Grimmingfall
The blood of the innocent poured over the slabs of stone. The horses of the riveted draugar soldiers reared to the screams of women, men, and children. A malicious heat set ablaze the streets. But a witch let fire rain down upon the city. It blocked the paths the draugar aimed to take and brought a halt to their advance.
The draugar feared being burnt alive after the lord had them revived. The creatures that on terror thrived, left their horses behind and into the grainy soil dived. With broad strokes, the soil submitted to their insurmountable force. From below, they waited for the vibrations of the deviants to show. The mercenaries and their four horses galloped quick, after which they lunged their hands out of the ground, barren of flesh and grayed by time. They hoped to catch the offenders, but the soil was too thick. The time it took was too long, for even one hand or mouth to grab or stab one of the four bewitched riders.
Yet, in numbers, they hoped for success, pierced the ground, like a spider’s fangs penetrating the husk of some pestilence. The draugar wanted to dissolve the prey’s innards and watch it suffer, for breaking its web of family and friends. But they couldn’t seem to catch the perpetrators. The witch let a stream of roaring heat burn into homes and flesh, along one side of the road to the black castle. There lay the real lord of death.
During those moments, a child, not over the age that bears two symbols, saw the black-haired witch galloping forward. She held a piece of parchment in hand, with fire bursting out of the other. The child’s steps grew wary. He wanted to pounce at the right moment with innocence fueling his most tender and malleable heart. His hands tightened around the grip of his wooden sword. His purpose became not of playing with his sister but defending her until his last breath. The little girl could raise her head over the wooden boxes she hid behind. Her brother was there, with the sword in hand, protecting her. She wanted to smile, for he was the best big brother she ever had. But from around the corner, the flames came, like hungry beasts, biting at her brothers’ innocent and pure flesh, melting the brave boys face. He tried to loosen their hot fangs as he clung to life, as best a child could, but the fire wouldn’t stop biting the older brother. It kept on taking one bite after another. His lovely little face did not reminisce that of a human any longer. His little sister shook like a kettle about to rupture, as she heard the roaring flames refuse to release her brother from their capture. Her brother was on the floor, with hands concealing his eyes, begging for the fire to go away. She ran to her sibling, who despite his age tried to negotiate with flame, asking for it to please let him go. The little girl stumbled over to her brother with small steps, trying to save her dearest friend and ‘bestest’ brother.
She tried to pat the fire away, but it was too hot for her little hands to bare. She didn’t know how to save him. She waved her hands against the smoke and flame, trying to make the fire go away. She wanted it to let her brother go. And so, the little girl had to watch, as her kind brother gave up fighting the fire along with her. She lost hope. The boys’ hands dropped, and the fire kept on consuming his clothes and skin, for the boy gave in. The little girl grew frustrated, not knowing her dearest brother was no longer with her. The boy who called her the little princess he must protect because mommy said so, could no longer defend her from the monster in the cellar. The little girl who felt lost in front of her brave soldier boy began screaming for their mother. Who else would tell brother to come with her, but mommy? The fire began creeping out from the corners and crawling along the walls of the houses that had set alight. The little girl began stomping her feet, with sobs and tears running down her cheeks. She couldn’t understand why her brother wouldn’t wake up. He was just lying there, not playing with her. Not even his sword could escape the monster. His face, she could not see, but she wanted him back. She thought the monster made of light turned him black. She tried waking him up, thinking he was playing a trick on her. But he didn’t respond, which left her confused, searching for the voice she could not hear and the hugs her brother could longer bear. The fire did not relent; it wanted to take her too. That was when one of the dark lords soldiers rode through. An undead nightmare, man as draugar reborn, rushing through fire and smoke, having heard parents screaming in agony. A mothers cry for her sweet babies. With one quick grab, its bony hands caught the little girl and rescued from further harm. But the little girl wanted to run back, as she let her tiny hands reach out for her sibling. She wanted to stay. Stay with her older brother.
