaha!"

It
seems that, what I mistook for an opening during the fight, was in
fact my father letting go of his weapon and dropping it to the floor.
Using that against me, all it took for him to stop me dead in my
tracks was to simply reach out and grab me.

"Hoh...?"
I looked at the sword lying in the dirt. The one my father had
dropped mid-fight. "'Twas a feint, was it...?"

"Ah,
sorry about that, Chocobun!" he replied, still ruffling my hair. "I
didn't mean to trick you or anything like that. I was just enjoying
our fight so much, I couldn't help it!"

"'Twas an accident then? You
dropping your sword...?"

"Ah,
not really. I just got lost in the moment and ended up doing what I
felt was the most fun at the time!"

"The most fun...? Hoh..."

At
the time, I wasn't certain of whether I found battle to be 'fun'
or not, only that my blood yearned for it. And because I yearned for
it, I made sure to diligently follow the teachings the more
experienced would bestow upon me, so that I could better perfect it.

Staying true to my word, I concluded
my training activities for the day, and instead spent it with my
father, all the while mulling over his words in my mind.

Meanwhile,
the soldiers left behind in the training yard had a lot of choice
complaints to throw my father's way for taking me away from them,
jokingly branding him as unsportsmanlike and a cheat for the way he
won. 'Twas all in jest, of course. And my father laughed his hearty
laugh as we left the training grounds together and headed out into
the city.

While
not as grand as one on the scale of Gran Torte, Raisenbrot was still
as vibrant as you would expect a city to be. The paved roads were
always teeming with people going about their busy lives, usually
cloaked in loose clothing and large hats to keep at bay the harsh
desert sun. And the architecture was a jungle of conjoined
buildings—houses made from coloured bricks and clays—clustered
atop and aside each other in odd stacks. 'Twas a mimicry of typical
elven architecture you'd find built amongst the trees and
woodlands, except without the trees and woodland.

There
was a river, however, that ran through the middle of the city. Wide
enough to send many a ship down its waters, and used as the main
route for trade. 'Twas the place my father had decided to take me
after winning our sparring match on that day. 'Twas a place he
often took me, whenever I accompanied him, and...

'Twas
the place where I watched him breathe his last and final breath at
the claws of a feral creature from the depths of hell. A creature
known, feared, and hated by all across the land.

'Twas
the place where I first saw a demon.

"Gyahaha!
You sure can eat, huh? Ah, I didn't mean anything by it. Growing
children should
be
eating plenty! I'm glad you've got the same appetite as your old
man! Here, have mine too!"

"Hoh...
'Tis appreciated. My thanks."

"Anything
for my little Chocobun! I still have no idea where you learned to speak like that, but it definitely wasn't from me!
Gyahaha!"

Me
and my father sat on the bank of the river, watching the sights of
the small boats rowing past, followed by the occasional ship making
its way into the dock. All the while partaking in a small feast of
sweet meats purchased from a nearby stall.

Simply
enjoying the passing of time spent in idle leisure, our outing by the
river was eventually interrupted by some sort of commotion taking
place further down it. I could hear the calls of people in a panic,
and so, my father and I moved to identify the cause.

"Hey,
I think somebody's drowning over there!"

"Quick,
get them to—! W-wait, there's another one, over that way!"

"And
over there too! What the hell's going on?!"

Arriving at the scene, it seemed as
though people had been spotted lying face down in the water, gently
bobbing atop the river as they slowly drifted downstream. First, it
appeared to be just the one. But then a second emerged. And then a
third.

Being
the king, my father was clearly worried for the wellbeing of his
people, however, he could do nothing but watch in concern from afar,
fearing his involvement as a latecomer would simply get in the way of
those who were already there to act. Of which there were many.

More than several rowing boats had
been dispatched from the bank and were already in the process of
rescue. However...

As
the first boat approached, I watched as the man aboard reached down
to lift the still body out of the water, and then—

He disappeared. Suddenly, the man on
the boat was no longer on the boat, leaving the empty vessel to bob
aimlessly from side to side with nobody aboard it. 'Twas as if he
had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Again,
another boat approached one of the floating bodies drifting along the
river, and—

Suddenly,
there were now two empty boats drifting down the river.

Amongst all the commotion and turmoil,
it seemed the disappearances hadn't quite registered as a cause for
alarm, but mild confusion. After all, everybody was currently
concerned with the wellbeing of those lying face down in the river.

It
wasn't until the fourth body appeared by the bank of the river, did
people start to realize the gravity of the situation.

