Tormsskull
2007-04-24, 09:17 AM
Hey everyone,
I have been working on a bunch of different writing projects over the last few years. Since this one (Belan) is the closest to being complete, I am going to concentrate on it as much as possible to finish it. I've already had a few people offer some suggestions to me on how I could fix it up. I've taken a look at some of those suggestions, made some changes, but still need to make more.
If you want to offer specific word changes or point out any errors I may have please feel free, otherwise just give me your general thoughts. Do you like it? Is it compelling? If you found it in the bookstore would you buy it? Etc.
It is PG13+ish, but the board filters should make it acceptable for the playground. It is rather long too so don't feel like you have to read the whole thing, unless you want to of course.
Here's chapter 1:
Belan
Chapter One: The Trial
“Yes.” Belan took a moment to stand. His face displayed sadness, his head hung low, his voice hollow. “I know you all want to get this day over with. You all want to cast your vote, condemn me to my fate, and go home and cuddle up under a warm blanket with a loved one. I’ve never had that opportunity. My entire life was one painful experience to the next, one horrific event chained to another.”
The jury didn’t look like they really cared, just as he feared. There were seven of them, five men and two women. They were all dressed regally, gems and jewelry splashed over their frames, wearing the finest silk garments. Their faces were filled with contempt as they looked down upon him from the juror’s bench. In the country of Symex, only the nobles could judge a person’s innocence or guilt. How could he get them to listen to his tale, how could he make them care?
Belan scanned the crowd looking for a friendly face, but there were none. It was going to take a miracle for this night to end in less than his death. “If I may, I’d like to explain to you how I got myself into this situation. Why I am sitting here before you now.”
The justicar for the prosecution spoke immediately. “Your Majesty, the good people of this court have more important things to do rather than listening to a contrived attempt at pity from this criminal. His atrocities are well documented and confirmed, I see no reason that we should waste any more time on him.”
Belan looked towards the judge’s seat, an ornate chair of carved ivory with lace trappings. For the most heinous crimes against the state, the queen of the country, her Majesty Queen Elara Melenbe presided over the court. The queen had very little interest in this case, her mind had been made up from the moment she set eyes upon the accused. As Belan looked upon her now, her eyes hung in a half-awake state, her hands busy idly petting the cat upon her lap. She pulled herself away from the animal to respond.
“I agree. Jury, please give me your recommendation for the criminal’s punishment.”
And that was that. It might have surprised some that the queen was so openly controlling of the entire legal system, but not Belan. In fact, Belan was surprised he had gotten any type of trial at all.
After the simple formality of each of the jurors placing a red globe on the pedestal in front of them, red for guilty, they spoke softly with one another and then the First stood.
“Your Majesty. We the jury in this case recommend death by freezing. We suggest the criminal be transported to Crystal Cove, bound and gagged, and be placed inside Crystal Lake with only his head above the waters. He will not be allowed to drown, and will slowly and painfully freeze until expiration.”
The queen nodded, lifting her golden scepter from its resting place and tapping it on her bench.“Recommendation accepted.” She now turned her full attention towards the defendant. “I see that you have listed a name here for yourself. I’m not sure that a demon such as you even deserves a name, the crimes that you have committed, the lives that you have taken, all for what? I see nothing but evil in your actions, and thus I condemn you to your fate. Monster, Belan as you call yourself, I sentence you to death as proscribed by the jury of the good people of the Symex Kingdom. I name this session of the Royal Court finalized.”
Belan sighed, his hands grasping the wooden chair that he sat in and squeezed hard. The two Anointed Knights that served as his guards walked towards him, one to either side. They waited until the audience and the jurors had begun to filter out before they motioned for Belan to rise.
Toura, the elder knight, stood close to six and a half feet tall and held a stocky frame. His black hair was kept long, his face clean-shaven, and his dull blue eyes cautious. His brother in arms, Coy, stood in stark contrast to him, at only five foot ten inches and of a lean, muscular frame. His bright blonde hair was cut short and his jaw line was covered in a thin layer of fuzz, his light brown eyes unhardened from his short time as a knight.
The queen stood with her feline, casting a long glance towards Belan as she began to depart.
“Your Majesty!” The voice came from lobby door. “Your Majesty. The snow has fallen thick outside, there must be a foot and a half or maybe even two feet.”
The queen frowned, showing her displeasure. “Find some way to clear the path then.”
At this time of year in the Symex Kingdom winter was raging on. As much as two feet of the white stuff could fall in only a few hours. Early on in the kingdom’s history a group of alchemists were hired to clear the roadways and paths of the winter leavings, making life easier for all. The alchemists concocted the infamous lava rocks, small red-black pebbles that emitted just enough heat to melt snow.
The capital city of the Symex kingdom, Symexia, had hired a large work force and sent them around to all but the smallest of cities. Armed with the lava rocks, the government workers were able to clear large tracks of snow though out the winter months. The system was very efficient and rarely ran into any difficulties, and thus the citizens were happy.
All of that changed a few short years ago. When the citizens learned how expensive the lava rocks were to produce, and saw the increased taxes year after year as a result, they became very upset. The taverns and inns of the country were full of grumbling people with only a few copper pennies to their name. The queen took the hint, cutting down the production of the lava rocks to a minimum, and reduced taxes accordingly. Unfortunately that left the lesser-traveled roads, like the path to the courthouse, clogged with snow.
The path to the courthouse was narrow and windy; it stood atop a small mountain about two miles outside of the capital city. Supposedly in the past the legendary justicar Vales Wyle had marched all the way up the mountain and proclaimed it pure of any outside influence. He then proceeded to convince the reigning queen of the time to hold all cases of law at the spot, and shortly after the courthouse was built.
Toura stood on Belan’s left, his silver armor engraved with runes and arcane symbols. The traditional red cape hung loosely on his shoulders. Belan had learned a little of the Anointed Knights since his capture. They were an order of warriors dedicated to preserving the land. They were exceptionally well trained, both in arms and the mystical ways. Belan had discovered the depth of their training the hard way.
“I don’t think that would be wise, Your Majesty.” Toura subconsciously glanced down at Belan as he said so. “There may be a rift in the Essence. Trying to utilize it could result in disastrous effects.” Coy nodded his agreement.
The queen was very upset, and she didn’t attempt to hide the emotion from her face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to wait here. Sit the prisoner back down. Tell all of the people waiting in the lobby to come back here and retake their seats. My councilor will send a contingent guard up here when we don’t return by nightfall.” Both of the knights nodded in unison.
The audience was herded back in, many of them disgusted that they had to spend more time in Belan’s presence, their scowled faces filled with hate and contempt. After only a few moments, Belan felt someone poking him in the back. He tried to ignore it at first, but it was insistent and very annoying. He shifted his large body slightly, it was difficult with the massive chains they had on him, and saw a young child holding a stick. The child had a large smile on his face.
