A Different Path

Kharg watched detachedly through distant eyes as the people around him laughed and talked excitedly. He understood that there was much to be happy about; their recent efforts to increase Defence Corpse activity were beginning to come to fruition and that days’ patrol of the area surrounding Yewbell had resulted in them despatching a group of six Drakyr, bringing him a step closer to realising his dream of eradicating the deimos and ensuring that Ragnoth was a safe place for humans to reside in. However, while he managed to smile his practiced smile and join in the conversation when it was required of him, the former prince could not help but feel distracted, preoccupied as he was with an altogether darker desire.

Night had fallen since he and the other members of the Defence Corpse had returned to Yewbell and many of the people gathered at the Inn were now happily intoxicated. Kharg estimated that he had dutifully taken his place among them for a good few hours now and decided that enough time had elapsed to allow him to leave without raising people’s concerns.

It had been just over a month since Lady Nafia’s demise and while he felt he had managed to remain strong and provide his people with the support and comfort they needed during this dark time, he knew they would naturally be concerned for him and too much time spent in solitude was sure to raise their suspicions. This was something he could not abide; his people needed to see him as their rock, someone they could rely on despite any tragedy that may befall them and this meant his continued presence among them was required no matter how broken and empty he felt.

Smiling broadly and informing the people gathered around him that it had been a long day, he was tired and eager to rid himself of his battle-bloodied clothes, the blond said his goodbyes and got to his feet with the intention of making his exit. However, as he moved in the direction of the door someone took a firm grip on his arm, halting any further progress. Turning, Kharg found himself looking up into Duncan’s face, the older male’s eyes glassy from inebriation.

‘Kharg,’ the man spoke, his words slightly slurred, ‘You have no idea how much we appreciate what you’re doing for us. You’ve turned out to be exactly the kind of leader your mother would have wanted you to be. Lady Nafia would be so proud of you.’

Duncan’s words affected the former prince as though he had taken a blow to the face, the sound of his mother’s name intensifying the sharp ache inside him that refused to fade.

‘Thanks,’ he forced out through gritted teeth, his lips composed into an empty smile that failed to illuminate the dark void behind his eyes, ‘enjoy the rest of the night, Duncan.’

Pulling his arm away with a little more force than he had originally intended to use, the blond man moved swiftly in the direction of the door before heading out into the night-darkened streets.

*******

Kharg drew in a deep, steadying breath as the cool night air hit his face, taking a moment to fight back the multitude of turbulent emotions that continued to battle within him. Dark images rolled unbidden through his mind; the bright crimson of his mother’s blood against the brilliant whiteness of the snow, the monstrous, gaping wound that ran the length of her throat, her rapidly cooling body as she lay dead and lifeless in his arms. The deimos had taken so much from him, his mentor and farther figure, the love and guidance of his mother and any chance he had at discovering anything about his biological father.

As these bitter thoughts washed over him, the dark fire of hate flared brightly behind his eyes, jaw setting in grim determination as he began to make his way towards his house. His mind was set so firmly on his goal, the one thing that kept him going despite the waves of fierce emotion that continuously threatened to overtake him, that he failed to notice the sound of footfalls steadily gaining ground behind him.

It was not until a hand fell lightly on his shoulder that he realised he was not alone. Whirling round, the look of unchecked fury still etched across his visage, the blond came face-to-face with the startled countenance of his childhood friend.

‘I’m...I’m sorry I...I didn’t mean to creep up on you,’ the girl stuttered, her dark eyes worriedly searching his face.

‘...No. I’m sorry, Paulette,’ Kharg responded at length, making a concerted effort to regain control of the darkness that was mounting within him whilst throwing the red-head a vacant smile, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she replied, eyes never leaving the blond’s face, ‘I...I just wanted to make sure you were ok.’

‘I’m fine,’ he attempted to laugh dismissively, not realising how hollow and forced it sounded ‘I’m just really tired, it’s been a long day.’

Paulette watched him apprehensively for a moment, clearly torn between speaking her mind and letting the subject drop. As someone who knew Kharg well, it was all too obvious to her that things were still far from ok.

