The commander stood up to et Dylan, then walked over to the edge of the room, picking up Dylan’s sword. He unsheathed it slowly, the tal gleaming in the dim light. Dylan felt a surge of unease but said nothing, aware that the border was heavily garrisoned with over a thousand soldiers always on standby in case of a beast people attack.
The commander’s eyes appraised the weapon with admiration. "Such a fine weapon," he remarked, running his finger along the edge. Instantly, a small cut appeared, and he put his finger in his mouth, licking the blood. His gaze shifted to Dylan, now sharp and probing.
"You know, you could have fooled even as soone in need of an actual weapon, but I recognize that totem on your hand," the commander said, his voice low and intense. "I was the commander of this border when the notorious Prince Chiron took temporary refuge here. You know, that day, I thought my carrer was going to sky rocket just because of his presence and all the other nobles that ca here. But things did not go as i had envisioned it
However, I did take the privilege to absorb as much information as i could. You see, such opportunities do not always present themselves to n such as myself who have toiled hard at the corner of the FUCKING world with FREAKING Talking Animals. But I was fortunate to see them. I saw his lieutenants, and I managed to share a drink here and there. One of them, called Deamon, had that sa exact totem."
Dylan’s eyes widened, and he took several steps back, his hand instinctively covering the totem on his arm. It had been carved there by Chiron, a symbol that converted to a sword, he used during battle.
The commander’s eyes narrowed. "I am right, aren’t I? I don’t know what secret mission the rebel prince who killed our forr most beloved king gave to you, but it ends here. Guards!"
Three guards rushed into the room, seizing Dylan. He struggled against their grip, desperation in his voice. "Wait! You have to listen to ! I’ve cut ties with Chiron. I have nothing to do with him anymore!"
The commander remained unmoved, his expression hardening. "Save your breath. I’m sure I’ll get a rich reward from King Victor for bringing in one of the rebel army. Take him to the cell."
Dylan’s pleas grew more frantic as the guards dragged him away. "Please, you have to believe ! I saved your son! I’m not with Chiron anymore! I’m innocent!"
The commander’s chuckle was cold and dismissive. He turned away, walking back towards his seat. "Innocent or not, that’s not for to decide," he said, his voice echoing in the room as he settled back into his chair.
Just as Dylan was being pulled out of the door, sothing unexpected happened. The commander suddenly doubled over to the side, his face contorting in agony. Without warning, he began to vomit blood.
The first gush was a shocking crimson stream, splattering across the floor. He clutched at his stomach, his eyes wide with terror and confusion, as another wave of blood spewed from his mouth, this ti mixed with chunks of flesh.
The guards froze in their tracks, horror etching their faces. One of them rushed to the commander’s side, but the commander’s condition rapidly worsened. He gagged violently, retching as his body convulsed.
Thick, dark blood poured from his mouth, and with it ca the grotesque sight of his internal organs. Pieces of his stomach and intestines began to force their way out, slithering like grotesque, fleshy ropes.
The commander’s hands flew to his throat, his fingers clawing desperately as he choked and gurgled. More blood erupted, and he vomited again, this ti a torrent of intestines spilling out in coils, slick and wet.
The air filled with the nauseating stench of blood and bile, and the commander’s panicked eyes bulged as he tried to scream, only to have his voice lost in the river of gore flowing from his mouth.
One by one, his organs followed. His liver, kidneys, and heart erged in a sickening display, each retch bringing up another vital part of his anatomy.
The scene was a macabre ballet of horror as the commander’s body turned inside out. His eyes rolled back, and then, to the absolute terror of the onlookers, they too were expelled from their sockets, trailing optic nerves like ghastly strings.
The guards and Dylan stood rooted in place, unable to tear their eyes away from the nightmare unfolding before them. The commander’s skull seed to cave in as his brain followed the ghastly parade of organs, oozing out in a thick, grey mass.
He convulsed one last ti, a final spasm that sent his lungs surging forth, a grotesque sight of pink and red tissue.
Finally, with a sickening gurgle, the commander’s heart erged, pulsating weakly before falling to the floor with a wet thud. The commander collapsed in a heap, landing in the spreading pool of his own blood and entrails. The room was filled with the sickly sweet sll of death and decay.
Everyone stood frozen in shock, their faces pale and eyes wide with disbelief. The horrific scene was seared into their minds, an unimaginable nightmare brought to life. The commander lay lifeless, a hollow shell emptied of all that once sustained him, his body a grueso testant to the horror that had just transpired.
They were so stunned by what had happened that they no longer held Dylan. One of the guards looked at Dylan with wide eyes, panic overtaking his expression. "What have you done!?" he shouted, his voice tinged with fear and accusation.
Before the guard could grab Dylan again, Dylan sprang into action. He leaped to the side, quickly picking up his sword. With a swift, precise motion, he swung the blade, cutting off the guard’s hand. The severed limb fell to the floor, blood spurting from the stump as the guard scread in agony and fell to the ground, clutching his injury.
The other guards, reacting to the sudden violence, drew their weapons. Spiritual energy began to glow from their bodies, a tangible manifestation of their power. The air humd with the intensity of their preparations for combat. The guard who had lost his hand rolled on the ground, writhing in pain, but quickly sealed the wound with his own spiritual energy, stanching the flow of blood. He scrambled for his weapon, eyes filled with rage and desperation.
As the injured guard picked up his weapon and struggled to his feet, sothing unbelievable happened. He coughed violently, blood spraying from his lips. His eyes widened in terror as he began to vomit blood, just as the commander had. The guards and Dylan watched in horror as the grueso process repeated itself. Blood gushed from the guard’s mouth, followed by chunks of flesh. His stomach heaved, forcing out his intestines in a sickening display of gore.
The guard’s body convulsed uncontrollably, his eyes bulging in sheer panic. More organs spilled out, a horrific parade of internal parts that turned the floor into a ghastly, crimson pool. His heart, still beating weakly, erged last, falling to the ground with a wet, final thud. The guard collapsed, lifeless, in a heap of blood and entrails.
The other guards stood frozen in shock, their faces pale, unable to comprehend the horror unfolding before them... anwhile, Dylan could not help but look at the sword in his hands.
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