Beautiful Hell (Draft 1)

For almost one hundred years, a brutal and bloody struggle for dominance between the kingdom of Ra'Ziel and the plains of Torath has torn the world asunder, raining death and destruction upon the earth. But this war is coming to an end. With only a few descendants of both royal lines living, will there finally be peace? Alexandra Ra'Ziel wants nothing more than to end the feud that took her older brothers from her, but Tristan Torath has different plans. He wants - he needs - retribution for the wrongs he has suffered. And so their story begins. Because anyone can find vengeance, but only a rare few achieve true justice.

Ok yeah, so here's the thing. I'm rewriting this story, so anybody who wants to read the new chapters (as I edit and revise them) can find them on my page. The Movella is titled Beautiful Hell (Re-imagined). And yeah, it's way way way better than this one, but also way more graphic too.

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6. Tristan Torath IV

            Tris felt alive as he only did in battle. It had been surprisingly easy to finish off the knights, after the blonde one fell. From there, it was only a matter of searching the wreckage. Nobles carried an exorbitant amount of loot on them. Didn’t they realize it slowed them down?

            An arrow hissed by Tris’ head, but he didn’t flinch. His sandy hair clung in dark clumps to his forehead and neck, and the dull ache of exhaustion was starting to travel up his arms, but what did that matter? The adrenaline of fighting against ten-to-one odds was just too intoxicating.

            Tris finished the soldier with one stroke of his curved scimitar. Then he stepped directly from his saddle to the roof of a coach. Crouching there, he could see the whole battle. His men were fighting well, but they were too outnumbered. Of course, they only had to hold out a few more minutes, then the rest of the clan would be here.

            Another arrow whizzed by. Now Tris could see the archer, standing on another carriage, shooting into the fighting mass. It took only a quick flick, and the man was tumbling to the ground. Tris was mildly disappointed. That had been his favorite dagger, he hated losing it.

            Two carriages were careening wildly away from the battlefield. Tris smiled.

            Within seconds, he was mounted on Dragon and in pursuit. These coaches were fast, but they were also heavy. They couldn’t outrun a wild horse, or a wild rider. Tris knew he was mad, leaving his men, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let anyone get away.

            They were far enough from the battle that Tris couldn’t see it by the time he caught up. Two strokes did for the drivers, and another two to sever the harnesses. The horses darted away, and Tris felt a moment of peace. He liked wild horses. Seeing them used as pack animals always disturbed him. As a nomad, horses were like his brothers. Except, of course, for the fact that he had killed all his brothers.

            Blood spattered the carriages, and in one a woman was screaming. The other was dead silent. Tris went the one with the woman first.

            Yes! Blonde with blue eyes. This was the family. Tris dragged an obese couple and their son out into the dirt. They crouched there, the woman still wailing, the boy oddly silent. Tris felt a moment of revulsion, then anger. The screaming annoyed him. It grated on his ears.

            Of course, because he had killed that first knight without his mask, he must now do the same with the family. When he removed it, the woman fainted. Tris was glad, because at least it made her shut up.

            “We can pay. I promise you, boy, we have money. If you just ransom us-” The man was begging. Tris hated begging. It was a sign of weakness.

            “I don’t want your gold. I want the blood-price.” His voice was hard as stone, and just as unforgiving.

            “I don’t understand…”

            “You want to live?” Tris didn’t wait to see the man nod. He was looking at the boy. “Then you do exactly what I say. First, you are going to put that disgusting excuse for a woman back in her carriage.”

            The man hastened to obey, and Tris smiled watching him huff. The woman looked quite heavy, and her husband clearly wasn’t in shape. It was a comic sight, that was for sure.

            “Now,” he said when she was inside, “light it on fire. With these.” Tris threw him two rocks. If you struck them together right, they made a spark. The man was pale and sick looking, but he hit the rocks. The boy started crying soundlessly as the fire roared into life. The smell of burning meat filled the air.

            “One last thing you have to do. But I must admit, you are doing remarkably well so far. Take this knife. Now use it on your son. Just like mine.” The fat noble looked at him in horror. Tris didn’t know why he would burn his wife to death, then refuse to mutilate his son. The man obviously had no morals, or he wouldn’t have lit the fire.

            But, horror or no, the noble did it. The son fought, of course, when he realized what was happening. And he screamed, but he stopped soon enough. The father nicked an artery in his neck while he was cutting, so the boy bled to death in the dirt. Pale and crying, the man looked at Tris. And Tris laughed.

            “There is one thing you forgot.” Tris cut the man’s fat head off his shoulders in one swing. It rolled away in the grass. “Never trust a nomad who shows his face. Ever.”

            Tris covered his face again before turning to the second carriage.

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