The Dagger's Wrath (BOOK 1)

Chapter Twelve

A/N: Well, an almost 6K word chapter. We got ourselves a doozy, now, don't we? This guy isn't in much of the book, but I wanted to introduce him so that you guys could understand what we're working with. *cries because things you don't know yet* Ok bye enjoy I'm gonna keep posting chapters yay.

Butcher, Hills of Flameside Valley, the Darklands

After being thrown from a carriage in mid-air with no one pushing him, but just with a force of brightness and contrast, Butcher's back flamed with a searing pain, landing on the Triplet Hills, arching his back as the pain released from his body, escaping into the air. He breathed in it with a hissing sound that—if necessary—could attract snakes, possibly. Something had happened in that carriage... something that felt so unreal and majestically empowered by some force of materials never used...

Did Queen Arnaressa's eyes glow red, shifting from colour to colour? That wasn't the most weirdest thing, though: how had Butcher gotten here, without anyone pushing him, with no gust of wind and with no storm unleashing itself from the sky? It couldn't be anything but magic.

Though... magic hadn't been here for at least two hundred, maybe even three, now, years... Why would it come just like that, and how would it come, too? The electricity that had built inside him gave him power, even though he was one of the weakest members of her court so far to live. If she had power, and magic... was that why he was seeing her execute so many lovely people?

Vivid colours came into his mind, but Butcher couldn't think of anything that was worthwhile... at least, for now. There was just this power in him that had pushed everything aside—and what was he to do, now? Was he to sit here on the hills until the pain had just "slowly" gone away?

He inhaled, and then exhaled, nothing pushing into his brain forcefully. He didn't know, to be honest. There was something in his heart, like there wasn't a part of him that wanted darkness. He wanted light.

Light was the reason he was supposed to exist, he knew this, now. He knew that he was not worthless, useless—but just weak and it wasn't a negative aspect but just the way he turned his hands and showed everything, everyone what he had. Another dead, another gone. The Queen would be crushed beneath his feet, and die with no complications shown. The problem would be over, and done with. He would erupt the world into a scenario made of flame and ash and bone, shadow and darkness and swords. He would scream until everything made nothing and showed that war was the only way to get through every problem that you had.

He looked up at the sky, the aqua blue shining in the sky, while Flameside Valley searched for him and never found him, for he was lost, and feeling as alone as ever. He would no longer feel like he had a dagger pushed to his spine, like his back was going to rip apart. He would smooth the blood out, and put back in his life source—and make sure his life was okay.

Cold and wetness screamed from his knees, as pain wrecked him and tore through him, searching for him. Everything was searching for him, for a way to know that he was alive, and free, and young. Butcher looked ahead at the way the hills rolled over each other, overlapping and signifying the way that everything worked. The green colour was bright and shined through his eyes like it called to him, called his name. A sick noise came from his throat, a cough that spread through his body like an infection.

There was no silence in the area, though. There were noises spreading all over the village, the sky was a clear blue with no clouds overlapping each other nor making weird spaces and gaps and shapes, like one time when Butcher was a child, Butch had told him he saw a shrimp-shaped cloud. Though, now, Butcher felt like there was nothing to not be afraid of. There was no Butcher and there was no shrimp.