Cyan's Revenge: Bloodlust

A teenage farm boy wakes up at night surrounded by the dead bodies of his family and the ruins that were once home. The Luthorians slaughtered his family and destroyed his village. What will Cyan do?

Bad things happen at night.

That was the first thought that registered in Cyan's mind as he struggled to gain consciousness. His mind felt groggy, his body heavy. Dragging his uncooperative body in a sitting position, he let his eyes wander.

He was greeted with an ungodly amount of blood and gore. His sight was aided by the moonlight which bathed him, unhindered by walls, which were all lying broken and scorched around him. Cyan looked up as he heard a loud groan but didn't flinch as the remainder of the stairs fell away, crashing loudly on the burnt ground.

The sixteen year old boy gazed around at the remains of what had been his home earlier that day- or maybe it had been yesterday. He didn't remember and he didn't care. Rising slowly to his feet, he began the arduous task of recovering the corpses of his family members from beneath the rubble.

He made himself stare at each lifeless face as he pulled down their eyelids, putting them to rest. The bodies, or what was left of them, lay side by side covered by pieces of cloth Cyan had managed to dig up.

In the painful journey of moving between one corpse and the next, he'd stepped on a body part once or twice. He didn't check to see which one, he couldn't bear it. Cold fury began to bubble deep inside him, darkness began to stir, the thirst for blood slowly awakening.

Straightening up from the last body, he began to dig around the ruins relentlessly until he found what he had been searching for. Closing his fingers around the hilt of his father's aged sword, Cyan set off into the night.

The last embers of the fire had begun to die down slowly, still the light they provided was sufficient to guide him through the pathetic ruins of his little village. Earlier that night, the village had been attacked by the Luthorians. They'd come hard and they'd come fast.

The villagers hadn't stood a chance.

All the farm lands had been set ablaze together with the houses, the little church and even a few villagers. Defenseless women and children had been slaughtered like animals. So had the brave men who'd fought to protect them even as they knew they fought in vain. They had been no match for the well honed swordsmanship and high quality armour the Luthorians possessed.

As Cyan navigated his way through the village, the sword began to grow heavy in his untrained hand. His muscles ached and his head had begun to pound. The horror of the night came back with full force to haunt him. Remembering the way his mother had begged for the life of her children, Cyan strengthened his resolve and quickened his pace.

Raising the sword high above his head, the hilt grasped with both hands, he swung it in an arc repeatedly until his muscles started to sing. He walked without fear, letting his pain fuel his rage, allowing darkness spread through his mind like wildfire.

Walking purposefully to the edge of village, Cyan looked around the burning remains dispassionately. As he'd suspected, he had been the only survivor of the raid. He smiled coldly thinking the murderers should have killed him while they'd had the chance.

At the foot of a hill, Cyan stopped and crouched low, sighting a fire at a near by clearing surrounded by some trees. Moving stealthily, he drew closer to the fire, pausing when he heard raucous and drink induced laughter.

He'd found the Luthorians, the sadistic b******s.

Before the night was over, he would make sure they'd never laugh again. Never rejoice over another conquest or plan another frenzy of mindless slaughter. Grasping his sword tightly, he strode boldly into the clearing and stood before the fire.

The men fell silent, a few casting the wary looks at the beaten down but determined youth with a dangerous look in his dark eyes. Cyan eyes glinted fiercely in the fire as he looked around for the captain. He didn't have to look far.

Swaggering out of his tent, his sword loosely held, walked a tall and heavily muscled man. His scarred face reflected amusement as he looked only with slight curiosity at Cyan. Finally he looked away dismissively, finding the boy an insignificant threat.

"Run away, boy. I'm feeling generous this eve," the captain threw over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Coward, do you fear me? Stand and face your last nightmare," Cyan whispered, grinning madly.

The captain paused and swung around to regard the arrogant boy. Taking in the poor stance and the pathetic looking sword, he started to laugh disbelievingly. The men closest to Cyan had begun to shift uncomfortably, not liking the look in the boy's eyes.

Suddenly, with a blood curling scream, Cyan raised his sword and leapt towards the captain who was caught unawares. He was dead before he hit the ground. In the same move, he shot out his leg, knocking down his nearest opponent while the rest of them struggled to gather their wits.

Addled by the strong drinks they'd consumed and their heavy armour they were no match, even for Cyan. A few managed to escape and he let them go. They wouldn't live much longer as long as he was alive.

Cyan stood silently in the darkness surrounded by the the dead and bloody bodies, scattered around the clearing. His sword glowed crimson red in the moonlight dripping of blood. Cyan felt like killing something again.

Throwing back his head, Cyan began to laugh.