“Are you having fun young one?”
The child jumped back, his smile draining away and fear taking its place. The child’s mother finally tracked him down and scooped him up into her arms. “Mommy, he talked to me! Am I going to die?” The woman scurried off with her child, telling him everything was going to be fine.
An hour or more passed, the crowd carrying on little conversations, and children ran about playing games with one another. A few of the older children were pretending to be at Belan’s execution. The child that was to represent him held his hands behind his back as if he were bound, and his face exploded in mock agony as his fellows mimed lowering him into what must have been Crystal Lake.
Toura and Coy spoke softly with one another not ten feet from Belan. The few words that Belan was able to catch led him to believe they were discussing how to safely transport Belan to his execution site. They seemed worried that many people would show up, some even might try to deal the deathblow prior to the official act.
The queen was growing very bored, her servants tried to placate her by singing songs or telling jokes. Each one failed miserably and was told to resume their duties. She scanned around for her cat, noticed it sleeping in a curled up ball off in the corner, and lazily glanced about the courtroom.
“Someone entertain me. This is dreadfully boring.”
Belan saw his opportunity. “Your Majesty. I have some skills in the arts, perhaps I could entertain you?”
The queen glanced towards the knights, and they simply shrugged. “This I have to see. The chains stay on though, so I am not sure what art you think you can perform.”
Belan nodded. “Not a problem, Your Majesty. My particular gift is in telling stories.”
The queen looked disinterested, but her eyes stayed on Belan, and so he began.
“There once was a young boy, a scrawny little lad, of no older than four. He was an energetic child, his elders had said, never walking when it was possible to run, and speaking far too quickly to be clearly understood. The boy was the son of an armorsmith, his father always working with metal, dye, and fasteners to create new equipment for the upper class.”
“What was this urchin’s name?” The queen interrupted.
“The boy’s real name was Kalvas, known to only a few. He was called Beat on the streets.”
“What a preposterous name.” One of the male jurors commented.
Belan nodded towards the juror as he continued. “The name was given to the young boy because he had the worst of luck. He could not win at anything. Everything he attempted he failed, and every failure was met with a stern consequence from his father. He often went to sleep with bruises and welts as bedmates.
One day, when he was only but eight years old, Beat’s father told him to go out and make some money or else he’d have to find a different place to live. Beat didn’t know anything about making money, but he knew that he didn’t want to face a harsh winter without a home, and so out he went.
He picked some flowers from the fields, arranging them so that they were appealing to look at, and then tried to sell them back in the city. He asked for only a copper penny per set, but money was tight in this little city, and he could find no buyers. When he went home he took the flowers with him to show his father that he had tried.
Beat’s father took one look at the flowers and was filled with rage. “Flowers! You tried to sell flowers? Are you trying to make me look like a fool? An armorsmith has to be known for his craft: sturdy, durable armor. If my customers find out that my son is some kind of fairy off picking flowers than they’ll think I’m weak too.”
Beat tried to flee from his father, but there was nowhere he could run to escape his wrath. Beat’s father grabbed him, lifted him into the air, and held him there upside down as the blood drained to his face. After a while, when Beat thought he was going to pass out, he was thrown against the wall and an intense pain shot down his spine.”
“Mommy, why did Beat’s father do that to him? Didn’t he like his son?" “Don’t pay any attention to that story, its total nonsense.”
Belan heard the words behind him, but chose not to react to them. Some of the audience was leaning closer, trying to hear the story, but most still ignored him.
“Beat was hurt, he was hurt bad. He crawled over to his bed with every ounce of his strength, and collapsed right then and there. When he woke up his body was racked with pain, and he could barely move. Beat’s father told him that if he didn’t get better by the next day, he’d throw Beat into the river and be done and over with him. Beat slept near that whole day.
On the following day he made himself stand, painful as it was, and went outside to show his father that he didn’t need to be thrown into the river. He found his way into the fields and lay down, trying to ease the pain. He must have lain there for hours, but it hurt too much to try and get back up, so he just stayed there, body pressed against the ground.
The sound of a carriage could be heard off in the distance, its wheels rotating in rhythm. Beat thought he should probably get moving before the carriage came, but his body was all but unwilling to cooperate with him. He figured the carriage would just move on past, and so he didn’t worry too much. And so it did, it moved right on past him and left him on his own. And so did the next carriage, and the one that followed that, on and on for most of the day and night.
The last carriage Beat had heard didn’t pass by. It stopped only a short distance from him. The door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was a beautiful woman, like one from the stories Beat had always heard. She had long brown hair, deep green eyes, and a smile that could easily find itself mirrored. The woman was looking at him, and he wished he could give her a smile and wave, but he wasn’t feeling in such a cheerful mood right then.
The woman approached him, her face full of compassion. As she got closer, and noticed the pain he was in, she became worried. She shouted something behind her, funny words in a language Beat had never heard. From the carriage a second person came, this one an old man. He too walked to Beat, bending down to get a close look. The two exchanged more funny words, and then the man went back to the carriage and brought out a small box.
The man opened the box in front of Beat, showing him the different vials, ointments, and creams it contained. The man withdrew a small vial full of a light blue liquid, popped off the stopper, and motioned it towards Beat’s mouth. Beat tried to ask what it was, but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t form the words properly. He decided to drink the liquid, at least it would wet his throat and maybe let him speak. The moment he swallowed he felt something funny passing through his body. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just a warm feeling. Like a bright sunshine day slowly traveling down his throat and into his stomach.
The man smiled, and the women as well. The pain in Beat’s back was subsiding, he felt like he might be able to move again. He tried to stand, and did. He moved his arms about, and they felt wonderful. “Th-thanks!” Beat said as he smiled towards the curious strangers.
“Laki-den zi dorsh.”
The woman sounded funny, but she looked so nice, Beat didn’t want to leave her. He prayed that he’d be able to go with this woman, repay her in someway for her kindness. His prayer wasn’t answered.
Off a short distance away Beat spotted his father coming closer, staring right at him. He walked right up to Beat, resting a calm hand on his head.
“There’s my little boy. Why did you run off? I was so worried about you.” Then, turning towards the strangers, he smiled. “Thank you friends, thank you very much. I need to get my son home now and let him get some sleep.”
The woman nodded, the smile still on her face. Beat’s father escorted him back towards their home, not saying a word. Taking a glance back, Beat noticed the two strangers get back into the carriage, and ride off. That’s when it happened. Like running into a wall, Beat hit the ground hard as his father punched him in the head.
“You worthless piece of ****! Do you know who those people are? You don’t deserve to talk to their kind! You’re nothing!” The barrage of kicks that followed left Beat crying and spitting up blood.