‘Kharg...’ the girl began, taking a deep breath before plunging on, ‘I know you’re not going home to rest.’

‘What’re you talking about?’ Kharg queried, the empty smile still frozen on his face despite the noticeable tensing of his muscles that his friend’s statement caused.

‘It’s...it’s that thing!’ the red-head cried, suddenly unable to contain herself, ‘ever since you brought it here you...Kharg, I understand how much you hate the deimos, they killed my father too, but keeping that Drakyr or whatever it is around so you can...can’t you just kill it and have done with it? Protecting your people is one thing, but it’s not healthy to spend so much time torturing another living thing. What would Lady Nafia say?’

‘Paulette, my mother can’t say anything, the Drakyr destroyed her ability to guide me when they took her life. This is my business and I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of it,’ the former prince retorted, the sudden dip in his voice sounding far more threatening than any level of shouting could have done.

‘Kharg, please,’ the girl continued, adopting a somewhat calmer tone, ‘I’m just concerned for you. Wont you let me...’

‘I’m going home,’ the blond cut her off sharply, ‘I suggest you do the same.’

Without another word, Kharg turned swiftly on his heel and continued walking in the direction of his house, leaving his bemused friend staring mournfully after him.

******
The roar of unwanted thoughts inside Kharg’s head had ascended to deafening levels by the time he stepped inside the house. Whilst a part of him recognised that Paulette was correct, what he was doing could hardly be classed as right or just, the louder, more dominant thought within him was that these sentiments only applied to humans; deimos were baser than animals and deserved nothing less than to feel the extent of his wrath.

Besides, ever since his mother’s brutal slaying he had been filled with a yawning chasm of darkness that could only be alleviated by one thing, albeit temporarily. Each time his blade pierced deimos flesh he felt the crushing weight of the emptiness inside him lift, each grimace of pain he saw etched across their monstrous faces giving him the strength he needed to carry on.

Kharg moved swiftly through the house whilst these thoughts clamoured through his mind, coming to a stop only when he reached the door that led into the cellar. A dark thrill of anticipation ran the length of his spine as he slid the key from his pocket and into the lock, pausing briefly to lift the slim rattan cane that was propped against the wall; Duncan’s words had stoked the fire of his hatred and he was now in desperate need of a release.

Descending the steps, the former prince reached the second door and pushed it open with a resounding crash, his pulse-rate quickening as the first intense waves of anger began to flood through him. It was a moment before his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, the light from the stairway casting only scant illumination into the damp stone room. Gradually, the vague outline slumped against the far wall began to solidify into a more definite shape and he was able to discern the form of the deimos, it’s back pressed up against the stone behind it and its’ knees drawn up to its’ chest.

Kharg stood contemplating his captive, Paulette’s concerned words still fresh in his mind. He knew she was right, he ought to have killed it long before now, yet despite this knowledge there was something unnameable preventing him from doing so. He had tried to rationalise his desire to keep it alive with thoughts of the missing half of the Wind Stone. One of the scant pieces of information his mother had let slip concerning his father was that the two of them had divided the stone, each keeping half, yet somehow this deimos had come to possess it. He could not shake off the thought that it must know something about his father’s death and it filled him fury that he could not wrench the knowledge from the creature’s lips.

There was also the matter of the birthmark on the deimos’ arm, identical to the former princes’ own, and the disconcerting sense of familiarity he felt when he looked into its face. For reasons he was unable to comprehend, these details only served to fuel his anger; each time his gaze fell upon its’ features he was filled with abhorrence and an inexplicable feeling of dread that went beyond his loathing of the species as a whole, something which simultaneously repelled yet intrigued him.

Dark eyes narrowing as he attempted to shake off these unsettling thoughts, Kharg strode purposefully towards the motionless figure. The deimos remained still, failing to look up or acknowledge the blond’s presence despite the fact that it was no doubt aware of his proximity. This served only to cause the fierce waves of hatred to crest inside Kharg’s body; he wanted a reaction, he wanted the creature’s fear to wash over him and eradicate his pain.

