Lucas (Book Two of The Guardians series)

The 1st Conflict

The battle ended quickly. The result was shocking, Lucas knelt on the the ground, hands clasped behind his head. He was shaking, terrified for the life of his wife and child. Behind him a Southern elf paced sword in hand. Around him he could hear the cries of the dying, see the limp bodies of those already dead. The Southern elves who had surrenderd had been executed, apparently their unwillingingness to die for their country was unpatriotic. "On the ground." A harsh voice directed, resisting the temptation to spit Lucas lowered himself to the ground. Face pressed against the damp earth he felt a weight settle on him.

"That's the leader, and that woman over there." Selena's voice drifted over him. Closing his eyes Lucas cursed himself, he had trusted the woman. A mistake that may end up costing not only his life, but that of his family as well. A familier rage built up in Lucas at the thought. A pair of hands gripped his wrists, ready to tie them, Lucas began to mutter rapidly releasing all the magical bindings helping him keep control. He felt a mind touch his, wary of the magic Lucas worked. He snarled at it mentally, feeling Selenca retreat. "Hurry! Restrain him!" She yelled, but it was too late. Like a wolf tied with twine Lucas's murderous side reared its ugly head and took over him completely. His last sane thought was a fear that he would never be able to face his wife again.

Flashes of color crossed his vision, red mostly. Warm liquid splattering over the grass and his torso. Bodies dropped whenever his fists met resistance, and for a moment Lucas wondered if he had picked up some sort of weapon. Screams echoed in his ears and he could see people fleeing. Roaring like some sort of wild beast Lucas gave chase, cutting down every elf he saw. Blood pounded in his ear and called out for death, begging him for more destruction. And Lucas answered the plea, he ignored the tiny pinpricks of pain as arrows pierced his unprotected shoulders and legs never slowing and never stopping.

Blackness eventually crawled around the fringe of his red-tinted view, forcing him to blink rapidly. Tiny hot drops of salty blood fell into his eyes, blinding him from the retreating backs. Panting heavily Lucas fell to his knees, scanning for any sign of life in the pile around him, there was none. So exhaling slowly he released his rage, and allowed the red to fade. Then bile rose in his throat, falling to his hands Lucas heaved coughing out the contents of his stomach. He had no fear of war, but the slaughter around him, by him, he couldn't see it.

He tried to stand, to escape the field. But pain shot through him and weakened limbs collapsed. Arrows rested in his appendages and touching one of the wooden shafts Lucas knew he would be unable to pull them out without help. So he reached for the magic he had released and tried to figure out how to use it to heal.

After feeding on nothing but hatred and bloodlust he could feel the difficulty, the stubbornness. It didn't want to change its purpose, his magic didn't want to heal. Straining Lucas worked to wrap his mind around the power, to exert his will. Slowly he began to succeed. Power began to flow into his wounds, dissolving the pain and the arrow both. In a few moments three feathered shafts of wood fell into the grass. Inside he could feel the arrowheads fading to nothing as his sundered flesh knit back together. Lucas flexed his leg and arm, and when he was met with no resistance released the magic once more. Then, as a wave of exhaustion washed over him, sat back to rest.

When he at last stood and wiped the moisture from his eyes Lucas looked around him, trying to get his bearings. His throat clenched at the sight, carnage piled across the entire field. He was sure that he hadn't created most of it, there was no way he had killed that much. The scent was sickening as he made his way through the bodies, he didn't check of signs of life. Instead Lucas simply walked, passing through the grass, then through the tall birch trunks. Dried blood cracked and flacked off of his arms, floating through the air like tiny seeds.

When he happened across a stream Lucas simply waded in, letting the blood and grime wash away. Then he kept going, heading back towards his city, towards the academy. Or at least, that's where he hoped he was going. He was traveling with nothing more than a vague notion of his position and a strong desire to fall into the arms of his beloved.