"There's
another one over here! It's close! Here, somebody help me drag them
back to—! Huh...?"

As people rushed out into the
waist-deep water to help the body drifting close to the water's
edge, it wasn't until they grabbed it did they realize...

It
wasn't a body. It was simply the remains
of
one.

All
that remained of it, was the back of a scalp, loosely connected to a
chunk of meat and bone that may well have been somebody's back or
torso.

Upon
closer inspection, all the bodies floating down the river were in a
similar state. Simply the chunked remains of those who had clearly
been torn and ripped apart by something lurking beneath the water.
Something that had just snatched two people from their boats in but a
blink.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The realization of this fact came far
too late, as the crowd and commotion taking place by the riverside
had already roused the beast, drawing it right to them...

I
watched as the rescuers who waded out into the river began to
disappear, one by one. Their bodies, pulled beneath the surface, only
to re-emerge seconds later as a mess of mutilated meat. Some of them
tried to scramble back up the riverbank and out of the water in a
panic, only to be pulled back in again, leaving nothing but a short
cry for help and a few of their fingernails still stuck in the dirt
they had so desperately tried to cling to.

The
first part I saw of the beast, was its horns.

Two
long, gnarled horns—blacker than coal, with a tip as sharp as any
spear—protruding from below, carving a rippled trail along the
water's surface as it moved toward the riverbank where most of the
crowd had gathered.

I
could sense my father immediately tense up as he saw it,
instinctively reaching for the sword at his waist. The fabled
soulstone blade of which he carried with him everywhere. But, 'twas
uncertainty that kept him from drawing it. And in those precious few
seconds, that uncertainty resulted in the death of many. For the
beast did not emerge slowly or gradually, it did so with the intent
to kill.

Charging
up and out of the river, a woman emerged. Naked. Her hair was long
and black, clinging messily to her wet body, with those same two
horns standing at length atop her scalp. She was tall, and her limbs
grotesquely elongated, tipped with a blackened claw on each finger
and toe. And beneath her mess of wet hair, the hungry glare of two
burning crimson eyes, filled with nothing but a want for slaughter
and violence.

Though I had never seen one before, I
knew exactly what this creature was.

A demon.

Like
a wild animal, she clawed her way from the river and up the bank,
letting loose a wild shriek and sending flecks of half-chewed meat
spraying out in front of her. It was clear she had been the one
devouring those half-eaten bodies, as evident from the large,
drooping lump in her belly, the engorged mound scraping against the
ground as she scrambled across it with reckless abandon.

The
crowds would attempt to disperse and run from the monster, but any
that weren't torn apart beneath her frenzied charge, would instead
be snatched up by a flick of her lengthy claws and dragged into her
razor-edged maw—crunched and slurped down into her swollen sack of
meat—in the blink of an eye.

It was then that my father made his
move.

With one hand, he gripped the back of
my shirt, and the other, the hilt of his sword.

Without
the time to utter a word of protest, I was thrown from the fight—out
of harm's way—and the King of the Desert Elves was already
engaged in a battle to the death, his sword of tempered soulstone
glowing its signature legendary sheen of purple.

Black
and violet sparks filled the air as my father's blade clashed
against the demon's claws. The beast was now standing at full
height, dwarfing even my father in size, her grotesquely inflated
stomach still drooping down past her waist. The ground cracked and
shattered with each blow they dealt—from the dirt along the
riverbank, to the paved roads of the city—as their fight escalated
beyond the river, with many a house and building toppling in the wake
of their destruction.

However,
the loss of life was kept to a minimum. My father made sure of it.
Luring the beast from the more populated areas of the city, he
stalled it, allowing those nearby to escape from the devastation, so
that when the time was right and the way cleared, he could make his
move.

And
so, when the time was
indeed right, and the way cleared—

The King of the Desert Elves swung his
blade across at the demon in front of him.

The
violet blade tore a trail of purple light across its path as he did.
Reacting on instinct, the demon lashed out with its lengthy claws,
attempting to swat the sword from its trajectory. However, it was to
no avail. Cleaving through claws and fingers, the demon let forth a
hellish shriek as the blade came to meet with the creatures neck,
burying itself into her thick skin. With one final grunt of effort,
my father continued to follow through, tearing the blade through the
howling beast's neck and separating it from her body.

The
resulting shockwave from his display of power rang out into the city,
reducing everything within length of his sword to naught but dust and
rubble. Clawing at the air with fruitless desperation, the headless
beast eventually ceased its flailing, and collapsed backwards onto
the floor—dead.

