The King's Royal Guard

Liam

Blood, there is so much blood. So much so that it seems to soak the air. It is so pungent I can taste it. Meanwhile, black billows of smoke create giant clouds that rain ash down everywhere. Everything is burned, everything decimated. With no other option, I walk through the hell before me. Or what I imagine hell looks like. What was once a kingdom with a flourishing city is now reduced to rubble and ruin. Bodies lay scattered in the streets, their faces frozen in shock and twisted in pain. The buildings are charred, their walls crumbling down in a heap of dust and ash. The sky is violent crimson, a reminder of the carnage I’ve encountered on my way here. The smell of death and destruction fills the air, an omen of what is to come.

Cypress Kingdom fell decades ago, but those who survived, refused to leave this wasteland. The Valkyrie Kingdom and the Landeena Kingdom offered a home to the people of Cypress. Yet, stubborn and loyal to their kingdom, the people refused. And look where it got them.

I shake my head. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Even so, I strayed after noticing the smoke. Kyson should know better than to send me off with the guards. Just as I have now, I tend to wander. Staring at the devastation before me, I listen for any signs of life. This fight had already been fought and lost. The rebel hunters have long departed. Nothing remains but flaming rubble and burning flesh.

As I navigate between the homes, keeping my eyes alert, I notice the windows of the house beside me are all smashed. Blood stains the walls.

What happened here?

Then, there’s the sound of something crashing, followed by what sounds like the floor creaking. Any sign of life, of movement in this dead city is perturbing. I listen for movement but hear nothing until I reach the rear of the house when I hear a thump. My gaze darts to the corner, noticing the horses on the blowing curtains. The thumping grows louder and faster as I step closer to the weatherboard home. Like a hummingbird’s wings, the sound grows faster. Leaning closer, I press my ear against the thin wood. I can just make out the sounds of breathing, the sound of a heartbeat.

Yet before I can investigate, a war cry sounds behind me. Foolish of them. He has given himself away long before he reaches me, and with that noise, I spin. In one swift movement, I grab the blade from my hip and thrust upward. It hits the mark just as my assailant’s blade pierces through my shoulder. I barely register the burn from slicing flesh and muscle as I stare into the bewildered eyes of a man. My blade, stuck under his chin, pierces through his mouth, and I can see through his parted lips as he screams silently. I rip my blade out. The man’s eyes widen as he chokes on his own blood, his hands grasping at his throat as he desperately tries to take a breath. His legs trembled, and he slowly sank to the ground. His body shudders as his life drains away, the last of his breath leaving him in a shuddering gasp.

His body lies at my feet. I wipe my blade and set it back in its holster on my hip when I hear the thumping again, only it is more frantic, making me look up at the window. As I enter the house, the smell of smoke and blood fills the air. The walls are stained with the blood of the three women I find, two of their lifeless bodies slumped on the floor, another dead and bent over a table, her skirt hitched above her hips and pants around her ankles.

I move past the girl, who is barely a woman. Her vacant eyes stare at the kitchen, and her throat has been cut. The furniture is upturned, and the windows are shattered. I step into what looks like a child’s bedroom and see toys scattered across the floor. The bed is unmade, and a stuffed animal lies on the pillow. The walls are painted a cheerful yellow, but the scene is anything but.

A teenage boy lays in his bed, which is a different contrast entirely. There are no toys on his side of the room, but weapons. His eyes unseeing,

peering up at the roof. He has one shoe on as if he had woken to the slaughter and attempted to help, only he never made it out of his bed. Yet peering down, I see a man’s body. He has black armor on—a hunter insignia on his chest. As I step closer, drawing the blanket up over the boy’s face, I hear movement. I instantly twist to notice the closet.

Frantic breathing can be heard, and then a sniffle. “Who’s in there?

Come out now,” I order.

No response. Moving toward the door, I am about to grip the handle when the door bursts open. A young boy, despite the massacre, has somehow survived. His huge eyes stare at me, and I crouch down to appear less threatening. He has dark brown hair and deep gray-blue eyes, wearing blue and white striped pajamas that are covered in blood and a knife clutched in his hand. I glance at the dead hunter on the ground.

“Did you do that?” I ask, turning my attention back to the boy. Only now, he stands in front of me, his blade against my throat.

“You better know how to use that blade, boy,” I tell the kid, my voice low and steady. “You only have one chance, so make sure you make it count.”

“I won’t miss. You can ask him,” the boy replies, nodding toward the dead man, yet his eyes don’t leave mine, his voice unwavering. His grip on the blade tightens, and his knuckles turn white.

“I would, but you see, I am not a medium. I can’t speak to the dead,” I tell him, and his teeth pull back in a snarl, and his eyes harden.

“Then you’ll join him,” he growls, and I feel the cold blade slice across my throat.