Elias knelt on the unforgiving ground, holding the charred remains of King Mark loosely in his arms. His father. The king's armor shook and clanked as Elias sobbed, but he did not hear it. The surrounding trees were still burning, and the falling ash and branches decorated the King's ruined kingdom. Elias' eyes burned with rage. He cried out to the empty gray sky, the helpless heir to the throne.
How did they do this? What granted them such power? God? Elias could not comprehend the destruction that had just ensued in his own castle.
He stood, letting his father roll out of his tired arms. Staring down at King Mark, Elias' body throbbed with emotional agony. He whistled for a horse, for there was nothing in sight, and his palfrey Sal trotted, defeated, back into the clearing that had been created by the Deimos clan. It was a wonder he had survived.
Elias' tears streaked down his face, blackened from battle, and his voice wobbled as he faked bravery and tried to comfort Sal, "our lives have been destroyed by the Deimos, Sal. We must take vengeance on my father's life and rebuild his...My empire."
Sal snorted, in agreeance, Elias hoped. Who am I kidding, he thought, the stupid horse only wishes for food and comfort.
Elias knelt once again and drew out a sword from the scabbard of his King, and thrust it into the ground, an improvised grave site to signify the honour bestowed upon the king's death. Elias made the sign of the cross over the corpse, and jumped up onto Sal, to leave.
He turned back, eyes red with grief and determination, "Farewell, King Mark. My father. I vow to avenge you and the kingdom I have grown to love as my own."
With that, Elias grit his teeth and rode hard after the Deimos, in the wake of their wrath.
He would discover the secret to their strange new power, he would beat it. He prayed softly, in between the laboured breaths of Sal, as he plunged towards night.
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