Villager's POV
I stood stunned at the pure raw power that descended toward me—during the battle, frozen in place by the most wondrous creature Almighty ever created. When she arrived, you knew the battle was about to change, and depending on the side on which you were one, it may not have been for the better.
Long Auburn hair flew behind her as she stormed toward victory. A long, heavy sword in each hand, cutting down the enemy as she advanced. Tight golden bracers made to protect the delicate wrists, attached to her, and adorned with sharp spikes, nonetheless became a weapon. When the enemy got too close to cleaving with the sword, she backhanded them into death’s grip with a swish of her arm.
That dark & golden armor that covered what looked to be a delicate frame didn’t hide the menacing aura that seemed to pulse around her. She was death’s right hand, and every aspect of her seemed to promote that fact.
She moved with all the grace that women possess while dealing the Almighty’s vengeance with finesse. Every move, every kick with her heavy boots, and every strike she dealt was flawless, as if it were choreographed and set to the music of old. It was the dance of war, and she was the most apt student, quickly becoming the master.
The dark armor protecting her did little to cover the blood, and gore splattered upon it, as she handed out permanent punishment.
In legends of old, they came with wide wings, dressed in white, to save the souls of the Heroes. This one came cloaked in Light, dealing death, to save the living.
This was the new age.
The Age of the Warrior.
The Warrior of War.