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.


14. Tristan Torath IV

            Tris waked confidently up to Rhigbar. The man was from a northern tribe, almost twice his size, without even a drop of fat, but Tris felt light. Easy. Rhigbar was known for a mellow temper. And his preference for boys. “How much for him?”


            “You stupid oaf, how much do you want for the man-whore? You know, the one you’re going to kill tonight.”

            Rhigbar laughed. “I didn’t know you were switching over Tris. We all knew you didn’t have no balls, but we thought you’d still like bitches. After all, you got a nice pretty one in your tent right now. So how about a trade? I haven’t fucked a cunt in ages.”

            Tris struck out with his fist. He didn’t know why, but he was strangely protective of Lexie. His ring left a gouge in the side of Rhigbar’s face. “No dice.”

            Rhigbar just rubbed his jaw, smearing blood into his beard. “Then I want the knife.” Why would he want that? The dagger was short, only about a foot long, and steel. But it had no gold, no gems, no ornamentation. It was just a normal dagger. Except that it was poisoned, with the same poison that was eating its way through Tris’ body. It was the knife of the Ra’Ziel boy.

            Tris could have laughed. To finally be rid of the thing was in itself a gift. “Fine, deal.” And he pulled it from its sheath. The cold metal reflected the afternoon sunlight, momentarily blinding Tris. He blinked to restore his vision, and passed the weapon to its new owner. “But you ever learn the cure, and its mine. Or I swear, I will cut your dick off and feed it to that daft old nag you call a horse.”

            Rhigbar returned pulling the boy, still naked and bloody, after him. Tris took the chain wordlessly and returned to his tent. Without pause, he strode through the flaps.

            Alex was sleeping, peacefully stretched out along the floor of the tent. Her silky black hair was fanned out on the ground around her head, a few strands falling into her face. She was cute enough, Tris had to admit, and as soon as he entered the tent, the pain receded. He felt in control, for once.

            Tris threw the boy a pile of old clothes and crouched next to Lexie as he dressed. He slowly brushed her hair back from her face, careful not to touch her. As soon as he started moving away, Lexie’s eyes flickered open.

            “Tris, I thought you were gone. I’m sorry, I-”

            Tris put out a hand and helped her to her feet. “I brought something for you.” It was all he said, and she looked at him so suspiciously that he laughed. Then she saw the slave boy, and, inexplicably, Lexie started crying.

            “By Nylia!” Why is she calling on the name of the Goddess of Blood? Tris didn’t have time to wonder before Lexie was running across the tent. “Danny, I thought…” And sobs interrupted her. The bugger – Danny, apparently – moved his arms slowly. His eyes were still unfocused, but after a minute he was hugging her, his face buried in Lexie’s shoulder, racking sobs shaking his thin shoulders.

            Then Lexie drew back from the slave-boy and looked at Tris. “Thank you. Thank you.” And she hugged his too. Tris didn’t even know what to do. It had been years since anyone had been that close, but it felt good. This strange girl, who took all his pain away. Tris felt a strange moment of clarity, a calm that had been denied him for years.

            And, in the silence, as if his mind was a still pool, reflecting his memories, Tris watched himself. He saw his life, lived it anew. The pain, the loneliness, the loss. And the sudden, intense bursts of joy and satisfaction when he watched his victims bleed and die. Their screams echoed in his ears, and Tris remembered every face. Every kill, every murder, every time he had tortured or maimed someone and left them to die alone, they all flooded into him.

            And Tris pulled back. What was he? What was he becoming? But there was one thing Tris knew. Being around this girl, being granted his sanity back, it was going to drive him mad. Or madder. Insanity seemed certain, either from the poison or the memories, it didn’t really matter.

            As soon as he flinched away, Tris saw hurt in Lexie’s eyes. She tried to hide it, almost succeeded, actually, but it was there. “Thank you, My Lord.” And she showed him a perfect court curtsey. It looked absurd in the slave clothing, but she didn’t seem to notice. Tris watched, unable to move, as she spun on her heal and left.

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