Inspired by Akira, The Legend of Zelda, and my Love
The hero followed his heart. Traversing the rickety staircase. Charging through the torch lit stone halls. Leaping over great pits of spitting magma. Slaying hideous creatures from the shade. Swinging from the vines of a rotting castle. Suffering cuts and hemorrhages. All to be fixed by a miracle potion. Filled with red, sparkling water. Going through such treachery for love. He'd walk a million miles for her. Because he knew she'd do the exact same.
Completing the trials of a deprived heart. The hero reached a clearing in the castle, the courtyard. Seeing her stand with fragility, afraid. She began to step forwards, her tantalizing beauty blinding the hero's fear for her. The first step was joyous. The hero did the same. Smiling as the blood in his body told him to wrap his arms around her. The instinct of preserving fine china. She took a second step. Her eyes wider than an owl. Beginning to hollow in pain. Her cheeks puckering with her open mouth. So much disgust shown. Under her a flaming crimson fire was placed. Burning her from the bottom up. Incineration. The hero stumbled back. Seeing a great beast rise. Made of her marauded flesh. Grotesquely large, with flesh of others too. Bearing a gigantic axe.
A heinous beast intent on breaking the hero's heart. The hero held his breath. Spinning his sharp steel spear with infuriation over the incineration. Heading to the jaws of the Grotesque. Stabbing through it's shin. Flesh growing over his spear, sucking it in. Beginning to connect to the pale hero's toned arm. He ripped himself from the fray. Seeing as his weapons proved worthless. Running around the courtyard in circles. Getting his crossbow. Unloading magical bolts. Pinching the Grotesque, being sank into the monster. Not even the crossbow would do.
The hero climbed up a leafless tree. Branch for branch, starting to hop to other trees of the same caliber. Using the iron sights of his crossbow, getting a good aim on the beasts eye. He quickly poured a blue potion over the crossbow. Letting it sink into the bolt and wood. The bolt began to spark, glowing and sprouting lightning. The hero climbed to the tallest tree, hopping to the top carelessly. Looking down at the grotesque firing his bolt. Lightning skyrocketed out. Piercing through it's one groggy eye. Electrocuting the whole thing. In a frenzy, the beast swung his axe. With just one swing he swiped the tree the hero was on to the courtyard floor. He collapsed, the tree landing over his legs tightly. Our hero starting to squirm, wriggling out. The grotesque got to his knees whilst blind, feeling the long trunk. Slowly moving his hand to the right. Where the hero desperately fought the trees weight.
With one last hefty heave he wiggled out. Breathing heavily in exhaust laying there. Only for the grotesque to flip the tree up, crouching in front of him. The hero had the adrenaline rush again. His lover perished. His rage flared. Just like the Molotov Ball cooking his palm. He flung it in the beasts direction. A burning explosion erupting over the creature. Making its flesh mangle and shoot out. Only to stick back in. The grotesque croaked degradedly. The axe sinking into it's body now too. The flesh growing more and more. Multiplying, tripling, quadrupling in mass. The hero backed to a cold wall. Seeing the dark night skies faint clouds whip past his head, making the landscape rustle. He had no more gear worthwhile to fight. The crossbow, the spear, the Molotov, all deadly methods of finishing fiends. However, this time it was different. The village relied on his success, but sometimes it just doesn't work. Such an inescapable foe was unimaginable. Guilt of not being worthy overwhelmed. A new warrior one day would walk through this very castle. Slaying the same beast when he couldn't. The hero of now so minuscule to the greater realm of time.
The grotesque snubbed the hero. Flesh growing over his skin, tears flowing down his cheeks. Letting the warm mangled organs suffocate him. Sinking to the darkened red void. Feeling the great organ pressure his temples and whole body. Squeezing the life out of this striving adventurer, feeling the pulsating veins tightly wrap his sides. After moments of dreading a painful passing. A pinkish red enveloped over him. He saw his love. Resting back, with her eyes bloodshot. Blood covering her shaken body. At this point nothing mattered. She was there. Breathing.
Nothing had importance other than her. Screw the legacy, defeating the beast, his family, the safety of his village. He would fall from grace with beauty by his side with dignity. Those tears going back in, his boosted nature shown. The hero stepped over the twisted organs and guts. Hugging her tightly. She was still shaking, her breath irregular. Although she wrapped her arms around intensely. Both sinking heads into their shoulders. She was a pretty portrait. The hero had always loved working and helping such an art project. This fair maiden needed the extra brush. Even if they'd die, what did it matter? She was still now only that very pretty painting, but just coated in blood. With one last embrace, the grotesques insides pulsated closer. Deeming their fate. The hero and his love didn't fear dying or being forgotten. He followed his heart correctly. Battle scarred and worn, all they needed was a hug of understanding.
The flesh seeping walls collapsed over them. Red butchery slush left draining. The smell of perfume greater than ever. Nothing mattered. The hero and his darling danced with a fluttering hug. Until ripping into beautiful, unrecognizable corpses.
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Collection of Literature [2018]
RandomLoads of my short stories, concepts, and thoughts I record. Writing practice, but entertainment for a reader. Mature themes are in these stories for the most part, keep that in mind.