TO DAZZLING DARKNESS, scraps

09 | Fool's graveyard

Author's note:

As is with the previous one, this is another standalone piece. Originally written with the prompt 'indirect revenge'.

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Fernand rode through the unending mess of sleet and blood. Nothing he hadn't seen before- this was nothing compared to the bloodshed he had seen years ago. It got no reaction from him. It was nothing more than the Emperor's last attempt at stopping the Deliverance. But even then, it was as if hundreds of men were laying down their lives in vain. It didn't matter now, though. With a sigh, he rode on, trying to suppress the idea that he could be next to die.

At last, he reached the Bastion- a cold, unwelcoming sight in the cliffs of Rigel. It looked unbroken at first glance, but Fernand knew what happened inside the walls. The trails of blood were proof enough. Anticipating the worst, he rode to the front and dismounted, taking his lance with him.

The inside was somehow worse, painted with the blood of his fallen comrades and completely stripped of its resources. There was nothing left for him, save for the bodies that littered the fort- which was exactly what he was looking for.

"Slayde?" He called out, wading through the sleet-blood slush that swirled around his ankles. No response. Part of him believed that he too had died during the attack, but he knew it wouldn't be unrealistic to think he ran like the coward he is.

"I know you're in there." Cautiously he progressed deeper into the fort, his anger rising as his words echoed back to him in the dark. A faint reflection of light caught his attention, and he followed it up the rigid slope of the stairs.

Laying right in front of him, mangled beyond recognition, was the sight Fernand had always dreamed of since the day he became a knight.

He knelt down to meet the corpse's gaze, unfocused and frozen in a perpetual look of terror, something he always wished to instill in the bastard. While he had always found Slayde's face repulsive, the sight of it now- contorted in anguish and covered in his own blood- was comforting to him. He had watched the storming of the Bastion from the castle and knew from the start that Slayde wouldn't be able to protect it if his life depended on it. And in front of him was proof. As much as he hated the Deliverance and everything they stood for, he reveled in the sight of Clive murdering this worthless bastard in cold blood, no matter how much he refused to admit it.

"At least now I know you're dead." Content with what he saw, Fernand began the slow journey out of the fort. "I hope you're enjoying hell."