As the dust and destruction settled,
there my father stood, in a pool of the demon's blood. He had done
it. He had slain a creature powerful enough to crumble kingdoms and
bring entire armies to their knees, with but a few cuts and scrapes
to show for it.

Where
had the demon come from? Why was it in the river? I could not say.
Perhaps it caught sight of a passing ship and followed it. Perhaps it
had done so to escape the desert sun. Either way, a demon sighting
was quite a rarity, and having one stumble upon your city is bound to
result in disaster. But my father was strong, and so it did not.

Or so I thought...

The people cheered as they stood
around the corpse of the dead demon, my father standing over it
triumphantly. With its head torn clean from its body, my father
breathed a sigh of relief as he looked into the crowds and spotted
me, unharmed.

Sheathing his blade, he eventually let
out a hearty laugh.

"Gyahaha! Did you see how cool your
old man was just now, eh, Chocobun? It's not every day you see a—!"

As
the click of the sword's hilt closed against the opening of the
sheath, a moment of brief confusion crossed his face, as if sensing
something was amiss, but not knowing what.

'Twas
this very moment that cost him his life.

When
an elven babe is born, 'tis but a small and helpless thing. It can
not fend for itself, feed itself, nor does it have any of the
prerequisites needed for survival. 'Tis but an infant, after all. A
human is the same. As is a wolfman. In fact, 'tis a trait most
races born of man and woman hold alike. But an animal is different. A
newborn foal or wildebeest can run with the herd mere moments after
birth. Many predators that dwell in the seas and rivers are already
able to hunt their prey. And some birds are even able to spread their
wings and fly soon after hatching.

A demon is the same.

For
a moment, I could feel my heart stop. I felt as if a prickling wave
of sharp nettles had buried itself beneath my skin, and made my blood
itch. Though I had felt this feeling before, it had never been to
this extent. 'Twas the feeling of bloodlust.
And one more potent and overpowering than anything I had ever felt
before.

'Twas
not overfeeding that had engorged the belly of the beast. The demon
was pregnant.

Realizing his mistake, my father went
to draw his sword once more, however—

He
could only look down in confusion as the arm with which to wield it,
was no longer there. It had become nothing more than a bloodied
stump, violently leaking onto the body of the headless demon he had
just slain. A body that no longer had the lump in its stomach once
thought to be nothing more than a sack of consumed remains. Instead,
the beast's belly had blossomed outward in an explosion of gore, as
if something had burst from it. Of which something did.

Standing
behind my father, was a girl, her back pointed towards him. She was
only small. About the size of a young adolescent. Perhaps the size
others my age should have been, had I not so rapidly outgrown them.
Her hair was black, and her skin pale. Though, both features barely
distinguishable beneath the thick layer of crimson coating every inch
of her naked body, as if she had just been bathing in blood and gore.
And atop her head—two sharp, black nubs. Horns.

This
was, of course, my first ever encounter with her. The encounter which
would ignite the flames of passionate rivalry that continue to burn
brightly even after many a millennia. Yes, this was my first
encounter with the one who would someday become known as Demon
Queen Gluttony.

Clutched between black claws, my
father's severed arm hung from her mouth, accompanied by the sounds
of wet crunching. An arm that was almost as long as she was tall.
Within seconds, she slurped the entire thing down, before letting out
a satisfied burp.

Coming
to his senses, my father turned to face the girl, clutching at the
weapon against his waist with his one remaining arm—only to find
her staring back at him with those hungry, crimson eyes.

It was over in a moment.

In the time it had taken for my father
to draw his sword, the demon had already taken his head.

With
no time for last words or final sentiments, my father collapsed
wordlessly to the floor with a wet thud,
his severed head caught between the gnashing teeth of a newborn demon
who was already working her way through the crowds. No time to be
mourned by the people who followed and admired him, or even be given
a second thought—the people of Raisenbrot could only flee in fear
from the demon in their midst.

Like
black lightning, she tore through the city with unparalleled speed
and destruction. As small as she was, each lunging step she took
melted the pavement beneath her bare feet. Buildings would fall and
topple from the force of which she passed by them. And each swipe of
her claws would send a shower of limbs scattering in every direction.

