(Story Writing, feel free to skip if thats of no interest to you!)

'This council will decide over your fate, Tyrant. This will be your end.'

He feels the dust of the roughly hewn stone settle into the grooves and fine lines of his face, digging into his skin with an unmistakable lack of mercy. He can feel the heel of the soldier's thickly soled sandal grind into his back as laughter bubbles up from his throat. Tyrant, he muses. What a joke. What a ruthless, disgusting joke. He cranes his head to look at the supposed council; children, all of them. He can spy the warhungry daughter of the Count, her burgundy eyes lit up with glee at his shame. The gentle but steely eyed son of the Marquess, a hand laid solemly on the thick tome in his lap. The sole surviving heir of the Duke, who refuses to meet his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. There, at the middle, his son. His pride and joy, now gazing upon his prostrate form with anger and disappointment. He looks into those slate grey eyes, and silently questions where he went wrong.

The hair upon his neck starts to rise as he feels the current in the rocks below him start to rouse.

The laughter bubbles up again, and not even the angry stomp of the soldier upon his back can stop the emotions from flowing out. 'You really don't know, do you?' He sobs, tears mingling freely with the dust, smearing and transforming his face into something haunting. His son rears back, aghast, as the Tyrant slowly rises from his place on the ground. Smoke drifts lazily from his form, slowly fading into the sky.

'My son, you fool. I am no Tyrant.'

The ground beneath them starts to rumble and shake, but he remains still. He knows this. His father before him knew, as did his grandfather. As did their whole family line.

The council scrambles to their feet, defended by his their loyal soldiers from a threat they did not know existed. He watches them with a mild, amused glance, his own grey eyes slowly, but surely crackling with the same power that flows through his castle. The same stone floor he had been pressed against cracks and red hot lava oozes out, fire licking at the walls and at the feet of the children who dared oppose him. He steps towards them, his own naked feet sizzling as he steps into the liquid flame, continuing towards the frightened council. He catches fire with the first step, and he can feel the power flooding his veins, cracking his eyes and skin, creating the monster that shouldn't have been. The destructive fire and lava and rage that would have burned anyone else to ash is nothing before him, even as he flares his own power, greedily sucking in air as the magma settles in his blood. He can feel iron and victory upon his tongue as he gazes upon the frightened children, his own son's terrified expression bringing him both disappointment and sadness.

As he reaches to touch the prince's cheek, he smiles.

'If we burn to save them, then why should we not be kings? If it is our power that allows them to stay safely in this land, then is it not right that they worship us? We are not just kings, my son, we are gods.'

Hello and welcome to another release of The Nowhere Shop! We all love black, so here you go! Invites will go out as soon as youre slotted! Note: is also still available!

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[preview=Thorns of a Burned Tyrant] Thorns of a Burned Tyrant by ll 600csc ll submitted as unlimited [user=cresenta] [user=]

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