Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 34

Prompt: Garrote | choking | gagged  -  "Taking is overrated."

Triggers for: Choking clearly, murder via height

The world was his! The Champion of Light failed. The sword the Hero searched out and restored with care and hope shattered under Draven's pure power. The shards clattered to the ground with a harsh clash, and the wind rushed around them as the locked-in energy escaped into the ether, abandoning the one who dared try to tether it. 

The balance tipped in his favour, and nature knew it. The light would fall to darkness.

The Hero stared at pieces of his blade over the ground. He let the hilt fall to the ground and join the shards. His big words of grandeur amounted to nothing as power twirled around Draven's head as a crown. He stepped forward, and the ground trembled. A loud crash of something collapsing echoed around them, and the Hero stumbled backwards as he struggled to stay on his face. 

All would kneel before him or see their lands burn and the ground salted. The legend promised it, and for once, Draven wanted to play the tyrant it promised. Maybe the legend had been a foolish dream dreamt up by old men who didn't see the truth of the light. Perhaps it was destined that Draven was born to rule over the weak and put those who hurt them back in their place. 

Draven wanted their blood, their terror and where better to start than the little golden hero of the light? 

He grinned, sharp fangs and all, at the young man. "Was that it?" he said, crumbling the final piece to dust, rubbing it between his fingers. "Hardly a decent thing; you should know better than to trust a relic."

Hero hissed through gritted teeth, drawing a dagger barely big enough to be considered such from his boot.

Draven laughed.

It didn't improve the hero's complexion. 

"Come on, little hero. I can be merciful. Kneel and accept me as your new God," Draven's voice boomed. The world shuddered with every word, magic old and true lacing together. Fate governed on this. The potential and sheer power of change Every action spun with possibilities, and this was not the time to risk the light rearing its ugly head again. 

Hero spat on the ground and dived forward, too blind to the knowledge that he'd been chosen to see the truth. He wasn't the hero in this story. He was the villain. The last fight of the old, corrupted church to try to keep its control of the people of the land. 

Draven was the Hero who overthrew the oppressors.

Victory glowed as magic ran over his shoulders into his arms, creating swirls of runes over his skin and bolstering his muscles into raw strength. The dagger didn't scratch his skin. It scrapped along like metal before snapping off, deflected by the pure energy of creation rolling through him. The blood of the War God thrummed in his ears. Every new deity needed a sponsor, and War glorified in his strength. 

Draven grabbed the Hero's neck in one hand and lifted.

The smaller man struggled, turning an ugly shade of purple as Draven choked him. He tightened his grip, grinning at the sight of the Hero dancing to stay alive. If ever there was a better time to enjoy the size difference between them - now was it. As if this pathetic thing could defeat him.

"Purple suits you, but it is such a waste that you couldn't see sense," Draven shook his head, scolding the man like a child. 

The Hero struggled more as Draven moved. He dangled the smaller man over the cliff edge. The sky burned red, and the moon laughed as water turned bloody and darkness spread over the borders. Imbalances he'd fix once his blood ran silver, and the Gods acknowledged his being. He didn't want to destroy the lands. He wanted to protect it and let them grow free again.