Blood is my comrade. Soaring through the skin of my enemies to meet my
tranquil metal. It is a gentle entity, completely at the mercy of the
barrier of skin that holds it. That is why my sword and I have decided to
free those crying for release. That is my purpose for being in this world,
my reason for breathing.
Life is my victim. I have torn it from bodies still clinging...still hoping. There is no hope, only salvation for those trapped. Trapped in barricades of human flesh and bone. I have seen this and heard pleas for mercy as I attempted to free those enslaved. Pleas that somehow haunt my every waking moment. Every captive I liberate brings more screams, more memories. That is the price I pay.
The regret is my prison. The pain, the sorrow. This is what traps me, what holds me down when I bother to sleep. It drowns me, making me gulp for air when I wake. I swim in my dreams, swim with no purpose, in an endless sea of that which I liberated. I swim to the ends of the world, reaching the base of a mountain. The mountain is gargantuan and surrounded by a grassy field. I approach it slowly, fearing the ominous presence of it all. Then, I climb. I climb without stopping until I reach the top and it is at the summit that I collapse, suddenly weary. I look down and everything transforms. The broken bodies of those I have stolen life from appear and compose the mountain. Those who I have stolen blood from are spreading, drained from the mountain. Flesh killing the luscious greens of the field, replacing it with decay. And suddenly, I feel as if the very gods themselves are laughing. Laughing at the weary king upon a mountain of bone in a field of rotting flesh. And I, the lead role in this twisted play, am laughing, sobbing and quivering upon the mountain of the dead. Thunder roars in the distance and I see my sword, the sword that I have used to carve a path of freedom, and it's...drowning. I dive from my mountain to save it, and as my body hits the sea my mind blanks and I awake, gasping, tears in my eyes and gulping the air greedily.
Killing is my reprieve. My blade, covered in red, entrances me. Sometimes I can taste it. Yes...sweet and salty at the same time, sticky almost to the point of annoyance, clinging to my clothes, screaming in joy. I was once lost in the sweet tangy scent of it all, the taste, the touch. Everything assaulted my delicate senses. The sight. The scent. The screams. The taste. The feel of it all. My own blood was shrieking for alleviation. My sword gladly obliged, tearing through artery and vein blindly. And for a moment, I was free, free from the screams and dreams, from the duty I passively accepted.
But the gods are not so easily escaped, it seems. For I awoke sometime later, wounds bandaged, in a hut. I feigned sleep until I was sure no one was in the room and escaped, retrieving my sword in the field and running. Running as far as I could go, collapsing and laughing.
Life is my enemy. It binds me to this world, to this stained role. And I have learned that there is no escape, as my life is not meant to end. I am destined to travel this road of crimson regret...forever.
Life is my victim. I have torn it from bodies still clinging...still hoping. There is no hope, only salvation for those trapped. Trapped in barricades of human flesh and bone. I have seen this and heard pleas for mercy as I attempted to free those enslaved. Pleas that somehow haunt my every waking moment. Every captive I liberate brings more screams, more memories. That is the price I pay.
The regret is my prison. The pain, the sorrow. This is what traps me, what holds me down when I bother to sleep. It drowns me, making me gulp for air when I wake. I swim in my dreams, swim with no purpose, in an endless sea of that which I liberated. I swim to the ends of the world, reaching the base of a mountain. The mountain is gargantuan and surrounded by a grassy field. I approach it slowly, fearing the ominous presence of it all. Then, I climb. I climb without stopping until I reach the top and it is at the summit that I collapse, suddenly weary. I look down and everything transforms. The broken bodies of those I have stolen life from appear and compose the mountain. Those who I have stolen blood from are spreading, drained from the mountain. Flesh killing the luscious greens of the field, replacing it with decay. And suddenly, I feel as if the very gods themselves are laughing. Laughing at the weary king upon a mountain of bone in a field of rotting flesh. And I, the lead role in this twisted play, am laughing, sobbing and quivering upon the mountain of the dead. Thunder roars in the distance and I see my sword, the sword that I have used to carve a path of freedom, and it's...drowning. I dive from my mountain to save it, and as my body hits the sea my mind blanks and I awake, gasping, tears in my eyes and gulping the air greedily.
Killing is my reprieve. My blade, covered in red, entrances me. Sometimes I can taste it. Yes...sweet and salty at the same time, sticky almost to the point of annoyance, clinging to my clothes, screaming in joy. I was once lost in the sweet tangy scent of it all, the taste, the touch. Everything assaulted my delicate senses. The sight. The scent. The screams. The taste. The feel of it all. My own blood was shrieking for alleviation. My sword gladly obliged, tearing through artery and vein blindly. And for a moment, I was free, free from the screams and dreams, from the duty I passively accepted.
But the gods are not so easily escaped, it seems. For I awoke sometime later, wounds bandaged, in a hut. I feigned sleep until I was sure no one was in the room and escaped, retrieving my sword in the field and running. Running as far as I could go, collapsing and laughing.
Life is my enemy. It binds me to this world, to this stained role. And I have learned that there is no escape, as my life is not meant to end. I am destined to travel this road of crimson regret...forever.