 |
A Rogue Fallen: Part 1: Damnation of the Gods
 The cold air stung across his naked chest as he ran through the forest blood and sweat trickling down his skin the sun not yet having pierced the early morning fog that had covered the thick forest. His breathing was heavy, ragged. His chest had several arrows and part of a broken spear sticking out of it. Tripping he fell to the ground face first tasting dirt and wincing in pain as his wounds were dug even deeper. He rolled to his back as his still bound hands rested on his stomach. He tried to catch his breath and slow his pounding heart that felt as if it was trying to break out of his chest. How had he gotten to this point? It had all fallen to sh*t. His own people had turned against him. Demanded his death. His death as if they could do such a thing. Without his ability to transform though, due to whatever that Witch had done to him he had been left vulnerable. With that, his enemies in the Council had taken advantage and called for his arrest. Upon his charges of treason with fabricated evidence that implicated that Fradimier had started the wars that had consumed both Commoria and Zarfhaana. He was tried and convicted to death. The penalty was carried out; first by hanging, then by drowning, then by firing squad by arrows, then by burning and the list went on for several months. His one and only ally, Dravik, though had fought to him and broke him free so that he may choose exile. During the escape though he had been slain. Being his powers had been suppressed Fradimeir was unable to save him. His friend died in his arms.
Sitting up he winced as pain shot through his body from the multiple points of an arrow or spear piercing into it. Looking down he saw the spear. Reaching down with his still bound hands and grasped what was left of the spear and pulled it out tossing it to the side. Finally breaking the ropes that had bound his hands together he sighed. Weezing as he did. Breaking the shafts of arrows that were in his chest and sides he managed to get back to his feet. Looking around his hot breath showing in the air. Trying to think of where he should go. His army was gone. His allies dead. He felt that to uphold his honor he should go into exile. He could not murder his own people even as they tried to murder him.
As if on cue he heard the shouts of the search party that had been tracking him. The thunder of horse hooves against the mud was coming closer and closer. Turning south he began running along the creek bed trying to stay hidden among the trees as the voices came closer. Now the sound of metal armor clinking with each gallop filling the air. His breath was heavy as his wounds bled his energy was being pulled in two directions. Healing and running. Then an arrow caught him in the back of the thigh causing him to fall to the ground and into the creek. His face hit a rock as he felt his skull slam into it. Blackness filling his eyes as the sound of water filled his ears and the world went black.
His gaze opened then his neon blue eyes glowing in the darkness around him. The sound of water drawing him to the edge of a river. Its black liquid flowing softly as he looked around. The ground was black sand. This could not be real. Was he finally on the precipice of death? Would he finally be allowed to cross? His eyes flicked up looking across the river to see if he could make out the bank on the other side. Ghostly figures floated there their movements seemed random...except for one. Her form seemed to sharpen as she stepped to the edge of the water.
Amylynn…
His breath burned in his chest as he tried to speak but no words came to his lips. He tried to move but he was frozen in place. Looking at his feet he found they had turned to stone. Looking up again he saw her...two figures had walked up behind her grabbing her. Tearing at her clothes ripping them off as she was dragged back into the mist. He tried to move, tried to scream.
Then laughter is what he heard from beside him as a blinding light illuminated the area. Her words were like poison to his soul. The one that had created him. The one that had cursed him. “You didn’t think I would let you go, did you? To finally see those that you let die...to those you had failed” her words came at him full of malice.
“Just because you thought you killed me does not mean that my torture of you is over...my Rogue.”
“Why?” Fradimier spat finally able to speak.
“It amuses me...besides I have a purpose for you,” she said.
“I don’t even remember who you are.”
“All in good time.” She said apparently amused that he had admitted that he did not fully remember who she was. His mind held many memories of when he had been turned into the immortal creature he was, but the process had left fragments.
She walked around him tracing her fingers across his bare skin her nails growing into claws and then retracting back into nails. She sighed as the river disappeared and they were now standing in the middle of a blinding white desert with a black stone throne having appeared in front of Fradimeir.
“Recognize it?” She asked. “You should...you used to sit upon it.”
Runes and hieroglyphs were etched upon it and the head of a hawk and wolf were carved out of the top of it. It appeared to be black marble. “I don’t…” He lied. He had seen this in his dreams, flashes, no nightmares.
She laughed as she sat upon it throwing one leg over an arm spreading her legs apart as she did. “You never were good at lying.”
“What do you want from me Bitch?! Admittance that I see flashes of memories?” His temper took over. “Yes, I remember you even though I can’t place it from where. Same with that blasted throne. If I sat upon it I wouldn’t have known it. To rule on it or sh*t on it!”
