“Who else is here, old man?”
“Take the girl.”
Growling low in his throat, Er’it forgot all the fanciful words he’d envisioned for this exact moment. Staring into the murky brown gaze of his supposed challenge, the victory that would be honey sweet on his tongue now bitter ash, he felt nothing but abject disgust. Imagining a magnificent battle, his power against the Black Mage, his skill with a sword against them all. To face a grumbling old man too frail to even stand was an insult all its own.
He had planned for something slow, something befitting the man whose exploits were tales told to children to frighten them. Standing before him now, Er’it was offended at how paltry a thing this victory became. Perhaps the Hat’or told him something with this. To return home to the kingdom that was his again, had been for decades now.
To remember what it was to smile and laugh. Find pleasure in something more than the basest of needs.
“Take the O—”
Er’it roared as he unsheathed his sword, the edge as clean and sharp as it began that day. The cut was swift, an arc of blood spraying the wall behind the twitching body of Otaso as he and all of his power fell to the floor. The last of Otaso’s magical reserves flared, skimming over the pooling blood with an iridescent shimmer. A fire sputtering and dying before the bright embers of it could even finish their descent, fading to ash as they met the floor. A quick and bitter end.
Er’it felt no relief as he stared at the other Alpha’s life seeping all over the stone. The burden of revenge, the need to conquer it all remained locked tight around his neck, stifling and hot.
“Majesty,” Ath'asho called, solemn as ever and twice as cautious as he came into the room.
Er’it nodded, unable to turn away from the sight of the old man staring back at him from the other side of death. So many years, so much hatred. For nothing. He still felt empty, hollowed by the effortless triumphs in his name. Just another death at his hands.
“Your Majesty, please come outside. Breathe the air, see the dawn coming. Pray to the Hat’or with me for seeing us through this.”
“Yes, all right.” He felt nothing now, not even gratitude for the Goddesses and their visions. Footsteps heavy, grinding through the pebble strewn dust, Er’it made his way towards Ath'asho. Forcing his spine erect, refusing to allow anyone else to see him so defeated by this lackluster victory.
He’d find a way. A path back to something approaching humanity, something he’d left behind more often than not in his search for a power to rival the next great enemy to lay low. For nothing.
Crisp and clean, it was a breath of spring across fresh snow. Searing into his lungs, driving the residual heat from his limbs. Freezing that core of power within on a shuddering sigh.
“Majesty?”
Indescribable the way it cleared everything before it, the purest sunshine that begged with a sweet smile. Promising bounties any sane man would die for. Filling the hollowness to the point of delicious pain.
“Majesty!”
Er’it didn’t know how he wound up in the main hall or where his steps took him, but he stormed past crowds of shocked faces. Some sooty and burnt, others splashed with sticky crimson, he passed them in a blur. Each stalking stride sure of its purpose, he went down one hall and then the next. Found a staircase where the scent was still faint, but stronger than it was before.
“Er’it! What in the name of—”
Racing down the steps, heedless of the steep incline, Er’it flicked his wrist to call up the light needed to see. Made it brighter when the damp darkness threatened to swallow him, an unnerving watchfulness in the waiting shadows. Barreling down, the scent became stronger. Overwhelming the deeper he went. It left him reeling and somehow more focused, a predator on the trail of spilled blood and a waiting meal.
Not until he saw the leveled floor of rough bricks did he hear it though. Sucking in deep draughts of air to gather more of the alluring fragrance, it surprised him he could. The delicate murmur of it seeming to grow fainter even as he drew closer.
Charging into the dank dungeon, Er’it ignored the calls and clatter of armor behind him. He went down the aisle of iron gates and back, the space filling with people and chatter before he found the source. Er’it would have missed it if not for the light he sent soaring into each cell, certain of his madness as each remained empty.
The small, dark form huddled in the corner was little more than a shadow itself. Curled up so tight, caked with filth, it was a wonder he’d spotted it at all. Drawing closer to the gate, brightening the magical orb, he saw so much more.
Too much sandy skin left bare, the shredded remains of a gown scattered all around her. Thick red welts lining every inch of flesh he could see, her rich brown hair falling in a ratted tangle over her face. Lips reddened and cracked moved with the indistinct sounds of misery that defied all logic and shot straight to his cock. Perhaps it was that delicious smell still that did it. He prayed that it was, because he wanted nothing more than to open the woman’s thighs and feast upon her for days.
“Er’it,” Ath'asho snapped, grabbing Er’it’s shoulder to turn him around.
Losing all sense, Er’it rounded on his friend and general. Shoving the other man to the wall with a vicious roar before changing his mind. Hurling the heavy, armored Alpha towards the milling crowd. Ripping at the torn sleeve of his shirt, tugging the ruined armor free, he presented them all with an Alpha gone insane.
There was no reason for his actions. Sorcery, perhaps, but none that he knew of,