The four mercenaries sent to kill the lord approached the fortress gates, as the dark lord watched his servant girl, Orifia, stroke her belly in comforting circles of loving warmth. Orifia was an orphan the lord felt obligated to care for, when her parents both fell ill, during a plague that corrupted their bodies in a flurry of sore limbs and an existence where the illness kept on pushing boundaries set. It was abysmal. In no way shape or form did the lord have the time or energy to save near millions of people withering away in their mold-ridden beds, where learned healers couldn’t even keep up with the ever-increasing numbers of the dying. The Lord promised to protect this girl and all other people that hadn’t caught the disease. He kept this withheld this secret information from her and others alike, for having a tender heart seemed to be a weakness, others sought to exploit. Every time he showed even the slightest care for anyone, they would disappear eventually. Orifia and the lord took a slow-paced walk through the hallways together, enjoying each other’s company. The walls rippled like water and shimmered like a puddle of a dense black oil, set in motion by tiny vibrations. Orifia couldn’t help but touch the ever-moving bricks from which we built this fortress. It was as hard as a rock, but she could feel the surface moving as she let her palms and fingers glide over the shiny stones. The lord never saw her any different, still had the innocent curiosity in her eyes when she was a little girl. The lord never thought a smile as soft as hers, could let a forest of life spread its roots through the barren lands that were his heart. What he used to adore about her, was that she never complained. Not once. Never. She could not see his face, but he couldn’t help but smile, just looking at what was once the sweet little girl. They took calm breaths, as the humid, floral and earthy scent came rushing through the large and wide-open lancet windows. The sun was high that day, letting its warmth coat them whilst they let their step guide them through the castle. Orifia tossed her head up at the lord and spoke with a soft voice,
“My lord, you keep looking at what is soon to be my sweet child. Are you still angry at me? I am sorry, I keep on telling you...”
“It is all right, Orifia. I have forgiven you already. I just aimed at protecting you...” the dark lord said. His tone had a roughness, that made the little hairs in one’s ear tingle, yet also an underlying softness. His eyes glowed in a timid gold. He eyed the young woman with fatherly tenderness. Yet, sweet Orifia had another apology looming on her face. The same face that made her admit to her guilt all the times before.
“It was my fault. I sneaked out to find him. Please don’t punish him. He loves me so dearly. He already loves our child, as if it already laid in the crib, laying his ears on my skin, just to hear it,” Orifia said, letting her bottom lip swell ever so slightly. She inched closer toward the lord and embraced him with a child-like love for the man who took her into his care. A hug that the dark lord reluctantly returned, stroking her back with his armored gloves.
“The two of you are not at fault. I will not punish either of you. I should have never told you to stay inside the castle amongst your fellow servants and slaves. I just don’t want you to get killed... like so many have...” the dark lord said, keeping her in his arms, like a little bird he found with broken wings he must mend.
She borrowed her head into his chest and began to sway from side to side, like a gentle pendulum. A calming motion that gave both of them hope. They lingered on the same spot for quite some time, not letting their embrace lose its caring grip. It gave the lord a rest. Rest he could not find in sleep.
“My lord?” Orifia said. She didn’t want to frighten the lord, so she whispered, as her voice muffled in his clothes.
“Yes, Orifia? What is wrong, little one?” the dark lord said. He felt that his little bird felt some danger lurking beneath the nest. He raised her delicate chin and saw her grand eyes say something of fear. She could see the golden rings of fire, hidden beneath his helmet. Intimidating eyes with something pure within.
“I can not understand why most of the other realms are so fond of harming your kingdom. The gravestones have increased by a thousand in the last month alone. Grimmingfall is no longer safe. I am afraid for the well-being of my loved ones. And... you... you have been a good parent of mine... given... everything...” Orifia said. Her eyes welled up, as she remembered the kind souls that were her parents. Two looming figures that granted her great strength to endure, but also a great yearning to have a family of her own. A family that might never see their kin survive, if they remained put. Her large eyes only made it harder for him to look away. The words she uttered made him lose faith in himself. Losing himself in her fright, he had to toss his gaze aside. He knelt in front of her, laying his hand on her heavily pregnant stomach.
“Do you know that your child will be a girl?” the dark lord said. She smiled at him and shook her head with excitement. “I will protect all three of you. I won’t let their insurgents take you away. And who would have the heart to harm you, if I can not even think of hurting you?”
“That is because you are a kind man. A good man. You try to deny it. Try to hide it. But I see it in you.” Orifia said, kneeling with great struggle, feeling her knees weaken and burn. But the dark lord could not allow her fully kneel. Instead, he stood himself up and pulled her back to her feet along with him. She laid her hands on his shoulders. “I truly believe you will protect us simple people. You always have. That makes you good. I have hope in you...”
