The Branding

Mordred

The chant grew louder and louder. Each syllable pounded in my eardrums. Every word pierced my body, like painful hot needles. Ash joined the cursed chorus, adding a harsh, grating, metallic sound. Suddenly the chant stopped. I looked around the room. Blood was splattered against the wall, dripping down slowly into a black pool. The entire room was empty except for Ash. He continued to chant walking closer to me. He pulled out a curved knife and began carving into my head. The blade was burning hot, like a casting iron. The blood slithered closer, until it formed a ring around us. Ash leaned over me, his body directly over mine.

He raised the blade to the sky, the chant reaching an apex. I could see excitement gleam in his eyes. Disgust boiled in the pit of my stomach. I tried to move, but couldn't. I just stared at the blade without hint of fear. "You sick bastard."

The blade plunged downward, vibrating with dark energies. Ash was not forgiving, destroying what was left of my face. The blade felt both cold and hot, as if it couldn't decide between frying or freezing my brain. He etched a pattern into my forehead, each line causing more of the surrounding blood to rise up into the air.

Ash made the final cut and let the blade clatter on the floor. He backed a few steps away as quickly as possible, his footsteps leaving gouges in the floor in his wake. The blood became dark, almost black. The floating ring around me flew towards me like bullets. The blood covered my head, suffocating me. It poured down my throat, into my ears, up my nose, and into my eyes. It was sickly hot and thick, like a slimy mucus. It writhed and wiggled like it was alive. It was trying to cover as much of me as possible. I felt the air leave my body. I was suffocating, drowning in the blood. I coughed and choked, the blood continuing down my throat.

I felt it rush through my body, causing my body to feel plump and loose again. This was soon followed by a burning sensation. I was literally set ablaze. The blood sunk into my skin, turning it black. But I could see again. That was not a good thing. In fact, I would have prefered blindness.

Black flames rose up my arms. Underneath it, my flesh knit back together, the connections and gashes were forced into their positions again. It was as if every cell was being dragged across a road by a truck. Everything felt tight again, my flesh stretched beyond what it should be.

As the flames moved on, the flesh was melted and scarred, forming disfigured and disgusting lumps. The flames continued, covering me in black flames. My wounds healed, but were burned into a hunking mess soon after. My skin blistered and flesh seared. The sizzle of blood could be heard drowning out the room. I closed my eyes, wishing the pain to go away. By the end of it, I was a dry husk. I felt hollow and cold. The swelling subsided and I opened my eyes. I looked at my hand, still burning away. I was confused, because all I felt was the cold. The unbearable chill of an icy wind that stripped away all of my protection and warmth.

My skin was hardening under the intense burn of the flame and I could see the beginnings of scales. They were a dark red, almost black in color. It was the red of congealed blood, the blood that came from deep within. The flames danced violently over my body, replacing the glow of the fading runes. I quickly examined myself, tearing at my clothes like a wild beast to get a better look.

The hole in my stomach had closed. Covered with tough black scales, the flesh there didn't seem to be mine. There was a clear difference. The scales was cold to the touch, metallic, icy, and hard. They looked corrupted, a black poison that was spreading across my stomach, slowly taking over my body. I tore at the flesh, trying to remove the scales. With each slash, there was a harsh grating sound, like nails across a chalkboard. I didn't care. I wanted to see my own flesh. The standard pink, soft, warm flesh. I was even hopeful to see blood. Anything that would have to do with a normal body.

Over and over, I tore away, but nothing. Nothing. NOTHING. The scales stayed on stubbornly, as if mocking me. I stopped, defeat pressing on me like a ton of bricks. I stood up, raising my fist, I was ready to sock Ash in the face. Blood pounded in my ears and gritted my teeth.

There was a roar. It was so full of rage. Of anger. Of hate. Of evil. "Hate. Kill. Burn. Burn with the fire of rage. Yes. Good."

The words reverberated across the room, vibrating everything. My body stopped and I lost control. My fist flew forward, faster than anything I could achieve. It impacted solidly with Ash's jaw, his bone armor cracking under the force. The wind whistled as Ash flew across the room, hitting the wall, leaving a man shaped impression in it.

"Welcome back, Dracoth. You didn't have to hit me." Ash stood up, not too terribly concerned at all.

My body went slack, refusing to obey my mind. My mouth opened and sounds came out. The voice wasn't mine. It was the voice from before. "You made me wait."

"Don't worry, all three of us are here and I know where Kalkarath is."

"Astaroth, make this quick. I need to burn."

"Of course."

My body turned and walked away. Through eyes that were no longer mine, I stared in horror as I watched black flames enveloped the entire room. An alien sense of pleasure filled my soul. The black flames lit our way out of the lab and out into the frosty morning air.