A Moment of Peace

[TheWyrdWolf 1532]

 

Spoiler

 

Screaming.
 

Pain.
 

The taste of iron in the back of his throat.
 

As he held his eyes closed, there was no darkness, just a scorching hellflame that seared his vision. A vivid memory of his death and of his confinement in the deepest reaches of the High Hells to be made the plaything of squabbling Inferi that clamored to tear at his flesh. An existence he had experienced once before, and one that with each passing day he was sure would become his fate again. He found himself at a crossroad, diverging paths that split from a central point to possibilities of what his life could become and at the center stood a towering Zar’akal, his Father.
 

Jao.
 

All roads lead to Jao.
 

His hands idly found a necklace about his neck, his fingers tracing the spiraling outline of a gold rose ring that ended in a blooming flower. It was a habit he had developed recently without even realizing, his green taloned fingers gently twirling the necklace as if it offered him but a moment of peace from the horrors that had burrowed into his mind..
 

Alistair exhaled deeply as he sat atop a large boulder in the forest, his eyes which radiated with the power of the Hells, scanned the quiet valley below him before finally settling on a small hamlet. He had often snuck away from home as a youth to come to forests such as this, to find some measure of calm and peace in the sounds of nature. Such sounds lived only in memory for him now, a fact that was reflected in the forest he found himself in, the air hanging heavy with silence. 

The creatures of the forest would sing to him no longer.
 

Alistair took hold of the ornate chalice that sat at his side, its golden surface polished so that he may study his reflection. What looked back at him was not the face he remembered, the man he knew had been lost somewhere along the road, now a monster looked back at him. His eyes burned with hatred, blood dribbled down his chin and two elongated fangs stood prominently in focus.
 

Power. Strength.
 

Might is Right.
 

The fundamental creed burned into his mind from a young age, his own body twisted into a creature of the hells by his Fathers wishes, forcing him down a path he had no say in. He had often wondered if his Mother ever thought of him, had she truly run away from home and abandoned him? This was his reality, abandoned, used, a plaything in the games of life.
 

With a frustrated snarl he tossed the chalice into the woods, it bounced off a tree with a bang that disturbed the silence and it was then that Alistair was drawn to the side of a large Hellhound feasting on the corpse of a young man. A young man he himself had killed and drained of his blood in order to maintain his own sanity, he hadn’t even given it a second thought.
 

His eyes didn’t linger on the half eaten corpse however, they fixated upon the Hellhound and the half charred necklace around its neck that read ‘Kaida’, barely legible. His loyal companion from a young age, a gift from his Father. She was a constant reminder of his own failures and the path he had been forced down. The puppy he had raised from a mangy mutt, cared for and then betrayed by turning them into this hellish abomination.
 

His eyes met the Hellhound’s. There was no recognition in that infernal gaze, only hunger and hate. He lowered his gaze, he had long outgrown the weight of the sins heavy on his soul. Now he expressed a melancholy acceptance, that his life was that of chains and suffering. He didn’t deserve anything else.


 

His gaze found the necklace around his neck one last time, his mind drifting to one of the only peaceful memories he had in that tortured mind.
 

A field of flowers, a field of dreams, a safe space shared with him, a secret kept. A light pressure rested against his back, the head of a woman resting against his figure as he sat quietly amidst the flowers. This place was special, this moment in time was special and for once he felt like he was allowed to choose, allowed to finally be at peace. What a foolish notion he had thought, but in that moment he had truly believed it. There was no Infernal Climb here, no contests of strength.
 

Just safety, vulnerability, peace.

Hope..
 

The memory faded as he opened his eyes, cloven hooves carrying out into the darkness as he pulled a small blade from his scabbard. He had been allowed a moment to shed his chains, but such was but a dream. All that was left was a promise he had made, that he would be her Shield. But deep down, he knew, despite everything he wanted to believe.. that he would only break that promise.

 

For him, only chains and damnation awaited.

[ivery 590]

Deep in the forest, beyond chains and beyond ties, two people sit alone in a grove. The grass is weaker now, after so much death, but it is otherwise frozen in time. A picnic blanket from a long-forgotten last meal is grown over by new weeds, tearing at the edge of the fabric. Birds chirp above. The blood that once stained the white flowers have been dyed permanently red.

 

"None must interfere!" she remembers Villorik bellowing.

 

Amaya stood between her and the infernal, sickly and pale.

 

Deia could feel her world falling apart. Why were they not protecting her? "But she'll-"

 

"I know."

 

And now they sit, decades later, because it is safe. Because he would have died, in their home, for nothing and no one. Because if she had done nothing, she would have lost him too, and she cannot let that happen. For all he has done, he does not deserve to die. Not when he has only just learned what happiness can be.

 

She tells him this, quiet as a whisper. She tells him that it was her wish that took them away to this place, and the first woman who died to it, and nothing more. The cracks of grief that have broken her over the years are a secret that died with the bodies in the grove.

 

Her shield. It is an apt choice. After all, it would take only one blow to shatter her.

 

What she does not tell him is this:

 

There is a world where the blow could come from him, but it is not this world. It can't. 

 

It is the thousandth pyre that will break her, or she will not break at all.