“I have done too much wrong. It is you, with the goodness in your heart that sees the good in me. People like you do that. They see purity where there is none. See kindness where there is madness...” the Lord told her, as she let her hands slip down to his chest. She left one hand flat on his heart, letting its pulse channel through to her.
“How did you know I would have a daughter?” she asked, moving both her hands to her stomach. “The Embera arrangements. The magic that shows me what lays in your womb.” The lord said.
“What does that mean?” Orifia said.
“It is the most dangerous iteration of magic. If you discovered the signs for every spell cast, you must imagine them in your mind or document them on paper and focus on them. But they are exceedingly complex. Imagine a simple circle... And within it, you can draw any symbol you please. Look. Castle, show her...” The lord said.
The walls shifted, pushing the ominous stones outward, changing their faces into partially white lines, forming a circle on the wall. A symbol of overwhelming complexity emerged. It was like a painting, just that it comprised immaculately precise lines. It was the symbol of the fireball. Orifia could not make sense of all the parts that all seemed to on their own, have a deeper meaning. By changing a few angles of the lines, one could adjust its shape and size, the Lord showed her, clasping the roaring orb of heat in his hands. Its flames shimmered on his helmet and his eyes kept never diverted from the dangerous weapon he held in hand.
“But beware. You lose focus and let emotions run wild, it can turn into another spell entirely. One that could kill you or others without you wanting it. One must be calm at all times. Only a rage that is not blind can make these abilities abnormally powerful. Have you looked after Nightfall?” The Lord asked. He balled his fist and let the warm light lose its shine. It was a juvenile neigh, soft, with a snort to close it off. An excited clacking began echoing through the corridor, yet the creature was not yet visible behind the curved walls.
“He escaped again?” the Lord said. It was a disappointed growl he emitted, as he laid his hand on his face. But he could not help himself when he peaked in between his fingers and saw the little foal. It was tipping and tapping forward with an excited spring in its step. Orifia and the dark lord approached the curious little creature and began feeding it with a bizarre blue fruit that cracked and crunched in the horse’s mouth. Every horse had patterns ornamenting their fur, which the dark lord and his servant adored on this one especially. However, this one had a slight issue, for it only had three legs, instead of four. And every time its moist breath and snout caressed his hands, he felt a little happiness spark in a void of darkness and misery. He just wished to hug the innocent and sweet creature that he tended for, for as long as the two lived and breathed. He always remembered that this sweet creature couldn’t run like the others. Yet, it never gave up and always caught up eventually. The lord admired Nightfall for he reminded him of his very own past.
The Lord told them both to follow and Nightfall came with a jump in his step, seeking the lords’ attention, as he held Orifias hand, who struggled to keep up with the two. She took deep breaths and every ached, yet with good company, she could pull through. The Lord let her sit first and told Nightfall to run back out the silver gates. Afterward, he sat upon his cushioned throne, with a grunt, looking down the long hall leading to the throne room. The castle was bright, lit up by silver chandeliers that reflected the light which came gushing through the tall windows. The bricks rippled and moved as they shimmered, like water, allowing itself one last dance with the sun, who is about to rest beyond the horizon.
The dark lord said to be evil incarnate, with ox horns adorning his black iron helmet, sighed as he had to listen to Orifia tell him about the bakeries brand new goods. Fluffy bread that crumbled delightfully with every bite, besides some fruit mixture hidden in its core and brown glazing, that cracked with every bite but turned into creamy sweetness. She wouldn’t stop swooning over them. Last week, it was some kind of glazed bread filled with moongold berries. She just went on and on, describing flavors and smell with all the words she knew. She wasn’t this enthusiastic about food before. Must have been her hungry guest, sitting in her belly, the Lord thought.
“Did you have one today?” the dark lord said. Orifia halted her speech and let her eyes scan the room.
“Oh no. I must fulfill my duties to you... my lord. I had absolutely no time to go to the bakery...” Orifia told the dark lord with big eyes and a cheeky smile.
“Stop pushing yourself so hard. I don’t even know what you could be possibly be working on... the castle doesn’t even get dirty... you must brush normal cupboards into oblivion with your eagerness to clean...” the dark lord said. He pointed at a small table next to another long hallway leading to the housing quarters of those not being able to take care of themselves. Another cushioned chair stood right next to it. Orifia walked over and took a seat where the lord saw her from the corner of his eye, when he looked at the silver gates, tiny in appearance. But he walked through them often and knew very well that they were massive. Orifia pulled a silver dome off a plate and there they were. The newest pastries she spoke so fondly of, piled one over another.
