Karn's surroundings blurred, as if a dark veil was descending upon him. The lingering burn from the noose gnawed at his neck. Now, with the horrifying prospect of a new torment on the horizon, a churning cocktail of fear and dread threatened to engulf him. Every fibre of his being braced for the impending agony, muscles coiling tightly in trepidation.
Yet amid this maelstrom of pain and fear, a surge of anger welled up within him, painting his vision black. The emotion was so powerful, so raw, that his fingers began to quiver. But as it intensified, a wave of nausea washed over him, making him reject the overpowering feeling.
The crowd's jeers were deafening, their venom seeping into his soul. Yet among the cacophony, Karn thought he heard a distinct voice calling his name, a beacon of hope, or perhaps just a figment of his imagination. He squinted, trying to find the source, but it was impossible amidst the sea of sneering faces.
Lady Amber's expression was a mixture of terror and disbelief. Her eyes locked onto Karn's for a brief moment, a silent promise that if there was anything she could do, she would. But they both knew the odds.
Karn recoiled as a barrage of items were thrown at him. A rock thudded against his chest, taking his breath away, while a half-eaten apple splattered on his cheek, leaving a sticky trail he could taste. The sharp pain in his throat prevented him from voicing his disgust, but his eyes blazed with anger.
Murmurs ran through the crowd, revealing their status. They hadn't felt the sting of the famine ravaging the city. These weren't the starving or desperate; they were the privileged, the wealthy, and the corrupt. These people had been feasting on the spoils of Sorina while the rest of the city starved.
"Look at him, judging us with those eyes!" a woman sneered.
"He probably deserves worse," Baron shouted, his voice dripping with disdain.
Despite his injury, Karn's defiant gaze never wavered, communicating more than words ever could.
As the soldiers tightened the ropes around his wrists and ankles, securing them to the bridles of the horses, the terrifying reality of what was to come hit him.
The whip cracked, echoing ominously. The horses, startled by the sharp noise, lunged forward. Karn's body tensed, an involuntary cry of agony tearing from his throat as he was lifted from the ground, his limbs stretched in four opposing directions. The world dimmed as pain consumed him, and all that remained was the haunting question of whether he'd ever hear that familiar voice again.
Karn's world had narrowed to a razor edge of agony. Each pull from the horses felt as if his very soul was being torn to shreds. Hovering on the precipice of destruction, the mingling of sheer terror and unbearable pain stretched every second into an unending torment. As the horses strained, the ground beneath him seemed to blur and sway, pulling him in all directions. His heart raced, its frantic pounding deafening him. Yet amidst this chaos, a creeping darkness began to cloud his judgment. It felt like a vile corruption, attempting to weave its way into the very core of his being, threatening to consume him entirely.
The vile corruption surged within Karn, twisting and writhing like a living entity, feeding off his rage and despair. It whispered seductive promises in his ears, trying to ensnare him in its cold embrace. But with every ounce of his strength, Karn resisted. Memories of his family, friends, and all he held dear flashed before his eyes, reminding him of who he was and what he stood for.
Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to push back against the invasive darkness. He would not become its puppet, not now, not ever. Drawing from a deep well of inner strength, Karn focused on the love and hope that had always anchored him. The corruption recoiled, its grip on him wavering.
Though he was physically bound and stretched to his limits, in this internal battle, Karn was determined to remain unbroken. The love and conviction in his heart were his most potent weapons, and he wielded them fiercely against the consuming void.
Then, suddenly, the tension lessened, and the relentless pull ceased. Karn slumped, gasping for breath, the sudden release of pressure making him feel light-headed. Every bone in his body throbbed, and the world around him swayed in his vision.
But the brief respite allowed him to become more aware of his surroundings. He heard the unmistakable clatter of metal on metal, the roars of battle. Through his pain, Karn saw armoured men charging through the crowd, fighting a smaller group. They attacked fiercely, striking down opponents and even bystanders.
The Duchess's high-pitched, desperate voice pierced the air. "Get them up on the platform! NOW!" she shrieked.
Wardens hesitated for a split second, glancing at each other, obviously unsure of how to proceed given the chaos around them. The screams of the crowd only heightened the pandemonium.
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"But the Lady–" one of the wardens began.
"No time!" the Duchess snapped. "We finish this NOW!"
The crowd, always hungry for spectacle and bloodshed, was torn. They wanted the satisfaction of seeing Karn and Lady Amber's final moments, but the allure of the bloody skirmish was undeniable. Men and women alike turned, drawn to the violence that was unfolding behind them. Some, with a morbid curiosity, tried to position themselves to watch both events unfold simultaneously only to be swept up in the violence themselves becoming another victim.
Karn, despite the pain wracking his body, felt a flicker of hope. The chaos and distraction might provide a chance for escape. But how, in his current state, bound and weakened, could he seize it? His eyes darted around the courtyard, looking for any possibility, any sign of salvation. The incoming armoured force, whoever they were, might be the key. If only he could hold on a little longer.
