Pouch slung on his shoulder, throwing axe on his belt, Garranis trekked down the dusty gravel path. His face still itched, his heart still throbbed, his mind still ached, but he kept moving forward.
Kyzeldir, or at least the projection he had chosen, strode next to him, admiring the grassy plains, a blissful smile stagnant on his face.
Garranis looked back over his shoulder. The massive cliff where he had abandoned Hagsin still loomed in the distance, its rocky tip stood so prominent yet so fragile.
The scarred man itched his face, and red flakes fell from it and stuck in between his fingernails.
He hadn't even thought about how bad the deformities were. Leesha and Erin, and all he could have done to stop the tragedy, were all that was on his mind.
He considered talking about it to the strange God, but decided against it. It was unlikely something so— distant could provide any relief.
So the only sounds that accompanied the walk were the scratch of sandals on the small pebbles and the chirping of the wildlife.
The sun had risen far above the horizon now, lone in the clear blue sky, and the sensation of the sun kissing Garranis' face was absent everywhere except a small part of his left cheek.
Is there really nothing left for me to enjoy?
A sharp red glare burned in Garranis' eyes, directed from around a hundred yards away on the path ahead of them.
The Kyzeldir's bright green eyes twinkled. The shine waned as the metal which produced it grew closer.
Two metals, actually. Deep bronzes— the mark of a pair of Imperial soldiers.
The warriors nails dug into his palms. There was still feeling there, still some real skin. Now, his calloused, muscled hands were the softest and most sensitive part on his whole body.
The soldiers approached rather casually, they were talking to themselves. Kyzeldir hummed, still lost in the endless flowering fields.
Garranis reached a hand into the pouch.
The two soldiers came within speaking distance. One of the soldiers awkwardly pointed his neck away from where he was walking, away from Garranis. One of them ogled at Garranis' face with wide eyes, and it was like his pace was slowing as he got closer and closer.
The warrior's fingers wrapped around the cold, solid handle of one of the dark knives.
"Garranis, don't."
Garranis turned to Kyzeldir, and the soldier's pace seemed to sped up again. The God's characteristic grin was gone. Garranis loosened his grip from the dagger within the satchel.
"They are just pawns. They aren't part of your mission," Kyzeldir said.
Garranis stared into the regal face that the God had chosen, into his simplistic crown. His jaw clenched. The footsteps of the two passing soldiers grew quieter behind him.
He twisted back and threw two obsidian blades at the heads of the two soldiers.
The daggers whipped through the air, each streaking toward the little bit of exposed neck underneath the legionnaire's helmets.
And just before both dark bullets touched the hair on the back of each soldier's head, they were yanked back into Garranis' hands.
The warrior quickly stuffed the daggers back into the pouch.
"Did you hear something?" Garranis heard one of the soldiers shout as he turned around.
"Yeah," the other soldier replied. They scanned around aimlessly.
YOU ARE READING
Soulshocked | ONC 2021
幻想A man's family is everything. For Garranis, he will do anything to even possibly improve the well-being of his wife and daughter. Even when the path and promise come from the most unreliable of sources. Even when it means committing atrocities again...
