Forged in Blood

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The crown. I had to get that crown.

Light blasted my vision. A burning sphere of blood-orange and acrid smoke bloomed to my left. I swerved, legs pumping hard as the heat, and soot, and darkenss slammed into me.

I fell against the shattered castle wall. The roars of soldiers, the panicked screams of servants, the distant clash of steel, everything just wove together in a discombobulated, shrill hum. I wanted to let my scream join it.

Forcing one blood-scorn knee under me, I stood, clinging to the tattered remains of an expensive tapestry. It was mother's favourite . . . had been her favourite.

Her body was just like this burned, tattered mess of cloth. Only she was nailed to the doors of my chambers. A bloody immortalisation of her last stand. A gory work of art for her only daughter to marvel over.

The contents of my stomach threatened to spill out my mouth. I clamped my lips shut and hurled myself into a flat sprint.

My side groaned in pain. I caught it, panting to curtail the yell. Blood slicked through my fingers and I wasn't sure if it was mine, or that of the countless bodies I'd torn through to get here.

But, I'd keep going. Crawl if I must, but I'd get that crown.

Up ahead, encased in tendrils of yellow flame, stood the throne room doors. They'd cleaved in bits and now lay flung open to the world.

Yes, I'd expected it. Knew when the servants had screamed that the King was dead, that I'd be confronted with this. The image of a bloodied throne and my father's limp body prone on the marble floor. Yet still my heart screamed in silent grief.

I crossed the threshold of the room. It was a shadow of its former self. It's splendour ruined by blood and fire. Nothing good remained, nothing beautiful.

My toes turned crimson when I reached my father. I knelt to touch his cheek, cold. Tendrils of my raven hair covered our last goodbye. Then I ripped his sword from his fist and spun on the intruder.

I had only one shot.

One blow to right the many wrongs of this night.

The devil clad in black, who held my father's crown with a victorious sneer, did not expect my wrath. He did not expect this gentle maiden to rise a fiery, feral beast. He never had. And that was his fatal mistake.

My blade tore through tendon and bone. The satisfying sound of flesh being skewered and blood choking my enemy filled my heart with lethal calm.

The traitor fell to his knees.

He stared at me in both disbelief and awe as I bent to rip the crown from his clawed hands. I kicked him as I yanked my sword free with a growl.

I smiled then. An elegant, courtly thing as I placed that blood splattered crown upon my head.

All was righted. All was safe.

I had the crown.

*************
Author Note
Word Count: 500
Media - 'Catapult' by 2WEI
2018 WINNER of the #JustWriteDay 24 hour, 500 word prompt - 'Adrenaline Rush'.

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