The Enlightened Ones

They murdered his father and sister in cold blood. His house, destroyed, and his life, stolen. Claude Leon, a young noble and heir to his father’s seat, is thrust into survival and battle, after the demise of his family, hunted and hounded by the King’s men to the ends of the land. Only Claude and his half-sister, Anzi, survive the ordeal, fighting through hordes of helmed, armored soldiers, watching in horror as the home they were raised in is razed from its foundations. Only their deaths will satisfy the King’s thirst for blood, and knowing this, they flee for their lives, desperate, wounded, and frightened, searching only for salvation. Anzi, on the edge of death, sinking into an eternal slumber, is saved when a goddess blesses her. Touched by the goddess, a power awakens within her, and no longer is she only the half-sister of Claude Leon. She becomes an Enlightened One. Together, they flee in terror from the King’s men, forcing themselves to stay alive, while harboring their own lust for vengeance… and blood.


His head had long been severed from his shoulders before she realized it. It was hard to know when it was done, since one could hardly see the fine details of a jagged neck while it sat in a pool of blood, and the attacker in a frenzied rage. She hammered the axe into the floor without ceasing, even as splinters flew into the air, and it chopped more wood than flesh. She couldn’t stop, until at last, she keeled over from the demanding motions. She gasped for air, and her hands dropped from the next swing she was ready to inflict on what was now a corpse, and clutched her wounded side, now leaking blood from her exertion.

Her breathing was as ragged as the ends that connected, or had connected, his head to his body. It was no clean slice, like she’d seen the headsmen inflict on bandits and mercenaries foolish enough to stir up too much trouble in the city; no, it was messy, bloody, and a crude showing of her inexperience in such matters. Just the way she wanted it. Her chest heaved up and down while she stared at the work she’d done when she caught him off guard, too focused on sticking his prick inside of her instead of what she planned to chop from him. He was lucky his head was the second thing she took.

Her victim lay on the floor, one brown eye frozen in terror, and the other eye, a mashed, bloody image of gore from her blade; head lopped off, and his flaccid cock on full display, along with his other flabby body parts that didn’t look any better despite the only light being a dim lit candle. And the fire that raged outside.

Blood still dripped from the tip of the crude axe she held in her hands, until her exhaustion caused her to drop it. It thumped to the floor, and she soon followed suit, just to catch her breath and take a break from the wailing she’d inflicted on a man that was all too deserving of it. She sat there, lost in a daze of euphoria, peace, and a contentment that was hard to understand for someone in her situation.

Her head lolled back, and a smile slowly spread across her face, until a slow laugh began to rumble in her chest; a laugh that one had when experiencing pure relief. She couldn’t stop her silly grin from showing even if she wanted to. Even when her eyes drifted over to the body, her face did not cease in its childish grin, nor did she want it to.

The sound of shouts and rumbling chainmail in the hall was the trick to stop her idiotic smiling and roused her from her temporary joy. She watched the door for any slight creak or inch of movement while she rose to her feet, and though her breathing returned to normal, her arms still burned, and her wound was becoming more of a nuisance than she anticipated. She stood in silence, her gaze refusing to drift to the foot of the bed where Rohan rested. Her friend.

Instead, she looked to the man that took his life, wondering what he must have thought before she brought the axe down on his neck the first time, or the second—or the third. It was the only thing she regretted— not getting the chance to hear his thoughts while she butchered him into the ultimate submission.

“Piece of shit!” She kicked him, hard, almost tumbling over from fatigue, before she spat a fat glob onto his lifeless face. She wiped her mouth clean of the spittle, along with the drops of blood that had smacked her mouth and cheeks while she was lost in vengeance. She rummaged through his deep pockets. Nothing.

She snatched his dagger, the one she hadn’t plunged into his eye, and tucked it near her waist. She did her best to wipe away the salty wetness on her cheeks before she stood up. She gazed at his armor and searched for a sigil anywhere on his chest plate. All soldiers have one. It is a sign to others of who a person’s master was, and Anzi knew all too well that humans loved to flaunt their family lineage, their wealth, their armies... Vanity certainly was not lost on them. It took little time to locate it, proudly displayed on his shoulder, as bright as the growing flames outside of her home.

She bit her lip. It was all she could do to keep herself from screaming.

It was the King’s symbol.

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This book will be available for purchase on June 14th, 2022, on Amazon and Apple Books!

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