‘Filthy deimos bastard! Look at me!’ Kharg snarled, kicking his captive fiercely in the side.

The deimos emitted a low growl as the former prince’s foot connected sharply with its’ flesh, its’ ruby eyes fixing on the blond’s face with a look of concentrated hatred. Kharg’s lips curled upwards in an expression of rage, the audacity of the Drakyr causing his own intense loathing to surge through him and he found he was no longer able to contain it.

With a roar of anger, the former prince grabbed the deimos roughly by its’ throat, its’ back scraping harshly against the wall as he dragged it to its feet. Its’ left hand immediately flew upwards and wrapped around Kharg’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grasp, its’ razor-sharp claws digging firmly into the blond male’s flesh.

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ Kharg cried, eyes blazing with fury as he pulled sharply away from it.

The former prince glanced down at his wrist, the bright crimson drops of blood welling up through his broken flesh only causing his vehemence to increase. Gritting his teeth, he drew back his fist before bringing it crashing down into the Drakyr’s face, a dark smile of satisfaction curling his lips as his captive grunted in pain.

‘You’re going to regret that,’ he sneered, reaching down to retrieve the rattan cane from where it had dropped to the ground.

The deimos’ eyes visibly widened with understanding as they alighted on the cane in Kharg’s hand and, with a vicious snarl, it swiftly pushed away from the wall before hurling itself at the other male. The deimos was fast, but the former prince anticipated its’ move with uncanny accuracy, darting quickly to the side before it had the chance to crash into him. Kharg grabbed the chain attached to its’ collar as it passed him, yanking it fiercely back towards him before spinning the creature around and slamming it face-first against the wall.

Twisting his hand into the deimos’ hair, the former prince roughly snapped its’ head back, a thrill of some dark and unnameable emotion rushing through him as it growled in pain. With slow deliberation he brought his lips close enough to its’ ear that it could feel the heat of his breath against its’ skin

‘You should know by now that the more you struggle, the worse this is going to be for you,’ Kharg murmured darkly.

In one fluid motion, the blond released his hold on the Drakyr’s hair and forced his hand firmly between the savage-looking scars that were all that remained of its’ wings, effectively pinning it to the wall. It began to struggle and shout something incoherent in its’ primitive language just as the former prince brought the supple cane snapping down across its’ already-lacerated flesh. He felt something inexplicably close to pleasure mixing with the darkness of his anger as he watched the rattan cut fierce red lines into his captive’s skin.

As Kharg increased the intensity of the lashes and the cane broke through the damaged surface of the deimos’ flesh, bright drops of sanguine blood began to run the length of its’ ravaged back. A grim smile of gratification lit the former prince’s face as fierce cries of pain were finally wrenched from the creature’s throat, each one flooding through him as though they were beams of light illuminating the darkness that resided within him. Through witnessing the agony of a member of the species he held responsible for the desolation of his world, Kharg was able to experience a lessening of the crushing grief that pierced through him as acutely as the blade of a knife.

Finally, he allowed the cane to drop to the ground, his breath coming out in ragged gasps with the intensity of his exertions. He swiftly removed his hand from the deimos’ back and shoved it roughly to the floor.

With a malign sneer contorting his usually composed and vacant face, the blond knelt down beside his captive and took a firm hold of its’ jaw, his fingers digging mercilessly into the deimos’ flesh as he jerked its’ head upwards.

‘Regret it now, don’t you, you worthless piece of shit,’ Kharg snarled, their faces so close they were almost touching.

The deimos’ lip curled up in what looked like disgust and, before the former prince had a chance to react, it spat full in his face. The blond quickly recoiled in abhorrence, releasing his grip on the Drakyr’s jaw in order to wipe his hand across his features. With a furious roar, the deimos sprang forward, knocking the distracted prince to the floor. Within moments it was straddling him, one arm pinned beneath its’ leg as it brought its fist crashing down with ferocious force into Kharg’s face.

