Troy’s lungs were burning as he sprinted through the trees. Branches snapped as he hit them and the thorny bushes cut at his bare muscular legs, leaving long marks, quickly turning red with blood. Soon, his legs were flashing with blood that had already escaped. His chest was bare with a bright red tattoo of a flame on the right side. As he ran and struggled to gain enough air, the flame looked alive. His large muscles worked painfully to keep him moving at this racing speed for so long. A deep gash stretched across his whole back from his right shoulder to his lower back on the left. It was bleeding horribly and this running wasn’t helping. Troy could feel it like a stripe of white hot fire burned across his back. His heart was beating loudly like a drum, urging him to go faster and faster to escape his pain and the One who had inflicted it. He would not stop to tend to his wounds with Him chasing him on Krickley, His horse. He had been told many times, to tend to his wounds, only if danger no longer pursued him. He spotted a clearing ahead and pushed faster.
He broke free of the trees and gasped as he flew out into the open air. He had run right off a cliff! As he started to drop he saw a flash of brown to his right and he reached out to grab hold of it. His right hand managed to get a grip and he hung there a moment, breathing heavily. He looked up at what he had grabbed and saw a tree root. A small oak tree grew at the edge of the cliff and part of it hung over the edge, as if the ground had fallen away right from under its roots.
I have to get up before He catches up to me.
Slowly, painfully, Troy pulled his head above to the top of the cliff. He flung his left arm over, ignoring the insane pain from both his back and his arm. He kicked with his feet until he found a hold and pulled himself up the rest of the way. Once only his foot was over the edge, he collapsed. He dared not roll onto his back because of his gash. He glanced down at his left arm. The stump still smoked green from where He had burned it off. He slowly sat up and pulled his red headband off and began wrapping it tightly around the wound. His flesh felt soft and spongy at the end. As he finished tying the headband, he pulled it tight, making blood squeeze out, soaking the already red headband. He stood up shakily and examined his legs. They were completely covered in a sheen of blood, but he could feel no pain from it. His back and stump screamed so much that the scratches did not seem to exist. His green eyes flicked up, preparing for the worst.
I have a small chance. He thought to himself. A very small chance.
He closed his eyes for a second and imagined her face. Then, he heard the hoof beats approaching and his eyes flashed open, ready for battle.
Either I survive.
The hoof beats got louder and slower.
Or.
The hoof beats stopped and Troy heard the creaking of leather as He dismounted and hit the ground with a thud.
I.
Now he could hear footsteps and the clanking of the bit in the horse’s mouth. The horse snorted and Troy could see the shadows of both horse and Rider coming out of the trees.
Die.
“Hello, Toyroahkmey.” The mocking voice sounded and He stepped into the light.
“Alakinmirah.” Troy whispered the name darkly, murder and anger swirled in his eyes. He clenched his fist and he could feel blood pouring through his veins and escaping from his wounds. His headband was dripping with hot blood. He looked over his enemy.
He was wearing a dark green outfit with a shimmering white robe over it. His skin was a pasty white, as though he was the living dead. His dark, sunken eyes flashed green, though their true color was black. He had a white ring on his left hand. It was simple, and almost blended in with his almost white skin.
Krinkley, his stead, stood proudly at his side. He was tall, like a draft horse. His coat shone white like his master’s robe. His eyes were an empty black. If you stared into them, you would feel like you were losing a hold of yourself. His hooves were big and heavy. They were white also. His tail and mane were short, like that of a young colt. His armor was white to match and every time he moved, you could hear the metal.
“Prepare to die young Toyroahkmey.” Alakinmirah held out a hand, the white folds of his cloak draping off his skeletal arm. His other hand came up and he held them out, palms up. Troy stared into his face sternly; preparing himself for what he knew was to come. A small smile played at he corner of Alakinmirah’s lips as his face was lit up from his own light.
“Prepare to die, last one of your kind.”
Green light was forming at his fingertips.
“The last of the Horocriptifahr.”
His energy exploded white and Troy’s screams echoed as he felt the power of Alakinmirah torture him to his death.