'Tis
normal for a demon to seek battle moments after birth. In fact, most
are known to seek it before
birth.
A demon is not born as elves are, after all. Like an animal, when a
demon is born, they are already of the size to do as their instincts
compel them to. Kill.
Quick to mature, and slow to age, as they are. But a demon cares not
who
it
kills, it just does. And so, when it is time for a demon to be
birthed, the adolescent-sized infant will tear itself from the
mother's womb, and engage in a battle to the death against her.
Severely wounded mother and inexperienced infant will fight until
only one stands. In most cases, it's the wounded mother who
prevails. But it's common for the mother to soon succumb to her
injuries and perish herself soon afterward. 'Tis one of the reasons
why such an unstoppably powerful species were driven to
near-extinction, after all.

But
Gluttony was clearly special. She was a prodigy. A prodigy of
bloodshed and violence, amongst a species known for nothing but
bloodshed and violence. And from the first moment I laid eyes on her,
I was enamoured.

As
the destruction rung out all around me, I wordlessly stumbled towards
my father's body, and took the sword from his waist—unsheathing
it, and leaving both him and the scabbard behind. Soft streaks of
purple sliced through the air as I gave the violet blade a few test
swings. 'Twas heavier than the wooden ones I had practiced with,
but not something I hadn't already trained for.

With
heart beating loudly in my chest, I made my way towards the sounds of
devastation, sword in hand. It wasn't long before I found her—the
source of it all.

In
a crater of rubble, I watched as the soldiers I had spent my young
days in training with try to stop her. Or perhaps they were simply
trying to escape. Either way, it mattered not, as one by one they
disappeared in a torrent of red mist as the demon danced across the
battlefield. Though her movements were inexperienced and without
technique, her dance was one driven by pure killer instinct. And as I
watched the scene unfold before me, I couldn't help but feel my
lips curl up into a smile.

She
was beautiful. From her overwhelming power, to her instinctual
prowess. Just the very aura she exuded alone was strong enough to
kill, and I found my heart caught between simultaneously wanting to
stop, and burst forth from my chest. From the instant I felt that
overpowering prickling of bloodlust wash over me, I was addicted to
it.

Having
easily dealt with the soldiers, it seemed I was the next target on
the demon's agenda.

Scrambling
toward me, she lunged out with splayed claw. And in that moment—I
parried it. With sword drawn, I struck at the demon's claws with my
father's blade. The force of the impact sent heavy vibrations
tearing through my body, threatening to shatter the bones in my arms
and shred the skin from my hands. But, I had deflected her attack.

With
a look of mild surprise and annoyance, the demon struck again. And
again I deflected her blow. Once more she lunged, and once more I
deflected. Growing increasingly annoyed each time, the demon's
attacks became more frenzied. As quick and powerful as she already
was, her strength continued to grow. Each blow became heavier, and
each step, even quicker. And I matched them all with my father's
blade.

My
muscles felt as if they would give out at any moment, and my body was
wracked with pain. But each blow only made my smile grow wider. This
was it. The feeling my blood had been yearning for. I was feeling the
rush of being on the edge of death while barely struggling to brush
it aside, and it was exhilarating.

With me as her new focus, our dance
continued across the city. Caring not for the homes we trampled upon,
or the innocents that disappeared into pink paste along our path, my
struggle for survival resumed. With no openings in the demon's
flurry of attacks, all I could do was simply keep as I was until my
body gave out. One wrong move, and I would end up just like my
father. The thought of it excited me beyond reason, and I felt the
slightest of giggles inadvertently escape my lips.

'Twould
be awfully dull if, when my body did inevitably give out, I had
failed to land a single blow on my demon assailant, would it not?
'Twas a thought that crossed my mind at the time. For me to perish,
without leaving even a single mark on her, would be... Well, 'twould
be a little inconsiderate to those who fought so bravely before me,
would it not? My father included. 'Twould be a little rude
of
me even...

It was at that moment, I felt my
father's words from earlier pass through my mind.

I
just got lost in the moment and ended up doing what I felt was the
most fun at the time.

"The
most fun...?" The grin on my face spread even wider. "Gyaha! Very
well!"

Lunging one last time, the demon's
claws sliced through the air towards me. Throwing all caution and
reason to the wind, I readied the sword in my hand, and then—

I
tossed it aside, leaving myself unarmed, and empty-handed.

The
beast's blackened nails tore down across my chest and deep into my
stomach, immediately forcing a torrent of blood up and out from
between my gritted teeth. Caught off-guard by the bizarre change in
the flow of battle, the demon paused for a moment in surprise as her
claws passed through my abdomen and slammed against the floor.

I had created an opening. I had
suffered a fatal wound to do it, but an opening was made.

Mustering
every ounce of strength remaining in my body, I lashed out at the
demon in whichever way felt most natural to me in the heat of the
moment.