As Belan paused, he noticed something curious. The room had fallen quiet, only the occasional cough or shifting of feet could be heard above his voice. Every eye seemed glued to him, waiting for him to continue. He licked his lips a bit, blinked his eyes, and continued the tale.
“Beat did make it home that night, his father had abandoned him after the strangers were out of sight, and he snuck past the snoring form to hide under the covers of his bed. Things didn’t get better for Beat, most nights he got at least one punch, kick, or whipping. Beat got used to it, he took the punishment and tried to think of the beautiful woman whenever his father was digging into him. Her face was strong in his memory, and though he forgot many other things, her face was always crystal clear.
When Beat was eleven or twelve, he was out on the streets one night, looking for some way to make money. When he had gotten lucky in the past, either by finding something discarded that was worth a bit, or when he could slip undetected into the wishing well and grab some coins, his father would let him be. Tonight Beat wanted nothing more than to sleep without pain, but the wishing well was totally dry.
The local tavern of the city was emitting some loud noises that night, its many patrons still laughing, shouting, and causing a ruckus. Beat decided to take a look and see if there were any opportunities there. From out of the front doors a man and woman emerged, wrapped in each other’s arms. They walked around to the side of the tavern where it was secluded, and began to undress.
Beat had learned about this thing that adults did from one of his friends. It sounded stupid and looked really gross, but those two were not paying any attention to their surroundings when Beat snuck in, grabbed their clothes, and scurried off. When he was far enough away from the couple, he looked through what he had found. The clothes were plain, but maybe they could fetch some kind of price. There was a small cloth sack inside the wrappings of the clothes.
Beat crossed his fingers, prayed for good luck, and opened it. Once again his prayer went unheard. He found only a few measly copper coins, but he hoped that it would be enough to stay his father’s hand for the night. It wasn’t.
When Beat came home with the clothes and the few coins, his father’s first words were “This is it?” Beat swallowed, nodding towards his father. His father nodded back. “Bring me the hammer.”
Beat’s father had said it many times in the past, always trying to scare Beat into being more productive. Beat hoped that this would be like the other times as he fetched the solid iron hammer from the small closet. He handed the hammer to his father, saw the look in his father’s eyes, and he knew this wasn’t going to be like the other nights.
Beat’s father grabbed him by the neck, and lifted him off the ground as he took him towards the workbench.
“Put your hand on the table.”
“Please, I promise. I’ll find more. I’ll go out right now.”
In response Beat took the butt of the hammer to the face, breaking his nose and costing him two teeth, as he fell to the floor.
Beat’s father grabbed him again by the neck, setting his entire body onto the workbench. The hammer went up, and the hammer came down. The screams from inside the house could be heard a mile away as the bones in Beat’s right hand were shattered.
“Shut up Shut up!. If you make anymore noise I’m going to show you what real pain is.”
A sniffle was heard in the courtroom, accompanied by a pair of moist eyes. “Is Beat alright?” A young lady asked. Belan shook his head slowly, looking back to the lady as best he could. He saw the compassion in her eyes , but it was not for him, it was for his story, and so he continued.
“Beat’s right hand is now completely useless. He can’t move his fingers at all, and if he tries to move his thumb the pain is overwhelming. He wants to try to visit the local herbalist, a man with knowledge of some healing remedies, but he knows if he does his father will find out and be very upset. He learns to live with his new impaired mobility, but now he has an even harder time finding money, as he isn’t nearly as dexterous as before.
The years passed by slowly, so very slowly for Beat. He learned to deal with his handicap, but the people of the city shunned him even more. Wherever he went he was met with jeers and japes. The kids called him “Freak” and “Toothy”, and the parents always watched him closely, expecting he was up to no good.
When Beat was seventeen he decided once and for all to escape his father. He packed the few belongings he could really call his own, three changes of clothes, a reed whistle, a sturdy pair of boots, and a torn cloth hat. He made his way into a local farm and stole several ears of corn and other handy vegetables, and then set off on the road.
Shortly into his journey he came across a barrage of wagons. The wagons in the front and rear of the ensemble contained guards decorated in shining armor and fineries. The wagon in the middle was covered by some kind of thick black sheet, a slit in the front of it opening up slightly in the wind.
Beat can’t say why exactly, but he feels compelled to see what is inside. Of course getting close to the wagon won’t be easy, even though the whole group is moving slowly, the guards would surely see him. Still, he thinks he must try, and so he bends down and runs almost on all fours. He stays as close to the wagons as he can, staying just out of sight.
When he is next to the middle wagon he jumps onto the side, taking a moment to catch his breath. He then creeps towards the front, almost getting bumped off in the process. He grabs on to the black cloth of the sheet, its thickness startles him and he takes a moment to appreciate its quality. Beat places his one working hand on the sheet at the slit, and pulls it back to peer inside.”
“What do you think it is?”
Belan heard the whisper behind him, though the speaker was only whispering. The man is speaking to his woman friend, not his wife, but someone he is courting most likely.
“I’ll bet its something worth a lot of money” the man continues, “what else would have guards surrounding it?”
Belan cleared his throat, and almost instantly a cup of water was set before him by one of the queen’s servants. Belan smiled at the servant and downed the entire cup in an instant. The queen’s cat ran across the ground, chasing after a mouse or other small rodent. The queen herself looked directly at Belan, her eyes focused intently upon him.
“What was inside?”
As queen finishes her question, Belan sets the cup back down, and begins to speak once again.
“As Beat pulled back the sheet he immediately noticed a pleasant smell, like fresh flowers in the morning. Inside of the wagon was large cage, complete with metal bars, a locked door, and coarse straw that lined the floor. Beat takes all of this in quickly, his eyes barely passing over these details as they come to rest on a beautiful woman. The woman is clad in red and black silk, a dress designed to enhance her features and snuggly fit the contours of her body.
In awe, Beat can only stare at this exotic woman as she stares back. Her eyes look black, like the color of a moonless night, but Beat knows this cannot be the case. He thinks that the small amount of light that enters the wagon through the slit is the cause, making the woman’s eyes appear darker than what they really are. The woman’s dark hair flows behind her, stretching down to the small of her back.
After what seems an eternity, the woman speaks, her voice sounding quiet, but booming at the same time.
“I see you Kalvas.” Beat was shocked. No one had called him by his real name in years.
“How do you know my name?”
The woman smiled, her face igniting into a joyful, knowing expression. “I know much about you Kalvas. Such a poor, poor boy.”
“I’m not a boy!”
The woman’s smile faltered. “Of course not, you’re clearly a man. I cannot see so well in here, and I never meant to upset you.”
