Snow

*SNAP*

Oh, how beautiful the sky is' was Art's first thought as his vision cleared through hazy darkness of smoke. High pitch ringing frequency assaulted both his ear and brain alike. It hurts, but he could endure

Indeed, what an eye-catching sky it was. A crimson vibrancy, the mixture of red blended with orange forming into a fiery scene that encompasses the sky, belching upward like shadow light at the edge of the world. From Art's perspective, it seems as if an inch of the sky was engulfed in flames. A comparable sight to the retreating evening sun concealed amongst the clouds.

'Ah, I should sketch this extravagance and bestow it upon father, he would be envious to see such a view blended on notes. I shall call it Red North.'

"A masterpiece" A gloating chuckled escaped his lip, one which quickly descends into a coughing fit.

Black phlegm of blood exiting his mouth. His chest felt congested and heavy as if someone had their foot on it, steadily adding pressure which builds into his throat, turning it sour. He felt the burden gather towards his lung, then the brain, the tension accumulated, his muscles constrained. Strings of electricity danced within him; conquered him, and his body suddenly began to convulse violently. A seizure took him, and he expectorate the congested waste inside, pieces of the lung's substance mixed in dark blood as thick as tar.

Closing his eyes, Art unknowingly basked in the lingering taste the discharge produced

'Who knew sweet and bitter could produce a fusion in blood. The bitter metallic iron does exist like Mama said'

Somewhere high above the sky, beyond the sultry gray air. A spark flashed in the orange heavens sundering the clouds. Art's eyes were immediately drawn towards it, and he wondered what mutated creature could draw such a beautiful streak, a perfect blend it was as it surfed between the amorphous clouds redesigning their existence as it pleases.

His thoughts triggered clarity, piercing through the atmosphere nearing the troposphere to express treasures they contain. '

'Gifted' his father had praised his eyes. The different shade of color his pupils held convey the vast ecstasy of the deep insight the world enshrouds from man's gaze were easily reveled to him. The universal principles. Colorless, with and those without.

His eyes privileged him the ability to pierce through nature. The seen, unseen ether. The Pale breath the wind takes, the conscious reddish-blue current writhing with foundation. His father had referred to it as [Mana], and accordingly, the madness and foul stench of this rotten world.

Art could see it all. The desolation of impunity and madness housing darkness and foreboding plagues concealed in it, a black world within the world,

'Didn't father call it the '[Soul Plane] '?'

Above, the spark continuously danced with rainbows of colors whenever it appeared in random. His eyes swallowed the beauty as he mesmerized in the thought of the view within his notes.

Art craved it existence, so he made an image in his mind carving the existence into the note he formed. A dying sun, an orange sky, and the bursting sparks of a rainbow. Such an allure it was. However, just as Art began placing the critical touch into the bewitching scene, the sparks suddenly stopped.

His searching eyes frantically darted through the sky in search before settling on a form. No, two forms, defying gravity as they levitated against nature. Art’s eyes pressed, in hope to unveil their presence only to be thwarted by an assailing headache. He instinctively made for his hand to soothe the throb, but that only augmented the assault forcing his eyes and teeth shut spontaneously in pain.

Calming his breath in an unsuccessful attempt, Art revised what he saw before the disturbance.

The two existence. So inchoate they were as they enter amorphic shapes then exit into a mechanical beast like no other on this backwater world. They were assorted in an odd fashion where parts that should not mesh puzzled their way into. Those things couldn't be human nor beast or in fact...

'Anything from this world.' However, Art was but a youth exposed only to the woodland mountain and ignorant of anything beyond it. So, he could be wrong.

Speaking of which, the headache did two things. One, it almost dispersed his mental painting, but it prevailed. Secondly, it divulges to him his predicament.

He was broken. Everything inside of him misplaced, imposing on where it shouldn't. His ribs dislodged, collapsed lung, meshed organs. Previously, the skies beauty had captivated his awareness, and he'd been incognizant to his state, but attending to it now, he wished he had remained unaware.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss however cognizant gives life

Now aware of his predicament, pain slowly began attending to every inch of his body, creeping in from the peculiar aspect of his anatomy yet everywhere at the same time. It was so painful that it made his heterochromia eyes water. His cries and whimpers trapped in his throat—releasing them would only serve to victimize the pain.

'Am I dying? If I am, please let it be over already' the pain relentlessly coursed through him, inducing death as a liberation. A torture that neither seeks to liberate him or define him.

Another agonizing cough burst through his lips, accompanied by bodily organs. Suddenly, his eyes darted towards the sky, where one of those machinal beasts streaked towards the earth.

His ear bleak saves for the pitch ringing masking the words the atmosphere seeks to convey, however Art could imagine the whistle following its grey streak until the thing plummets somewhere on the meadow kicking up a cloud of sand and dust. So intense was the drop causing the mountain to tremble, and the sound it accompanied actually startledhis ears awake.

"Where did you send it!?" A voice erupted mechanically. Though monotonous, one could perceive the anger it contained.

