I really felt like I had to write this one. This is pretty much essential backstory for the next few chapters of Bodyguard. Although this is the holidays, this will not be a happy story. Warning: Gore (at least a bit)

High in the mountains, evening was falling. The young man walked up the steep, icy slope, filled with excitement. The howling, snow-bringing winds could not touch him, such was his anticipation. Today was the end of his apprenticeship, the end of his childhood. Today, he would return to his parents, and demonstrate the control he had gained over his powers. Who knew, maybe there would be a feast, a town celebration!

The young man crested the ridge, so lost in his inner fantasies that he didn't observe the cloud of dark smoke that hung over the next valley.

Here in the mountains, the snow was beginning to fall, and although the man was cold, he was too excited to notice. He decided to run up the last slope, not heeding the ice and precipitous drops that awaited him if he slipped. He reached the peak, and gazed down at his shattered dreams. He slipped and slid his way down the slope, towards his home.

The village was destroyed. The smoldering skeletons of buildings stood like monuments to desolation, all alone but for their fellow buildings. The young man walked through the street as if in a daze, until clarity returned. He sprinted towards the outskirts of the village, passing bodies covered in a light, powdery layer of snow.

"Where are my parents? Where are they where are they WHERE ARE THEY?!"

The young man cried out in increasing desperation as he ran towards the burned-out home that had contained so many memories. His small creation, made of rags and scraps of old metal, lay scorched and silent at the doorstep.

"M-m-marthus…?"

A faint voice emanated from the shadows in the house. The young man dashed inside, searching for the source of the voice. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw blood spattered on the walls and floor, and his father on the floor, his guts spilled on the floor. A pitchfork was clutched in the dead man's hands, with blood on the tines. A lightly armored man lay in the corner, with three puncture wounds in his chest and blood caked on his head. He too, was dead. At least they put up a fight.

"M-marthus is that y-you?"

The young man walked around the corner, leaving the scene of death behind, and entered a bedroom. His mother lay on the floor, bleeding heavily from her side. She struggled to raise her head, and the young man rushed over, frantically running through all the ways he could think of to heal, but the damage was too great. His mother caressed his cheek, leaving a small line of blood.

"My son… You've grown so m-much…"

"Stay still! Save your strength, I can still do some…thing."

The woman laid her head in his lap, and all the strength went out of her. She was gone, her eyes having seen her son for the last time. He wept, for what he had lost, and for what he would never have again.

==O==

Outside, in the snow, two holes were dug. Two bodies were buried. One flower was picked for each, and placed on the graves. More graves were dug, over a dozen. One flower for each and every one.

When the sun set, its dying rays shown down on a set of footprints, leading away from the village. The flowers were covered up quickly, and the graves were buried in the snow.

I tried something a little bit different this time. I hope this gave some more depth to Marthus' character, and who he is. If you enjoyed, leave a review. If you want to find my work on tumblr, my url is .com.