Rifts: Despair

Menelaus stared at Kallen like an artist admiring a completed masterpiece.

On the boy's body, intricate rune circles pulsed faintly, one small sigil the size of an eye, etched onto his forehead, a much larger one dominating the entirety of his back, and two more, sizeable and symmetrical, carved into the backs of his palms.

Kallen lay facedown, tied at the wrists and stretched forward, his limbs pinned and restrained.

Surprisingly, he was still alive.

Menelaus shook his head, brushing aside intrusive thoughts. As much as he tried to clear his mind, it was impossible to silence the chaos entirely.

Although he looked "sane" on the outside, within, a violent storm raged. It was this turmoil, this fractured state of mind, that had driven him to this point in the first place.

He stared at the boy, who looked barely a breath away from death. For a fleeting second, a spark of sympathy flickered in his chest.