Beat nodded his head. It was dark inside, and the woman seemed very nice. Beat could not say why exactly, but he wanted to get close to her. He wanted to open the cage and embrace her, and show her how much of a man he was. The woman seemed to know this, the smile on her face coming to life again.
“Do you want to come inside? It’s awfully lonely in here.”
Beat has never felt so sure about something in his life until this moment. He knows he must do whatever he can to get through the bars. He taps slightly on the lock, testing is strength and design.
“This isn’t going to open easily.”
The woman moved forward now, liquid as a snake, her face coming clear into view. She pressed her breasts against the bars as she sat on her knees, her delicate hand coming forward and stroking Beat’s face.
Her hand was gentle and reassuring, feelings that Beat hadn’t had directed towards him in as long as he can remember.
“You can open it. I have faith in you.”
The certainty in her voice flowed into Beat, and he believed that he can open the lock. He drew his reed whistle from his pocket, placed the tip of it into the lock, and somehow managed to lift the tumbler and unlock the door.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that the lock could not have been opened so easily, but he doesn’t care. He flings the door open and throws himself on top of the woman, grabbing at her body greedily with his one good hand. He tears at her clothing, pulling it off of her in haste, casting it aside without a care. For her part she is more than willing, she busies herself with removing his britches.
The ecstasy is overwhelming, a surge of joy and energy spiraling through him. In the middle of it all she threw him on his back and jumped atop him, gripping his shoulders while she was in the motions. At the culmination he closed his eyes, and her lips suddenly locked onto his. He expected a kiss or to feel her tongue upon his, but instead his mouth was assaulted by something corrosive.
His eyes instantly opened, and were met by the woman’s eyes. Pitch-black eyes. He tried to pull his mouth away but was unable, and when he raised his good arm to knock her away she grasped it and forced it down to the floor. The destruction inside of him ensued, tearing into his organs and causing unbelievable pain. All his life he has been the victim of abuse and agony, but nothing that could compare to what he was feeling just then.
Beat began to wonder if he was dead. He felt nothing for a long time, unsure if he was awake, asleep, or somewhere in-between. When his eyes opened this time he was sure he was alive, but still quite confused. He was looking at the woman, sitting behind the locked cage, the sheet brushing against him. His eyes blinked over and over. Could he have imagined it? Could he have somehow fallen into a stupor?
Still regaining his sense of awareness, Beat hadn’t realized that the wagons came to a stop. By the time it registered in his mind he was shoved from the wagon and landed flat on his face.
“Scum! Get away from there before you get hurt.”
A man walked over towards him from the other side of the wagon. “Go on. Get out of here.” The man bobed his crossbow, pointed purposefully at Beat’s back as he spoke.
Beat pulled himself to his feet and ran off.
After he was a good distance from the caravan, Beat began to walk to the north, than changed to the east, before finally settling on south. He was not sure where he would go, what he should do, but knows he must get some sleep. Forgetting about his initial purpose of getting away from home, he stumbled back towards the city. He made it all the way to his back door before collapsing in exhaustion.
The exotic woman appears once again in his dreams, those black eyes piercing into his soul. He wanted to see her again, if only to figure out what happened. When he came to he tried to move but discovered he is unable to. Looking down he saw ropes about his body, holding him firmly against the workbench. As he began to panic, he noticed his father, standing by the door holding the hammer in his hands.
“Tried to runaway did you? Not as easy out there in the world as you thought, is it? With all the dangers and all the difficulties making a living, I’m not surprised you found your way back here. Of course, I must teach you another lesson, one that you’ll hopefully walk away with something important. Or at least, limp away.”
As he finished his little speech he walked towards Beat, holding the hammer in both hands.
“Father! No, please, don’t do this. I didn’t try to runaway, I didn’t realize what time it was and I stayed out later that I should have. I promise it will never happen again.”
Beat’s father stoped for a moment, considering his son’s words. “You might be telling the truth, but you might not be. I think you have too much of your bitch mother’s blood in you to be honest.” He advances faster, and raises the hammer high in the air.
Beat closed his eyes, waiting for the pain.
After a moment or two his eyes came back open, and his father still stood there, hammer in the air, looking down at him. A smile came to his father’s face, and down went the hammer. Pain shot through his body, and Beat was sure his foot was crushed, doomed to be as useless as his right hand. The pain seemed to subside quickly though, replaced by rage.
“You despicable ****! Where’s your great strength now?”
Beat’s father looked down at him, his face froze in incredulity. The hammer went up, and came down again. This time there is no pain. The rage throbs inside of him, fueling his body, his chest moving up in down.
The hammer moved up and down three more times before Beat began to laugh. Sweat poured off the man’s face, soaking his shirt and even his britches. The ropes that locked Beat’s chest to the bench felt fragile, and with one surge of his arms they burst in unison. He pulled the few remaining ropes that bound his legs, bursting those just as easily.
He looked down at his foot and saw that it had turned a deep red color, like that of a ruby. But it didn’t stop at his foot, his entire body was the same red color. Both of his feet now end in sharp obsidian-black claws, as well as his hands. He flexed his right hand, and it moved as if it had never been injured in the first place.
“Demon!”
The man standing before him looked familiar, as if he had known him a long time ago. A lifetime ago. He turned his body, dropped his feet to the ground, and stood. He didn’t think, his right arm lashed out, the claw piercing the man through the chest and lifted him off the ground. Beat’s mouth opened, a rumble in his stomach emits its self as a stream of acid, destroying the man’s face and melting away part of his upper chest.
He throws the body against the wall where it crumpled in on its self. Voices could be heard from outside, and then there is a pounding on the door. The man who lived here was always paranoid about burglars, Beat remembers, and so the door is reinforced with thick wooden beams. No one can get in.
Snatching a small mirror from the water basin, he took a long glance at himself. His face was the same ruby-red color as the rest of his body, his eyes black as night. His head was adorned with four small rectangle-shaped protrusions, his mouth was also pitch-black, and full of razor sharp teeth of the same color. His head was bald, his ears large and covered in a dark fuzz.
He lowered the mirror to other parts of his body, noticing sharp claw-like protrusions from the back of his elbows and a solid muscular body frame. Everything was larger, more massive. His clothes were tattered, apparently destroyed. He found a pair of the man who lived here’s pants, one of the largest pair, and was barely able to fit into them.
“Ed! Ed! Open up Ed! Is everything ok in there?”
Ed, that was the man who used to live here’s name. Ed. The barrage on the door intensified, but the door held, it would continue to hold for as long as necessary. He found a shirt and threw it over his body, it was too small but sufficient. He brought the mirror up to his face one more time.
This was not the face he knew. This was someone new. This one deserved a new name, something more worthy of this appearance. A name was whispered in his head, where it came from he didn’t know, but he immediately knew it was the right name for him. The name that would signify him for the time to come. Belan.”