“May I?” she asked. The dark lord nodded, and she sat down, gobbling the near-perfectly baked dough with fruit filling and delicious glaze.
He was one man the four mercenaries feared for a long time to encounter. The most dangerous man alive said to have killed Ki Jon, the slayer of the Sumereni elephant, Borok, the killer and many, many more. The lord seemed to be the only human to have surpassed the power barrier and become a literal god amongst all creatures dwelling beneath the soil and in the skies. That was why they never considered him to be human.
The lord wore a dark gray gambeson, for orange flowers that grew around volcanic activity were pushed in between its layers. These flowers consumed the energy of the lava and magma that flowed through those regions, which made them warm to the touch. Every twenty-three years, when the maturity cycle had ended, these flowers would turn into majestic butterflies with wings bright and beautiful. It was a spectacle to watch when they still grew. They also made him invisible to dragons. The lord would sometimes take deep breaths, only to smell that earthy, yet floral scent, which he was fond of. It was calm before they came.
But he soon heard cries of anguish echoing through the hallway as they blasted the silver gates open. Nightfall, the little foal. His three-legged friend. He heard the hoofs running up the hallway and almost stood up to help his dear little friend, but with arrows in its body, it breathed heavily, helplessly trying to run wherever it could, afraid of the dark lord himself. The lord saw the terror in its eyes as it frantically tossed its weight around the room, seeking safety from whatever hunted for it. Then it collapsed in front of him, whined and wheezed at his feet. And the panic in its breath was all the lord could hear. The lord could not focus. All he saw was a child, be it human or non-human, animal or monster, he could not bear the sight. It shook, as it kicked its legs up and struggled to stand with arrows stuck in its fur. Distinct voices from familiar friends, his servants and slaves faded out, as their cries for help were ignored. People whose names he memorized, for he truly cared for them deeply. He could never tell them how much he truly admired every one of their most gentle souls. The lord took Nightfalls head onto his lap and caressed the horse’s neck and face, as to signify that a friend was by its side. The foal grew calmer and accepted its fate. The lord closed its eyes, and Nightfall became as silent as the Altgierons, performing a prayer to their deity with great devotion. He drew the sharpest dagger he had and let the little horses’ soul depart from the animal’s throat.
The four heroes stormed into the throne room like hungry vermin, covered in the blood of innocent men and women, ready to bind anyone to their curses, torment them as they wept and watch their hope fade away as they drew their last breaths. Tears welled up in the lords’ eyes, but the heroes could not see, for his dark helmet concealed his true nature. His image alone was so terrifying it could scar a man for life. But the picture would shatter if anyone knew his true self. He raised himself from his fallen friend and stumbled over the chains that once bound their souls. A feeling of connection, as holy as the temples that lay in the Efieri mountains, had been severed.
The castle roared and shut its large silver gates with a mighty thump, whilst the iron curtains barred away from the light, with gut-wrenching, metallic shrieks. The remaining servants begged for mercy, falling to their knees when the mercenaries drew their weapons. Orifia with unborn child cried that she was heavily pregnant, expecting her daughter soon, but the four self-proclaimed heroes grabbed her and slit her throat, culled her as if she were mere cattle. She collapsed to the ground and the sound of her fall, struck like a dagger, tearing through the lord’s chest, making him feel cold. It struck every time a civilian or servant, a dagger that forced itself deeper and deeper into his heart until it ruptured, pouring out emotions of such severity, that his mind began to spin in a desperate panic. The moment Orifia fell, he had realized that one invader was knowledgeable in the strain of fire magic. Recently his city fell victim to attacks more times than he could count, but never by someone who understood how to manipulate fire. It was as if he were held back by an invisible force, not being able to move a muscle when he wanted to most. He couldn’t see the faces of those dying, the words being uttered slurred, as he tried to paint a proper picture of all that seemed to happen around him. The dark lord drew his blade slowly, as he almost fell back, but regained balance after the trauma loosened its grip. As it inched out of its scabbard, it reverberated like glass and from runes running along its blade, golden light shone.
