The 15th of Saun 718
Oberan’s chest heaved, lungs struggling to provide him with enough oxygen to keep him on his feet. Sweat formed large pearls on his forehead, rolling down past his eyebrows, following the inner or outer curve of his sockets. Along the length of his nose and passing over his lips before dripping off his chin, or racing down his cheeks and jumping from his jaw.
His shirt was wet at the collar, lower back, and armpits, torn and sliced open at the chest, abdomen and arms. The legs of his trousers were tattered, the fabric split on his thighs. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, his boots splattered with crimson. Red broke through his skin and trickled down from cuts on his face, neck, arms, legs and torso. Parts of the clothes he wore were stained with red flower-like patterns, blooming from where the fabric had been sliced asunder.
Most of the skin which wasn’t covered by clothes had become sealed off from the air around him, covered in a layer of dirt and a cracked crust of blood. Some of it his, some of it belong to those who’d stood in his way. The hair on his scalp was similarly coated in a deep burgundy. He hadn’t bathed ever since he began his quest for vengeance, causing his hair to look more like one solid part rather than several million strands. Some parts stood upright, held in place by the crusted blood, others were pressed flat against the curve of his skull instead.
The man took a small step forwards, his legs trembling, knee feeling as if it was made from wet noodles. He could feel it struggle not to buckle under the strain. He gritted his teeth and took another step. The cold of the stone wall against his shoulder kept him from falling sideways. Oberan didn’t even register it, he didn’t notice he slid down to the floor, didn’t feel his knees hitting the tiles.
His vision was going blurry, unfocussed one moment, sharp the next, and blurry again. Darkness crept up on him, taking away the details in his periphery.
Odd. There were torches lining the walls, weren’t there? He’d seen the shadows dance on the walls before. He’d seen his own shadow grow and shrink as he passed the flames, jumping from in front of him to behind him. He’d heard the fires hiss and flicker as he’d splashed them with blood.
Why was it dark now?
Something hit him on the forehead. It was cold. Not unpleasant. He could stay like this for a while. Rest for a few bits. He was tired. Exhausted. He needed to recover. Just a quick nap.
No!
He couldn’t give up now! There was no time to waste. He’d come this far, he could go a little further. His eyes flew open, fingers clawed and trying to tear into the stone floor. He was getting up this instant. He had to soldier on, just a little further. He was almost there.
Allisurd, Dessa, Junior—
Their faces popped into his mind one by one, beaming him with those radiant smiles he’d never see again.
Pain. Oberan could hear his molars crunch against each other, grinding so hard his jaw hurt.
Arms trembled, pushing against the floor.
Come on, legs! Come on, weak pieces of filth! It was time to get up, up, UP!
One foot flat on the floor, knee against his chest.
That’s it. There we go!
He pushed harder, felt his muscles burn like acid, tear at his ligaments. He panted from the effort, huffing and puffing like a wolf with asthma, but he rose from the tiled floor, higher and higher, legs stretching until he was upright again, one hand on the wall for support.
No time to waste. There was no-one left in this castle. No-one but Oberan and him. No more minions, no more obstacles. This was the final stretch. He only needed to reach the end of this hallway. That was it. He couldn’t rest. He couldn’t stop. If he did, he wouldn’t get up again. Each break he took nibbled away at his willpower, eroding his drive to keep moving.
Oberan steeled himself, stepping forward. Again and again. One foot at a time, one step at a time. Just one more. And one more. Again, one more. He could take one more. He’d come this far, what was one more in the face of that feat? Another one, he could do that. He could manage one more.
He was there before he realized it. A doorway loomed over him, heavy wooden doors standing between him and what lied beyond. The final obstacle. The throne room was just behind it, and in there he’d find him. So close, he was so close.
Any other trial he’d have payed attention to the elaborate carvings on the wood, caressed them with his fingers, tracing their outlines like he had many times before. Let the memories flood back into him, reminisce about the time spent here, training under their master. Better times. They tasted bitter now. All because of him, all because he had—
Not now. Now was not the time for that. Those trials were gone. Violently taken away. Stolen away.
But that had been forgivable. Youthful arrogance and ignorance. A tragic mistake.
What he’d done later had been way worse. Unforgivable.
Oberan centered himself, taking a deep breath. He felt his anger boil his blood still, heating him up further. Summoning the last bit of strength needed, he placed his hands on the double doors. Another deep breath was sucked into his lungs, released explosively as he gave the wood a firm push.
The two heavy wooden panels were torn off their hinges. Iron cried and squealed as it was twisted and ripped apart. The doors sailed a few meters through the air, then crashed loudly into the floor, kicking up a large cloud of dust. The loud bang echoed through the chamber.
His steps recoiled off the walls as he stepped inside, unbothered by the storm of dust still clouding the first half of the room. Oberan followed the red carpet choosing not to walk on it, refusing to place his feet where he undoubtably had.
A set of stairs as wide as the entire room carried him upwards, toward the final plateau where the throne stood. Braziers lined the walls, and elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting their orange glow all around.
“So you finally made it. I’ve been waiting.” The voice sounded haughty and taunting, filling Oberan with rage, making his hatred flare up, filling him with explosive energy. His eyes gleamed with uncontrollable anger as he came face to face with the man sitting atop the throne as if he were a mighty ruler bored with the responsibilities that came with his position. Yet, his face showed only a malicious smirk.
“As expected from the Bloody Demon, my minions didn’t even manage to slow you down.” He didn’t change his position, treating Oberan as if he wasn’t even a threat. “I am quite disappointed though. You’re in bad shape. The old you would have never allowed himself to be injured by low level trash.” His eyes narrowed, his lips curled up to reveal a toothy grin. ”You’ve gotten soft, Bran!”
“Even if I have, my current strength is still more than enough to destroy you, Nabero!” Oberan’s scowl only increased the intensity of his gaze, and the man sharply jabbed a finger at the man on the throne. “I will bring down the hammer of justice upon you! It’s time you paid the price for the crimes you committed! I will end your reign of terror, and avenge my family!”
Without further warning, he charged.
