When blue blood spills - Septiplier kingdoms

Barren Years

His feet stood still at the side of his horse, the adrenaline of the moment ebbed out of him into the cold night as the gunshots of his conflicted ideas ceased fire, two white flags mourning the loss of their possibility. The crimson tears of his act covered his hands and clothes, muffling the small voice that screamed logic, that screamed he needed to leave. The rising and falling of his chest was all that he could focus on, his mind a blinded blur as he stumbled forward, his own pain drowned out by the silence. It had been years, decades, millennia of him standing there, his hands limply hanging in the cool night air, uninterrupted, at some semblance of peace. The silent rage broke free as the first hanging crimson drop finally hit the dirt. A wave a sound slammed into him, knocking him down into a crouch as the screaming of names and warnings flooded him. Choking on the noise he gagged, colours blurring before his eyes and the ground spinning beneath his feet. Flames licked his back, his home was burning to the ground as his charred hands were being torn and dragged into the cold by an icy ocean. His name. Someone was calling his name. He tightened his grasp on the broken shards of gold in his cold wet hands, feeling the shallow slices they made, his mixing with the life of those he stole. It brought him back, that feeling. Leaning back on his heel, he darted forward, grabbing onto the reigns and jumping. The smoke filled his lunges as he cast his shadow on his burning home.

His ashen coloured hair shone in the moonlight, his helmet under his arm. The horse swayed and stumbled under him but he grappled with it just fine. The young mousy haired boy next to him spoke with a highborn accent in an offhanded manor, jesting with the even taller raven headed rider next to him. A stray whinny jarred Felix from his thoughts as their captive fell to the ground with a thud. The rest of the group pulled up their horses and jeered, one even kicking the sea dweller. For the first time he truly looked at him. His body was lean and mud splattered, his strange, highborn clothes were torn and his hair, along with his face,was caked in dirt. His gills flared and his eyes looked like slits, green and blue flashed from them when the moon hit them. His teeth were sharp and his nose was twisted and heavily bleeding. In his eyes Felix saw his own hate, the hate they all felt, staring back at him. While the others saw him as a wild dog, he saw him for what he was. Muttering something under his breath, he strode towards the prisoner. Once his words were heard the others shrugged it off and headed back to their horses, leaving the leader of the recruits to get the prisoner back on his horse.
'Just be quick, we need to make it for the ceremony'
The brown haired boy had a point. A small spark of excitement ran through him at the thought of his closest friend joining his ranks. Together... well, together they could rid the world of things like that.

He was burning. The flames shot through his limbs where he was kicked and cut, from the water and mud and night air. As they left his side, he wondered if he was going to be left to die. Freezing to death in the woods wasn't what he had expected. The melodic thud of footsteps echoed in his skull until he was sure it would break. The eyes that stared through the dark weren't fire, oil or blood. They weren't water or coral or grass. They were ice. Dirty, shining ice. The wolfs head that had torn him from his safety, from his home, was hanging, held in a strong grasp. As the ice stared at him, he felt the frost dart to his chest, turning his lungs to ash and his heart to embers. He was burning with cold, with hate for those wolves that saw him as meat, with pure horrified disgust at the ice. Slamming his legs down, he forced his torso up and his knees to bend, lunging forward as a rabid injured animal. A loud gasp erupted as both their lungs emptied themselves in a huge collision. In an instant the ice became flesh, warm and pale, spotted with hairs and mud and sweat. They grappled, sheer willpower and hatred forcing both into a savage fit of anger, but eventually his worn and exerted body gave in and he was pinned down. He snarled, cursing and screaming, unwilling to be silenced. His cries echoed through the woods as the metal-tipped boots came into contact with his body, his captor screaming in sheer rage with each kick until both were panting and bloody. In the quiet his captor picked up his broken body and placed it on a horse, not bothering with ropes and stopping only to check his pulse. The sea blue eyes opened with malice before closing again.
'where... am... I... going...'
His eyes flicked open to meet the ocean that he had just fought. With a slight chuckle and a heavy pant, he replied in a low voice
'to the prince... a gift'

Home.
I'm back! The next part will be out soon (I promise)