One Hundred Year War

Six-Seven stood overlooking the city from afar. A squad of Sisters remained with her, scanning the horizon for Shadows with their rifles.  Save for the occasional stray Shadow, it was peaceful out there. 

"It's started." Hina's voice said over the Light Nin. 

Six-Seven crossed her arms, contemplating. 

"So the battle's started." She muttered to herself. 

One hundred years since the last Overlord was killed. An over one hundred and thirty year war. Only the first two generations really had the power to shatter an Overlord's barrier, and even then, it required a team of them. The generations born after Six-Seven's got progressively weaker and weaker. Where Sisters of the First generation could use any weapon, and had all Nin at their disposal, the Sisters of the Seventh could only use one fighting style, and one type of Nin. Some were even born without fighting ability, relegated to the more menial tasks of the Sanctuary like maintaining the power grid, repairing a infrastructure, or farming.

"Will we finally start winning?"  She said again. 

Her memories flashed back to the little girl, watching as the world burned around her. Watching as less of her Sisters returned. Watching as the Shadows grew more powerful, attacking more frequently. She remembered seeing less and less people, till it was only the Sisters left. 

And she remembered It. The Lord of Thorns. The abomination was seared into her mind. A creature from the deepest darkness of the universe, blotting out nearly all the light in the sky as it loomed, its tentacles reaching across the horizon as it stared down with otherworldly presence. Its very existence denied the existence of life. It wanted to steal the very breath in her lungs, the light of her eyes. And the worst part. That song. That terrible song. The song of her death. 

She knew It was watching. She could feel its cold gaze even from her. It didn't care to turn its attention to her, but its eyes, if you could it all that, were fixed here. She could hear the faint murmurs of its songs, whistling in the very air. 

And yet, she was comforted by another gaze. Its presence was softer, much warmer. The soft gaze came from behind her. It whispered lightly into her ear. Its light song filled her with vigor and resolve. It hummed in the wind and in the trees. The Voice.

"Will you be our salvation, or our death Rell?" She said. "What will you choose?"