King Zaheed stared intently at his hand, as he had been doing to many parts of his body over the course of the last few weeks because things have turned to abnormalities. Muscles that surged down the whole right arm had enlarged and swelled up five times the regular size. The same as went for his hand with fingernails ascending out like a short sword blade from the long menacing fingers. Yet on his left, his arm remained the same. And as for his torso, it grew at an unhuman state of volume as his back formed him to hunch over with the spine poking through flesh. He had also morphed taller, his legs heightening as if he were a giant, but he looked more than that of one, instead, he looked like a monster.
Zaheed was the clear example of what happens when a man hungers for more. He care not for balance, all he desired was to devour. After he was heated and saved by Deborah when he misused his powers, he felt that he revealed to his mage a weakness in himself. That day Zaheed told himself never again, because now he was ready to show all of Imos who he truly was. For once, he was going to stop the games and strip off his mask.
Zaheed discovered something in his time of finding powers of a god, as he were absorbing heat, he started to sense another essence deep inside a vessel body, he found power, the magic all of Imos bear. So he did what anyone would expect Zaheed to do, he robbed them of their gifts, leaving victims powerless. Though he would not be able to bend other elements, he would be able to feast upon the very extract of magic. Their magic energy would course through his veins, making him stronger and more deadly, yet the question Zaheed lacks to be concerned about is, how much more power can he absorb before his body refuses to take anymore. Are there limits to his madness?
Zaheed heard something fall behind his causing a great disturbance to him, thus he turned around to have seen his raven friend, Icarus. The bird had flown in such a hurry he lost his stability, but it was for Icarus had urgent news.
“Zaheed! Zaheed!” he squawked, a noise only Zaheed could understand, and only was it Icarus permitted to call on the King by just his first name. “I-Its about Bellistrad!”
“What did he do, run away?” Zaheed questioned, stepping closer to Icarus, to which then the bird backed up, noticing what Zaheed had become. But instead of asking questions about Zaheed’s body, Icarus decided to stay relevant.
“Much more than that, I’ve been spying on him just as you ordered, and Bellistrad seeks to free your brother… And he got the air tribe involved.”
There was a pause, Icarus was afraid what may happen next. But Zaheed only laughed. “So the boy wishes to help out little brother. I doubt he be successful, but perhaps it would have been better that I had killed him. Yes, that is what I should of done.” Zaheed snatched the bird by its neck. “I will have you know I commanded he find the shape shifting tribe for you!”
“Zaheed, I know! I know! You wished to find some way to undue the curse, so you hoped on finding the ones who form animals, perhaps to find a way to break the spell. You wanted me as a man once again, I know. Could you comprehend how dearly I covet my old life?”
Zaheed held the bird up higher, tightening his grip. “My friend, your words portray you as a weakling. I shall make the weak strong!"
“W-what are you doing!” Icarus squirmed as he felt something surge through his soul, he felt something he had not felt in years- magic. Zaheed transferred his magic to the body of the bird once man. And as this power grew inside of Icarus, so did his physical being. The black wings swoop out in large stature, as his beak sprouted through greater lengths in a point. Icarus looked as twisted as Zaheed, yet Zaheed saw Icarus as a worthy opponent against his enemies and a pleasant and menacing sight to be displayed against his bulging shoulder.
“I will stain Imos with my existence! So you said Bellistrad wants to free Zotar? Heh, well I better let baby brother know what it means to truly be in control. We attack the earth tribe at nightfall! Zotar will blindly love me for it.”
Just as Zaheed had ordered it, soldiers surrounded around the earth tribe at nightfall, though in secret. Archers were prepared and ready to fire their flaming arrows against the tribe dominantly surrounded and constructed of trees. Since Zaheed had been king, the military of the fire tribe has advance, though even when he was a general, the fire tribe had always been known for its great stance military wise. But Zaheed has drafted all boys of the tribe of age seven, the amount of training without rest has proven to be brutal but effective, but yet his men were ready as they will ever be.
Zaheed stood slightly in front of his men, though he wore not armor, for his body had emerged too large to fit any longer. Besides, his body was not the only thing growing bigger, it was also his pride, his belief that his body had sunk image to that of a god, thus no longer did he need things of mortals, such as armor or even weapons. Instead Zaheed wore a pair of trousers and a deep dark crimson cloak with its hood lurking over his black locks. Against his shoulder perched his grisly pet bird.
Zaheed brought Deborah along with him, he wanted to show to her his greatness, that he was not weak and what vision he promised when he first met her was coming true. “Are you prepared to witness reality molded by my hands, Deborah?” He looked down at her, for his height reached above all others. It was a surprise to everyone else of what creature Zaheed had turned into. “Experience it, be immersed in my eminence, all of Imos will be.” Zaheed suddenly with great force sung his arm up signaling for the archers to fire, and then it started. A wave of flames soared against the great black sky, reaching for Shadow in a fiery fiendish embrace. And when the first arrow struck into the bark of the tree village, all hell fell upon the nation as it burst into flames.
“Slay those who decline their salvation, and deliver it to those who surrender through their capture as slaves!” Zaheed commanded his men as the arrows flew over them. “Today I shall deliver the children of fire into warriors strung to the call of glory!” As soon as the arrows fell onto ground, infantry fled Shadowfen, and Icarus jumped off of his master’s shoulder and launched into the night to screech battle cries, to intensify the earth tribe’s fear. Zaheed also entered seeking the head of the leader, with power and pride blinding his eyes. He wanted to be worshiped, but above that, he wanted to be feared, so much so, he spared a few so that they may cry to the other nations in message of the horror Zaheed has wrecked upon them and that he will not stop here.
