Fire Temple
What most people in Fire didn't realise about Thorn was that he'd always been the same. He never had a switch that had just turned on one day.
When he ran away from his duties, it was never a surprise to Svorn. Thorn had been talking about it privately for a while.
Everyone used to be surprised when Thorn had activated his ability to attack someone out of nowhere. As if Thorn had never randomly attacked him at home all the time.
The general populace liked violence and victory, so they'd always enjoyed Thorn's stories of venture from when he was young. But, they'd always recoiled when Thorn had been ordered to attack their village.
Their parents had always praised Thorn for his strength and violence and kills, yet they'd been surprised when Thorn had turned all that on them.
Was thorn trying to appeal that he was a better person now? Impossible. He'd repeated the same actions as before. He'd killed guards, soldiers, many to break back to his family. And he wanted to say he'd changed? Never.
As Svorn trekked down the halls, he saw this in full detail.
Another body lay in his path and screams redecorated the walls, as he separated his mind from the scene before him. Blood swept across his vision, a red haze of death, curling around organs and skin. A spot of jelly-like substance oozed out an eye socket, mixed with the bone marrow on the floor.
It was disgusting, putrid, filthy. His lip curled. He knew what Thorn did. He knew what happened and what form had taken place because the same sight was seen every time a certain part of his ability was activated.
It ha developed when he was younger. And had allowed him to rip through bodies like they were nothing. He was a Berzerker. Nothing new to the Flame line.
Svorn stepped forward, placing his protected foot in red liquid. Small droplets and ripples fanned out. He picked up his robes and continued forward. He didn't know why he bothered; blood was splashing all over them anyway.
Another step, more blood. He continued forward.
His boots clanked against dry floor, before thudding in wet floor. Someone would need to clean it up.
His was the only sound. All the screaming had stopped, and all the fighting had stilled.
As he passed the walls, red. Red. Red. But he paid it no mind, he kept his eyes focused.
He stepped over the rest of the bodies, paying them no heed until he reached Thorn. His lip curled in forced distaste. Beside Thorn, a guard lay, frozen in time, frozen mid-transformation. His body remained rock with molten lava flowing in-between, but his head and shoulders displayed cracked, rocky skin. He had obviously tried to transform back into his human form and died amidst transforming.
Thorn lay on his stomach, no movement visible. His hair was matted, his cheek held a scar half-healed, dirt and dried blood covered his body. His back was almost healed with some new wounds there.
A sigh. The Flame family line usually healed better and faster than anyone else. The reason for this could have been anything.
Svorn crouched down next to him and lifted his head, turning his around to check his pulse. Heart still beating, air still breathing. Another sigh.
Svorn moved to turn away but was stopped by a sudden outward gasp.
Thorn coughed, eyes fluttering open. He tried to move and couldn't. A breath out and he closed his eyes once more. Then a paper-whisper of a voice came through his lips. "What I said in the torture chamber... What you said in the torture chamber... I used to think about that every day..."
YOU ARE READING
Frozen Flame
Fantasy[Finished and being edited] Once captured by a distraught king, a fierce warrior is forced to choose between saving his family or his country. But choices are never that simple. ...