She laughed then. “Oh! We have finally struck the nerve. Good! Let that anger start to flow!”
He wished he could change...he wished he could transform...hell he wished he had a sword a knife anything so he could shut her up.
“Remember...you can’t kill me. You already did that.” She spoke as if she had taken the thoughts right out of his head as easily as he had spoken them aloud. The scenery around them began to change again as in the background a large black pyramid rose from the sands made from the same black marble as the throne she sat upon. Upon its peak a gold tip with a blood red jewel that reflected the sun in all directions. His head hurt as if a memory was exploding to life. Wincing he took a step back. His feet sinking in the sands almost feeling familiar...so familiar.
Her hands were upon his cheeks as she held him up their eyes meeting as she was mere inches from him. The smell of her breath meeting his nostrils...then for an instance it was like her face changed… He jolted back. “Don’t f***ing do that.”
She laughed. Holding out her hands to her sides. “I have to have a little fun.”
“You once walked among Gods, My Rogue. Now you run from mortal rats that you once ruled over. What happened?” She asked as she placed her hands on her waist.
Fradimeir felt his body getting heavy as he fell to his knees. He made his hands into fists as he stopped himself from falling flat onto the ground trying to keep his head level. He knew she was trying to break him. Maybe he was broken.
“Honor.” He gasped as he struggled to keep upright.
“What have they done to warrant that?” She asked. “They betrayed you. They hunt you.”
She was right. He was alone now. He felt the weight intensify as the ground beneath him seem to crack with the weight.
“I swore to protect them.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
“Your gods demand you to break that oath.” She said.
“I damn your gods.” He retorted.
He suddenly was lifted off the ground into the air several feet and then slammed back into the ground. Sand flew in all directions as he was dragged several feet and then thrown up into the air again and then back downward.
“Stubborn. We always knew you would be.” She said softly in his ear as he got up slowly blood trickling down from cuts on his face above his eye and right cheek. He felt other injuries as well but he would show no sign if he could manage it.
“Will you yield to us?” She asked.
Fradimeir sighed and shook his head his long hair trailing across his bare back his tattooed shoulders raising and lowering with the deep breaths he was taking as he tried to maintain his composure. She was testing him.
“You will not win.” He said definitely. “I will not bend to whatever wicked game you have going on here. I don’t care. You are from a lost past that no longer matters. From gods that no longer matter. Grasping at dust...you and your coven of Asta” Revealing that he had remembered. His hatred of her coven had never passed. His origin would never fade from memory completely. Those he had hunted down and murdered, shredded to pieces and burned into nothing...into dust.
He must have struck a nerve as anger flashed across her face and her hands squeezed into fists. The black marble throne behind her exploded into splinters and flew at him. He found himself thrown against a rock face that had appeared out of nowhere behind him his arms outstretched to his sides as if he was on a crucifix. The splinters of marble then formed into four spears and flew at him. Two hit his hands, one in each palm and then the other two dug in each shoulder. Effectively pinning him to the rock face. Blood trickled out of him like small waterfalls down his naked chest and hands and down the grey rockface and onto the sand. He coughed as he gasped for breath looking down at the black marble spears that now held him firmly in place.
“I will always win!” She whispered. He words echoing in his mind. “Always”.
She stepped foward as a single last spear of black marble materialized in her hands. Her gaze met his as she placed her hand on his stomach and let it trace his muscular structure down and onto his inner thigh.
“Its a shame. I loved you once.”
With that she plunged the spear up through his abdomen so that the tip just barely missed his heart but so that he bled out. As she did this the scene around them changed. The sands and black pyramid blew away from existance and he found himself in the center of a town square nailed to a crucifix by his hands and shoulders with a spear having just been shoved into his abdomen. Looking down the women disapeared with laughter echoing in his ear as the cheers of the crowd replaced it. He was punched in the face by an armored hand causing his vision to fade slightly. His regeneration powers were just barely keeping up. He could not change. He growled and the man laughed.
“Ol king Fradimeir here thinks he can change and eat the lot of us.” The man laughed and then reached down and twisted the spear that was in Fradimeir’s abdomen causing him to scream in pain to the crowd’s enjoyment. “We got some help wit that you see. We don’t have to fear you any more.”
“Shove another in. Just for fun.”
His comrade stepped up with another spear and shoved into Fradimeir’s torso twisting it as he did. He screamed even though he tried not to as he wished to not give his captors the satisfaction. He had no idea where he was or who these people were.
They left him there like that. Every day they would pull the spears out let him heal and then spear him again to the roaring cheers of the crowd. Days and days this would continue until they turned into weeks.
Had he been damned by the gods? Gods he did not believe in.
|