Intro

A Chapter by Lindenshield

In which a man is cursed.

His long white-painted fingers drummed against the dark armrest of his throne, filling the alabaster room with the irritated clicking of manicured fingernails. His mouth curved with humor as he took in the sharp-toothed grin of his maniacal prisoner. "Touching my property," he teased, his voice like silk, "do you not recall the prophecy?" He lifted a hand and pointed a finger down, a gesture meant as an order that would be followed immediately.

The man was forced to his knees, heavy chains clattering around him on the floor in a pool of tangled iron. His wild black hair obscured his scarred face in a shaggy mess, but his green eyes were hard to hide with the amount of madness contained within. They practically glowed with insanity. "If I recall anything, it is that you are the one that will die." His voice was raspy with dehydration and his mouth stained with old blood. His condescending words were laced with a thick accent reminiscent of a very ancient and very rare breed.

The white man's humor was fleeting as he climbed to his painted feet. "If you are so eager to meet your own demise, then so be it, Alistair," he produced the gauntlet with an outstretch of his hand, "Take it. Unbind his arms."

The prisoner's sharp grin grew vicious as he reached out his grubby hand toward the obvious trap. His scarred fingers took hold of the infernal device, absorbing the power irradiating from the blackened scaled metal.

"What will you do with the power of the Gods if you have no body to wield it?" The man offered a smile on his statuesque face, his white teeth the same pure shade as the chalky paint on his pale skin.

Despite his horrific predicament, Alistair's grin only grew wider. The gauntlet was absorbing his power, sucking his soul in and melding it painfully with the precious black metals. The pain was almost intolerable. Almost.

"You can't fulfill a prophecy if you have no wielder."

The gauntlet sparked, igniting fire throughout his ragged body, turning the sharp-toothed man into a pained heap of shaking madness. His clawed fingers blackened, spreading up his arms and crawling across his scarred chest. His grin faltered as the blackness brought on an intense pain, searing his head as it consumed him from the outside in. He dropped the gauntlet, the strength in his body fleeting. His legs lost their muscle next to deterioration, and he collapsed onto the polished white floor in a painful mess.

"Can you see it now? What your greed has wrought? Or shall I say 'undone'?"

"All according to the prophecy," he wheezed painfully with ashen lungs. His arms grew leaden, and shortly after he could no longer feel them.

"We shall see," the man said flatly, his blue eyes unwavering as they watched as the grinning monstrosity before him was reduced to nothing but ash.

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