Fire Temple
A breath in, Svorn cocked his head to the side. A spark of red appeared on the wall, slowly growing to form a line. He smiled. "I know, I'm going there now. You don't have to-"
He froze midstep, eyes becoming pale and unfocused. A twinge of pain pulsed out from his side. His eyes widened.
Using the wall the push himself forward, he flew up the stairs and through hallways, head whipping side to side as he searched. Numbers licked through his mind, counting down. He gritted his teeth as his frown deepened. Air pressed through his teeth and panic began to seep in.
And then he saw it - a door.
He opened it to see two guards standing there talking in raised voices. By the little he'd heard them outside the room, that must have meant the room was sound-proof enough.
His hand pointed to the door. "Out!"
They bowed and exited fast, and he slammed the door behind them.
A second as he slid down the door. Just in time.
Pain split through his side, tearing at his muscles, cleaving flesh and bone to make its way towards his heart. Claws slashed further and further as the monstrous pain bit his side again and again, tunnelling deeper.
He slammed a hand over his mouth, as his breathing became laboured and saliva began dribbling from the side of his mouth. Water stung his eyes involuntarily as he shoved his back against the door and clutched his leg, nails digging in. Clamping his teeth together, he bit back any screams of pain. His head pressed back against the door, long hair tangling in a mess.
Fire pounded in him as his heart raced, heating skin throughout his body until it burnt in a mass of sweat.
His breathing became heavier and his legs pushed against the floor, straining to escape the pain.
A few seconds passed.
A minute.
A sob of pain rose from his throat. He bared with it.
Another minute.
His body started twitching and he fell to his side, curled up in a fetal position.
His organs seemed to bubble and melt inside of him as he ripped at his clothes, silently screaming for oxygen.
He counted.
He counted his breaths.
He counted the seconds.
He counted the spots of black dirt on the walls.
He counted.
To stop himself from dissociating from the moment he was in.
No way to block such intense pain but by an outer-body experience, but he refused to dissociate. He refused to allow himself any chance to turn into that horrifying puppet again.
This was nothing.
His mouth was dry.
The pain was lessening.
Fluids were pouring out all over him.
It was slow, but there was improvement.
So much sweat, so much saliva. Everything was sticky.
It had faded to less than half the amount as before.
He needed to swallow.
And less than a quarter.
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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. ...
