Royals

The Unamed Story

Crimson tears flowed, unrestricted, from the wound. The velvet drops cascading to the floor, landing into the massing pool. The rot of Earthen death tainted the air, blood being the unmistakable aroma. Fragrant bodies, littering the floor, gave the foul perfume; the texture of carcass being what one's feet now laid on. A clear pellet now mingled with the red stains as the sky was soon unleashing torrential down-pours. Humid wind, drenched with death, and cold with the obvious genocide which had recently taken place; blew past the deceased encampment. Bodies, entrenched with their own limbs, huddled in fright as the slaughter earlier that night had taken place; severed arms still twitched and legless torsoes writhed in agony. Stomach-lurching screams echoed against the hills and the gasps of those reaching their passing livened every sense to some obscure extremity, heightening every foul and disgusting image from the dephts of one's mind. The horizon was growing firey with the incessant approach of dawn. The sun brimming the world with light before being engulfed in a behemoth of a storm; rain casually blended with the floods of dense ruby. This forsaken day would rot in the bowels of history as the morning grey cold and very stale. What was corrupt, would soon smell of unholy decay, as the blood still flowed. A very troublesome clasp of thunder bellowed amongst the clouds; streaks of lightning taint the atmosphere, making the earth tremble in cowardly fear. More curdling screams exumed the air, drifting violently into the ear. Light whisps of air blew amongst the dismembered bodies, spreading the smell of disgust to further reaches. The shadowed recesses of the barracks were now rancid with the atrocious smell. The situation only became worse. Lightning struck insidethe demolished base, setting fire to one of the bodies; the smell of rot and dank blood was now passive to the new scent of burning flesh and boiling fluids. The flames leapt, from corpse to corpse, leaving behind a more undescribable smell than ever before. Dying, or dead, bodies were being consumed in their broken and destroyed armor.

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The rest:

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More belching screams ended in the final death of their physical form. Spirits, consumed from physical torture, writhed in endless suffering. The phantoms drifted into the spectral realm and awaited the onyx gates of Hell to open and consume the souls in a never-ending abyss of pain and ungod-like suffering. The devil's play-ground, now crowded with the incompetant souls, was to become another endless blood-bath. But the material, physical plane only held one living body; no matter the heartless intent, no matter the nearly unfathomable throughts of dread, one living body stood. Blood caressing every feature of the being. Impurities revealed wounds. A crimson coated blade revealed the genocidal creature. Presumably man... but with the care and intent of a malicious demon. Such a demi-god of fury was created... so this story shall begin to tell.

End of Stanza I

Stanza II begins:

Cherry blossoms swept in a graceful vortex across the courtyard of the palace lawn;symphonies of birds and crickets echoed against the masoned walls and reverberated in mid-air. A subtle change of seasons was slowly becoming apparent. An air of peace was the atmosphere and the ecstacy of autumn was all that was smelt. The holy sanctum of the palace held a chorus of echoes; different sounds of commune and diplomacy resouned through the near bounless corridors. Dense shadows revealed to show aged monks and patrons of the temple. The imperial apparaticks were incessantly talking of their hypothesis and theories of a better, conjoined nation. The endings of these conversations never ended in peaceful conclusion. Each of these fine men knew nothing of the world, which was never to be realized in their life-time. The palace guards became restless, awaiting the approaching arrival of their Commander in Chief. Their Emperor. Upon a hill of dense woodings, a parade was beginning to approach. The imperial guard became suspicious of every strange being within the confides of the castle's corridors. The promenade was approaching quickly, as if being chased. Fair maidens from the front of the march were bellowing and fleeing into theh oly sanctuary. Smoke, thin and stream-lined, erupted and billowed near the rear of the enterage. Soon, the edge of the hill was painted with orange as flames reached into the air. The scholars were soon fleeing as a volley of dark black arrows whistled and were hailed from the Imperial Guard. Several of the armored samurai fell and began to writhe in their own blood. Many of these arrows were sent from the mounted archers from the bandit horde; and they deiscovered the temple's own archers. Many horses were now riderless, or riders were horseless. Many of the armed guards of the procession emerged from the tree-line at the base of the hill, but were soon decimated by spear-carrying riders. Their heads rolled, showing their expression before death with upmost clarity. Fear. Terror. The soldiers were petrified with the thought of their demise. They discovered it most inevitable. Two of the mounted riders sat conversing on their horses. They knew something. In a flurry of arrows, and a burst of cherry blossoms, the cart transporting the emperor came into range. The dark riders smiled malevolently. Malice shimmered in their gaze. Spurring their horses, the leapt forward, spears brandished. But, quite suddenly, they stopped. The first bandit wavering on his horse while the second clutched the back of his head in pain. Their spears had fallen from grasp and their eyes were glazed. Both, regaining composure, turned slowly and saw the tail off the carriage enter the castle through the gates. A valiant occurance was just happening.