I have been working on a bunch of different writing projects over the last few years. Since this one (Belan) is the closest to being complete, I am going to concentrate on it as much as possible to finish it. I've already had a few people offer some suggestions to me on how I could fix it up. I've taken a look at some of those suggestions, made some changes, but still need to make more.
If you want to offer specific word changes or point out any errors I may have please feel free, otherwise just give me your general thoughts. Do you like it? Is it compelling? If you found it in the bookstore would you buy it? Etc.
It is PG13+ish, but the board filters should make it acceptable for the playground. It is rather long too so don't feel like you have to read the whole thing, unless you want to of course.
Here's chapter 1:
Belan
Chapter One: The Trial
“Yes.” Belan took a moment to stand. His face displayed sadness, his head hung low, his voice hollow. “I know you all want to get this day over with. You all want to cast your vote, condemn me to my fate, and go home and cuddle up under a warm blanket with a loved one. I’ve never had that opportunity. My entire life was one painful experience to the next, one horrific event chained to another.”
The jury didn’t look like they really cared, just as he feared. There were seven of them, five men and two women. They were all dressed regally, gems and jewelry splashed over their frames, wearing the finest silk garments. Their faces were filled with contempt as they looked down upon him from the juror’s bench. In the country of Symex, only the nobles could judge a person’s innocence or guilt. How could he get them to listen to his tale, how could he make them care?
Belan scanned the crowd looking for a friendly face, but there were none. It was going to take a miracle for this night to end in less than his death. “If I may, I’d like to explain to you how I got myself into this situation. Why I am sitting here before you now.”
The justicar for the prosecution spoke immediately. “Your Majesty, the good people of this court have more important things to do rather than listening to a contrived attempt at pity from this criminal. His atrocities are well documented and confirmed, I see no reason that we should waste any more time on him.”
Belan looked towards the judge’s seat, an ornate chair of carved ivory with lace trappings. For the most heinous crimes against the state, the queen of the country, her Majesty Queen Elara Melenbe presided over the court. The queen had very little interest in this case, her mind had been made up from the moment she set eyes upon the accused. As Belan looked upon her now, her eyes hung in a half-awake state, her hands busy idly petting the cat upon her lap. She pulled herself away from the animal to respond.
“I agree. Jury, please give me your recommendation for the criminal’s punishment.”
And that was that. It might have surprised some that the queen was so openly controlling of the entire legal system, but not Belan. In fact, Belan was surprised he had gotten any type of trial at all.
After the simple formality of each of the jurors placing a red globe on the pedestal in front of them, red for guilty, they spoke softly with one another and then the First stood.
“Your Majesty. We the jury in this case recommend death by freezing. We suggest the criminal be transported to Crystal Cove, bound and gagged, and be placed inside Crystal Lake with only his head above the waters. He will not be allowed to drown, and will slowly and painfully freeze until expiration.”
The queen nodded, lifting her golden scepter from its resting place and tapping it on her bench.“Recommendation accepted.” She now turned her full attention towards the defendant. “I see that you have listed a name here for yourself. I’m not sure that a demon such as you even deserves a name, the crimes that you have committed, the lives that you have taken, all for what? I see nothing but evil in your actions, and thus I condemn you to your fate. Monster, Belan as you call yourself, I sentence you to death as proscribed by the jury of the good people of the Symex Kingdom. I name this session of the Royal Court finalized.”
Belan sighed, his hands grasping the wooden chair that he sat in and squeezed hard. The two Anointed Knights that served as his guards walked towards him, one to either side. They waited until the audience and the jurors had begun to filter out before they motioned for Belan to rise.
Toura, the elder knight, stood close to six and a half feet tall and held a stocky frame. His black hair was kept long, his face clean-shaven, and his dull blue eyes cautious. His brother in arms, Coy, stood in stark contrast to him, at only five foot ten inches and of a lean, muscular frame. His bright blonde hair was cut short and his jaw line was covered in a thin layer of fuzz, his light brown eyes unhardened from his short time as a knight.
The queen stood with her feline, casting a long glance towards Belan as she began to depart.
“Your Majesty!” The voice came from lobby door. “Your Majesty. The snow has fallen thick outside, there must be a foot and a half or maybe even two feet.”
The queen frowned, showing her displeasure. “Find some way to clear the path then.”
At this time of year in the Symex Kingdom winter was raging on. As much as two feet of the white stuff could fall in only a few hours. Early on in the kingdom’s history a group of alchemists were hired to clear the roadways and paths of the winter leavings, making life easier for all. The alchemists concocted the infamous lava rocks, small red-black pebbles that emitted just enough heat to melt snow.
The capital city of the Symex kingdom, Symexia, had hired a large work force and sent them around to all but the smallest of cities. Armed with the lava rocks, the government workers were able to clear large tracks of snow though out the winter months. The system was very efficient and rarely ran into any difficulties, and thus the citizens were happy.
All of that changed a few short years ago. When the citizens learned how expensive the lava rocks were to produce, and saw the increased taxes year after year as a result, they became very upset. The taverns and inns of the country were full of grumbling people with only a few copper pennies to their name. The queen took the hint, cutting down the production of the lava rocks to a minimum, and reduced taxes accordingly. Unfortunately that left the lesser-traveled roads, like the path to the courthouse, clogged with snow.
The path to the courthouse was narrow and windy; it stood atop a small mountain about two miles outside of the capital city. Supposedly in the past the legendary justicar Vales Wyle had marched all the way up the mountain and proclaimed it pure of any outside influence. He then proceeded to convince the reigning queen of the time to hold all cases of law at the spot, and shortly after the courthouse was built.
Toura stood on Belan’s left, his silver armor engraved with runes and arcane symbols. The traditional red cape hung loosely on his shoulders. Belan had learned a little of the Anointed Knights since his capture. They were an order of warriors dedicated to preserving the land. They were exceptionally well trained, both in arms and the mystical ways. Belan had discovered the depth of their training the hard way.
“I don’t think that would be wise, Your Majesty.” Toura subconsciously glanced down at Belan as he said so. “There may be a rift in the Essence. Trying to utilize it could result in disastrous effects.” Coy nodded his agreement.
The queen was very upset, and she didn’t attempt to hide the emotion from her face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to wait here. Sit the prisoner back down. Tell all of the people waiting in the lobby to come back here and retake their seats. My councilor will send a contingent guard up here when we don’t return by nightfall.” Both of the knights nodded in unison.
The audience was herded back in, many of them disgusted that they had to spend more time in Belan’s presence, their scowled faces filled with hate and contempt. After only a few moments, Belan felt someone poking him in the back. He tried to ignore it at first, but it was insistent and very annoying. He shifted his large body slightly, it was difficult with the massive chains they had on him, and saw a young child holding a stick. The child had a large smile on his face.
