Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora: LXIX. The Aura

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IV. Embrace, Northern Region of Ereignfall

Blood...it was everywhere. The trees were stained with the red life force that once flowed in the body of those brave soldiers. The snow had become so bloodied, there was hardly white like the eyes of an enraged man.

"Get him inside quickly!" Mors shouted viciously in the heat of the long battle. The head was lowering its head, inviting his sister to take over within soon time. Three men, all of whom belonged to Brais, were dragging and carrying their fallen leader.

"Damn it, Brais! I order you to not die!"

Amos stood watching, a tearful gloom on her face. Her body was shaking as she watched the soldiers drag the severely wounded Iron King by the arms inside of an abandoned manor that was caught in the battlefield. She followed them inside but not before she saw Chaos following from behind, blasting wave after wave of vicious and frenzied Deathknights in the process. He screamed at Amos to look after Brais as well, ensuring her that he will provide cover for them. She did as he commanded, it was difficult not to. The heat of the battle brought out a beast within Chaos, his voice was so powerful and overwhelming, it was like the intense volume and emotion in his voice forced her body to move before she could even think to do it on her own.

Rushing inside the vacant home, she shut the door behind her. Seeing a bright purple glow illuminating the dark contents of a tattered hallway, she knew it was Mors. So she ran as fast as she could, but not being able to see to well in the dusky structure, nearly slipped on a long and messy trail of blood. She could hear the faint grunts airing out the lungs of her king.

"My king, I am coming!" She yelled. She shielded herself from the constant downpour of debris that broke of the roof and walls of the home. The battle outside was too destructive. "Chaos is providing us with cover," shouting as she turned the corner of the short corridor. She saw partial prints of hands on the walls, purely red.

She had not seen the severity of her king's wounds yet but from the scraps of memories she kept before the incident on the battlefield, she knew those wounds were fatal. It appeared that way to her at least. But it was all so fast and fuzzy in her memories. She trampled over all of the cluttered furniture that blocked the floor.

She gasped, "Brais!" as she turned the corner. She gasped so loudly but covered her mouth with her worn out gloves that were patchy and torn in some places. Her eyes grew twice their natural size. She dropped her sword and fell to her knees.
"No! No...how can this be happening.

Brais laid motionless on the brittle wooden floor of the home, his body badly stained with blood from a large gash on his left eye, a large tear in his abdomen, and an arrow...sticking out front his chest, narrowly missing his heart. It was Zambodian made. Blood leaked past his lips and fell somberly down to his patchy brown beard. His sword was still in his hand. Even nearing the end of his life, he never let go out that passionate urge to keep fighting.

She ran towards him but was soon block by the large presence that was Mors. His light, apart from the few rays of sunlight that slithered inside the home through the several holes in the walls of roof of the home, was their only way of seeing but it was enough to see their king in his gruesome state. Brais drew breath but very slowly and conservatively.

"Stand back, Mander! That goes for everyone!" Mors said solemnly.

"There is only one thing that can save the king now..." Mors said hesitantly.

Consumed by frightful fears and anguishing thoughts, Amos looked up. She walked around that broad back of Mors' s and looked him in his eyes.

"You cannot mean it," she tried arguing.