(This one is longer and will introduce the world, not really since no names will be given excpet for one. I hope you enjoy this chapter and tell me where I should improve on my third-person and first-person writing. The chapter should be out yesterday but RL problems made it difficult for me :( . I hope you can forgive me, your dear author! :D ENJOY!)
HAHAHAHAHA! There it was, the darkness parted. I was Moses and the darkness was my sea, it did as I dictated. It was a wonderful feeling and for the first time in my life, in my damned existence there was something entirely different from the darkness, the pain, the fire. A light!
The light was far and close at the same time, a rift in the horizon, gleaming with solar prominence second to none.
I couldn't shield my eyes, my freely floating sight, from the brilliant beacon of warmth and liberation and... salvation.
"PAHAHAHAHA!", the light erred, this stupid divine light! It would bestow me with the gift of freedom, ignorant of what it was unleashing, of what it was setting loose. Idiots! My fire, my lifeblood, it boiled in trembling expectation for the forthcoming carnage, the approaching doom, the imminent chaos! Nothing to fetter me anymore, nothing to keep the gurgling hate inside me waiting. Revenge, destruction, blood and fire.
I thanked the light, approached it as another insight birthed from the darkness. Like a phoenix from the ashes, the aspect of ash and fire. Destruction and rebirth! That was the missing piece, another missing piece.
I had died once already, but I will be born anew. I will shed my weak husk of mortality. I will embrace the fire, the death. For I am fire, I am death. Life will change, now I am more powerful, more vengeful, more... free.
"I... AM... FREEEEE!!! UNSHACKLED!"
Bathing in the light I took step after step, resolute and unwavering I approached the light, turned the rift into a gaping chasm of delightening radiance.
My arrival......... MY ADVENT WILL BE HERALDED BY FIRE, BY BLooD and... BY DARKNESS!
Mountains shall return to dust, wind shall sing hymns of death and rivers shall be scoured by crimson. My flames will feast on thousands and my grip shall crush millions. The humans... will pay with their lives!
Exhilarated, squired by a cacophony of mad laughter by an even madder self, I dove straight through the light.
Smoke formed into ash grey caudates as they ascended into the sky. A throng of people sat, rather, huddled with shacking bodies and breaking voices inside a dark and yet spacious corner of an old, decrepit cathedral. Statues of deities littered the room, strewn across and between rows upon rows of hard wooden benches. With hard faces, cold and made by stone, they mocked the weak mortals as they shivered, seeked shelter and refuge from the bloody reality outside.
The young ones, the elderly, man, woman, none were spared from the silver iron, and how it descended with a horrifying screech, mincing those whom they had known. But now those people were no more, cruel reality turned them into brittle corpses. Rigid and unmoving they slowly became one with the ground their blood was spilled on.
The mass of terrorized humans jolted up with each scream of pain, outcry for help and roar of lunacy that sounded through the broken windows. Red light, twinkles of fire, crept through the windows, painted an image of carnage and destruction, of what happened beyond those walls of stone, for those poor souls to see and admire in terror.
A little girl cried out, her mind exhausted from the constant strain of noise, the smell of blood and burned flesh that permeated through the large, barricaded entrance and the broke windows. Her pitiful cry shattered the mixture of silence created by fear and the background din of cackling and iron hitting iron. Those around her smited the little girl with their stares. 'How dare you?!', those eyes seemed to say, oozing with spite for the little girl. But she was innocent, they all were. It was just that those people delusioned themselves into an ignis fatus of comfort, although they knew their end was near, something they simply couldn't bear. (DJ BRAND in the house!)
But the people outside did not care. They raised their weapons, let their man-made steel executioners rain from above and mauled their victims' bones and flesh. The horde of men, pillaging, raping, killing, reveled themselves into a murder spree, a delirium of slaughter.
Spittle and blood sprayed into the air, colored the ground crimson, the corpses further feeding the hungry fires with their ashen caudates. Of course there were those that tried to fight back, with immense pugnacity! They would not let their small town succumb to the likes of wild bandits, no, no, no. They would fight and win! Is what they thought.
But the moment the nobles smelled the danger in the air they turned tail and fled, their entourage of guards and servants closely behind, not trying to miss a chance to bootlick their masters. Those pitiful peasants, nothing but plebs in the eyes of the nobles.
