Hellbeast

3

1276 words

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Days after his chanced encounter with the lord of the fae, Horus had traveled far away from their borders, and stumbled into the dragon lands. The dragons, unlike the fae, welcomed outsiders, whether to trade, live, or work in their magnificent kingdom. Here, Horus did not blend in with the people. Although from all around the world, no one quite looked like him. With his fiery red hair and honey eyes, he stood out like a sore thumb. Had it not been for the hunter's clothes he wore, he would've been mistaken for royalty. Because everyone knew only the royal dragon family had red hair.

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In the Draconian Kingdom, it was hard to go unnoticed. The sigil etched above his heart pulsed warmly, tinging Horus's essence with its owner's magic. Ciril's mark supplied him with more energy than he'd previously had, though he didn't dare to use it. What Horus did not know was that Ciril had placed the mark not only to grant him entry, but to track him, to know if he was alive. The man didn't wander into fae lands often, but Ciril had seen him more than Horus had noticed the lord, and every time he spotted him, Horus was on death's doorstep.

The mark was meant to keep the lord updated on the hunter's life force. But since Horus didn't use the energy supplied to him, he remained under the radar, hidden as ever. The only thing Ciril knew was that his chosen warrior was alive, but not in what condition. He could be in a coma for all he knew, and the troublesome thought surprisingly worried him. If the chosen were to die, Ciril would immediately feel a cold brush against his heart, as if the thread connecting them had been severed. Ciril silently wished he would never feel that numbing coldness.

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Numerous shops lined each side of the street, and vendors were all chatting up everyone. From pretty, noble ladies, to tourists, and Horus swore he saw one man conversing with a chicken, Though when he looked back the chicken was now a child. He must've been very tired to mistake a child for a chicken.

The clothes he wore screamed HUNTER, but his hair attracted the eyes of all. Women and men alike whispered about the strange man walking down the stone road. Though shy, Horus's natural face was a cold stoic mask, deterring any brave souls from approaching him and cracking through his façade. 'His hair burns redder than fire!' 'Is he a dragon?' 'Perhaps a cousin or a mysterious family member related to the royal family?' 'But their hair is ginger, his is pure red! Maybe he's an ancient dragon?' 'Don't be silly Murphy, the ancient dragon's are all long dead and gone.'

Horus wasn't a dragon. He wished he was. Any other creature would be better than the beast that lived under his skin. Any other being was better than the monster that slept dormant in his body, the one that lay ruins to the all nations of the world long before the five ancient warlords banded together to defeat it. Over the years, the people of all the nations had dubbed the ancient monster many names. Among which were: The Scourge, The Beast of Hellfire, The Demon of The South, Silver Eyed Devil, and his personal favorite (note the sarcasm), The King of Chaos, Commander of Death, ********.

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Long ago, a demon crawled out from the pits of hell and absolutely destroyed the world. The nations had never seen anything like it, and were not prepared. The beast bestowed havoc on anything that dared to be in its path, killing countless innocents and even more that were not. No weapon could pierce its skin, no magic could bind it, and no man could even come close enough to touch it.

The demon, rumored by the rare survivors, was seen to have skin the color of toasted wheat, with muscles rippling across all of its body, eyes the color quicksilver, and most noticeably, a long unruly mane of red hair. Word spread quick of the beast, and the world leaders tried desperately to contain the demon, but no magic would hold. Not only was the thing gifted with extraordinary strength, it had insanely powerful magic as well. Its footsteps caused earthquakes, battle cry shook oceans, and its eyes pierced through souls.

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Horus nibbled on an apple he had stored away in his bag, his first meal in a few days, and glanced around the colorful field of flowers surrounding him. Unlike other people, he did not hunger often. He could last several days without food or water, but had to instead feed on energy. Every animal he hunted, every bounty hunter that foolishly came looking for him, he fed upon, stealing every wisp of magic remaining in their body. When the bodies were later discovered, it was as if they never had magic at all.

Upon finishing his apple, he placed the core onto the ground, and closed his eyes, focusing his magic into the earth. It pulsed under his fingers for a minute, and when he opened his eyes there was a large apple tree sitting in front of him. He leaned against the tree and though of his mother. Whenever he used nature magic like this, he remembered her. He eased his mind and travelled back to one of his favorite memories.

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Three year old Horus sat on the dirt outside, pouting to himself, little arms crossed, pale droplets cascading down his pudgy cheeks. The door behind him opened softly, and he ignored it, thinking it was his mother. Instead of small, smooth hands, big ones picked him up, gently placing him on a firm knee. He looked up with a wobbly bottom lip to see long unruly red hair, and reached out to tug it childishly.

He smiled up at his papa, and the man wiped away the tears on his puffy face. Softly, he called out to his son, voice quiet but rough. "Don't cry horus. What upsets you little one?" Horus looked up at his father and sniffled, eyes watering again, but no tears falling for fear of upsetting this gentle giant of a man. "I-I can mae fwower gwow!"

Papa's red brows knit together as he attempted to decipher his son's jumbled words. "You can make a flower grow?" Toddler horus scowled and shook his head. "No! I can'T mae fwower gwow," he stressed the 't', easing his papa's confusion. "Oh. It's okay. You'll learn someday." He shook his little head again, mumbling, "Wan gib fwower to mamma." The large demon sighed gently, kissing his son's forehead and grabbing his little hands. "I'll teach you like she taught me, okay? It's simple, I promise. Then we can give mamma flowers together, okay?"

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An apple fell on his head, startling Horus out of his dreamscape and back into reality. He glanced up to see a boy with long ginger hair munching on a golden apple, green eyes boring into his skull. "Uhm- hello, can I help you?" The ginger stopped eating long enough to spit out, "You grow good apples, come be my servant in the palace and I'll give ya anything you want." Horus had to do a double take. 'There's no way- is that- is that little pipsqueak a royal?"

As if hearing his thoughts, the boy scowled and bared his sharp canines. "Fool- I am not a boy- I am the eldest dragon prince, Mavic Lress, warlord of the Draconian Kingdom, and I demand you come grow apples for me at the palace!"

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