"...Where you think?" the other replied. Beaten and weary; however, its tone sounded victorious. Like someone who intentionally lost a fight only to state,' that was my plan all along,' arrogant even in defeat. It continued condescendingly, "Hehe, it within reach, but your hands will never graze it, isn't that the best punishment?"

'Father?' Art doubted his ears. The voice was mechanical and strained, but he had spent every moment of his life accompanying his father to recognizes his voice anywhere. That can't be him, right?

*SNAP*

—Boom!!

Something exploded, and Art wondered what could produce such an outcome. An angry outburst followed, then everything retained harmony.

Cough! Cough! His agonizing cough broke the still summoning a host of footsteps. Art inwardly rejoiced, maybe this person could help him. However, as quickly as that idea formed, he quickly swept it off.

His mind in a marathon as Art quickly began assembling the events leading up to this. First, there was an explosion on their hill. Then after, everything, including himself, was in chaos. Next, was a beaten voice that replicated his father's, and last.... there was silence.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Wait! Wait! Wait! Acrimony gripped his heart; His breathing grew rough and edgy as a frightening conclusion took his mind. Where was his mother? His brother? And younger sister? Where are they? The footstep didn't allow him the privilege to continue his deduction for he will find out soon enough.

Before him, it arrived on his narrow vision, he could see him clear as day. A giant, was his initial thought. Though his back was glued to the soil, Art could deduce that the man was at least eight-feet tall, if not more. Red hair invaded every inch of his face giving him a world-weary feature, like a king facing a wave of disaster alone with no fear.

The giant of a man stood before Art, arms pressed behind his back, arch ramrod straight towards the heaven. His gaze settled onto the battered form of the boy making him feel exposed and small as his aura of dominance and power washed over the boy.

Art never met a king, but he had the feeling that this man was the closest to one.

Moving leisurely, the man raised his large hand, reached down, grabbing Art by his tattered clothing to height level. For Art, the movement was agonizing. He could feel his muscle contract, his ribs, and bones, loose within him, moving in unnatural ways. The pain exploded inside of him like a silent grenade. His mind cried out as tears quickly streamed down his dust-covered face. His legs dangling, arms limped to the side and his face eye level with the giant.

More pain followed as the aura the man unconsciously emitted assaulted his brain with a headache making him involuntarily avert his eyes. The man examined "... Art?" He asked

Syllables couldn't be weaved from his tongues due to his collapsed lungs, but the shock revealed on Art’s face couldn't be disguised. Who are you? And how do you know my name?' inwardly, he asked with a furrowed brow. The man grasps the confusion on the boy's face but continued, "Do you know where it is?"

Where is what? What are you going on about? His mind replied.

Disappointment covered the man's face, and somehow, he seemed to age with it, "I see, there was no way he would tell you when he left even Eleanor in a loop."

Mom? What the fuck does he speak of? Frustration brewed within him; he had bucketloads of questions to ask this fucker but couldn't voice. More importantly, where was his mother, brother, and sister, and was that his father's voice he just heard?

The giant knew a confused child when he saw one, one still young and pampered to see what's beyond silver offerings. Too bad, he will never get the chance to explore it. He accounted "It is okay, you don't have to know. You will reunion with your family soon. Blame your father for his incompetence."

Finally, tired of all the riddles, Art attempted to speak only to produce thick clumps of blood and organs as they exited his mouth. The man leisurely dodged the discharge allowing Art to get a glimpse of the world behind. The giant was so big that all Art's blood-covered narrowed vision could see was his broad chest. But beyond him was something even more terrifying.

Chaos and destruction. Fire ate and licked every root of trees and sand, scorching them nothing. Everything burned indiscriminately with only intent for damage. The forest of trees disappeared into molded green substance with the wind. The jungle of shelter where all his life resides had been reduced to less than charcoal till it reached the ashy grails of brown sand burning it black, unfettered, and loftily.

But that was just the tip of it all. Laying listlessly within the tongues of the flames was a familiar figure — golden brown hair brushing the sand below swaying slightly with the gentle breeze.

Mom! Art cried. She was a reserved, calm, and gentle woman, complete opposite of his energetic father. She always wore an expression of a knowing, but truthfully, she was just a klutz who becomes emotional whenever a mishap alters her intentions. She wasn't the strongest nor the most expressive person; however, she always committed to a stretch for her children. Who wouldn't want such a supportive, cute, and loving mother?

Mother! At first, he inwardly rejoiced; however, his face suddenly deformed in a mask of dread as his mind began to plead when he saw the dancing flames reaching for her.

wait. No, please, no. Mother! As if mocking him, the fire swayed merrily then latched onto her leg, drawing incredulity from his eyes. Shock grew on his face, his lips stuttered and trembled violently

Mother! Mother! Get up! Please get up! "Mother!" At last, words formed the captivity of his tongues. His scream, driving out his insides, but him didn't stop, his lungs were almost gone, his ribs broken. His bones and muscle either grinder to dust or deflated. His throat agonizingly hot as shards of bones poked their way through. Yet he continued, "Mother! Mother! Please get up! Mother!"