With any kind of defense gone there was nothing the citizens could do. Wild but nonetheless trained and experienced bandits took their lives, one after another.
Yet some did not despair, some did not yield and stood resolute, a bastion of calm, and faced the waves of crazed bandits. From pitchforks to crude knifes and sharpened sticks, the denizens of this unfortunate town heard their inner call to arms. Equipped with frail weapons, but weapons indeed, they took their stand and faced off against the bandits.
People killed people, not a tad better than beasts. They tumbled over each other, smashed their heads onto the ground and cracked open skulls like porcelain, they turned limbs into stumps with rusted daggers. Human cruelty peaked as they pushed each other into the flames, pressed flesh onto melting steel and wild fire. Flesh mend with earth and metal. It was brutal.
Even the most innocent of objects, sacred memorials, were defiled by death. Be it a gilded cross or the pendant of a loved one, as long as they could scoop out an eyeball or cut a vein they served their purpose. So pitiful.
Some of the citizens even had the audacity to think they were getting the upperhand; but then came the archers. A group of no more than 20 stormed through the city gates, drapped in black cloaks and bows strapped on their back they kneeled onto the ground, right in front of the brutal melee.
They jabbed their massive longbows into the porous earth, muffled beats echoed through the soil; the town was far from being able to afford paved streets and now their last riches were taken from them.
Ell-long arrows were fished out of their leather quivers and nocked onto their bowstrings, slowly they began to pull back. The wood groaned as the mens' muscles tensed and the strings of Father Death's harp began to tauten to their utmost limits. The arrows' black shafts gleamed in the conflation of red and opal luminescence in a mysterious and enrapturing light, the last thing those first unfortunate citizens will see.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
*Haaah!*, the group of men exhaled synchronous, a melody of death began to hum in the air, it whispered the citizens their bitter fate.
Moments later the silver tips of the thick arrows found their prey. Chest, head or stomach, even the lightest scratch on a limb was fatal. Those arrows that didn't kill distracted their victims with their sharp pain long enough to be hacked down by another bandit.
The archers leaned back, relaxed their arms for a second and fumbled the next arrrow from their quivers. The next salvo executed those that survived the first. But this was not the only platoon of archers, all around the small town the bandits began to raze the town from its roots. Not a single soul was excused in the name of mercy.
And so they landed outside the cathedral, its insides brimming with the last hundred survivors. Cries of sorrow and curses gushed from the sacred building.
"COME OUT YOU LOT!", the men outside screamed. "IF YA DON'T WANT YOUR FAMILY KILLED GET OUT!", they lied but alas those last survivors were not foolish enough to believe in such cheap words.
The problem with the cathedral was not only its fortification but also the barrier that surrounded it. The windows might be broken and air passes through but not one object, not one projectile could pass up to a certain point. They all would be disintegrated by the force of the barrier at this certain point.
The cathedral's bishop placated the mass of bewildered humans, plodding he walked up the stone podest at the front. In his white and golden robe he let his sight wander over his lost little lambs.
"My friends, do not fear. The barrier of our Goddess Sylvana will protect us! I cannot empathize with you, no one can. We lost to much, to many of our friends, of our family, but those... those monsters will get their divine retribution.", the old man's voice lowered an octave and his gaze became solemn. "I don't want to encourage you into delighting onto those mens deaths, but... but then I would be lying. I want to see them as dead as you. Might our goddess forgive and protect us.", he flailed his hands into the air in a display of grandeur, yet everyone was too weak, too frightened to actually give a response.
The old man sighed, he aged considerably in those few seconds, and mumbled to himself. "I just hope they don't have any mages. Or else...", he let his sight drift over the young children and the defenseless adults. "...we are doomed."
"Tch! Those fucking dogs! Men, surrounded the church, don't let anyone leave. Smoke those rats out!". A tall and lean man barked out orders to the bandits. Apart from the savage and beastial look in his eyes he could be considered handsome, what a shame his life took such a turn...
The men ushered through the streets, collected the black charred wood and piled it onto the flanks of the church. A giant ring of black coal surrounded the cathedral, and soon it was ignited by those feral men, with fell mien. They licked their lips with foul breath and pressed the logs closer against the stone.
