Ezra stood over the elf, sword poised over its exposed throat. Its bright eyes met his, shining like gleaming sapphires in the moonlight. He observed the quivering pale limbs, like stalks of grass corded and then animated, and that facial structure – so sharp it seemed to cut the eye. Its clothes were simple, yet beautiful in that simplistic way all simple things were. It was strange, he thought, how such a delicate creature was capable of such ferocious fighting.
The elf, tall and slender like the tree it made its home inside, had fought until the vampire had broken both legs and shattered the staff it wielded. And yet it continued to struggle, like a fly caught in an inescapable net, refusing to give up.
The vampire twisted his boot against the elf's broken leg, causing it to hiss – but not scream.
"Why, why do you keep fighting?"
He wanted to know, for he had long ago given up himself.
"Why do you not give up, when you know you cannot win?"
The elf curled its upper lip, revealing jagged incisors in a silent hiss. Ezra grew hot all over, the root of blood taking over. He was being looked down upon. The vampire could feel it. He, a general of the greatest army of the world, second only to the greatest necromancer the world had ever seen, was being looked down upon. Standing beneath the cool disdain of this mere elf, Ezra could not help but feel insignificant. And he hated feeling insignificant.
"So be it." He pierced the creature's throat, like a knife through butter, and stepped over the gagging elf – who would soon suffocate upon its own blood.
A cacophony of screams mixed with the thunderous roars and snarls of battle. Everywhere he looked, the dead devoured the living in a hellish feeding frenzy, tearing elves from limb to limb and consuming their faces from still-breathing owners.
The horrific sight snapped something in him; a wild lust surged through his body – one that could only be placated by violence.
Kill.
Kill.
KILL!
The bubble burst; everything turned red and violent.
He charged his foes, maiming and biting, clawing and slashing. Up the trees, through the canopy– like a whirlwind of death unleashed at last. It all became a fever dream – he fought for hours in what felt like minutes.
Bits and pieces merged to form a fragmented whole, a swirling mess of emotions and impressions that felt not his own.
Then– Ezra's eyes slowly opened, and he found himself standing atop the next-to-last ancestral tree. He surveyed the carnage thousands of meters below as the legion mercilessly devoured everything in their path. With dread, Ezra forced his gaze to turn.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
He saw the woman elf, white dress stained with her lifeblood. She had been impaled in the heart, in the tree's center, with her own severed arm as the stake. Her throat was ripped open; no trace of her tongue or eyeballs could be seen. At that moment, Ezra felt a severe hatred emanating from her empty sockets, penetrating deep into his soul. Then, he saw it – beneath her body lay a small elven child, who couldn't have been bigger than Ezra's closed fist.
Headless.
The vampire felt a searing pain deep in his chest as the bile rose in his throat, burning like acid. His knees buckled beneath him, and he let out a tortured scream that was cut short the moment it came. He gasped, then pulled himself back up– as if nothing had happened.
"Never show mercy."
"You are the face of my cruel sword."
"Always smile."
People surged up the tree, it was Crayford and his cabal of necromancers. They turned their heads in disgust as they saw the scene before them. Ezra felt the oath he swore many years ago take control of his body. A brilliant smile spread widely across his face as he met each of their gazes. "What took you so long?"
----------------------------------------
Prometheus stood stock still, his pulse quickening as the first figure passed him, followed by three more.
The four stocky figures, as tall as they were wide, now stood in a circle exhibiting their bulging biceps and broad shoulders. Each was dressed in black full-body armor, a metal rod strapped tightly to their backs, and a shield strapped over their left arm glistening with congealing gore. In each of their right hands, they clutched an axe with razor-sharp blades soaked in black blood from the recent battle. Their faces were all framed by varied lengths and styles of facial hair, ranging from long and red to short and black.
Long mustaches sat over thick lips and rough, rugged faces. Their language was melodic, almost like a song, their deep voices echoing in the cavern as they spoke to each other. They walked and inspected this end of the cavern, seemingly surprised to find nothing.
After a while, one of the more miniature figures came over. It looked like a human child; but with a man's features. Prometheus reckoned this was a gnome, one of the fire-weaving little creatures that had decimated the legion with infernos.
The gnome said something in a tone Prometheus would call agitated. The dwarves all nodded, waving hands and speaking in that melodic song they seemed to use for language. The little creature looked around carefully and then shook its head. The dwarves looked at each other, then turned back to the gnome, more firmly waving their hands to the side of the cavern they were inside.
As the dwarves spoke and gestured emphatically, the gnome's expression grew more agitated. Suddenly, the gnome flung its hands up and shouted something before swiveling around and walking briskly away. As the gnome left, the dwarves stood silent for a moment. The dwarves exchanged glances before following the small figure of the swiftly disappearing gnome, leaving behind Prometheus, who slumped in the crevice. His mana had almost been completely drained, and he could feel its heavy mental toll; black spots began to fill his vision, and everything around him seemed to swirl as if he was standing in an endless void.
He inhaled the thick musty smell of stone and earth and tried to ease his sore mind and body. Only after a very long time did he remove himself from the crack in the wall, stretching stiff limbs that didn't want to work. Then, peering cautiously out into the darkness, he saw the chamber had been empty for some time. So he edged around and went over the cavern floor to see if he could find a way out.
As Prometheus weaved across the jagged terrain, he saw no trace of the barricade that had once stood there. However, he could still see the gigantic creatures of rock and gravel in his mind—their gemstone-like eyes gleaming in the infernos that incinerated the legion.
Finally, after an eternity, he spotted a sliver of light at what must have been many thousands of paces away. Taking one last look around, he set off in pursuit of that glimmer of hope that would lead him out.
----------------------------------------
Prometheus' jaw dropped in awe as he stepped out of the tunnel.
A grand city, carved into the mountainside, stretched before him in a valley – so vast it made his senses dizzy. He marveled at the intricacies of the architecture, tall spires looming over houses carved out from the rock itself. Each building was uniquely decorated with intricate patterns and designs; round balconies jutted off some structures while others boasted sloping roofs. Below this lay massive stretches of farmland, with snaking rivers and patches of forest, like an ocean of green, gold, and blue. A sweeping mist clung to the ground like a blanket of fog.
He heard a faint murmur of voices up ahead, so he quickly darted behind a large boulder with a thud. Peeking around the edge, he saw two dwarves walking by, both with that thick, black armor, helmets in hand. Prometheus flattened himself against the rock as they passed.
As they passed, he took a deep breath, stood up, and started to make his way slowly down the steep terrain. The sharp rocks dug into his boots as he stumbled forward, and he had to duck under low-hanging branches to avoid getting scraped. Prometheus trudged slowly down the steep, winding slope, feeling the hours and his empty stomach equally weigh him down. His dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he tried to ignore the thought echoing in his mind since he had crept into that rock crevice – who had sent him to die and for what reason?