Cyril's eyes opened after a long, harrowing night. At first, he could not move a muscle.
The moon creates an eerie glow over the battlefield, illuminating the lifeless bodies scattered across the ground.
Cyril wandered among the corpses with newly sprouted demonic wings, his mind clouded by pain and confusion.
He barely noticed the blood-soaked earth beneath his feet or the cold wind rushing through his hair.
He attempted to sit up and, after some effort, succeeded. As he attempted to stand, he realized he was nearly naked, except for his pants.
The previous day's events seemed like a far-off nightmare. He woke up with a pounding headache.
Then he realized he was lying in a sea of headless bodies. His red demonic wings were still affixed to him as he looked back.
His hands were bleeding profusely, but the claws that had grown the day before had disappeared.
He rose slowly, finding it difficult to tell illusion from reality. He was marching alongside the army one minute, then lost control and slaughtered everyone who stood in his path.
**How could this happen? And why do I have wings?!** Cyril wondered.
Stumbling through the battlefield, his mind raced. He could not return to the kingdom in this condition. What would Amandine think? How would his family react? The thought of their reactions filled him with fear.
He found a small stream nearby and knelt beside it, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him was almost unrecognizable.
His once-bright eyes were now shadowed by fear and confusion. The wings, though retracted, were a constant reminder of his new reality.
"I can not go back," he whispered to himself. "Not like this."
Cyril chose to go into the forest, away from the battlefield and any prying eyes. He needed time to think and process what had happened to him.
The dense trees provided some relief, as their shadows obscured his monstrous form. The rustling leaves and chirping birds were in stark contrast to the devastation he had left behind.
Days turned into weeks as Cyril wandered aimlessly. He avoided villages and towns, fearing discovery. He would seek out a secluded spot to rest at night, his wings wrapping around him like a protective cocoon.
The isolation was both a curse and a solace. He had time to reflect, but the solitude was oppressive. Each step he took felt heavier, as if he were carrying the weight of his thoughts as well as the reality of his transformation.
Each night, as he lay beneath the stars, Cyril's mind was a battleground of its own. He was struggling with the horror of his actions, the blood on his hands, and the monstrous transformation he had undergone.
The memories of the massacre haunted him, replaying themselves in his mind with unwavering clarity. He questioned his sanity, wondering if he was losing his grip on reality.
In his dreams, he saw the faces of those he would killed, their eyes accusing and their voices condemning one another.
"Why me?" he would whisper into the darkness. "What have I become?"
Cyril's thoughts drifted to Amandine one evening as he sat by a fire he had started himself. He wished he could see her again.
Her smile, her laughter, the way she looked at him with love and trust. But how could he possibly face her now? He was no longer the man she had known. He had returned his engagement ring, written a dying note to her, and ordered his army to retreat, leaving him alone. What would her thoughts be after all of this? True, Amandine would believe he had died.
When he thought about Amandine, his thoughts turned to his army and his two loyal generals. Cyril sighed heavily, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him.
He muttered to himself, "I was supposed to be their shield and guiding light to victory. Instead, I sent them away and turned into this… abomination. It is better for them to believe I died honorably than to see the disgrace I have become.
The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on the surrounding trees. Cyril looked into the flames, his heart heavy with longing and regret.
He remembered Amandine's eyes sparkling with laughter, the warmth of her embrace, and the promises they had made to each other. But now those memories felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of a life that no longer existed.
"I need to find answers," he resolved. "I need to understand what I am."
He looked up at the stars in the night sky, asking them what he was.
With a heavy heart, Cyril stood up and extinguished the fire. The night was cold, and the forest appeared to close in on him.
He wrapped his wings tightly around his body in an attempt to find some comfort. As he walked deeper into the woods, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, sent shivers down his spine.
Cyril's journey was far from over. He was aware that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty.
But he was also aware that he could not turn back. Not now. Not ever. He had to keep moving forward, regardless of the cost.
The answers he sought were out there, somewhere in the darkness. And he was determined to find them, even if it meant facing his darkest fears and confronting the monster within.
To be continued...