Elite by Maclaw

Chapter 4

The forest was thick with mist as Lawrence and Alexander rode through the trees, the rhythmic thudding of hooves against damp earth echoing in the stillness. The night was eerily quiet, save for the distant calls of unseen creatures. Their horses, breathing heavily from the hard ride, finally slowed as they neared a small, unremarkable farmhouse nestled on the edge of a clearing.

Lawrence dismounted first, his movements fluid and deliberate, a predator on the hunt. His eyes scanned the house with the cold calculation of a man accustomed to wielding fear like a weapon. Behind him, Alexander hesitated, gripping the reins tightly as he slid off his horse. The unease in his stomach twisted into a knot, but he followed his brother without a word.

The old wooden door groaned in protest as Lawrence pushed it open, the sound slicing through the stillness inside. Shadows shifted as they stepped into the dimly lit space. The air smelled faintly of herbs and damp wood, and there was a sense of quiet desperation that clung to the walls like a sickness.

A man emerged from the back of the room, his face pale and gaunt beneath the weight of sleepless nights. Upon seeing Lawrence, he froze, fear flashing in his eyes before he quickly dropped to his knees. His hands shook as he pressed them to the floor in a gesture of submission, his voice faltering as he spoke.

"My lord," the man began, his voice barely a whisper. "To what... to what do I owe this visit?"

Lawrence moved deeper into the room, his gaze sliding over the shelves lined with glass flasks and crude instruments. He picked up a vial, swirling the liquid inside with an almost casual interest. But there was nothing casual about the way his presence filled the space, heavy and suffocating.

"They say you've traveled far north," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something darker, "to gain wisdom in the healing arts."

The man swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "Yes, my lord. My family... we sacrificed much for me to study. I-have become one of the finest doctors in town..."

"Your family?" Lawrence echoed, his voice sharp now, like the crack of a whip. He turned toward the man, his posture rigid, his gaze piercing. "Are they here?"

The doctor hesitated, but before he could answer, Alexander stepped forward and yanked open a small door at the back of the room. The space beyond was cramped and stifling, a place meant for storage, not for living souls. Yet there, huddled together, were the doctor's wife and children. The woman clutched her two small children tightly, her face pale and drenched with sweat. The young girl kept her eyes squeezed shut, her small hands pressed firmly over her ears as if blocking out the horrors of the world.

"Stand," Alexander commanded, though his voice trembled slightly, betraying his discomfort.

The doctor flinched, his entire body trembling as he rushed forward, falling at Lawrence's feet. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "They know nothing. I beg you, my lord, spare them.
I will do anything-"

Lawrence moved with a fluid grace that belied his cruelty, crouching down until his face was mere inches from the doctor's. His hand shot out, grabbing the man's chin and forcing his gaze upward. The doctor's breath hitched, his pulse racing beneath his skin as Lawrence's cold eyes studied him.

"You reek of fear," Lawrence whispered, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It radiates off you like a stench." He released the man's chin with a sharp jerk and stood, towering over him. "Tell me, doctor, where is the antidote?"

The doctor's eyes widened in confusion. "The... antidote?" he stammered, his voice shaking. "My lord, I have tried... I have searched for the herbs, traveled across the lands. But this illness.... it's beyond anything I've ever seen. I—| need more time..."

Lawrence's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of quiet menace. He moved closer, the air around him growing colder, more oppressive.

"Time," he repeated, as if testing the word. "What good is time if it brings me no cure?"
The doctor's wife whimpered, clutching her children tighter. Her hand trembled as she reached out for her daughter, but before she could speak, Lawrence's hand flashed out with terrifying speed.

The small knife in his grasp buried itself deep in her palm, and the room exploded with her scream.

"Silence," Lawrence hissed, his eyes burning with a cold fire. "Do not speak unless spoken to."

Alexander took a step forward, his face pale. "Brother," he began, his voice uncertain but firm, "this is unnecessary.
She's just a woman—a mother."

The girl began to sob uncontrollably, her small body trembling as she buried her face against her mother's side.

Lawrence's gaze slid toward her, his expression devoid of any trace of compassion. "Make her stop," he ordered, his voice as calm as if he were commenting on the weather.
The doctor scrambled forward on his hands and knees, tears streaming down his face. "Please,
" he begged, his voice
thick with despair.

"She's innocent.
They're all innocent. I'll do anything.
Just... please..."

Lawrence ignored him, his attention now fixed on the doctor's trembling form. "Where," he said softly, "is the antidote?"

"I don't have it," the doctor sobbed.
"I've tried. I've read every book, experimented with countless combinations. But I-I just don't know what this illness is. I've failed.."

"Failed?" Lawrence whispered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Do you know what failure means to a Thornton?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the doctor's ear. "It means death."

In one swift, merciless motion,

Lawrence drew his blade across the doctor's throat. Blood gushed from the wound, and the man collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking as his life drained from him.

The doctor's wife screamed again, clutching her children to her chest as if her embrace could shield them from the horrors unfolding around them. The room reeked of blood and fear, a heady combination that seemed to invigorate Lawrence even more.

"Brother!" Alexander shouted, his voice shaking with rage and horror. He lunged toward Lawrence but stopped short when his cold eyes fixed on him.

Lawrence turned slowly, his gaze sharp as a blade. He seized Alexander by the throat, his fingers digging into his skin with the strength of a man unaccustomed to restraint. "Do not fear me, brother," Lawrence said softly, his voice calm but filled with dark promise.

"I am Lawrence Thornton the Sixth-next in line to rule this land. Do you think the people would bow to me if they saw weakness? If they knew their leader was dying?"

Alexander struggled against his grip, his voice barely a whisper. "He was... he was trying to help you..."

Lawrence released him abruptly, his hand falling to his side. He turned to glance at the woman and her children, their faces streaked with tears, their bodies shaking with fear. "We are Thorntons," Lawrence said quietly, his voice resonating with the weight of centuries of power. "We are gods among men. Fear our weapon, and

power is our birthright".

"And what of them?" Alexander rasped, his voice hoarse as he rubbed his throat. "What will you do to them?"

Lawrence's expression remained unchanged. "Grab the horses," he said calmly. "We ride west."

"You can't leave them like this!"

Alexander pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. "They'll-"

"Burn it," Lawrence interrupted, his voice cold and detached. "Burn it all."

The guards moved quickly, their torches igniting as they set the farmhouse ablaze. The flames leapt from wall to wall, consuming everything in their path. The screams of the doctor's family echoed through the night, swallowed by the roar of the fire.

Lawrence mounted his horse, glancing back at the burning wreckage with a look of indifference. "Fear us, brother," he muttered to Alexander as they rode away. "For we are the gods who rule this land. And the world will learn to bow... or burn."

As the night swallowed them, the flames from the farmhouse reached toward the sky.