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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10. Tristan Torath IV

            “I send you to do one simple thing. One! Go ahead of us and find the gypsies. And not only did you fail, you also managed to kill more than half of the men I gave you! You led them to a massacre, and then left them to pursue you own pleasures. And you expect me to welcome you with open arms, praising your actions?”

            Tris flinched from his father’s rage. This definitely wasn’t the welcome he had been expecting, that much at least was correct. He opened his mouth to reply, but his father just talked over him. It was just like it always was, ever since Tris received his scar. His father yelled about his failure, about how it was Tris’ fault his brothers were dead. It was, but what did that matter? No, the problem was that all of Tris’ brothers had been hansom, tall, and beloved by everyone. Tris was tall, but thanks to the Ra’Ziel boy, his face scared the dogs and everyone hated him.

            “What would Ravena think if she saw you now. Well? I know what she’d think. She’d think you are an ungrateful son of a bitch. All though I don’t know what I should expect from the son of a gypsy whore. You only see yourself and you don’t care what happens to anyone else. You will never be ready to lead this clan. If the war were left to you, we would all be dead by now. Even Carter-”

“Enough, Father. I’m sorry my mother is dead. I’m sorry I’m a bastard. I’m sorry that Carter is dead too. I really am. I’m also sorry he wasn’t your son instead of me, but I can’t fix any of those things. There is something you should know.”

            “Well? Tell me or get out. I’m tired of your screwing up, Four.” And there it was. Four, as in Anzel’s fourth bastard son, all named Tristan Torath, each with a number.

            “I followed a carriage away from the battle. Some minor nobles were inside, but with them was a girl. Not just any girl,” Tris added, seeing his father’s scowl. “She is a Ra’Ziel. Direct bloodline.” Finally, his father’s anger turned to interest. Tris almost smiled.

            “Well? Bring her to me.”

            “No. She. Is. Mine.” Tris bit off each word. His father’s face grew darker with every word. “I brought her back, so by the laws of the tribe, handed down from  Benzol Torath, I choose what happens to her. Not even you can touch her without my permission.”

            “So what are you going to do, you little freak show.”

            “I’m going to make her pay for her family’s sins. I’m going to make her love me – I can, you know, if I want to – and then I will show her off to her family and her people. Let them see her with me. And, while they are reeling, you move. Hit them while they watch me, and you kill them all. Then, the girl dies, and the whole Ra’Ziel line is gone.”

            For the first time in five years, Tris saw pride in his father’s eyes.

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