“Ah… I never sought out fire so beautiful, not until it was forged in my name,” He spoke to Deborah. Zaheed stood before the Shadowfen’s grand tree which held the leader’s home, but now burned in an inferno. It was the aftermath of the battle, the earth tribe was destroyed, though not extinct, no Zaheed surely would put his new slaves to work in an army against the rest of the tribes of Imos. “I wonder what nation I will burst into flames next, perhaps the air tribe, yes.” He acted so causal when it came to destroying tribes, because he did not see it as destruction, he saw it as a game of conquering. “Will the fire tribe praise for joy, their god has arrived? No, not just this tribe, but all of Imos will see my godhood. Yes, I put death to the old myths of divinities by pronouncing it illegal. How does that sound, Deborah? The lawbreakers be beaten into submission of my worship.”
He saw himself as a god, and would force others to as well, but little did he know, or more like, accept the many flaws that hindered him. Such as flaws in his physical body- unbalanced, heavy, and in will of recklessness, and no one mustn't forget the flaws in that sinister mind of his for there was no strategy only a hunger for pride and power.
There he stood, wrist stretched and bounded by chains as they were from day one. He was being fed, but only to the very subsistence in order to keep him as Zianro toy, or so Zotar felt. Another cruel joke Zotar witness Zianro play was the candle. Whether or not Zotar was a fire bender, he was a human, and all people need some type of heat to forbid them from death. So Zianro's men put a candle inches away from Zotar's reach so that he could have only poor ounces of the warm, but also enough to mock him, enough to give him a false sense of hope.
But Zotar did keep in thought, how much longer does he have to live, before Zianro gets bored? He was surprised he has been able to survive this far, but when does the day that ends his misery- when does that day come? Will it ever come? It was as if the thoughts Zotar did conceive were either concerns and worries mixed in with confusion and questions. He knew he was never going to surrender, Zotar was too stubborn for that, even in his weakest moments, he was not going to surrender to Zianro. Instead, he hungered for an escape as he did from the first second he was imprisoned, but now, he had only believed that escape would come out of death. And he would take it if he could.
Though it was not until this moment that forced a change of mind. Something came over Zotar, no it was like he came over it. Zotar felt his veins be filled and his body consume an energy so long ago he had felt. It was heat, real heat, no mockery, no tease, no joke, this was real. But did Zotar believe that at first, that he was feeling something more than grief, that he was alive? Of course not, it was unimaginable. So, as soon as he felt the first thread of heat, he told himself it was a dream. Sure he will go along with it, but he trusted he would wake up to suffering all over again.
Zotar felt the heat in his veins, but he concentrated all the power to the shackles latched to his wrist. And by that, he was able to demolish the metal by melting it. And as soon as the cuffs were off, Zotar felt the wrist, he rubbed his finger on the bone, for the shackles hugged on so tightly, the skin and flesh were crushed beneath the metal. Zotar stepped to the candle, he stomped his foot against the wax, feeling the flame burn into his heel, and he loved every second of it. He dipped his fingers into the hot wax, toying with it, but though he told himself again, it was only a dream.
Zotar looked to corner of his eyes, a light, like footsteps. Maybe the dream was trying to tell him something, so he followed it. He pressed his hands against the wooden door meant to lock him in, but he burned through it, to chase the light. Zotar knew he had to hurry, he did not know how much time he had left before guards smell the smoke from the door.
The light let him through tunnels and out of the dungeon. He was on the surface, but that had not yet hit reality to him, still in thought this was a dream. Zotar was also not observant of his surroundings, other than not be caught, for he was not sticking around to admire anything, instead his mind focused on the light. Even when he made to Zianro's palace, he did not try to bring up such a thought, to him, that would be insane, freedom does not just show up one day, or does it?
The light let him to a person, this was when Zotar started to believe this was real. He stepped closer to what appeared to be a blue haired young man. All Zotar's eyes were stationed on was him, for the light follow this one person and no one else. Zotar doubted the stranger would recognize Zotar, for the once strong healthy lord, now closely resembled a skeleton with a thin mask of skin. Zotar's hair grew longer, so did his beard, and because of the stress and worry, he looked slightly older. There was one part about him however that could identify him as a former ruler of the fire tribe, it was the brand marks from the day he wore the traditional arm guards of lords generations before.
However, as soon as Zotar stepped close enough to the man, Zotar touched his shoulder. He wanted to know if this person was real, or was it just a hallucination? If he was not dreaming because a dream would not possible go on this long and make a bit of sense, then Zotar questioned if he was delusional. But as soon as Zotar laid his fingers on a stranger, feeling that this was a real person. A person that was not Zianro or one of his heartless guardsmen, someone that was not going to hurt him.
Zotar immediately then wrapped his arms tightly around the man, never wanting to let go, determined to never be alone again and to never let solitude bite against spine and into his mind. It was an embrace that expressed the amount of desolation Zotar were strangled and suffocated with. Sure the face was familiar, he did not know who this was, he did not know this was Bellistrad Indorial the exile he wished arrested, nor did care. An abundance of emotion flooded Zotar, it was something he could not let dwell inside, so Zotar wept in joy with his head buried deeply inside of Bellistrad's shoulder. Zotar was known to be a man who acted on emotion, but not like this. He never cried in public, even when his father died, he knew he had to be strong for his people, especially when he found out he was going to be lord.
But now nothing else mattered to him right now, but this moment, that he was actually in contact with someone. He ached for many things he lost when trapped inside of his cell, one of those things being utterly the ability to know you are not alone. He felt the heat of another soul, and it was enough to bring him to tears and his voice into sobbing.