The Forging Chapter 1: The End and Beginning

(Note: This story and all characters within are the sole property of author, and is under the protection of United States copyright law)

It was pitch black for as far as she could see, she lay on the smoldering ground, and was thankful for all the smoke, it kept her from seeing the complete devastation that had befallen her homeland. Her friends, family, her whole town, gone in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

Her strength had given out some time back, the heat too much for her to take. Her pale skin was reddened and raw, blackened tufts were all that remained of her once beautiful red hair. Each breath brought a searing pain to her already overtaxed lungs. She thought she might die lying on the ground there, and a part of her would welcome it. She would have run if she could, just to deny him the satisfaction of seeing the look on her face, but she had nothing left to propel her. She had spent her energies in the futile act trying to save the few people who had survived the initial assault. She choked and gagged on the overwhelming scents of blood, burnt hair, and burnt flesh, some of which she knew was her own.

When the smoke began to clear away, and she knew he was coming for her. He, who destroyed everything she cared for, Dastrius, the man that prior to this day, she had loved with all her soul. Her spirit broke anew at the thought of his betrayal. What had she done to deserve this? All her life she had wished for adventure, practiced with blades, and played at being a hero. Here though, in her one chance to prove her abilities, she had failed completely and miserably. She deserved to die, wished to, but as she saw her doom approaching, she knew it would not be that easy.

A man walked toward her with a malevolent grin on his face, one she had never seen there in the time they were together. Dastrius was his name, and he appeared as everything a man should be, tall, muscular, but not too, with coal black hair, ice blue eyes, and an aura that bespoke power and mystery. Now, however, it was as if a charm had been lifted and she no longer saw his beauty, only raw, unrelenting hunger.

If there had truly been good in him once, as she had thought, it was entirely gone now. She felt her stomach lurch at the thought she had lain with such a thing. He laughed when he saw this, then reached down to stroke her face in a manner that at first appeared tender, but then his fingers like talons of ice, latched hard onto her jaw. He directed her face so that she had to view a panorama of the destruction. He then turned her face to look at his own. It made her feel filthy and violated as his icy eyes seemed to penetrate her, mock her weakness, and thrill at her sorrow. She somehow summoned the courage to look back into his, and not back down. His eyes narrowed at this, and then he laughed, and the sound was not at all pleasant.

“Your have given much pleasure to me, and therefore I will spare your life.” Dastrius said. “Your sorrow is sweet to me, and I thank you for it.” Inside, she felt as if she could explode, he seemed to savor her anguish and she was furious at herself for giving him the satisfaction. As she began to sink into the darkness, her pain, anguish, and sorrow became as one, and this mass of emotion turned to utter, remorseless rage, the rage of which legends are born.

(Note: This story and all characters within are the sole property of author, and is under the protection of United States copyright law)