The Fallen Captain

Entering the castle, I was greeted by rows of white sculptures, which I had received from the King of Tibians. He had hoped to secure my favor by offering his eldest daughter in marriage, but I had refused his proposal, though I kept his gifts.

His daughter was too skinny, I felt like I was going to crush her with a mere touch of my fingers but the sculptures were a different story. Each sculpture was a masterpiece, depicting various mythological creatures and legendary figures. I felt in love with them because of how pure they look and how calm I feel when I stared at them.

I quickly shapeshifted into one of the sculptures, hoping to buy myself a few moments to think. However, my eyes gave me away. Rektar's bloodshot, foam-flecked eyes locked onto mine, and he lunged. I shifted into a bird and flew from his grasp, narrowly avoiding his outstretched claws. This only infuriated him further, and he began smashing my beautiful sculptures in a fit of rage.

"Not the sculptures, you mad fool!" I shouted, my heart aching at the sight of them being destroyed. Mad or not, no one had the right to destroy my sculptures.

I landed behind him, quickly shifting back to my usual form. I tapped him on the shoulder, and as he turned, I delivered a heavy blow to his jaw. His head shook from side to side with the impact.

He roared in anger, his madness driving him into a frenzy. But this was good; an angrier Rektar was a less focused Rektar. We continued our chaotic dance, trading blows and dodging attacks, making our way through the castle's halls toward the dungeon area.

The prisoners inside the dungeon recoiled in fear, pressing themselves against the walls of their cells. It didn't take a fool to realize that Rektar was infected with blood madness—a condition that was incurable and deadly. A mad vampire had a lifespan of just six months at most, but during that time, they were incredibly dangerous if not killed immediately.

They could infect a thousand vampires within a span of six months if left unattented.

Rektar's attention turned to the squirming prisoners in the dungeon. Mad vampires thrived on fear, and Rektar was soaking up their terror, banging on the heavy gates of their cells, trying to break in. He ignored me completely, drawn to the scent of their fear like a moth to a flame.

I considered my options. I could send Rektar in there as punishment to the lawbreakers, letting him infect them with the madness and starve them out. It was a cruel thought, but desperation often bred cruelty. The prisoners were not innocent; they had broken my laws and threatened the stability of my kingdom.

But no, that wasn't the answer. Letting Rektar loose on them would only prolong their suffering and create more chaos. I needed to contain him, to find a way to neutralize the threat he posed.

As I stood there, feeling exhausted already, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye—a sharp sword lying on a nearby table, likely left behind by one of the prison guards. My initial thought was to use it to protect myself should Rektar turned to me if he couldn't open the gates, but another, darker idea began to form.

While Rektar was still struggling, trying to break the prison gates, I picked up the sword. My heart was heavy with the decision I was about to make. I couldn't risk the possibility of him becoming a threat, not to my people, not to anyone.

With a swift, decisive motion, I slashed the sword across his neck. His body and head separated, falling to the ground in two distinct parts. While his body lay still, the head continued to gnash its teeth, unaware that it was no longer attached.

Finally, it stopped.

The prisoners relaxed visibly, their terror abating with Rektar's death. But I wasn't pleased over what I had done. Rektar had been a loyal captain, serving me with all diligence. He was one of the few I trusted apart from my brothers. I felt like a true monster.

I sent a telepathic message to the physicians to come and take care of Rektar's body. As I laid the sword beside his fallen form, memories flooded back—the time I handed him a sword of honor to commemorate his promotion to head captain. He had been full of smiles as his peers congratulated him. He was so happy that he had a portrait of himself and the sword made. Now, the same hands that had honored him were the hands that killed him.

I sighed deeply and whispered, "May your soul rest in the bosom of our father, Rektar."

After the fight, I felt drained, not just from the physical exertion and shape-shifting, but from the emotional toll of losing Rektar. The castle, once a place of safety and order, now felt like a prison.

I stepped out of the dungeon area, my steps heavy. Dominic and Pristine were waiting for me. Their expressions were filled with concern and unspoken questions, but they knew better than to press me for answers. I wasn't in the mood to explain myself or justify my actions.

It could be that they wanted to ask me something entirely different from what had happened but my conscience was pricking me, so I assumed they were judging me.

I walked away, feeling their eyes on my back, filled with questions they dared not voice.