Sea Of Flames🗡Bakugō Katsuki
Once it was a massive nation housing just over a million souls, the capital of an elven empire reaching from ocean to ocean. Now, it was a slaughterhouse, it's population reduced to that of a few hundred. In all his years as a warrior, Bakugō Katsuki had never seen such carnage. The very streets weren't visible under the endless puddles of blood, the sewage systems clogged up with severed limbs, and the houses were unrecognisable under the layers of shit, gore and blood that covered them. Wordless, mighty, he waded through the corpses piling themselves up on the streets. He looked at the face of every single one of them. Men, women... children. Most of the children had not even been killed by the barbarians, but by their own mothers and older siblings, who well knew what fate awaited them once the massive walls of the city were finally breached. The blonde Chief walked further towards the alley where his mount was. A massive black dragon, so much larger as the war-elephant it was feasting on. Truly, nothing could have prepared the elves for these monsters, with their fire-breathing breath, massive claws and razor-sharp teeth, that could easily destroy a whole army. Cavalry charges were utterly ineffective against them, Rhinos ended up dead within seconds of being grabbed by their claws, and elephants could not reproduce fast enough to match their numbers. The powerful warrior let out a high-pitched whistle, commanding the beast to come to him. It did, and with a little assistance by its wings, the blonde one settled upon his saddle on the back of the mystic creature. Riding through the rest of the city, he came across his fellow men, who were busy looking for surviving comrades in the piles of corpses littering the streets, and killing any elf they found to be still breathing. Bakugō Katsuki rode further. As he crossed the alleys, he saw his peers celebrate their victory in different ways: some were decapitating the dead bodies and piling up the heads into huge pyramids, others were found bathing in the blood of their enemies, but most of them were painting. They weren't painting pictures, oh no. They painted the city red. Thousands of his fellow warriors had taken up brushes, soaking them in the blood of the former inhabitants of the great elven city, and soaked everything they could find with their own guts. He rode past the pyramids of severed heads, piling as high as the tallest buildings. He rode past the dead elven soldiers who were hung upon the statues of their heroes with their own intestines. He rode past the few surviving elves, mostly women and small children, who were paraded in chains through their own city as trophies. He rode out of the Gates of the city, and took one last look upon the once green walls of the breathtaking Kingdom Doriath’s, which were now in the process of being painted with blood. It was all silent. ,,Chief.‘‘ Kirishima Eijiro, his right hand man, stained with blood, dirt and sweat, has lowered his red head with respect, the huge axe lies quietly in the warrior’s hand while his equally red pair of eyes look wearily up at his leader, his king. There’s... something that might interest you.’’ It was not a smirk adorning the blood-stained lips of the dragon king, it was rather an expression of complete satisfaction. Of pure bliss. ,,Show me.’’
The first thing the woman notices is a hot, glowing pain. Her head is pounding uncontrollably. Blood is rushing through her ears and she’s sure a few of her ribs are broken. An unbearable burning extends abruptly from her right leg to the upper side of her hip and makes the young she – elf hurriedly gasp for air. Pure bare panic begins to extend through her flabby limbs – she is alive. Oh Morai – Heg, Nin gwerianneg. ( You betrayed me ) A painful cough creeps out of her throat while the redhead convulsively tries to open her heavy eyelids. How much time has passed? A deep emerald green shows itself to the world, but only sees faint outlines in the never ending darkness. A cell, no - a tent? Where am I? The more thoughts flit through her torn mind, the worse the huge throbbing behind her temple became, which is why a sudden feeling of nausea overcomes her. It comes so fast, that the only option her body allows her to, is to throw her red-haired head aside as far as she can to empty the rest of her stomach. In return she covers herself with her own vomit as a heavy fit of coughs shakes her fractured soul. A pathetic veil of tears begins to lay over the deep green of her eyes, which she holds stubbornly in check with a firm pinch of her sagging eyelids. She should be dead. Buried under the weight of thousands corpses of her folk. Leithio nin, Morai – Heg ( Release me! ) Desperate sends the she – elf a heart – wrenching prayer to the goddess of the underworld, guardian of souls to take her, to bring her to the glorious hall of her ancestors. But no answer came, there is just this heavy defeating silence. The pain of her right leg seems to only worsen as an unbearable heat flits over her trembling limbs. With a heavy cough the redhead then gently tries to lift her broken body into a better position for her leg, but unfortunately without success. With a painful croaking on the burst lips, the woman eventually drops her head exhausted against the blood-stained ground of the foreign, huge tent. No matter where she is or how much time has passed. The immortal body of the she – elf has reached its limits and is too weak to start the process of self-healing. It's hopeless. ,,oh Vanír.. what a tough beast you are, princess of doriath.’’