I kicked her.

Swinging
my leg up, I struck the creature's chin with the tip of my boot.
Hard. The
crack of her bones against mine rattled loudly across the city. The
force of the impact had caved the front of my foot into itself,
bursting a few of my toes like little meaty sausages of bone and
blood, but in return, I had hurt her.

"Gyahahaha!"
I laughed, seeing the newborn beast stumble back in pain. Blood
continued to spew wildly from my mouth, almost as violently as the
open wound that had just been torn through my chest and abdomen.

"Honoured fiend!" I continued,
addressing the demon with much gusto. "Though you are without name,
allow mine to be the first you ever hear, so that you remember me for
the rest of your days! Today you fight Choco Valentine, Princess of
the Desert—!"

—And
then the city collapsed upon me, burying me in its rubble.

I
suppose, if it had not done, I probably would have died in the next
few moments. But I couldn't help but feel unsatisfied that our
fight was brought to such an abrupt end. The fact was, I was still
alive, and so was she. And I didn't want to stop until one of us
wasn't. Not out of hate or revenge, but out of a selfish
self-pleasure that I knew only she
could
give me. I was infatuated with her. And I wouldn't stop my pursuit
of her until I was lying in a bloodied heap at her feet. Or perhaps,
until she was at mine.

Buried
beneath the rubble of whatever had fallen across me, I slowly began
to dig my way out. I could feel my consciousness slipping from me,
but I knew that if I fell asleep in that moment, I would never wake.
And so I continued to squeeze myself up through the rubble. Brick and
stone shredded my skin as I forced myself through it, and the pain of
sand and debris filling my open wounds was excruciating. It was an
excruciation that filled me with nothing but unbridled ecstasy.

In
the end, it took me days to finally dig myself to freedom. In that
time, I heard every scream and cry that rang out across the city.
Every one of them eventually snuffed out by the beast's rampage,
until eventually, the only sounds that remained was the laboured
giggling of a young elven child clawing her way out from the ruins.

Until the only one left was me.

Standing
atop the rubbled remains of the city, it was clear to see there was
nothing left. Nobody left. Elf or
demon.
Perhaps there were survivors who had managed to flee the city in
time. Perhaps some were still trapped beneath the rubble as I
had been. But either way, neither would survive for long. Whether it
was the harsh desert sun, lack of air, or the demon herself tracking
them across the sands, every single person was basically as good as
dead.

"Gyahahaha!
How amusing!"

Laughing
up towards the sun, I treated my wounds as best I could, and stumbled
out into the desert, following the bloodied trail left behind by the
beast who turned my kingdom to ruin.

'Twas
not out of disrespect or lack of feeling that I did not stop to mourn
the slaughter of my people, but in the grand scheme of life, 'twas
through their suffering from which I found beauty. And 'tis with
great pride that I continue to honour them as Choco Valentine, Queen
of
the Desert Elves.

From
that day on, I continued to pursue the demon. I watched her grow with
every new encounter. And as she grew, so did I. Again and again, I
fought with her. And again and again, I would suffer a fatal wound at
her claws. But my refusal to die, and my hunger for more bloodshed,
kept my soul burning brightly, long past the brink of my body's
limits.

Soon, I found it wasn't just the
demon I was fighting. Before I knew it, entire kingdoms were crushed
beneath the stampede of my own rampage. Abandoning the sword for a
style that suited me best, I even found many a demon and oni falling
at my feet. I had grown strong, and with each loss, I became even
stronger. With each life I stamped out, my lust for bloodshed grew.
And at some point...

I
had become known as Lust.

There
were six others like me, who had been bestowed a title to represent
their overwhelming strength. Sloth, Wrath, Gluttony, Greed, Pride,
and Envy. And, in my lust for battle, I hunted them down too.

But
no matter how many of the Seven I slaughtered, and as strong as I
grew, I could never once best Gluttony—the demon I had fallen in
love with on that fateful day, all those years ago. The titles of
Wrath, Greed, Pride, and Envy changed hands many a time over the
years, but Gluttony and Lust remained the same.

Hoh...
I suppose Sloth may still be— Ah, but that is a different tale. One
I have little involvement in, and little to do with. Perhaps I'll
tell it another day. Or perhaps 'tis better left for another to
tell, and not I. Either way, today's tale has come to its end. And
so...

Thus
concludes the origins of Choco Valentine, Queen of the Desert Elves,
and Lust of the Seven.

'Twas quite an amusing one, don't
you think?