The tall man, the 'commander' presumably, nodded towards his subordiantes. Both of his hand twitched around his two tainted daggers as he too waited for the prey to leave its hideout.
Hot, it was incredibly hot inside the church. Giant pillars of fire rose into the sky and covered the stone walls in a demonic red. The refuges gazed out the windows only to see the rolling mass of red churning around their notional safe haven. Oh! How much they began to despair!
Sobbing quietly the adults kept their emotions locked inside. With weak and hazy eyes they hugged each other, sought safety in their brothers and sisters, friends and family, and even strangers.
With prying, beady eyes the children watched their parents, neighbors or elders, hug each other with bitter resentment. Ignorant of what was transpiring their hearts were encumbered in the sadness of losing a loved one but certainly not the realisation that their time was soon. They were just children, innocent and pure, how could they know?!
The heat spreading through the stone slabs turned unbearable and soon those hundreds of people began to feel the wrath of the flames. They wanted vengance for their chained brothers, abused as oillamps or furnances.
They stood up with trembling knees, with tears in their eyes and unspoke grief clogged in their throats.
Frightened they took each others hands, hugged the young children although they barely knew each other, and stepped towards the exit. Everything was better, less painful rather, than being burned alive. The only consolation was the hope for a quick death.
The bishop offered a final prayer, his knees pressing against the torrid stone. He gnashed through the pain and prayed, gave the people behind him his blessing, and then stood up likewise. A trickle of saline tears rolled down his cheeks.
Brave and valiant the survivors pushed against the double doors, the greedy shouts of the bandits and the roars of the fire turning into a wave of noise. They did not want to die, not yet, not like this...
"MAMAAAA!", the little gril from before shouted and sprinted towards a deathly pale corpse. The woman's face was aghast with horror and pain, her eyes and mouth gaped wide open, a last desperate scream clinging onto her lips, trying to narrate of this woman's ugly fate.
The small and frail girl hugged the lifeless body with her tiny arms, nudged her face into her mother's nape. She seeked comfort in her mothers melodious voice, her warm embrace but what welcomed her were rigorous fingers, colder than ice.
"NO! NO! NO! NOOOOO! MAMA!!!!!", an unbelieving squeal escaped from the little girl, she understood the situation clearly. Her mother was dead, she would never wake up again, never talk again, never breath again. Her soul was lost, her life, only darkness remained, a darkness that could not sate this young girl's desire for love and protection. And so the girl shouted, shouted towards the heavens with all her might. She wanted her mother back, she wanted her old life back, she wanted everything to be peaceful again.
But no God replied to her curses, her cries for help. No one did except the hungry bandits that circled the poor girl. They could already envision her body dismembered at a roadside, torn apart by dull blades, maces or bare hands. Insane, those people were insane.
Creeping shadows loomed over the little girl, her blinking and puffed eyes were hollow as she let her gaze land on her mother's murderers.
She did not fall back, she did not retaliate, she only wanted to see her mother smile again. As she waited she let her young live pass through her minds eye. A normal life for a commoners family, filled with friends and small trials, she was happy those ten long years. The good ones die young.
Horrifying cackles errupted around her as silver flashes rose into the air. She followed the argent trail with her eyes and let her sight rest on the sky.
*Plop*
Rain, soft rain plummeted down. down from a clear sky?
One raindrop turned into ten, then hundreds, then thousands and finally a massive downpour washed over the town as though the heavens lamented over what was to come.
The rain was warm and tender, it was equally falling onto the living as on the dead.
The girl sniffed and rubbed with her dirty sleeve over her face, in the light of the fire she saw her arm tainted red. Confused, more than ever, she looked onto the ground. The ground that was once brown, ashen, was now crimson.
Her confusion did not lessen and instead she directed her eyes upwards again, towards the non-existing clouds.
And there it was!
A black scar in the high-heavens, a dark cleft, and inside was a small red dot, inconspicuous even. Blood dripped down from the lacerated and maimed heavens. A broken sky, dead Gods, bathing the world in dark red, in the wine of the damned, the blood of sacrifice. And forth from the deepest pits of hell a mad devil, an arbiter of carnage, the progenitor of fire, roared deafening for the whole world to bear witness.
"I... AM... FREEEEE!!!"
And so... on this day the sky was painted red.