The blond was momentarily stunned as the blinding fulmination of pain caused by the deimos’ blow tore through him, temporarily slowing him down. However, as it drew back it’s scaled hand in order to unleash a second strike, Kharg’s awareness came flooding back to him, his own hand shooting out and grabbing a fistful of the deimos’ hair. Snapping his arm backwards, the former prince brought his captive’s head smashing down onto the cold stone ground, giving him time to roll its’ dazed body away from him and jump to his feet before it recovered from the blow.

Snarling, the other male leaped up after him and lashed out fiercely with its’ left hand, its’ claws drawing an agonised cry from the former prince as they sliced through the material of his shirt and into the skin beneath. As his opponent made to draw back its’ arm a second time, Kharg shoved it fiercely in the chest, sending it sprawling backwards across the floor.

He swiftly followed the creature down and, flipping it onto its’ front, placed his knee firmly in the small of its’ blood-smeared back. Dark eyes lit from behind with the intense light of loathing, Kharg wrapped one hand around its’ horn before smashing its’ face repeatedly against the ground until he felt its’ muscles soften beneath him.

The fury that filled the former prince in that moment was so intense he was almost blinded, the hatred he felt for the deimos race burning through his veins with the deadly ferocity of wildfire. He wanted nothing more than to see his captive’s spirit broken, to look into its’ face and see that he had wiped out the spark of defiant rage he’d noticed every time it looked at him.

There were no concrete thoughts running through Kharg’s mind as he stepped away from the groaning body of the deimos, only emotions so intense that he was powerless to control them. As he hurriedly undid the clasps of his belt and allowed his shorts to drop to the floor, he felt as though he was being consumed from the inside out by rage and hatred combined with an overwhelming need to dominate the Drakyr in front of him; it was this need for power and retribution that drove the actions that followed.

The deimos grunted in half-hearted protest but put up no further resistance as he took it firmly by the horn and dragged it across the ground. Pulling it roughly to its’ feet, Kharg shoved his captive up against the wall. It merely groaned dazedly, clearly unaware of what the former prince was about to do as he spat into the palm of his hand before rubbing it over the erect length of his cock. Hitching up the deimos’ skirt with one hand, Kharg forced it’s legs apart with his foot, the rough push of his erection meeting with the resistance of clenched muscles that were unprepared for the invasion to come.

Dark thrills rushed through the former prince as his eyes grazed the flushed flesh of his cock pressed tight against his captive’s hole, the emotions that filled him pushing beyond the boundaries of hatred; vengeance and desire bound together to create something so much darker than the sum of their parts. His lips curled upwards in a sneer of victory as the deimos cried out and began to struggle beneath him, unsure whether the note of panic he detected in its voice was imagined or real, but the notion that his actions were provoking fear drove him onwards nonetheless.

Grunting with effort, Kharg forced his way inside the deimos with one fierce thrust, barely feeling the taut hotness of its’ body as the scream that was ripped from its’ throat washed over him. Ignoring its’ useless attempts to fight him off, weakened as it was from their earlier battle combined with the beatings it was constantly subjected to, the blond began to snap his hips hard and fast, one hand clutching the deimos’ waist hard enough to bruise while the other slid mercilessly across the broken flesh of its back.

The sound of the Drakyr’s breath catching sharply in its’ throat sent shivers of something like pleasure rolling through Kharg’s body as his fierce exertions ruthlessly tore the creature’s insides, the warm rush of blood smoothing the former prince’s passage. He quickly lost himself in the rhythm of his rocking hips, the blazing darkness of his emotions combined with the pain and humiliation that radiated from deimos obliterating the blood-drenched images that haunted him.

As he continued to grind into his captive with all the force at his disposal, a desolate groan escaped from its’ lips and its’ legs buckled underneath it. An expression of vague irritation passed across Kharg’s face as he quickly pulled out, allowing the deimos to drop heavily to the ground. Without allowing it a moment’s reprieve, the blond swiftly fell to his knees and, wrapping one arm firmly around its’ narrow waist, he dragged the other male’s hips up towards him. With one solid push he was back inside it, the strangled cry it emitted as he slammed into it filling him with malefic satisfaction.

