At that moment Andvari realised the bleakness of his situation. He was nothing more than a rat in a trap. Despite being physically the strongest Vardir, he couldn't lift his head to look at his friends who suffered because of him. He accepted his own fate but the death looming over his friends was too much for him. He could tangibly feel the dampness of the imaginary blood on his hands. There was no flicker of chance that he could live with it. The guilt weighing on him would finish him off sooner or later.
He propped his head and tightened his fingers. Panting harshly, he imagined how Ivendir proudly watches the execution of the three Vardir commanders. The new king will be happy with the lesson he planned to give to all his enemies. If the Vardir Commanders die like feeble pigs, no one will dare to stand against him. That way Ivendir will build his own dream world without looking at his people's needs and problems. Helvetto will be his.
Mounting fury began to take place of the previous despair. Andvari clenched his teeth, when the wrath fought a battle with submission and desperation.
His veins burned with adrenaline again. The heart in his chest pounded wildly, fueling the explosive mixture of woe and vindictiveness. He targeted the cracky tile on the floor. As he clenched his fist, the sense of fulfilment beamed in his whole body.
He slammed the floor, hissing with pain. The crack in the tile widened. He dug his nails in it, mimicking a furious bird of prey. Pulling and scratching, he tore a shard off the tile. For some unaccountable reason, a sick euphoria overwhelmed him, tickling his stomach like a hairy butterfly.
"I won't give him any satisfaction," he hissed and stabbed his forearm with the shard.
He slid the shard out of his tissues. Blood slowly flowed out of the shallow wound like water from the desert spring. Engulfed in maniac fury, he didn't feel any pain. Quick death and contradictory satisfaction became the only treasures he chased now.
"There will be no lesson for others..." he growled and stabbed himself again.
Hearing his words interrupted by gasping and grunting, Hefri rolled over to the other side. The view of ruby streams on her friend's arm made her heart pound harder.
"What are you doing?" she asked nervously, opening her eyes wider.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Andvari stopped, squeezing the shard in his hand. He still stared at his forearm, observing how the puddle of blood spreads under him.
"I'm... I'm choosing to die my own way," he said blankly. "That's the last remnant of freedom I have left."
He lifted his hand, aiming at his forearm. "I won't let him win!" he yelled.
"Wait!" called Hefri, reaching her hand towards him. She got up so quickly that green and purple circles danced in her visual field.
Andvari glanced at her questioningly. After five seconds without an answer, he dug the shard into his body.
No, thought Hefri and averted her eyes. We'll be dead sooner or later. Let him choose that one thing.
A spasm of unreal pain pierced her muscles but she shook her head. Her hope for the rescue was like a parasite poisoning her brain. No one escaped this place and there were no reasons to think otherwise.
Erilaz watched these scenes in silence. All this time he engulfed himself in hate and disdain towards Ivendir. Erilaz wanted to solve this like a warrior: stand face to face with his enemy and use brutal force to show him who he is messing with. However, the king was smarter, and all these Vardir skills turned out to be useless. Physically weaker Ivendir defeated not only him, but also two other Vardir Commanders. The last time Erilaz felt so powerless was when his father got shot. He could only stand and watch.
Just like now I have to watch him riddle his arm, thought Erilaz. He wanted to avert his gaze from this bloody mess but some insane fascination didn't let him do it. He winced as Andvari stabbed himself again. A wave of pain ran through Erilaz's hands from fingertips to shoulders. His heart ached as if a melting rod pierced it.
He gasped, clenching his teeth, and said to himself, Do it. Ivendir cannot win.
He hoped that this thought would soothe his distress but every mention of Ivendir only stirred up his suffering. With every rapid heartbeat the burning feeling in his chest accreted, and violent spasms contorted his stomach.
We will die... but at least not by his hand.
When Andvari stopped for a moment, Erilaz looked closely at his forearm. Since the shard was small and blunt, it left only shallow lacerated wounds.
The contents of Erilaz's stomach swirled and the sour liquids jarred his throat. Exhaling carefully, he rested his forehead on his knees and embraced his belly.
The murderer of my father... can't win.
A few deep breaths settled down his stomach but his hands still trembled. He recalled the memory of his father once more. The kingslayer will roam freely and he can do nothing about it.
The agonising spite get a word in edgewise. Erilaz gripped his blouse, pushing his knees with his head. He grunted furiously with every breath, and the veins in his hands resembled blue-green, pulsating roots. Tensing his fingers on his blouse, he imagined how his hands could grab Ivendir. A Vardir Commander could easily scrunch up the false king's neck, rip his trachea and shatter his spine.
The more he thought about the impossible revenge on Ivendir, the more excruciating pain he felt. It pinched his tear ducts, so he closed his eyes tighter.
The scum of this earth can't win!