Gideon was stationed in the war camp, blood splattered on his uniform, sweat dripped from his brow. He didn't know how many men he had killed, how many lives he had taken. His mind was filled with the screams of the dying, the gurgles of the wounded, the roar of the battlefield.
Inside his tent, he stripped off his armor, his clothes, and stood naked in front of the mirror. His body was a map of scars, a testament to the battles he had fought, the wars he had won. But one scar was missing, the one that mattered the most. The one that marked him as a husband.
His mind drifted to his wife, her soft curves, her sweet smile, her warm embrace. He remembered the first time they made love, the way she moaned his name, the way her pussy clenched around his cock. He missed her, he missed her touch, her warmth, her love.
A knock on the tent flap brought him back to reality. "Come in," he called out, his voice hoarse from shouting.
The maid walked in, her eyes downcast. She was young, no more than twenty, with long brown hair and blue eyes. Her uniform was simple, a white blouse and a black skirt, but it did nothing to hide her curves.
"I've come to help you bathe, my Prince," she said, her voice soft, her accent thick.
Gideon nodded, he needed to wash the blood off his body, to cleanse himself of the battle. He stepped into the makeshift bath, the water warm, the soap fragrant. The maid knelt beside him, her hands gentle, her touch soft.
She washed his body, her fingers tracing the scars, the muscles, the tattoos. Her touch was electric, it sent shivers down his spine, it made his cock twitch. He looked at her, her face flushed, her lips parted.
"Is there anything else you need, sir?" she asked, her voice full of unspoken desire.
Gideon stood, his cock hard, his body tense. He looked at her, her eyes wide. He didn't say a word, he didn't have to. His actions spoke louder than words.
He pushed her down, her knees hitting the ground, her hands on his thighs. He looked at her, her hair in disarray. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Suck my cock," he commanded, his voice deep, his tone firm.
The maid didn't hesitate, she took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his cock, her tongue swirling around the head. He groaned, his head thrown back, his body tense. She sucked him hard, her mouth full, her throat tight. He grabbed her hair, holding her there, wildly fucking her face.
She gagged, her eyes watering, her mascara running. But she didn't stop, she kept sucking, wanting to please the man before her. It didn't take long before he exploded inside her mouth, his cum filling her up as a loud guttural growl escaped his throat. She swallowed, her eyes watering, her body trembling with desire.
When he was done, he let go of her hair, she pulled away, her lips swollen, her eyes downcast. She stood, her face flushed.
"Is there anything else you need, my prince?" she asked begging for more.
Gideon looked at her, his cock hard, his body tense. He wanted more, he wanted to fuck her, to fill her pussy with his cum, to make her scream his name.
"No, that will be all," he said, his voice cold, his tone firm.
The maid nodded, she turned, her steps faltering, and she walked out of the tent.
Gideon watched her go. He knew he had made a mistake, he knew he had let his desire cloud his judgement. But it was too late, she was gone, and he was alone.
He stepped out of the bath, his body clean, his mind clear. He dressed, his clothes simple, his armor heavy. He walked out of the tent, the battlefield waiting for him.
He was Gideon, the warrior, the conqueror, the killer. He was a man of war, a man of blood, a man of death. His Wife's face flickered in his mind, a vision of light amidst the encroaching darkness.
The longing that coursed through me was as foreign as it was intense. I'd thought myself beyond such mortal weaknesses, my heart turned to stone by grief and dark magic. Yet here I stood, undone by a dream of a women i once knew.
A distant explosion shook the ground, snapping me from my reverie. The sounds of battle grew louder, more urgent. Steel clashed against steel, men screamed in agony and triumph.
"Your war awaits, Prince of Ashes," I muttered, reaching for my sword. The familiar weight of it in my hand was oddly comforting. "Best not keep Death waiting. He's been expecting you for so long."
As I moved to leave, my gaze caught the mirror once more. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of the man I once was - hopeful, righteous, alive. But it was gone in an instant, leaving only the hollow-eyed specter I'd become.
"Duty calls," I said to my reflection. "Let's see if we can't add a few more souls to our tally, shall we?"
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke and fear. The air was thick with it, a miasma of desperation that clung to everything. As I exhaled, I felt the familiar coldness seep into my bones, the dark power that had become my constant companion. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword, the leather grip worn smooth by years of use. Each step towards the battle felt like a small eternity, the weight of my choices bearing down upon me.
The war camp sprawled before me, a patchwork of shadows and flickering light. Torches lined the muddy paths, their flames dancing erratically in the night breeze, casting grotesque shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of fear.
"My Prince," a soldier whispered as I passed, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. I nodded, my silence more commanding than any words could be.
The distant cries of the wounded carried on the wind, a haunting chorus that spoke of the brutal reality beyond our tenuous sanctuary. I paused, listening to the cacophony of battle drawing ever closer.
"Do you hear it?" I murmured to no one in particular. "The siren song of chaos."
With each step towards the battlefield, the darkness seemed to deepen, as if nature itself recoiled from the carnage that lay ahead. I felt the familiar stirring of my cursed powers, a cold fire igniting in my veins. My gaze sweeps across the desolate camp. Tattered banners flutter weakly, reminders of former glory now stained with blood and ash. I tower above it all, a dark sentinel cursed to watch over this realm of death.
A soldier approaches, his armor clanking. He hesitates, fear etched on his face. "Your Highness, the eastern flank—"
"I know," I cut him off, my tone icy. He flinches, averting his eyes from mine. Smart man. Few can bear to look upon the abyss that dwells within me now.
As he scurries away, I'm left once more with my thoughts, more treacherous than any enemy. Memories of her swirl in my mind, tormenting me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them away, but her face lingers.
The sounds of battle crescendo around me, and I let the darkness take hold.