“Are you having fun young one?”
The child jumped back, his smile draining away and fear taking its place. The child’s mother finally tracked him down and scooped him up into her arms. “Mommy, he talked to me! Am I going to die?” The woman scurried off with her child, telling him everything was going to be fine.
An hour or more passed, the crowd carrying on little conversations, and children ran about playing games with one another. A few of the older children were pretending to be at Belan’s execution. The child that was to represent him held his hands behind his back as if he were bound, and his face exploded in mock agony as his fellows mimed lowering him into what must have been Crystal Lake.
Toura and Coy spoke softly with one another not ten feet from Belan. The few words that Belan was able to catch led him to believe they were discussing how to safely transport Belan to his execution site. They seemed worried that many people would show up, some even might try to deal the deathblow prior to the official act.
The queen was growing very bored, her servants tried to placate her by singing songs or telling jokes. Each one failed miserably and was told to resume their duties. She scanned around for her cat, noticed it sleeping in a curled up ball off in the corner, and lazily glanced about the courtroom.
“Someone entertain me. This is dreadfully boring.”
Belan saw his opportunity. “Your Majesty. I have some skills in the arts, perhaps I could entertain you?”
The queen glanced towards the knights, and they simply shrugged. “This I have to see. The chains stay on though, so I am not sure what art you think you can perform.”
Belan nodded. “Not a problem, Your Majesty. My particular gift is in telling stories.”
The queen looked disinterested, but her eyes stayed on Belan, and so he began.
“There once was a young boy, a scrawny little lad, of no older than four. He was an energetic child, his elders had said, never walking when it was possible to run, and speaking far too quickly to be clearly understood. The boy was the son of an armorsmith, his father always working with metal, dye, and fasteners to create new equipment for the upper class.”
“What was this urchin’s name?” The queen interrupted.
“The boy’s real name was Kalvas, known to only a few. He was called Beat on the streets.”
“What a preposterous name.” One of the male jurors commented.
Belan nodded towards the juror as he continued. “The name was given to the young boy because he had the worst of luck. He could not win at anything. Everything he attempted he failed, and every failure was met with a stern consequence from his father. He often went to sleep with bruises and welts as bedmates.
One day, when he was only but eight years old, Beat’s father told him to go out and make some money or else he’d have to find a different place to live. Beat didn’t know anything about making money, but he knew that he didn’t want to face a harsh winter without a home, and so out he went.
He picked some flowers from the fields, arranging them so that they were appealing to look at, and then tried to sell them back in the city. He asked for only a copper penny per set, but money was tight in this little city, and he could find no buyers. When he went home he took the flowers with him to show his father that he had tried.
Beat’s father took one look at the flowers and was filled with rage. “Flowers! You tried to sell flowers? Are you trying to make me look like a fool? An armorsmith has to be known for his craft: sturdy, durable armor. If my customers find out that my son is some kind of fairy off picking flowers than they’ll think I’m weak too.”
Beat tried to flee from his father, but there was nowhere he could run to escape his wrath. Beat’s father grabbed him, lifted him into the air, and held him there upside down as the blood drained to his face. After a while, when Beat thought he was going to pass out, he was thrown against the wall and an intense pain shot down his spine.”
“Mommy, why did Beat’s father do that to him? Didn’t he like his son?" “Don’t pay any attention to that story, its total nonsense.”
Belan heard the words behind him, but chose not to react to them. Some of the audience was leaning closer, trying to hear the story, but most still ignored him.
“Beat was hurt, he was hurt bad. He crawled over to his bed with every ounce of his strength, and collapsed right then and there. When he woke up his body was racked with pain, and he could barely move. Beat’s father told him that if he didn’t get better by the next day, he’d throw Beat into the river and be done and over with him. Beat slept near that whole day.
On the following day he made himself stand, painful as it was, and went outside to show his father that he didn’t need to be thrown into the river. He found his way into the fields and lay down, trying to ease the pain. He must have lain there for hours, but it hurt too much to try and get back up, so he just stayed there, body pressed against the ground.
The sound of a carriage could be heard off in the distance, its wheels rotating in rhythm. Beat thought he should probably get moving before the carriage came, but his body was all but unwilling to cooperate with him. He figured the carriage would just move on past, and so he didn’t worry too much. And so it did, it moved right on past him and left him on his own. And so did the next carriage, and the one that followed that, on and on for most of the day and night.
The last carriage Beat had heard didn’t pass by. It stopped only a short distance from him. The door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was a beautiful woman, like one from the stories Beat had always heard. She had long brown hair, deep green eyes, and a smile that could easily find itself mirrored. The woman was looking at him, and he wished he could give her a smile and wave, but he wasn’t feeling in such a cheerful mood right then.
The woman approached him, her face full of compassion. As she got closer, and noticed the pain he was in, she became worried. She shouted something behind her, funny words in a language Beat had never heard. From the carriage a second person came, this one an old man. He too walked to Beat, bending down to get a close look. The two exchanged more funny words, and then the man went back to the carriage and brought out a small box.
The man opened the box in front of Beat, showing him the different vials, ointments, and creams it contained. The man withdrew a small vial full of a light blue liquid, popped off the stopper, and motioned it towards Beat’s mouth. Beat tried to ask what it was, but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t form the words properly. He decided to drink the liquid, at least it would wet his throat and maybe let him speak. The moment he swallowed he felt something funny passing through his body. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just a warm feeling. Like a bright sunshine day slowly traveling down his throat and into his stomach.
The man smiled, and the women as well. The pain in Beat’s back was subsiding, he felt like he might be able to move again. He tried to stand, and did. He moved his arms about, and they felt wonderful. “Th-thanks!” Beat said as he smiled towards the curious strangers.
“Laki-den zi dorsh.”
The woman sounded funny, but she looked so nice, Beat didn’t want to leave her. He prayed that he’d be able to go with this woman, repay her in someway for her kindness. His prayer wasn’t answered.
Off a short distance away Beat spotted his father coming closer, staring right at him. He walked right up to Beat, resting a calm hand on his head.
“There’s my little boy. Why did you run off? I was so worried about you.” Then, turning towards the strangers, he smiled. “Thank you friends, thank you very much. I need to get my son home now and let him get some sleep.”
The woman nodded, the smile still on her face. Beat’s father escorted him back towards their home, not saying a word. Taking a glance back, Beat noticed the two strangers get back into the carriage, and ride off. That’s when it happened. Like running into a wall, Beat hit the ground hard as his father punched him in the head.
“You worthless piece of ****! Do you know who those people are? You don’t deserve to talk to their kind! You’re nothing!” The barrage of kicks that followed left Beat crying and spitting up blood.