“What are the names of those who beg for death?” the Lord said, with a calm voice, when the only lights in the room came from one of the mercenary’s hands, his sword, and his eyes. The killers diverged and watched as the lords’ hands shook when he held back a rage was about to grab him with its burning hands and let him slash his blade into their mortal bodies. He took small steps forward, making no sound.
“Are you afraid? Shivering like a coward? The crimes you committed have brought their reckoning. When I bring your head to the emperor of the Jurian Empire, they will remember Kara the liberator! Finally, we would have defeated the black hand of Grimmingfall. The worthless stain that just didn’t seem to get wiped off the face of this world...” the woman covered in the blood of the kindest people the dark lord knew, said. She had the look of a vicious Viper, ready to strike with a thousand fangs of poisoned hatred. The dark lord quaked beneath his relatively calm exterior.
“Liberty? This is what you call freedom? Killing my inferiors when they had not even a weapon in hand? A woman expecting an infant...” the dark lord asked, walking towards the woman whose child desperately tried clinging to life in her belly. He knelt next to Orifia’s corpse, laying his hand on the dead servant’s stomach. He closed his eyes and heard the child’s heart beating rapidly. It would die in mere moments. He could not bear the thought of it suffocating beneath its mothers’ flesh. It was too early to arrive and too late to save now. The dark lord knew what he had to do. He took heavy breaths filled with anger, lifting his blade into the air before him. He hesitated. Killing a child brought great difficulty with it. It had always been a task, he could never dream of doing out of his own will. And so, he aimed the end of his sword at a dead mother’s stomach, before stabbing the child in her now cold embrace. He felt its life force wither away and he no longer heard the little girl’s heartbeat. Orifia and her child lost their lives. The ones that came before to kill him could never lay their hands on her. But now, something inhuman stood before him, despite wearing the same skin as those she slaughtered. Disgraceful in his eyes. Cowardly maggots that should return to their puss and excrement filled nests. He could almost smell their rotten hearts from across the room. His breaths began developing into heavy heaves.
“Orifia. That was her name. Never liked her. Why have you come here?” the dark lord said, with an immense pain trying to escape his throat. He suffocated beneath the echoes of a crying mother and the heartbeat of an unborn daughter. It felt like he swallowed heavy rocks and threw himself down a deep well full of ice-cold water. He was drowning in the images that would now forever echo in his mind. The grief he felt was nearly unbearable. Orifia did not deserve this. Her daughter shouldn’t have died, she should have lived. She should have walked through this castle with her tiny feet. He couldn’t keep her parents’ promise. Telling the father of the dead child and the husband of the lost wife was out of the question. Losing Orifia and their child would break him.
“Because you are pure evil. You enslave humankind and give them little to no pay!” Kara shouted, drawing her blade with pure hatred. Her every move was fueled by it, not focused. Unrefined through unadulterated hatred. She did not know the man behind the horned helmet and didn’t even seem to care to ask. She never spoke to the people that lived within the city walls. None of that. The lord could not understand how someone that looked like she did could be so cruel. She and the lord let their swords clash, and she struggled against his superior strength.
“Not all the treasure in the world is worth killing a pregnant woman over,” the dark lord said, looking directly into her eyes as he overpowered her. His strength began increasing exponentially before she deflected his latest attack and stumbled backward. She commanded her company to attack, mouthing the words, ‘think of all the gold’. “You enslaved four hundred women or more, like a beast, a man whore! Turned them into slaves of pleasure! Do you think you are being attacked for no reason? You are a cretin. An imbecile that must be put down like a feral dog.” Kara laughed, wiping the blood of the many people she murdered off her face, whilst smiling with deep satisfaction. She licked off what had spilled onto her lips, with her daggers trained at the dark lord. The dark lord felt as if his heart bled with open sores, burning, causing him devastating pain, as the trauma came in a second, far more powerful wave. He hadn’t slept with a single woman during the many ages of his existence. He laid great amounts of faith in actual love but had an even greater fear of it. He couldn’t take that from a wench such as she.
