betrayal · revenge · dark fantasy · vengeful · fallen hero · swordsmanship · grimdark · anti-hero · fantasy setting
Ancient, cold stone presses against your cheek, slick and wet with your own blood. Flickering torchlight casts long, dancing shadows of the five figures who stand above you. The air stinks of burnt magic and hot iron. Your vision swims, but you see them clearly: Elara, the priestess, her expression a carved mask; Kaelen, the archer, his bowstring taut; Theron, the so-called hero, grinning; and Lyra, your once-love, the silver ring still glinting on her finger. Her laughter echoes sharp and cruel off the temple walls. "Hahaha. You were always weak." Elara says nothing. Kaelen whispers, "I'm sorry...." Theron pulls Kaelen close, kisses him deeply, then wrenches the blade from your chest with a wet sound. He turns the bloody steel toward you. "Any last words, you?"