I have no idea how long I'm going to carry this on for, but it seems to have caught my attention at the moment. Anyhow, I hope that you enjoy it.
His eyes ached as if scratched by sand.
His heart pounded as if overdosing on hypex.
He took in a deep gasp, jolting his body back into motion.
How long had he been in this state? How long had it been since his corsairs had retrieved him?
With the speed of lightning yet thrice as wrathful, he sped from his bed and flashed across the room.
His armour had been removed. Why? All he had to protect him were the tattoos and ritualistic scars that adorned his bare form, but even with them he doubted that it would be enough. He could have been exposed for too long. He could have been still for too long. They could have found him.
Kicking a door open he moved through the cabin and past the many locked cases that lined the walls leading to the inner sanctum of his personal domain. As he ran he collected the glowing, carved teeth and grasped them tightly in his left hand. With his right hand he procured a knife from one of the shelves and knocked a few far more deadly trinkets to the ground.
A phial smashed behind him, but he was too busy to care about the repercussions.
He could feel its presence.
He was being chased.
Why had the fools removed his armour? Why had the fools not locked him away like he had ordered? Even though it was at the back of his mind he was already planning the appropriate punishment.
The vault’s door retracted upon identifying him a dozen metres away, but he could feel the tugging at his mind. He was growing weaker. He could hear the slow footsteps clicking on the polished ground behind him… or were the sounds in his mind?
He dropped to one knee at the steps leading to the sanctum, hands grasping at his head and slowly sliding forward to claw across his face. Blood spilt freely from the open wounds. Skin was lodged beneath his nails, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t hear his own screams or taste his pain over the tempest that was set to ruin his mind.
A spring of insanity had been opened within him. The gnarled face was at the forefront of his vision: eyeballs vomiting fire and horns growing to pierce from the forehead and cheekbones in asymmetrical clusters. The skin of the nightmare grew dead and pallid before peeling away in dry sheets. The sound of his own pulse was deafening as the grotesque visage opened its maw as if with the intention on consuming him.
Then all was silent.
In his vision two armour-clad Warriors stood, high staves capped with glowing skulls bringing a new terror; absolute silence.
It was the silence after the anarchy that was worst. It let him know that he was mortal. It let him know how close to death he truly was.
“Lord.” They both bowed from beneath their face concealing hoods before leaning down to carry him back to his feet.
His head rolled from side to side to view them, as if intoxicated or poisoned. “W-what…?”
“Retain your strength, master.”
He shook his head in answer. “What… h-happened?”
“I do not know.” They carried him up the steps and into his sanctum. It was a vast room lit by thousands of braziers. Bookshelves stood in regimented formations containing all of the Archon’s stolen and accumulated knowledge.
“The face.” He whispered as the Warriors set him down upon his throne. “It wants the flames…” from his wounds vital fluids ran into his lips while he spoke, causing him to spit droplets of blood. “It cannot have them… they cannot be extinguished.”
“Bring the Archon’s pet.” The more senior of the Warriors dictated to the other. “Maybe it
can make some sense of this.”