Red's Demise

The Overflow

Red

There was something oddly freeing about being reminded how fragile life was. About knocking on Death's Door.

Okay, that's a little dramatic.

The shadow-wielder had taken a great deal of my life force a week ago, but he hadn't finished the job. Why? I'm not really sure. All I know for sure is that I had lost that fight. He had gotten the jump on me.

I hadn't been quick enough to defend myself.

I didn't fight enough to defend myself.

I wasn't enough to defend myself.

Too slow. Too stupid. Too weak. All of these words have haunted my every waking thought since that night in Stone River.

So, it was no surprise that I took to punishing myself as soon as I could stand on steady legs.

For the first two days, Fenris and Ezekiel had to basically pin me to my bed. Citing that I needed to rest and let my body heal. Though, I think they were just finding excuses to shrink their duties as neither left my side the entire time.

Even the wyvern shifter seemed to be avoiding his responsibilities after he returned with Ivar. The prince's guard must've forgotten his proper title as he hovered around the shadowed manor all too often since he life-flighted me back.

Luckily, after the first two days, the three males seemed to relax a bit and gave me the illusion of space. It was nearly shell-shocking when I woke up and found my room - and bed - empty for the first time in three days.

Once I dragged myself out of my bed, I wasted no time in dressing and going to visit my stubborn stallion who apparently had been giving everyone hell the past couple of days.

Ivar had been relieved to see me but then remembered what I had done. And for the past five days, has been holding one hell of a grudge.

I knew better than to push the beast, so I gave him as much space as possible whenever I had to feed him. Eventually, he'd forgive me. He was just sometimes too sensitive.

Today was no different than the past four cool days. I had awoken early in an empty room, something I found oddly disappointing, and went to the stable to feed my bitter companion. Then once he threw his usual tantrum at my betrayal - how dare I be attacked, rendered unconscious, and leave him in a strange town - I slunk back to my room to dress in my fighting leathers.

Then I'd embark on my mile-long run to the training grounds owned by our brotherhood. Where, upon my arrival, I'd throw myself into a grueling and tortuous training session.

My breath came out in harsh, hot pants as my lungs seized to keep up with the brutal pace my legs had kept. After running around the training grounds ten times, equalling roughly five miles, I then sprinted through the obstacle course. Which was filled with climbing walls, swinging battering rams, and cavernous jumps.

Once completed, I repeated the process until failure.

I was currently only on my third circuit.

With my hands on my knees, there was no denying how close my legs were to giving out. They had started shaking after the first circuit. Now, I had completely lost feeling. Having been at it for only three hours, I was disappointed in myself.

Back when the Royal Assassin was killing, I could easily run a circuit in thirty minutes. The past couple of months though, I had gotten soft. In more ways than one.

"FUCK," I growled with a furious punch to the last climbing wall in the obstacle course.

It was the last task. And I had fallen. I had failed.