The ground beneath him was cold.
Fingers twitched as Laeken slowly came to, eyes rolling open slowly. Long lashes thick with blood and old mascara sent dark, dry flakes onto his bruised cheeks as they fluttered in the youth’s attempt to further pull himself into reality. His vision was blurry; all he could see was darkness. But as he continued to come to, he managed to roll onto his back - a decision he regretted as he cried out when his open injuries met with the harsh conditions of the ground beneath him.
Tears blurred his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away. Craning his neck he could…see stars. A night sky; somewhat hazy from the incredible plume of thick, black smoke that continued to rise up from what appeared to be a small, innocent dwelling in the middle of a thick forest. The nightmares it held would forever be nothing more than ash now, cast down by the hellfire created by his own hand.
Laeken propped himself onto one elbow, staring across the clearing at the fire that still continued to rage and burn. Crackling and sparks were all that could be heard now; when had the screams stopped? How long had he been out here? Haunting eyes slowly lowered to the ground, following the burned path left in the demon’s wake. Everything that black ooze had touched seemed to have eaten away at the dirt and foliage. Pushing himself up more to sit, he winced, but looked around. At some point, it seemed the demon had vanished once fulfilling its command. All that Laeken had demanded of it was to help free him from that prison, to carry him away from the Hell he had made; it was no surprise that it had been summoned back to the void from where it came once the need had been met.
A deep, shaky exhale fell past parted lips. His mouth was busted and bruised, cuts decorated with dried blood. His hair was an atrocious mess; the jewels on the gold cuffs permanently wrapped around his wrists fractured and broken. He was missing a fair amount of jewelry, if not all of it, and he was in no state of shock to find his body almost completely naked.
Lacerations from whipping littered his already scarred back, including down his thighs and calves. Rope burns still glistened around his arms and ankles and his neck showed bruises in the form of where wicked fingers had choked him. His hips ached; every muscle in his being was sore, from everything he had been through - including the sheer amount of power he had used.
He felt tired; he felt drained.
There was no one he could summon. Nowhere he could go. Who would he even call for, where would he try to drag himself?
The first made him laugh, collapsing back to the ground as he covered his face partially with one blood-stained hand. When had he ever heard his little apprentice’s calls before? His prayers? Felt his heart being bled out and begging for mercy, for his master to rescue him from being forced to kneel before another and his lips to part to accept the gracious offerings of his assailant?
Vyn’athas would never come. He would never. He never came before.
Farwyn… No. The man had saved his battered body once before. Laeken couldn’t bear the thought of having to face him again, after trying to convince them both that he was strong and that he could protect himself.
A tear finally fell across the bridge of his nose, to drip to the ground as he remained laying on his side. How foolish… Could he even face that man, one whom thought so highly of him, in such a devastated and destroyed state? On the other hand… Perhaps he would be proud of him? Even if Laeken had only made it so far, at least he had…
…managed to rescue himself. He took control. He preserved his own life.
The ground beneath him rumbled and the trees suddenly swayed as an explosion from deep underground rattled the earth. Laeken’s ears shot upright to either side of his face and he drew in a breath, bracing himself as he tried to push himself up onto his bloodied knees. The fire was still strong and still destroying the catacombs below, with no signs of burning out soon; it wasn’t safe, even right here where he laid.
No, he would call for no one. He could figure out a way to heal himself, if he could manage to recover from the expense of his destruction. He could figure out a way to get back home, if he could manage to last long enough to get his bearings. Where he was was still lost to him, the trees an unfamiliar sight but the darkness and depths of the woods didn’t frighten him.
Bare feet slid along sticks and dirt, dead leaves and grass. He clung to the trunks of trees as he stepped slowly, his body screaming at him to become still and simply lay back down. But he had to move, he had to keep going. He couldn’t stop - he couldn’t fall, he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in his pain any more.
Even if he had no strength left, no reservoir of power to tap into, he was stronger than he was before - for no one else but himself and him alone.
((mentions of @vynathasfelstorm @kendoranel @lainduskhollow))
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
discoholicmusic
annaxmalina
