"All hail the Blood King!" chant the masses, as I stand upon the stony precipice. The skies are grey and unforgiving; thunder rolling prophetically across the northern horizon. The frozen wind, whipping against my face, sends a chill through my body. But still colder is my skin, drenched to my elbows in the black blood of my predecessor. I look to my right hand, within which I clutch his putrid heart.
The elderly shaman approaches from behind, humming softly beneath his breath, his eyes half closed in a haunted trance. In his quivering hands, he holds a headdress of emerald feathers, the sign of royalty that once crowned the first lords of men. Muttering words unintelligible, he places it upon my head.
"All hail the Blood King!" they shout again, almost eagerly, kneeling in unison.
Yet in the bitter void of within, there lies nothing but a burning hatred for this people. Like the sand of the sea, they're sprawled across the grassy plains, murmuring like animals. Squealing like pigs, writhing like maggots. A pitiful race.
Snearing, I grit my teeth - the fangs grinding together forcefully. In my heart, I say, "All hail Misery! I am he that stands upon the border between the living and the dead; they that suffer shall do so by and through me."
YOU ARE READING
Son of Disobedience
FantasiAfter the Daevas invaded the corporeal world, humanity was dethroned as ruler over Earth. In their stead rose a hybrid race called the Pohari - demons of power immeasurable and with a special taste for human blood. But rumors tell of one Stillborn w...