Warden Grail's hands were rough, uncaring. Every shove and prod Karn received from him felt like a burning brand, igniting fresh surges of pain through his already battered body. Each step up the stairs was a renewed torture as the rough wood scraped against his tender flesh. The chorus of jeers and taunts felt distant, as though coming from the end of a long tunnel. Yet, through it all, Karn felt Grail's malicious presence like a leech, sucking away at his resolve.
The sight that greeted him at the top was even more harrowing. The Duchess, eyes gleaming with a hunger that was almost inhuman, stood above him. Her presence was overpowering, a dark maelstrom of cruelty and anticipation. Karn's gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wicked dagger in her hand, its blade catching the light in cruel flashes.
"Karn!" The hoarse voice of the Lady pierced through the haze; a desperate plea full of anguish. He tried to respond, but words failed him. All he could do was fixate on the impending doom that gleamed in the Duchess's hand.
“Rip his shirt off so we may begin!” the Duchess commanded.
The moment Karn dropped to his knees, Warden Grail bellowed, interrupting the impending execution led by the ash-covered Duchess. A sea of faces turned, eager to witness the grisly display.
Violently, the wardens stripped Karn of his shirt, and in an instant a profound shift swept through the crowd. The once unhinged horde fell into a hushed silence as a pale, luminescent scar on his shoulder came into view. Though many had heard tales of the mark, none had ever seen it.
It was as if a light had pierced the darkness, tempering the malevolent energy that had once consumed them, offering them a glimpse of a fleeting redemption.
The scar, shaped like a dragon’s wing, seemed to glow with an inner light. The sheer shock of its reveal momentarily bridged the gap between friend and foe, as all present tried to process the implication of what they were seeing.
“It’s the mark of the white Dragon!” shouted a woman.
Everyone recognized the symbol and what it meant. The White Dragon wasn't a creature from old tales; he had once been a beacon of hope and prosperity for the city. Unknowingly, the Duchess was on the brink of executing someone many believed to be their people's greatest protector.
“What’s going on?” asked a man, his eyes losing the darkness that once clouded his features.
The Duchess's fingers, previously steady, now trembled ever so slightly. Her once confident posture wavered as she took a hesitant step back, her eyes locked onto the scar. The balance of power had shifted, if only for a brief moment. “It’s a lie,” she spat in a shrill voice.
The Duchess's eyes, now devoid of any light, were consumed by the beckoning shadows. She lunged with a swiftness that defied her stature, but her blade's fatal course was halted just inches from Karn's flesh. Warden Grail's hand wrapped around the dagger's hilt, stopping its descent with a strength that seemed almost superhuman.
“What a pity,” he whispered.
Grail looked at the Duchess, his eyes clear and piercing, as if seeing through her very soul. There was a momentary pause, an instant that felt like an eternity, and then he sent her sprawling into the throng below with a swift kick. The crowd, previously in awe, burst into chaos. It was as if they had been awakened from a trance, a divide growing as they were forced to choose between the path of light and the allure of darkness.
Grail, leaning close enough that Karn could feel the warmth of his breath – reeking of decay – whispered sinisterly into his ear, “That was close, boy. But I still have plans for you.” As he pulled away, his voice took on a hollow, echoing quality that sent chills down his spine. The familiarity of those eyes, the recognition of who stood before him hit Karn like a tidal wave. The Alchemist. The one responsible for all his suffering in Branside.
"You," Karn whispered.
Grail's grin widened, and Karn saw it clearly. The face staring back was unmistakably that of the man from his nightmares.
Karn, still weakened and disoriented, tried to scream, but his voice barely escaped as a raspy whisper. The Alchemist, with a cruel smile, leaned in once more, “Soon, you will break.”
However, as the Alchemist prepared to depart, Lady Amber, having managed to free herself from the wardens now preoccupied with the rioting crowd, charged at Grail’s back with newfound strength. Pushing him with all her might, she watched as his form didn’t so much fall but crumpled, transforming into a clay-like substance that splattered upon the ground, leaving everyone, including her, in bewildered shock.
The once chaotic and divided crowd came to an eerie standstill. A surreal silence settled over the square, broken only by the muted gasps of those untouched by the insidious force that had permeated the atmosphere. It was as if a puppeteer had taken control of every person who had surrendered to the darkness.
Suddenly the ones still corrupted shifted as their forms began to transform. Their skin began to pale, shifting into a sickly grey, corpse like hue. Their once human bodies distorted: limbs stretching grotesquely long, fingers ending in twisted claws, and their faces elongating into gaunt, emotionless masks.
Soldiers who had once stood proud in their armour now melded into it. Their protective shells fused with their skin, causing metallic sinews to ripple and warp as they too grew taller. It was as if the armour had become a part of them, a second skin — or perhaps, a cage.
A collective gasp echoed from those who remained human, their shock evident as they witnessed friends, family, and fellow citizens morph into demons. The once-recognizable square now looked like a scene pulled straight from the darkest fables. The tall, shadowy figures seemed to tower over the untouched, waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting city.