TAHAROS
Sinking...
Falling…
Deeper, and darker, and darker…
Taharos felt the warmth of the blood surround him as he held his breath. He would give anything to see his parents again and to fix this broken world. What existed beyond the great mists? Was there more of them? More cyclopes that could help them?
It didn’t matter now. Taharos had lost everything, and his sole source of hope turned out to become nothing more than a mindless beast that needed to be put down. Even so, he still mourned for the beast and what could have been.
But now… Now there was a force of anger within him. A deep seeded hunger for vengeance. If this world could only keep the dragons or the cyclopes, he would strike down ever last dragon there was.
He would save his people, and he would do whatever he had to do to do it.
And then, there was pain.
Deep within his veins, Taharos could feel a burning pressure. He clenched his fists and grit his teeth, and then the blood around him began to boil.
He writhed in agony as every nerve ending felt scorched. His muscles trembled and twitched as he spasmed, and his body reeled as his instincts told him to run. His fangs shot outward as his lips retracted, and he screamed in agony.
The blood moved around him and filled his mouth and nostrils, and Taharos felt as if he was burning alive. As he fought back the pain he slammed him fist down hard, and felt the metal thud of scalding hot steel.
His mother….
His father…
Is this what they both felt when they died?
Burnt alive in horrific agony?
His mother…
His father…
This was for them. He had to fight for them.
And then, through the pain and the suffocating heat he could see a light, shining bright even through his closed eyelid. And it was coming from him. Turning his head he could see the light blaring from his left arm, and he clenched his eye closed even tighter.
The light spread through his body, and as it surrounded him he felt as if his skin was tearing. A thousand knives seemed to plunge into his flesh, dragging and carving their ornate designs into him.
He belted out the last of his breath in anguish, then panicked as he felt the absence of air in his lungs. His body contorted as he fought the need to breathe, but his body failed him.
With a drowned out cough, Taharos inhaled the blood and choked. It filled his throat and he felt a rush of sharp pain inside of him. His eye shot open and he pushed against the base of the cauldron to escape.
As he did, he felt a surge of electricity race down his spine. It echoed through his entire body, and then he felt the boiling blood surrounding him grow cold.
Taharos threw his arm up as hand broke through the surface of the blood. He clung to the side of the cauldron pulled himself up above the liquid, coughing and gasping for breath as he spewed out the dragon blood from his labored breath.
His eye burned bloodshot, and he wheeze heavily, staring at the shining light from the candles below him as he struggled to have his vision focus. At the very least, he was alive.
“Is it done?” He wondered.
Looking at his arm, his blurred vision began to focus, and Taharos stared in shock as his eyes scanned his skin. As dragon blood dripped down his body, he could see crimson markings wrapping all around his arm and shoulder. He turned his arm, taken aback by the complete looking markings all over it.
He did it.
He really did it.
He had lasted long enough to fully acquire the Blood Runes.
This was it. He had accomplished what he needed to in order to become stronger. The dragons would be put down. This time, for good.
He almost wanted to smile as he looked upward, but what he saw mortified him.
The elder cyclops was dead…