Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora: XXIII. Blood From His Brow

"What the hell am I doing? These are real monsters."

-Baccus

IV. Embrace, Near The Citadel

Between the opening of the clouds, dim sunlight shone and glazed over Brais Bessarian. He unfurled his blood-soiled fingers, allowing the sword he held in his hand to slip from his grip and clatter against rocks and debris on the ground, leaving the sound of cool steel clanging in his ears. He sighed heavily but he sighed with relief while wiping off blood from his brow. He panted like a dog would, his breath cold, and his eyes a light red. Perched against a small statue of Ares with the head broken off and a hand extended out with the palm facing down over him, Brais lowered his head and faced forward before suddenly shutting his eyes which tired at the skin. He opened his eyes and glanced around again. He felt a chasm of dread entering him the longer he gazed at the capital.

He could see it all from where he sat tiredly, his hand clutched tightly around his belly and his throat parched and tight. He watched pillars of smoke rising tall as castles out in the far distance of Brynhild. Lifeless bodies coated the ground a morbid red, like leaves that have browned and fallen in the autumn season, dead and dry, helpless against the digestion of the earth. Temples, shops, and wealthy estates joined together in the belly of the fire. were destroyed and set ablaze. Homes and statues had crumbled and fallen. 

But, most of all, it was that awful reek of death that only certain noses had become accustomed to that wore him the worst. He could smell it. He smelled it all. The morbid redness in the air which smelled of aged iron. The endless running of smoldering flames and thick palls of smoke. the thick sorrow of the air finding a way into his nose. But as the town unraveled, his face did not. He was stone-faced and stared at the destruction of the capital with a courageous attitude.

Gripping his nose, he shut his eyes solemnly with a myriad of thoughts left unattended in his mind.

Several of the government buildings and homes were nestled in the dancing flames which persisted across the capital. Near the destroyed homes were large silhouette figures who were laid across the citadel and other parts of the famed capital. Though the land was shrouded with meek light, the fires which consumed parts of Brynhild shone luminous gleams bright enough for Brais to capture a glimpse of Deathknights, Shadowbirds, and some humans. He huffed heartily and looked down gloomily. 

Preferring a less skin-chilling sight, he stretched his attention down past the long pavement where his soldiers were gathered with the Rare Man, Alastor. He was speaking in long strokes with his second lieutenant, Amos Mander, nearby a bundle of houses that was drowning in a ravenous fire. He smiled warmly after catching obscure glimpses of some of her alluring features: the swirls and swivels of her hair which fell and dragged down to her shoulders like a wet bush, her warm hazelnut complexion which glimmered in the reflection of the fire, her emerald eyes which pulled like gravity, and her fine feminine form that illuminated the dark of his day like a distant star.

His cheeks steamed red and his fingers rattled nervously. His heartbeat was hilly and his body sizzled. Gazing and gawking at her from the view where he sat, he wondered what they were conversing of. He shook his head and removed his mind from the matter, turning his attention to Mors and Erebus who were both approaching him in long, steady strides. He reared his head towards the clearing of the sky and held out his tongue to embrace some of the last few drizzles of rain while waiting for them to approach; no more than four yards distanced them.

"Those Deathknights..." Brais frowned. "They came like phantoms. We never saw them coming...I thought we had more time." He struck the ground with his fist balled tight, muttering a storm of furious words. Feeling a sharp and painful sensation brewing in his belly, he clutched it tight, his fingers dragging so hard they curled into balls.