Asher and Blair—Wyatt Dalton

The man known as Asher stood atop the hill looking down on the chaotic scene before him, a cruel smirk carved into his stone-hard face. He could have almost laughed as he watched inferno that was once a peaceful village. His only orders were no survivors, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with it.

Around him stood a knot of grim-faced soldiers in their red cloaks emblazoned with the golden flame of Glacialis. They were gazing just as intently as he, if a little less enthusiastically, down on the village where their comrades were still at work, pacifying the citizens; although from time to time Asher managed to catch one of them casting fearful glances back his way.

Even my own bodyguards are afraid of me. He thought as a thin smile slowly spread across his face. He was proud of the proficient ruthlessness his soldiers had come to master: less than fifteen minutes after their attack began, every single building in sight that could burn was far beyond saving, already engulfed in flames.

Such a beautiful thing, to be the object of mens nightmares. His smile broadened. Such a powerful thing to be feared. The thought that his men would rather murder and pillage “innocent citizens” than cower in fear under his burning gaze, was sweeter to him than the most amber honey.

Just then a new voice cut into his thoughts, rudely severing the feeling of euphoria he was enjoying. The voice was weak and distant, but it possessed a certain amount of power all the same. This is wrong Asher. These people were innocent!

“Blair” Asher spat the name and scowled. Blair was the man from whom he had… borrowed, his current body; he was stronger than most other men Asher had possessed, and required a little more effort to subdue than usual. Asher’s scowl  became a vehement snarl as faint feelings of repulsion and disgust—Blair’s emotions, not his own—washed over him. With an effort he forced Blair’s consciousness away, pushing it back into the mental prison cell that was supposed to hold it.

Just as Asher felt that he had the other man safely locked away, a piercing scream floated up to him from the village below. Asher sneered inwardly at Blair—his soldiers had found a young girl hiding somewhere among the burning buildings and cornered her; no doubt his men would have a little fun of their own before dispatching that one. Yet before the scream had completely faded into the distance, his sneer turned into a concerned frown as Blair’s consciousness began beating against its prison with an unwavering resolve not expected from a man who was supposed to be beaten down and subdued.

Such strength. Asher thought. How do you still possess such strength?

Blair continued to hammer against the walls holding him, pouring even more strength into his attacks; but other than this renewed effort, Asher received no answer to his question.

Three figures suddenly burst out from the inferno near the edge of the village closest to where Asher and his men stood watch: a women hugging a small child to her breast, and a man hobbling along behind her. All three showed the scars from where flames had burned them and the man bled from gashes, crudely bandaged, from where the swords had ravaged him.

Some of Asher’s guards raised their bows and drew back their deadly barbed arrows. Something inside Asher welled up. A thought radiating from Blair’s cell that had somehow wormed it’s way out. Asher tried to force it back but Blair fought him with a furry that Asher could not resist. Under immense strain Asher felt his lips move slowly apart and heard his own strained voice growl a command.

“No.”

The bowmen looked back at him, confusion and fear evident on their faces: their orders were no survivors.

“No.” He repeated as small, almost imperceptible beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Let them go.”

The bowmen, still uncertain but unwilling to disobey an order from Asher, carefully released the tension on their bows and returned to watching the fire.

With the last of Blair’s strength used up by the effort to control Asher’s body, Asher slammed the other man back into his cell and redoubled the seals.

Asher thought he could feel more of Blair’s emotions: contentment, joy, relief. His own disgust and anger replaced them in an instant. Fool! You only saved three today! I have slaughtered hundreds. Soon you will learn how futile your fight with me really is.

From deep inside he heard Blairs laugh echoing back to him. Your men slaughtered hundreds, but because you lost control of one, you couldn’t touch three. What happens when your men stop fearing you?

Asher’s scowl deepened.