Fire Temple Arena
Everything was black.
Everything was black and red and grey.
A monotone ring pierced through Svorn's ears, filling his mind, his consciousness with the absence of anything but that ringing.
And the pain. Slowly, the throbs of his head and strikes down his legs began to enter, and the deep feeling of something pressing down on his chest even though nothing was there.
A lingering.
Everything lingered.
His thoughts fed through one another in a distorted array of confusion and needing – what they needed, he had no idea. And emerging up his throat was a bitter, acidic taste; something easy to push away and yet inescapable.
Then smell. Salty, smoky, a copper tinge. Iron. Everything smelt like iron.
He blinked. Dots. Millions of flickering dots at the corners of his vision, refusing to intrude. They floated like fireflies, like small winged people dancing in the red. Why was everything red? Another blink. Blue and grey and white. A great white. A burning white. White like the rays of the overhead sun, and blue like the reflection of water on the sky, but grey like the back clods of dirt that filled the air and stung everything in sight.
Where was the red? Where were the red and brown wall? The hungry flames? The cloaks of the people filling the stands? And why did everything smell like iron – so much that the metallic aura was beginning to permeate his mouth?
Faded, clogged, compressed sound entered his ears to mingle with the ringing. Voices, soft voices, hushed voices all communicating to one another through shouts and screams and gruff orders. But they were faint, individual. There weren't too many. There weren't too many people. That was good. Why was it good? He didn't know. His thoughts were still a mumble of incoherent cries.
Everything ached – so much hurt. But his side, that hurt the most. What hurt wasn't the pain, it was the dark tendrils he could feel, making their way up his veins, trying to repair wounds, descending down to move his dulled muscles in position. But with that panic-driven darkness, seeking for healing and yet depravity, flurried a deeper darkness much more feared than the pain currently felt.
He swallowed and breathed. He could breathe! His neck was sore...
And with the breath came a crash of the senses, a sudden plunge into their well.
A crack came from his legs as pain shot through him once again, followed by a wince and the movement of his hand. He lifted it to the side of his head, wiping away some of the dribbling blood and feeling parts of it clot in his hair. He swallowed again.
Focusing on his stomach muscles, he contorted his body to the side, pressing a hand against the ground to push himself upwards enough to grip the ground with his other hand. Holding himself with only hands and knees, he bent over, coughing with large hacks as his body expelled damaged blood.
As he did, a hand came to his chest and his eyes closed as he focused inwards. Calm down. Calm down. Softness. Silence. Calm down. Water. The flow of water in rivers, bubbling down streams, everything you've read about. Fire. Lava oozing over mountains, flowing gently to the earth below, dripping off mountains and transforming into small rocks as they grow cooler and hit the earth below.
The progression of the black liquid through his veins slowed down and then started travelling back down his body to his side.
That's it, that's it, nice and steady.
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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. ...