Still, the tender woman never moved even when the flames reduced her torso to nothing, everything from her waist sizzled grotesquely, bubbling, swelling, blackened before becoming one with the fire. She was burning visible, and he watches the grievous display with tears streaking down his face, his mouth opened in shock, and his face distorted unnaturally in pure despair.

Art gaze violently admonished the man, who ascertain the hatred sheeting beneath the broken boy, his retained demeanor claimed him apathetic. He addressed, "Don't grieve, to ashes, you shall return with your beloved father, mother, and brother, but before that, I'm in need of your [Mana]."

Deliberately he moved, neither rushed nor slow, his large palm coming to rest on Art's face, so big they caged his head. *SNAP!" a thunderous sound reverberated in his ears as the giant's fingers connected. Somehow the sound frightened him. It jolted his soul, breeding dread and a sense of foreboding.

Suddenly the air distorted, and the ether of the world rushed towards the man's fingertips like water. The tide brews forth streaming into Art like a passageway. The broken boy reflectively convulsed, hissing in pain as the energy chaotically searched him, rustling his bones excruciatingly.

"Ah!" His bones tossed then the pull. Something was tugging at an energy he didn't know resides within him but appears valuable for the remainder of strength he withheld began evaporating like a puddle in the heat exiting through his eyes with the giant’s finger tips as the evaporation. The fucker was drinking something from his body, in doing so desiccating his body gradually turning his vision blurry and dim.

He was tired. He was beaten. He was in pain. Death would allow him to escape it all. His mind danced with the thought. However, something more dominated his mind, hatred. His father. His mother. His older brother and his younger sister. This bastard had taken them all!

Hatred and panic surge forth, hijacking his system shutting down everything, becoming the muzzle with the giant as the central piece, Lyor shot "I... will...kill...you..."

Madness peaked, and he declared once more, "I will kill you!"

[Oh, how beautiful the sky is] that initial thought and the partial image 'Red North' inspired from the retreating sun. That beautiful scenery Lyor hoped to make his father envious, he began erasing it, deleting every mark and sketch of the warming splendor it derived in place of something sinister and beguiled.

The giant's face.

As his vision gradually lost vigor, Lyor frantically utilized the eyes his father praised supreme among any. Something nudged his mind telling him this was the last his eyes would see of the world or color, so what better way to end it than to commit the image of the bastard who ended his world.

Pages in his mind went to work. He captured the red hair, the wrinkles on the skull and those of old resident on his face, the golden knots of his beard, his weary features, and most of all, the aura he dominated. He marked every delineation so as not to pretermit instead conceive his established declaration, "I will kill you!"

Hesitation and doubt took the giant, such peril, and the boy still resolutely made such a probable cry. Was it foolishness? Or a judgment to appeal to his deceased family. Either way, he refuses to entertain such a notion. He pressed forth, increasing the suction force a fold, leisurely scrutinizing the boy.

Blood and organs burst through his lips, body creased and Lyor wrinkled like an aged tree, gray hair of old visibly overtook the lengthy dark it once was, thick red veins gathered on his sclera oozing blood from his dimming vision, yet the boy gaze remains astute, analyzing, narrating, conveying.

Foolish, the giant thought, the boy's pupil had deteriorated, becoming a mixture with his sclera turning his eye into a blank sheet of white. He had lost his vision and so concluded his motive as well however he continued to hold hostage of the motionless body. The boy wasn't dead but wasn't far from it neither, the wind would claim him in a few breaths if left alone.

Suddenly, a beep resounded from the giant's chest, a moment of stillness betides before he took a thoughtful stance. "Dammit Throne. It is near. I need to return," saying so, he casually tossed the damaged boy watching him tumble down the hazel, red slop, colliding with a tree to come to rest by a large rock with a resounding thud.

His gaze returned to the machine collapsed within the fire "You deemed yourself intelligent and cunning, but know this, I will have what I want regardless of the obstacle. Burn Throne and know well you have failed to accomplish what you sought. Goodbye brother"

*SNAP!" the air distorted bestowing vigor to the fire, it bloomed once more charring the location the man stood, yet none remained, only an echo of his fingers, abandoned to live and breed dread to those who hear it.

Following the giant's departure, a silvery leathered object stuttered awake inside the machine. It zipped through the air baring the foul flames before settling somewhere in down the slope unbeknownst to the man.

The unfettered flames ceaselessly devoured everything on the mountain. The trees dehydrated, the rocks became short of coal, the wood became ammunition, the air tainted grey, malodorous. And the bodies were blackened and chard leaving the skeletal remains of unsettled souls, robbed before their time.

His Mother. His father. His brother. His sister, dispersing slowly alongside the echo of the man's fingers.

Below the crevice of the fiery mountain, within the tongues of destruction and death, stationed a frame, unrecognizable primary due for the ashy fumes. However, one thing stood out among all others.

Strands of gray hair, dirtied, unkempt, charred with ashes of the fire began to take a new form. Slowly, an unnatural one compared to a season never resident to this world.

A season accompanied by a chilly wind, a biting cold, that forces garment to become heavy, the ground to become covered in whites like a new page and the brown soil beneath to become memories of yesterday. A weather that would bring about great tribulation to the world alongside a hair.

A hair of pure white. The color of falling snow.