As Belan paused, he noticed something curious. The room had fallen quiet, only the occasional cough or shifting of feet could be heard above his voice. Every eye seemed glued to him, waiting for him to continue. He licked his lips a bit, blinked his eyes, and continued the tale.
“Beat did make it home that night, his father had abandoned him after the strangers were out of sight, and he snuck past the snoring form to hide under the covers of his bed. Things didn’t get better for Beat, most nights he got at least one punch, kick, or whipping. Beat got used to it, he took the punishment and tried to think of the beautiful woman whenever his father was digging into him. Her face was strong in his memory, and though he forgot many other things, her face was always crystal clear.
When Beat was eleven or twelve, he was out on the streets one night, looking for some way to make money. When he had gotten lucky in the past, either by finding something discarded that was worth a bit, or when he could slip undetected into the wishing well and grab some coins, his father would let him be. Tonight Beat wanted nothing more than to sleep without pain, but the wishing well was totally dry.
The local tavern of the city was emitting some loud noises that night, its many patrons still laughing, shouting, and causing a ruckus. Beat decided to take a look and see if there were any opportunities there. From out of the front doors a man and woman emerged, wrapped in each other’s arms. They walked around to the side of the tavern where it was secluded, and began to undress.
Beat had learned about this thing that adults did from one of his friends. It sounded stupid and looked really gross, but those two were not paying any attention to their surroundings when Beat snuck in, grabbed their clothes, and scurried off. When he was far enough away from the couple, he looked through what he had found. The clothes were plain, but maybe they could fetch some kind of price. There was a small cloth sack inside the wrappings of the clothes.
Beat crossed his fingers, prayed for good luck, and opened it. Once again his prayer went unheard. He found only a few measly copper coins, but he hoped that it would be enough to stay his father’s hand for the night. It wasn’t.
When Beat came home with the clothes and the few coins, his father’s first words were “This is it?” Beat swallowed, nodding towards his father. His father nodded back. “Bring me the hammer.”
Beat’s father had said it many times in the past, always trying to scare Beat into being more productive. Beat hoped that this would be like the other times as he fetched the solid iron hammer from the small closet. He handed the hammer to his father, saw the look in his father’s eyes, and he knew this wasn’t going to be like the other nights.
Beat’s father grabbed him by the neck, and lifted him off the ground as he took him towards the workbench.
“Put your hand on the table.”
“Please, I promise. I’ll find more. I’ll go out right now.”
In response Beat took the butt of the hammer to the face, breaking his nose and costing him two teeth, as he fell to the floor.
Beat’s father grabbed him again by the neck, setting his entire body onto the workbench. The hammer went up, and the hammer came down. The screams from inside the house could be heard a mile away as the bones in Beat’s right hand were shattered.
“Shut up Shut up!. If you make anymore noise I’m going to show you what real pain is.”
A sniffle was heard in the courtroom, accompanied by a pair of moist eyes. “Is Beat alright?” A young lady asked. Belan shook his head slowly, looking back to the lady as best he could. He saw the compassion in her eyes , but it was not for him, it was for his story, and so he continued.
“Beat’s right hand is now completely useless. He can’t move his fingers at all, and if he tries to move his thumb the pain is overwhelming. He wants to try to visit the local herbalist, a man with knowledge of some healing remedies, but he knows if he does his father will find out and be very upset. He learns to live with his new impaired mobility, but now he has an even harder time finding money, as he isn’t nearly as dexterous as before.
The years passed by slowly, so very slowly for Beat. He learned to deal with his handicap, but the people of the city shunned him even more. Wherever he went he was met with jeers and japes. The kids called him “Freak” and “Toothy”, and the parents always watched him closely, expecting he was up to no good.
When Beat was seventeen he decided once and for all to escape his father. He packed the few belongings he could really call his own, three changes of clothes, a reed whistle, a sturdy pair of boots, and a torn cloth hat. He made his way into a local farm and stole several ears of corn and other handy vegetables, and then set off on the road.
Shortly into his journey he came across a barrage of wagons. The wagons in the front and rear of the ensemble contained guards decorated in shining armor and fineries. The wagon in the middle was covered by some kind of thick black sheet, a slit in the front of it opening up slightly in the wind.
Beat can’t say why exactly, but he feels compelled to see what is inside. Of course getting close to the wagon won’t be easy, even though the whole group is moving slowly, the guards would surely see him. Still, he thinks he must try, and so he bends down and runs almost on all fours. He stays as close to the wagons as he can, staying just out of sight.
When he is next to the middle wagon he jumps onto the side, taking a moment to catch his breath. He then creeps towards the front, almost getting bumped off in the process. He grabs on to the black cloth of the sheet, its thickness startles him and he takes a moment to appreciate its quality. Beat places his one working hand on the sheet at the slit, and pulls it back to peer inside.”
“What do you think it is?”
Belan heard the whisper behind him, though the speaker was only whispering. The man is speaking to his woman friend, not his wife, but someone he is courting most likely.
“I’ll bet its something worth a lot of money” the man continues, “what else would have guards surrounding it?”
Belan cleared his throat, and almost instantly a cup of water was set before him by one of the queen’s servants. Belan smiled at the servant and downed the entire cup in an instant. The queen’s cat ran across the ground, chasing after a mouse or other small rodent. The queen herself looked directly at Belan, her eyes focused intently upon him.
“What was inside?”
As queen finishes her question, Belan sets the cup back down, and begins to speak once again.
“As Beat pulled back the sheet he immediately noticed a pleasant smell, like fresh flowers in the morning. Inside of the wagon was large cage, complete with metal bars, a locked door, and coarse straw that lined the floor. Beat takes all of this in quickly, his eyes barely passing over these details as they come to rest on a beautiful woman. The woman is clad in red and black silk, a dress designed to enhance her features and snuggly fit the contours of her body.
In awe, Beat can only stare at this exotic woman as she stares back. Her eyes look black, like the color of a moonless night, but Beat knows this cannot be the case. He thinks that the small amount of light that enters the wagon through the slit is the cause, making the woman’s eyes appear darker than what they really are. The woman’s dark hair flows behind her, stretching down to the small of her back.
After what seems an eternity, the woman speaks, her voice sounding quiet, but booming at the same time.
“I see you Kalvas.” Beat was shocked. No one had called him by his real name in years.
“How do you know my name?”
The woman smiled, her face igniting into a joyful, knowing expression. “I know much about you Kalvas. Such a poor, poor boy.”
“I’m not a boy!”
The woman’s smile faltered. “Of course not, you’re clearly a man. I cannot see so well in here, and I never meant to upset you.”
