a Country of Legends

Chapter Seventeen

She swam directly through the lava while he teleported into the obsidian chamber.

The prisoner’s head turned to look at the two, and he smiled, though it wasn’t visible through his mask.

“Hello princess. Didja miss me?”

The princess glared at the man, remembering his mask, his wretched voice, his evil intentions.

“How on earth did you manage to bring weapons past the guards.

She laughed,

“I didn’t, he did.”

She gestured to the man behind her.

The man in the mask chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

The demon asked, staring at the figure, gaze fixed on that stupid mask he was wearing.

“Nothing, nothing. Shall we leave princess? Perhaps my cell isn’t the best place to kill me.”

She sneered, looking at the man behind her.

“Bring him outside, at least then the world will know he’s finally dead.”

The man was holding a boy, fox ears and a tail, he looked terrified.

“Spitha my boy, you’ll be fine, I only want Lou.”

The fox boy snarled as the man holding him hostage grabbed the back of dreams prison suit and they arrived at the front of the prison.

“Good,” the red-eyed, light blue-haired, human said. She had ink-black blood staining her white overalls, and she smiled sickly sweet at the man in the mask.

“I can’t wait to see your blood run.”

She said to him.

The man simply smiled beneath his mask.

Istoria unsheathed her blade, raising it to the man’s chin and forcing him to look up at her.

“Any last words?”

A smirk formed on the man’s lips.

“If I die, Fidel can’t come back.”

Istoria didn’t falter, didn’t move, didn’t even contemplate what the man had said, he had hurt too many people, he had taken everything from her.

“Everyone’s gotta die eventually.”

And with that she plunged her sword into the man’s left arm, watching red seep through the orange jumper.

She just watched as the blood began to drip, drip, drip. All the way to the ground.

The man’s head went limp, and then so did the rest of his body, Istoria had gotten her satisfaction.

She turned around, looking into Absentis’s eyes.

“Do you feel better?”

He asked her, the white glow in his eyes momentarily subsiding, and he knew what he was doing was terrible, he knew he should let Spitha go, he knew he should apologize.

Istoria hugged him.

“N-”

She stopped, and Absentis looked beyond her to a man in a mask, hand on the hilt of a blade.

“It was never meant to be, bitch.”

Istoria’s clothing was soon covered in ink-black blood, and the white covered the amber orbs the queen of the Lovelace had held so dear.

At that moment, those eyes like honey, the smile like the moon, and the love like a raging fire, would never be seen again.

He began floating, fox boy still in hand. 

The man in the mask looked up and smiled maliciously.

He got what he wanted.

So he ran.

Absentis looked at the boy in his hands, and white tendrils took him and set him on the ground.

The Spitha smiled, looking up at Absentis, thinking he had finally changed.

And when the white tendrils were gone, all he saw was thick red blood running through the beautiful white shirt with butterflies along the hem.

So he walked down the wooden path to where his sister sat, looking up at the figure in the sky with expectant eyes.

She saw him.

She ran to him.

She sat him down.

She tried healing him.

“Spitha you, you can’t die on me okay?”

Tears coated her eyes.

The boy’s hand left his stomach and pushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

“Spitha, why didn’t you fight him?”

The boy smiled and coughed.

Vasaelia’s face was covered in smudged blood, and tears created streaks on her face.

“I always ask myself, what would you do?”

Vasaelia’s hand slipped into his as he sank further to the ground.

“In that moment-”

He coughed and a bit of blood spluttered out of his mouth.

“At that moment you would have let him live.”

He smiled at Vasaelia.

“Hey, Vasaelia?”

She looked at him, smiling at him.

“Take your time.”

He smiled at Vasaelia, looking up at the sky.

“Your home Lou, your home.”