On a hazy afternoon, dark clouds loomed ominously over the Khyronix region. The sky was a turbulent canvas, with lightning weaving intricate patterns as if performing a celestial dance to an ancient, foreboding melody. Thunderclaps resonated like the drums of war, their echoes amplifying the tension that gripped the land. The air was thick and oppressive, laden with the metallic scent of blood that clung stubbornly to the execution grounds, a grim testament to the day's proceedings.
At the center of this grim tableau stood Aric Khyronix , a figure who once epitomized the nobility and honor of the Khyronix household. Now, he was a shadow of his former self. His hands were bound tightly with coarse ropes that bit into his flesh, and his knees bore fresh bruises and abrasions from being mercilessly dragged across the unforgiving terrain. The garments that once symbolized his esteemed lineage were now in tatters, stained with dirt and blood, rendering the proud insignia of his house almost unrecognizable. The weight of betrayal and impending doom pressed heavily upon his young shoulders, threatening to crush his spirit.
"I thought they loved me,"
Aric murmured, his voice a fragile whisper swallowed by the howling wind. Disbelief and sorrow laced his words, his mind struggling to reconcile the affectionate memories of his family with the cold reality of their treachery.
The crowd that had gathered was a seething mass of humanity, their collective murmurs swelling into a cacophonous roar of anger and anticipation. Faces contorted with disdain, eyes gleaming with a primal hunger for retribution, they no longer saw Aric as a person,a once-beloved son, brother, or friend,but as the living embodiment of the Khyronix family's disgrace. To them, he was a malignancy that needed to be excised to restore the honor and purity of their lineage.
Suddenly, the temperature surged dramatically, as if the very sun had descended to scorch the earth. An overwhelming presence filled the area, an aura of authority so potent that it compelled even the most defiant citizens to their knees. Disciples and guards alike struggled to remain upright, sweat pouring down their faces as they contended with the oppressive heat. From within a blinding sphere of flames that rivaled the sun's brilliance, a shadowy figure emerged, each measured step exuding dominance and command.
"It is him! Lord Damian Khyronix !"
a voice from the crowd exclaimed, a mixture of awe and fear evident in the trembling tone.
As the patriarch's flames receded, the stifling heat dissipated, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. All eyes were riveted on Lord Damian as he ascended the dais, his expression an unreadable mask of stoicism. The executioner, a hulking figure shrouded in a hood that obscured his features, stood at the ready, his massive hands gripping the haft of a gleaming axe, awaiting the command that would seal Aric's fate.
With a voice that brooked no dissent, Lord Damian spoke, each word enunciated with chilling precision.
"Commence with the execution."
"Yes, my Lord,"
the executioner responded without hesitation, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were merely a tool fulfilling its purpose.
Nearby, a cadre of mages stood in a semicircle, their hands clasped and lips moving in silent incantations, preparing to purge Aric's body of any residual darkness after his death. The citizens displayed a spectrum of emotions,some wore expressions of eager anticipation, others bore looks of sorrowful resignation, and a few remained indifferent, their faces impassive masks. As Aric was dragged toward the execution platform, his mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.
'Why me? Why was I chosen? Why couldn't I have been ordinary?'
he pondered, his heart aching with a profound sense of injustice and despair.
His head was forcibly positioned on the cold, unyielding stone of the altar, the chill seeping into his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. He cast a final, desperate glance toward his family, his eyes searching for any flicker of hope, remorse, or acknowledgment in their stony expressions.
"Any last words?"
the executioner murmured, his voice a low rumble that barely penetrated the heavy silence.
Aric opened his mouth, but no words came forth, only a choked sob that spoke of a lifetime's worth of pain and regret.
"I will take that as a no,"
the executioner intoned, raising the axe high above his head, the blade gleaming menacingly in the dim light.
In one swift, practiced motion, the executioner's blade descended, cleaving through flesh and bone with a sickening thud. Aric's head tumbled to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. The crowd erupted into a frenzied cheer, their voices merging into a deafening roar, as if they were celebrating a triumphant victory rather than witnessing a tragic end. Amidst the tumult, Aric's final thought flickered and faded like a dying ember.
'So this is it.'
"Dispose of the body,"
Lord Damian commanded, his tone as cold and unyielding as the stone beneath his feet.
A young mage, his robes marked with the insignia of an apprentice, stepped forward hesitantly, his voice quavering as he spoke.
"But my Lord, this child was one of your heirs. Shouldn't we grant him a proper burial?"
Before Lord Damian could respond, Lady Claudia, the first matriarch of Khyronix interjected, her voice dripping with venom.
"You dare question my husband's judgment?
Perhaps you wish to join that cancer in the abyss. Dispose of the body as instructed."
The mage recoiled, bowing deeply.
"Forgive me, my Lady. It shall be done."
Aric's lifeless form was unceremoniously cast into the trench of the Abyss, a chasm said to be bottomless, where the condemned were sent to be forgotten. The crowd slowly dispersed, the day's grim spectacle etched into their memories.Such cruelty even from family members.Is this were it all ends ?