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His family was innocent. They hadn't offended even a fly. But they were fated for gore and cruor. Everything had burned down in ashes. He couldn't see them for their last times too. They hadn't left the last symbol of them too. He knew Ragini couldn't be blamed but it was her fortuity that she had become a part of his revenge. He had taken an oath years ago, tooth for tooth eye for an eye. And there was no way Hussein could back off.
Which ultimately made him stand before his father who was his guide.
"It seems like Mallika or Kabir don't hold any place in your life. You have thrown them from your heart and mind, haven't you!" DC taunted him, making Neil growl. The next second his knuckles bled from smashing the wall. Little fragments crumbled round his fisted hand while his palm was pressed against the weary wall.
"I'm not you," Neil barked. His eyes were naturally red unlike DC's.
" Of course you are not me. You are an unfaithful son who couldn't avenge his birth mother's death. A lion is simply the shadow of a hairy cat," DC spat and Neil glowered at him.
"Enough of meowing. Man up and roar!" DC shot up from his throne and flung the free ends of his cloak in the air, which swirled and wrapped around him again. His leather boots chimed against the broken flooring and became the only sound to hear.
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With every passing step Neil counted his breath. In a fraction of a second DC pulled his rapier hidden between the folds of his cloak and pitched it at Neil's direction who dodged to his left. DC's eyes shimmered in iniquity as he slammed his weapon once again to him. The sharp edge was as needle-sharp, thin and acute enough to slit any throat. The distinct feature of the rapier was the thick middle that resembled a longsword, designed in the French style. Neil jumped as the rapier was just a centimetre away from grazing his leg. It slid in the air, scrapping a bit of the sole of his shoe. DC howled.
He waited till Neil backed against the old rusty painting of a King and Queen's portrait which hung slanted on the wall. Traces of spider cobwebs and swirls of dust, scratches and slits all over with the paint faded. Every portrait in the mansion belonged to the bravest kings of Indian history and above them was a replica of the swords they held in the portrait. A prim and poisonous smirk sealed his lips, he walked his fingers on the borders of the painting. His thumb pad slid against the nail that poked out of the wooden frame and a gush of blood drizzled. Working up till the end of it, his fingers stopped and DC's eyes suspiciously glanced at him.
In a slick, he drew a rusty and jagged sword that shined despite the taints of dust and spider over it. He needed no steel armour to look like a king on the battlefield. The metal's sonority, while being held up in the air before grazing the wall sent a chilly shudder down their spines. Neil hauled his mercury red-stained finger across the glistening surface of the ornate cross guard, cleaning it with his blood. His fingers ran across the runes filling the blade's fuller. His hands finally rested on the handle and his palm wrapped around the spacers firmly. Just below the guard and the symbol of a spread out-leaf and a deep slot for a jewel, his fingers pressed in a tighter grip. DC's eyes wandered over the carved guard, leather-bound hilt which balanced the sword in grace and arrogantly upright.
