Chapter I: The Chainborn Boy [5]Mature

          The road rose up towards the gate and the mighty stone walls, the spires tipped in blood and droppings. His gaze whipped from side to side, watching the riders encroach. One on his left shifted, hooking his foot in one rein, leaning out holding the other, swiping with his free arm. The sword cut neatly through the air, ripping through the coach side and shattering a lamp. Burning oil splashed, scalding on his hooded face and only catching the majihan’s robes. The rider screeched, an inhuman sound of one knowing only agony, too slow to lean back as the field met the wall and the stagecoach slipped through the opening. The horse turned at once to smoke, and the rider met the stone with a crunch. The remaining riders reared to a stop as a force like lightning scourged over them, filling the air with the scent of roasted flesh as they fell one by one to ground. The horses screeched in a noise mutated by the serrated bits in their mouths, their wounds dripping with smoke like lifeblood until there was nothing left.

Watching everything from the back window on the other side, the passenger felt the air around him change, turning thick and uncomfortable, like something scrambling and clawing down his throat. The sensor shield hit him like a wall, making the blood ripple in his veins, but as he passed through unscathed, he smiled. His burst of power had done far more than unchain a gate, it had strengthened the sensors tenfold to harm anybody wishing ill on their creator. The guilt of the murders he had committed began to settle in his stomach, each like the drop of a coin as the stagecoach slowed to a stop. He would not discard his morality, not just yet. The men he had killed, with faces he would never look upon and loved ones he would never know, he would let their deaths haunt him and atone later.

He knotted the belt of his robes tighter around his waist and checked for his possessions as the stagecoach around him began to turn to smoke. It had been summoned by the same sort of dark magick as the Noxian horses had been, and lasted only for as long as had been purchased. He had been given an hour, and now he had seconds. The doors blew open and were carried off in the wind, and he dashed out as the last remaining oil lamp flared out. Like a hard breath on dust, everything drifted off into smoke, and as coach, driver and horses reunited with the darkness, the passenger was left alone again.

The End

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