On every outwards stroke, the blond withdrew completely before pulling the deimos sharply towards him to meet the peak of each fierce thrust, dark eyes glittering brightly with the tumultuous emotions that burned behind them as he watched his cock slide in and out of his captive’s battered body. Tightening his hold on its’ damaged flesh, he ground his hips mercilessly forward, feeling the creature open up beneath him with each savage stoke. Kharg’s movements gradually increased in speed and urgency as the waves of vengeful desire spread through him, driving into it right to the hilt and forcing its’ breath from its’ body.

Finally, as his inimical ardour reached a blinding crescendo inside him, the former prince had just enough time to withdraw before the bright arc of his come shot out and spattered across the deimos’ ravaged back. As the waves of dark passion that had previously filled him began to fade, he pushed his captive fiercely away from him and watched it slump brokenly across the cold, stone ground. With the crushing emptiness that pervaded him momentarily dispersed, Kharg turned away from the limp body of the deimos with a dismissive sneer and reached for his discarded shorts.

As he hurriedly dragged on his clothes, the former prince listened to the broken, staggered breathing of the creature lying on the ground behind him. Refastening the buckles of his belt, he quickly turned back towards his captive with a look of undisguised irritation painted across his face, fully intending to cause it further harm in an effort to shut it up. However, as his dark eyes fell on the figure at his feet a sudden flash of horror struck him like a slap across the face. The deimos had moved onto its’ side and was now curled pitifully in on itself, its’ skirt still hitched up around it’s waist and its’ jaw clenched tight in a clear effort to force back the pain it was no doubt suffering.

For one brief moment, Kharg’s mind cleared and was filled with an intense loathing for what he had done; surely no living thing deserved the constant abuse and debasement he had inflicted on this creature. Almost as soon as these thoughts formulated in his mind they were gone again, Kharg quickly shaking them off with the reminder that such sentiments did not apply to deimos, they were nothing but monsters and therefore deserving only of hatred and scorn. Lips curling upwards in a vicious snarl, the blond quickly advanced on the motionless body of the Drakyr.

‘Disgusting monster!’ Kharg spat, delivering one fierce kick to the deimos’ side before turning swiftly on his heal and exiting the cellar without a backwards glance.

********

Later that night, Kharg stood staring into the bathroom mirror, intently studying the reflected image he saw there. A sickening feeling of dread began to seep through him as he realised he barely recognised himself anymore; the dark circles beneath his eyes were as intense as bruises and his vacuous gaze would not have gone amiss on the face of a dead man. Shaking his head in attempt to rid himself of these disturbing thoughts, he desperately tried to remind himself of who he was and what was driving him onwards.

He had made a pledge to protect his people, to ensure that they could live a life free from the horror and emptiness that he was now cursed with. He needed to keep going for them, no matter how broken and desolate he felt; his mother had taught him that the needs of others must always come first and he was not about to break the habit of a lifetime, he would not let them down. Yet even as these words formed in his mind, he thought back to what Paulette had said earlier in the evening:

‘Protecting your people is one thing, but it’s not healthy to spend so much time torturing another living thing. What would Lady Nafia say?’

A small voice deep inside him insidiously whispered that his actions had been twisted and wrong, that nothing deserved the kind of abuse he was inflicting on his captive. Had his mother not taught him that even deimos had the right to live and violence should only ever be used as a last resort? Yet she had imparted these words to him before she had been mindlessly slain without provocation at the hands of the Drakyr, surely this rendered her sentiments void? Kharg quickly raised his hands to his head and pressed his fingers fiercely against his temples, desperately trying to quell the confusion the roiled within him. The deimos had destroyed the people he loved and robbed him of his sense of self, they brutally murdered humans every day; for this they surely deserved to be eliminated and no amount of torture could be enough to rectify what they had done to him.

With a furious cry, Kharg pulled back his fist and launched it at the reflection of his face, watching as the glass shattered and the image became fragmented and broken. He swiftly turned away, heading towards the bedroom with the bearing of a somnambulist, not even noticing the blood that dripped from his lacerated hand.