The Last: Chapter One

• Posted by Saryn January 29, 2014 - 875 views

  A ferocious red sun tormented the dusty ground with its powerful rays. It beat down upon the land like it was a great, sandy drum.  My eyes shot open just seconds after I felt the torture from the demon in the sky. I spat—emptying my mouth of blood and sand. I was face down—covered in dirt and gore, most of it blood—and I was in pain. I couldn’t turn my head to look, but I could feel it—a nasty wound in my lower back. The dagger—or what was left of it; the handle had been snapped off—was still inside me. I couldn’t bring myself to consider it luck, but I knew it was all that was keeping me alive.

  I slowly turned my head to the left and the right—it was the only motion I could manage—and I saw them, my clan mates, those who I had called brothers and sisters, slaughtered. Their bodies were sprawled in unnatural and grotesque positions across the sand.  I remembered the attack, and the battle. It was quick, and decisive. They attacked just after dawn. We were slow, weak. We didn’t stand a chance. The cowards would have never defeated us at full strength.

  Anger overwhelmed me. It was almost enough to subdue the pain—almost. I swore that I would have revenge on the Vigilants. They would pay for what they did to my family. The anger motivated me, and I felt a swell of energy. I pushed myself up—my arms fighting against the oppression of the sun. I managed, barely, to twist into a sitting position. The blade in my back tore deeper into my flesh with every motion. I screamed. Blood seeped out of the wound; I didn’t have much time.  Now that I was sitting, I would definitely bleed out before long.

  Reaching up was nearly impossible, but I managed to remove my wide, thick hood. I placed it between my teeth and bit down. My arm fought against me as I reached around to grab the blade. I was able to remove it—but not without cutting into my palm and ripping my wound wider with the tip of the dagger. The pain was nearly unbearable. My vision blurred and darkened on the edges, and for once in my life I was afraid. Blood poured out of the wound. I ripped my hood into strips—makeshift bandages, hands now shaking with the increasing pain, and wrapped them around my lower back and stomach. I tied it as tight as I could manage to keep pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding. Luckily, it worked. The bleeding slowed to a slow drip, but the pain was still relentless.

  I struggled to my feet, swearing at the demon above. It was nearly sunset—good; I could finally regain some of my strength. Slowly, I moved west.  The city of Sentinel was not far off. I would arrive by midnight.

  “Soon,” I promised myself.