A gutheral rasping escaped the man’s body as it laid twitching upon the ground, the inhuman noise a final attempt to fight off the curtains of death that threatened to swallow him. Two azure eyes, like gems on a pale face, stared at him. Cold and heartless, yet almost pitying. Albafica shook his head as he looked at the man who desperately fought his painful death. He had to commend the man for his bravery, but condone him just as much for his bravado at trying to best the toxicity that hung around him. Perhaps he could’ve been sad for the probably innocent man that now struggled against death, but he had given him a fair warning not to proceed. The weak had no right to walk among his roses if they couldn't withstand their toxic scent. The strong could survive inhaling the roses but would get affected still; the immune were like him, but were few. If he could find an immune mortal he could teach them his ways, like his master had taught him. But in this town only weaklings seemed to reside, and for that very reason Albafica had decided not to undo the large field of Royal Demon Roses. In search for the strong ones. The interesting ones.
Albafica leaned against one of the rocks that dotted the landscape he’d chosen for his work of art and gazed over the field of crimson that extended as far as the eye could see. All of them roses that he only could create, their poison intertwined with his blood to such an extend he could even kill someone with just a single drop of it upon their skin. His life had become poisonous; if his blood had been spilt he would not allow anyone close to him in fear of poisoning them. In general he never allowed someone to touch him either, for the very same reason. That was his fate as a trained Saint of Pisces; to live a life of solitude, just like the deadly rose linked to him. Normally he wouldn’t have done this heinous act, which went against everything his master had taught him, but they had kept on mocking him. The people of Hargeon… or rather, a select few from the more well-off circles of society. They’d made fun of the way he looked, scorned him to be the dirt on their heels, underestimated his power. That last one was the last drop however, the thing to trigger him enough to disregard his late master’s teachings as they tried to beat him. Even as they hit him he could feel the lacking in their strength, saw how bystanders and passerby’s gave him pitiful looks filled with sorrow for him. Yet none intervened. They only showed weakness; the one thing he loathed. So Albafica had brought up his roses, right then and there, in the middle of the streets. A thick red mist had enveloped the nobles and bystanders, a mist so thick one couldn’t even see what was happening a meter before them. After it had dispersed again, a dozen bodies dotted the cobblestone street; the child had vanished.
And even though Albafica had exacted his wrath upon him, those who’d given him pitiful looks were still burnt into his mind. Like a ghost their weakness haunted him, disgusted him. He’d left Hargeon almost immediately, but near its outskirts had returned for a single reason; redemption. Perhaps there was a strong one among them… maybe even this Famine he had heard about, would be drawn to the massacre. A wicked reason to grow his Royal Demon Roses so close to civilization; especially now, days later, as all who’d come to visit the large field of red roses that had appeared out of nowhere had found their end within it. Albafica had been shifting his presence constantly, either patrolling the borders and warning those he came across to not proceed if they didn’t have the power to back it up. Or he sat in the middle of the field, on a large boulder overlooking his prized possession. Every day he did away with the bodies that tainted his roses.
The man at his feet, in those few reminiscing thoughts, had stepped over the threshold of life and death to join all the other victims that’d fallen to the Royal Demon Roses’ poison. Albafica bent his knee and leaned over the man, closing his eyelids as a last act of kindness. ”The weak shouldn’t trample on the strong… let this be a warning for the next life.” The child muttered, turning around and walking back towards the boulder, sitting down upon it. He could vaguely see if someone would approach the large field, granted he was looking in the right direction. Right now he hadn’t bothered with fueling the roses’ poison, their lethal contents were lesser than they usually were and gave off a sweet scent to any who dared inhale it… but would cause the nerve-system to send the wrong signals to the hypothalamus and throughout the body instead. Their poisonous scent would only grow stronger the further one would proceed into the field, and the closer they’d come to him, as the roses around the boulder remained overly toxic. A single inhalation would bring death in the first two minutes, though it would take longer for those hardened by poison.
Albafica sighed and played with the white rose his slender fingers held, waiting for the next person to pass by.
Albafica leaned against one of the rocks that dotted the landscape he’d chosen for his work of art and gazed over the field of crimson that extended as far as the eye could see. All of them roses that he only could create, their poison intertwined with his blood to such an extend he could even kill someone with just a single drop of it upon their skin. His life had become poisonous; if his blood had been spilt he would not allow anyone close to him in fear of poisoning them. In general he never allowed someone to touch him either, for the very same reason. That was his fate as a trained Saint of Pisces; to live a life of solitude, just like the deadly rose linked to him. Normally he wouldn’t have done this heinous act, which went against everything his master had taught him, but they had kept on mocking him. The people of Hargeon… or rather, a select few from the more well-off circles of society. They’d made fun of the way he looked, scorned him to be the dirt on their heels, underestimated his power. That last one was the last drop however, the thing to trigger him enough to disregard his late master’s teachings as they tried to beat him. Even as they hit him he could feel the lacking in their strength, saw how bystanders and passerby’s gave him pitiful looks filled with sorrow for him. Yet none intervened. They only showed weakness; the one thing he loathed. So Albafica had brought up his roses, right then and there, in the middle of the streets. A thick red mist had enveloped the nobles and bystanders, a mist so thick one couldn’t even see what was happening a meter before them. After it had dispersed again, a dozen bodies dotted the cobblestone street; the child had vanished.
And even though Albafica had exacted his wrath upon him, those who’d given him pitiful looks were still burnt into his mind. Like a ghost their weakness haunted him, disgusted him. He’d left Hargeon almost immediately, but near its outskirts had returned for a single reason; redemption. Perhaps there was a strong one among them… maybe even this Famine he had heard about, would be drawn to the massacre. A wicked reason to grow his Royal Demon Roses so close to civilization; especially now, days later, as all who’d come to visit the large field of red roses that had appeared out of nowhere had found their end within it. Albafica had been shifting his presence constantly, either patrolling the borders and warning those he came across to not proceed if they didn’t have the power to back it up. Or he sat in the middle of the field, on a large boulder overlooking his prized possession. Every day he did away with the bodies that tainted his roses.
The man at his feet, in those few reminiscing thoughts, had stepped over the threshold of life and death to join all the other victims that’d fallen to the Royal Demon Roses’ poison. Albafica bent his knee and leaned over the man, closing his eyelids as a last act of kindness. ”The weak shouldn’t trample on the strong… let this be a warning for the next life.” The child muttered, turning around and walking back towards the boulder, sitting down upon it. He could vaguely see if someone would approach the large field, granted he was looking in the right direction. Right now he hadn’t bothered with fueling the roses’ poison, their lethal contents were lesser than they usually were and gave off a sweet scent to any who dared inhale it… but would cause the nerve-system to send the wrong signals to the hypothalamus and throughout the body instead. Their poisonous scent would only grow stronger the further one would proceed into the field, and the closer they’d come to him, as the roses around the boulder remained overly toxic. A single inhalation would bring death in the first two minutes, though it would take longer for those hardened by poison.
Albafica sighed and played with the white rose his slender fingers held, waiting for the next person to pass by.