Beat nodded his head. It was dark inside, and the woman seemed very nice. Beat could not say why exactly, but he wanted to get close to her. He wanted to open the cage and embrace her, and show her how much of a man he was. The woman seemed to know this, the smile on her face coming to life again.
“Do you want to come inside? It’s awfully lonely in here.”
Beat has never felt so sure about something in his life until this moment. He knows he must do whatever he can to get through the bars. He taps slightly on the lock, testing is strength and design.
“This isn’t going to open easily.”
The woman moved forward now, liquid as a snake, her face coming clear into view. She pressed her breasts against the bars as she sat on her knees, her delicate hand coming forward and stroking Beat’s face.
Her hand was gentle and reassuring, feelings that Beat hadn’t had directed towards him in as long as he can remember.
“You can open it. I have faith in you.”
The certainty in her voice flowed into Beat, and he believed that he can open the lock. He drew his reed whistle from his pocket, placed the tip of it into the lock, and somehow managed to lift the tumbler and unlock the door.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that the lock could not have been opened so easily, but he doesn’t care. He flings the door open and throws himself on top of the woman, grabbing at her body greedily with his one good hand. He tears at her clothing, pulling it off of her in haste, casting it aside without a care. For her part she is more than willing, she busies herself with removing his britches.
The ecstasy is overwhelming, a surge of joy and energy spiraling through him. In the middle of it all she threw him on his back and jumped atop him, gripping his shoulders while she was in the motions. At the culmination he closed his eyes, and her lips suddenly locked onto his. He expected a kiss or to feel her tongue upon his, but instead his mouth was assaulted by something corrosive.
His eyes instantly opened, and were met by the woman’s eyes. Pitch-black eyes. He tried to pull his mouth away but was unable, and when he raised his good arm to knock her away she grasped it and forced it down to the floor. The destruction inside of him ensued, tearing into his organs and causing unbelievable pain. All his life he has been the victim of abuse and agony, but nothing that could compare to what he was feeling just then.
Beat began to wonder if he was dead. He felt nothing for a long time, unsure if he was awake, asleep, or somewhere in-between. When his eyes opened this time he was sure he was alive, but still quite confused. He was looking at the woman, sitting behind the locked cage, the sheet brushing against him. His eyes blinked over and over. Could he have imagined it? Could he have somehow fallen into a stupor?
Still regaining his sense of awareness, Beat hadn’t realized that the wagons came to a stop. By the time it registered in his mind he was shoved from the wagon and landed flat on his face.
“Scum! Get away from there before you get hurt.”
A man walked over towards him from the other side of the wagon. “Go on. Get out of here.” The man bobed his crossbow, pointed purposefully at Beat’s back as he spoke.
Beat pulled himself to his feet and ran off.
After he was a good distance from the caravan, Beat began to walk to the north, than changed to the east, before finally settling on south. He was not sure where he would go, what he should do, but knows he must get some sleep. Forgetting about his initial purpose of getting away from home, he stumbled back towards the city. He made it all the way to his back door before collapsing in exhaustion.
The exotic woman appears once again in his dreams, those black eyes piercing into his soul. He wanted to see her again, if only to figure out what happened. When he came to he tried to move but discovered he is unable to. Looking down he saw ropes about his body, holding him firmly against the workbench. As he began to panic, he noticed his father, standing by the door holding the hammer in his hands.
“Tried to runaway did you? Not as easy out there in the world as you thought, is it? With all the dangers and all the difficulties making a living, I’m not surprised you found your way back here. Of course, I must teach you another lesson, one that you’ll hopefully walk away with something important. Or at least, limp away.”
As he finished his little speech he walked towards Beat, holding the hammer in both hands.
“Father! No, please, don’t do this. I didn’t try to runaway, I didn’t realize what time it was and I stayed out later that I should have. I promise it will never happen again.”
Beat’s father stoped for a moment, considering his son’s words. “You might be telling the truth, but you might not be. I think you have too much of your bitch mother’s blood in you to be honest.” He advances faster, and raises the hammer high in the air.
Beat closed his eyes, waiting for the pain.
After a moment or two his eyes came back open, and his father still stood there, hammer in the air, looking down at him. A smile came to his father’s face, and down went the hammer. Pain shot through his body, and Beat was sure his foot was crushed, doomed to be as useless as his right hand. The pain seemed to subside quickly though, replaced by rage.
“You despicable ****! Where’s your great strength now?”
Beat’s father looked down at him, his face froze in incredulity. The hammer went up, and came down again. This time there is no pain. The rage throbs inside of him, fueling his body, his chest moving up in down.
The hammer moved up and down three more times before Beat began to laugh. Sweat poured off the man’s face, soaking his shirt and even his britches. The ropes that locked Beat’s chest to the bench felt fragile, and with one surge of his arms they burst in unison. He pulled the few remaining ropes that bound his legs, bursting those just as easily.
He looked down at his foot and saw that it had turned a deep red color, like that of a ruby. But it didn’t stop at his foot, his entire body was the same red color. Both of his feet now end in sharp obsidian-black claws, as well as his hands. He flexed his right hand, and it moved as if it had never been injured in the first place.
“Demon!”
The man standing before him looked familiar, as if he had known him a long time ago. A lifetime ago. He turned his body, dropped his feet to the ground, and stood. He didn’t think, his right arm lashed out, the claw piercing the man through the chest and lifted him off the ground. Beat’s mouth opened, a rumble in his stomach emits its self as a stream of acid, destroying the man’s face and melting away part of his upper chest.
He throws the body against the wall where it crumpled in on its self. Voices could be heard from outside, and then there is a pounding on the door. The man who lived here was always paranoid about burglars, Beat remembers, and so the door is reinforced with thick wooden beams. No one can get in.
Snatching a small mirror from the water basin, he took a long glance at himself. His face was the same ruby-red color as the rest of his body, his eyes black as night. His head was adorned with four small rectangle-shaped protrusions, his mouth was also pitch-black, and full of razor sharp teeth of the same color. His head was bald, his ears large and covered in a dark fuzz.
He lowered the mirror to other parts of his body, noticing sharp claw-like protrusions from the back of his elbows and a solid muscular body frame. Everything was larger, more massive. His clothes were tattered, apparently destroyed. He found a pair of the man who lived here’s pants, one of the largest pair, and was barely able to fit into them.
“Ed! Ed! Open up Ed! Is everything ok in there?”
Ed, that was the man who used to live here’s name. Ed. The barrage on the door intensified, but the door held, it would continue to hold for as long as necessary. He found a shirt and threw it over his body, it was too small but sufficient. He brought the mirror up to his face one more time.
This was not the face he knew. This was someone new. This one deserved a new name, something more worthy of this appearance. A name was whispered in his head, where it came from he didn’t know, but he immediately knew it was the right name for him. The name that would signify him for the time to come. Belan.”