(Fictional a/b/o Elizabethan era-ish au)
Being an omega and the fifth in line for the title, the young lord of Chambriath was forced to believe that being wedded to the man of his father's choice and bearing his children was the only purpose of Har...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(TW: Violence)
His sword glides from flesh to flesh, a rain of red complimented by the howls of hurt. Men after men, old and young, all surrendering to the power of death, both from Louis' and King Ludmic's side. Vulcan towers over each, crushing bones beneath him, walking over the dead as Louis marches towards the invader, his eyes focused on the old king as though a price of great value.
He is going to be after Louis's had his head on a spike.
This chaos has been a sight he has witnessed for the past two days, only halting once the sun goes down, back to the base they have built on the polar edges of the Cadaver Vallis battlefield, Ludmic's troop gradually dropping while Louis held the reigns to the battle, marching towards victory. If the clash was not enough reason to surrender to death, the vindictively reducing warmth played its cards well on the Anthians.
He knows the battle shall be over by today's last ray of the sun.
And it is like a spell, or perhaps a call, his eyes fixed where the old king is miles away, cornered and away from the battle, his king's guard protecting him. It is the way he stares back, sitting tall and straight, reins clutched tight and, albeit sheltered by his helmet, his face seems just like the ugly form of an egoist, driving thousands towards slaughter for the sake of his pride.
"You must not go for the king, Louis. His men haven't left his side." Zayn thunders from beside him, a sword stuck in a soldier's throat, and the red of Rineroad on his cloak blooming in the swarm of grey and dirt. "Waiting for Liam will be wiser. You shall not march solely!"
"You've forgotten, my friend, it has been a wish of mine each time I've been forced into a prayer; I do not wish to come back." Louis's eyes move as Vulcan neighs, sword moving as if on instinct, slicing the life out of cavalry, his horse set free, dragging his lifeless body away with an echo of a horrid screech. "You know what you have to do if I do not return. Next to him, remember? Bury me right next to him."
"As my king, I cannot let you—"
"As your king, I demand you to not hold me back, Duke Malik." The specks of the bleeding sun in Zayn's eyes dim as he watches Louis hold the reins, everything almost silent with the scream of Zayn's wordless disparity, his tongue pledged to duty. "Long live Enshire." He says, not looking back at Zayn, knowing it will only pain him to watch his friend worry himself for someone such as Louis.
The wind races along him as he marches towards the rival king, Ludmic's eyes on him and his king's guards almost as though joined by nature, creating a halo of protection. Swords clink and screams echo, the air cold with death and winter, the scent of blood evident. If it wasn't for a battle, the place could have been a painter's dream, with tall mountains that stand behind Ludmic's base, and clouds that greet the land more often than a new moon.
This is it, he thinks, this is how he will meet Harry again. Except, these are the exact thoughts that repeat themselves each time he's at war, tempt him, almost give him what he craves so dearly, but then snatch it away when he is mere inches away. But he hopes this is it. And he knows that Enshire will not be affected at all — will only lose another monarch — that Liam will lead the soldiers into victory even after Louis is out cold, conquering Anthia, too.