“Four hundred? Slaves of pleasure? I took them under my wings to defend them... They mourn... They mourn the husbands they lost for attacking us or an ally... I wanted to protect them... They... Their men were sent to die at my gates, by one of your worthless rulers that know nothing of value... But alas, those rulers are just like you... a plague that only wishes to take and take and take...” the dark lord said, wondering if the women he never laid his hands on were still safe and sound, hoping they were not killed by one of these vile men and women. A deep worry overwhelmed his heart and he was absent-minded, before an iron hammer bashed into his shoulder from behind, forcing him to the ground. All sounds faded into obscurity. Kara stabbed his hand as he lay on the ground, defenseless after she tossed his sword to the side. “Oh, that was easier than I expected. Those other heroes were not fit for the job,” Kara said, as she pressed the lords head onto the ground with a nasty chuckle. One of her allies lifted his hammer once more and let iron strike the lords back with a hefty thump. The lords’ feelings towards life began to crumble, while his eyes were locked on the dead servants and slaves. He stared at the pregnant girl he called a daughter, with sweet memories flashing before his eyes. He remembered the soft glow on Orifias’ rosy cheeks when she had told him that she found love with a farmers boy. She was so kind to the lord. The sounds around him faded back in when Kara kept a firm grip on one of the horns on his helmet.
“Hey! Are you listening? How are you not bleeding? You aren’t even making a sound...” Kara said, growing wary. She grabbed a serrated knife from one of her companions and wanted to slit the dark lord’s throat, to inflict as much pain as she could. But the dark lord grabbed her hand and stood up, twisting her wrist, causing Kara to feel the vibrations of her bones cracking and splintering. She tried pulling her arm away, as she shouted in agony. A vicious lack of compassion drew out its ghastly claws and tore at the dark lords’ soul.
“What are you, you piece of filth?” Kara shouted as the dark lord twisted her wrist. She commanded her companions to help, but when their weapons struck the dark lord, it was as if pebbles were tossed at a tree with steadfast roots. The dark lord lifted his other hand to the heavens and balled his hand into a fist, causing all the heroes to freeze in place. They were all terrified and shivering. “Look at what you have done...” the dark lord said, ripping off Kara’s hand with brute force, causing her blood to rain onto deep black tiles on the floor. A pain that turned a face of greed into one of sorrow. The dark lord twirled his fingers and the castle began shifting its floors and walls in a dance of death. Now they were all in a small empty room without doors or windows. A hole the size of the room allowed the heavens, sun, and clouds to gaze down upon them. The bricks shimmered in the sunlight, like a calm sea being gently caressed by the moon at night. From them emerged chains like serpents, coiling around the heroes’ arms and legs. All four of the lords’ captives began struggling against the castles’ cold iron grip, before being forced to their knees. The room fell into a deafening silence. One of Kara’s friends was pulled into the walls of the castle by the chains that had slung themselves around her body. She shouted Kara’s name before vanishing.“What have you done to her!” Kara shouted as she spat onto the dark lords’ cloak.
The dark lord knocked on the walls and the chains slithered into each of the captives’ mouths, choking them slowly. They tasted the bitter and sour flavor of the metal, as saliva filled their mouths. Heavy knocks, scratches, and screams for help came from the other side of the wall. It was their friend. Howls, roars, and shrieks began rushing towards the faint outlines of the woman trapped. They began getting louder and louder. The screams, scratches, and knocks began increasing in speed before they stopped. A black skeletal hand handed a red marble to the dark lord . The lord chanted some terrifying words. Kara bared witness to the horror that befell her companion through the tiny red orb the lord held in his grasp. She became completely paralyzed when she saw the rest of the body thrown out in front of her. Marble white bone and crimson red blood gushed out from the wall. A glossy black skeleton followed the mangled body out, laying its arms around another one of Kara’s friends. Kara shook her head in disbelief as her friend panicked.
“The rewards you seek are within our hell. I hope you come to appreciate the consequences of your actions...” the black skeleton said with a vulgar, demonic tone, before letting its fingertips pierce her friends’ eyes. Blood poured and poured before the skeleton dragged him into the wall. Fear of what lurked in the darkness gripped the man, making the suffering only worse. The chains tore Kara’s third friend from his place. Silence. The dark lord just stared at Kara, lingering on her suffering. He then let the castle take her into its abyss as well, hoping she would never feel the sweet relief of death any time soon. The walls and floors shifted back into their places with an eerie dance, laying the corpses of servants side by side. The dark lord knelt in front of the dead, thanking them for their service. He wished to cry. The pain came in near-insurmountable waves. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout. But he could not. Something inside him stopped him. Something of pure evil.
