Look within your pain. Look within the feeling that demands to be felt. Look within the feeling that makes you squirm, wince and grimace. Look within and find your cure, for it is the only place where solace can be found.
***
As night set in, Amund and his men slowly crept toward Frysta's gates. It was eerily quiet, as everyone but a few were in their comfy beds, dreaming without care. But he was not used to this whatsoever. He was a Harald! Someone whose name would make one's chest clench in fear! Yet, here he was, crawling on the grass like vermin, keeping out of sight for they were in Gnott territory, and the clan's detested those who touch their stuff.
'All this for a mere bastard. How far have we fallen? The once mighty 'Djinn' reduced to rats hiding in the dark'
Amund thought to himself and when some dirt wiggled its way into his suit, it pissed him off further. He gritted his teeth and glared at the four soldiers guarding the gates. They wore standard brown leather armor and were armed with swords. They seemed indolent, not particularly bothered with their duty of protection, for it was a rare occurrence when anything attacked a clan's territory, especially a powerful one such as the Gnott. But their loafing about would be their doom, for two chasmic black eyes stared at them from the gaps of the grass, wanting to vent it's frustrations.
A few hours passed and midnight approached. Those who were previously out and about had, at long last returned to their homes, rendering the streets of Frysta empty.This was perfect for Amund and his men. He slowly began crawling toward the 4 soldiers, the tall grass hiding his large form, not unlike a predator stalking his prey. He signaled his men to spread out from his position and take out the patrols that lined the city walls. He had personally selected his men. They were highly trained assassins from the Harald clan that were perfect for this job. They slid out of the grass and snaked their way toward the wall, before nimbly scaling it. Amunds excellent ears picked up on muffled screams and grunts for a few minutes, after which there was silence. Suddenly, an owl hoot pierced the stillness.
'Finally. That's the signal!'
Amunds large figure burst out of the grass barreling toward the soldiers at the gate. There was a distance of around 20m between them, but he crossed that with ease, his superhuman strength aiding him.
He launched a well-practiced punch with the power of a battering ram at the nearest one, his fist whistling toward the man's pitiful face with the intent to kill.
It stood no chance against that inhuman strength, his head popping like a balloon, flesh, blood, and brain matter spraying all over his comrades.
He then grabbed the headless body and threw it at another soldier, knocking him away and putting him out of commission for a while. He breathed in and turned to the remaining two, his right hand covered in the blood of someone whom they were sharing pleasantries with but a moment ago.He stared into the soldier's eyes. Ah! how he loved seeing their fear as he disemboweled them. It made it so much more delightful.
The soldier's leather armor was slick with sweat, their hands trembling as they gripped their swords. They didn't make a sound for if they did, they knew they wouldn't live to see another day.
The braver soldier of the two took a deep breath and raised his sword until it was horizontal to his face. He hunched his back ever so slightly and brought his elbow behind his head. It was the common ox stance.
'They were trained after all. I was beginning to think they were decoys.', Amund thought.
The soldier then pushed off the ground, his back foot angled such that it would give him a greater burst of speed, and as he neared Amund, he used his elbow and left arm as leverage, swinging his sword in a beautiful arc. It cut through the air, quickly approaching Amunds jugular, but all he did was slightly crouch, the wind from the sword slightly blowing at his mask.
The soldier faltered for a second at the failed attack, before steadying himself and launching a barrage of slashes and stabs, each one exhibiting his experience in battle. But all that was for naught as Amund dodged and sidestepped all of them with surprising ease, rendering these attacks of a trained swordsman, akin to a childish tantrum.
He quickly shot out a jab. His punch seemed incredibly crude in comparison to the soldier's swordplay, but what was technique in front of pure power? Nothing.
His fist tore through the soldier's armor and his pectoral muscles, crushing his heart.
"A quick death for your showcase of talent", Amund said, letting loose rare praise, before glaring at the fourth whimpering soldier. Amund shot forward and grabbed his throat, dragging him toward his friend who lay groaning a few feet away after being hit by a body.
* Smash *
He rammed one soldier's face into another, the sounds of bones breaking echoing into the night.
* Smash *
He rammed it in again and blood sprayed everywhere.
* Smash *
* Smash *
* Smash *
Amund continued to bash their heads together, a maniacal smile plastered on his face while blood stained his black mask and clothes. Eventually, all that was left was a mush of flesh and blood. He slowly stood up and looked around him. Four bodies, only one with its head intact, and pieces of flesh were scattered around while the ground was stained red.
He spread his arms wide and looked up reveling in the brutality he just committed. This was a symphony of pure carnage, a barbaric melange of bloodied tissue and smashed heads, and Amund Harald was its orchestrator.
"Young Master, you must clean this up. The murders reek of the 'Mad Butcher'. Remember, we must not leave any traces that point toward the Harald Clan", Skurd whispered from his shadow, his hooded head poking out.
Amund frowned at the interruption but lowered his hands in acknowledgment. "Where does he live? We must not be seen."
"The slums, young master. He lives there with his mother, the concubine Layla Marr.", Skurd replied.
Amund's eyebrows twitched, "I see. The slums, huh. Truly fitting for a bastard. And Layla Marr? How is she alive? How did she escape and manage to have a son? Hmmm, no matter. Father did not mention her, so she can be killed."
***
It was a peaceful night. Oddly silent, but peaceful nonetheless. Yet Alan failed to sleep a wink. His mind was on constant alert for reasons even he couldn't understand. It was as though the past few weeks of ominous omens, from his nightmares to his creepy shadow, were pointing to an event that would occur tonight.
He turned to his side and looked at his mothers sleeping face. Why were so many strange events happening to him these few weeks? Why couldn't he just have a normal life with his mother? And why did Grandpa Joe leave them so suddenly in such a bizarre way?
He sighed and closed his eyes, there would be no use worrying over these questions. It would only lead to more doubt, and doubt was not welcomed. Just as he felt his thoughts start to succumb to sleep...
* Bang *
The door burst open and 4 four men barged in startling both Layla and Alan. Layla frantically grabbed at a pan next to her but was grabbed and pinned to the wall by two men while the other two grabbed Alan, painfully restraining his hands and legs. He tried to scream, and slip out of their grip but it was in vain. One man grabbed his throat preventing any sound from getting out while the other tightened his grip on Alan's limbs.
As he was slowly getting choked, yet another man ducked into the house. He was large and tall, about 6'5 towering over everyone in the room. He radiated power and authority but a savage aura constantly emanated from him. He reeked of blood and stains of red decorated his all-black suit.
"Hello brother", he whispered, his bottomless eyes haunting.