They say revenge is a cold and heartless beast, and Dorian Grey just that. The entirety of his existence is dedicated to hunting the men who tortured, violated, and burned his wife and young son before his very eyes, leaving him shattered. What lengths with a man go to with nothing left to loose?
"The most dangerous creation of any society is a man with nothing to loose. -James A. Baldwin"
Fire, waves of heat and light rushed over glowing bones of the house, its boiling rage spreading and growing with each soft caress of wind. A monster refusing to be tamed, lashing out wildly against the creeping darkness of the night, glints of silver light watching from high above in the midnight sky. The dizzying radiant heat from the blazes reflected in jade green eyes, pulling him deeper and deeper into the burning abyss as he struggled to fight his way to the cool, crisp nature surrounding the blaze.
The reek of smoke, burning flesh, and wood gouged at his nostrils, his skin beaded with droplets of sweat as he dodged and crawled from the scorching, sweltering heat. The flames violently whipped about the doors, windows, and two bodies thrown like garbage upon the cabin's floor.
Their frames bent and bloodied, violated and tortured turning to ashes that fizzled at the edges of his eyes darkening the tear stains that tracked down his face. His screams barely audible above the dancing flames that devoured his home and the only two people he had ever loved.
A wife....a son
Instincts once dormant, snapped to life and drove the man through the window causing the glass to bite at his flesh and clothes, leaving him to tumble off the doorstep and onto cool dew laden grass. Behind him, the only place that he ever belonged to, powdered under the hammering hatred of crimson gold flares.
Laying there in grass and dirt his mind faded into unconsciousness, his blood staining the earth below him as a tall figure stood a short distance away.His shifted his gaze to bloodied survivor as a voice whispered from behind him, ghostly figures becoming outlined in the firelight.
"He's not dead...We should kill him!" a sharp, raspy voice growled, drawing a scimitar and pointing to the body near the blaze. The tall figure shook his head and glanced back to the other men, a band of barbarians some tainted body and spirit by the demons of the lands.
"The suffering will end with a blade in the heart or a dagger drawn across his neck, no we will not let this soul be at peace. He will go to sleep and see the eyes of his wife as we made her our own, hear her screams and pleads as he can only lay bound and gagged on the floor. His son will cry 'Daddy! DADDY!' like a stuck pick as he holds his own intestines in his hands and sits in a pool of his own blood. And when Grey wakes... He will see the faces of his wife and son in every woman, in every boy. He will never escape all that he has suffered at our hands until death graciously chills his bones and stills his heart but not for many years."
-----------------------------------8 hours earlier-----------------------------------
It was just a simple mission his Captain had said, head out into the Fellfair Woods and make sure that the nightmarish monsters of the forest stayed among the twisted, gnarled branches that made up the cursed woods. After all the Great Wall that guarded the Martyr could be breached and the wondrous 7 cities and their thousands of inhabitants would be in grave danger. Grey himself knew, he was the first line of defense and he could not fail in that duty.
Nimbly he slipped between branches adorned with thorns and poisonous leaves, his dexterity apparent in each calculated move. Stealth was his friend during this patrol, with only a darkened leather armor shielding his lithe muscled body from weapons both natural and metal. All men, women, and children of the Martyr knew nightmares lived here. Anything that the mind or soul could ever fear resided here, and even that which no mortal could ever fathom.
Softly, a chime of a chain rattled amongst the decaying leaves and crackling foliage. Grey froze mid-step curved about a branch, listening intently. Chain Devil… his mind whispered a beast of animated chains with weapons from its victims attached all over its form. Stalking its prey, slowly and patiently, clink..clink..clink. Uncoiling from around the branch, his left hand slid slowly to a dagger at his hip to draw it.
As Grey drew another silent breath the tree next to him exploded into splinters six rusted blood soaked chains burst about him, lashing back to tie him up. Each chain tipped with swords and other blades, hungry for flesh but missing as Grey sprung up from the underbrush and dodged backwards. Seven foot tall, the monster stood, a beast of writhing chains like snakes , angry and malicious. He could only see one distinguishing feature glowing red hellfire eyes that glinted like gems from between the metal. The chains withdrew and lashed out again, Grey spun as the attack launched, bolting away unsuccessfully. A sword tore through the side of his leg, blood splashing onto the forest floor. Brilliantly crimson against the ashen rotting earth, a sharp whistle screeched as Grey’s dagger buried between the Chain Devils eyes.
The monster didn’t flinch, no pain, no cries, nothing, just a piercing stare as Grey continued to run. The wall… he had to get back to the Great Martyrian Wall, the barrier between civilization and the proverbial wolf at the door. His heart thundered painfully in his chest, the forest disappearing behind him with each bound.
His eyes fixated on the birds high above soaring freely, shifting to towers and a massive wall growing upon the horizon. His place slowed as adrenaline faded, the wound in his leg pulsating, warm and wet. Yet before he could do tie off the wound, two large cats bounded up to him, both with saddles and a man on each one.
“Grey… seems you ran into some trouble…” A man, a captain, on the dark brown saber cat chuckled. Grey smiled shaking his head as he walked past the men grumbling about his missing dagger and about replacing it. “Oh come on Grey, how are you planning on explaining a cut like that to Marisa? She’s not a cleric you know.”
“Thank you captain,” Grey sighed pressing his hand to his leg stopping the blood flow behind the pressure. “If you don’t mind I’d like to see the healer and get home to my wife and son, after all her cooking is too delicious to let get cold.” The two officers nodded, the captain pulled Grey onto the back of the large cat, digging his heels into the beast’s sides they bounded off towards the large gate. All unknowing of the tragedy to soon befall the quiet and normal Dorian Grey, scout of the Martyrian Wall Defense.