Wilted Flower

Alisa could not help but cry as she felt that her uselessness had led them to this tight situation, where she either dies or the most important person in the kingdom right now will perish. Either way, it's a loss for their parents, but if there's anyone who deserves to live, she knows it's not her.

"Go, there's still time." Her tears slowly slithered her cheeks as she smiled through the pain.

"I won't leave you here."

"Don't be stubborn, go!" It was a heated debate on who dies, but it's not up to them. The humongous monster was just about to stop their chatter when a one-man applause interrupted.

"I like the drama," said a familiar voice. If Nicolas is right, this is the man who was giving the orders earlier: "I should give you my thanks, Prince of Gregoria, for making my job easier than expected. Though I'm not going to lie, this is your best course of action. Either way, you will fall into our hands; the only difference is the level of blood shed, of course." He lowered the hood of his cloak and revealed a beard. His smile is wide and pleased.

"Let her go and I'll come with you," he switched his focus to the bearded man.

"Ooh, a negotiation."

"Yes or no is the only answer I want to hear," Alisa wanted to argue with the Prince's decision but he had no intention to listen.

"Okay, come here and we'll let her go."

"Set her free first. This is my only demand," he said, trying to stay calm. Weakness is the last thing he'll want them to see from him, especially if his best friend's life is on the line.

The bearded man gestured to his giant pawn and she released the girl, but listening seems to be his weakness and understanding someone's safety is far from his comprehension. He threw the girl as if she were a ball that would bounce right back up if she met the floor. Alisa fell unconscious upon impact; although minimal, part of her hair had been painted red.

"You piece of—"

"I apologize for my..." he punched his men, though it had little to no effect, "Pawn, thinking was never his strong suit. I haven't found a perfect brain to replace the rotting one yet," he joked. "So, do we have a deal or not? I promise we'll retreat after," he said, extending his hands.

"No, you also need to stop the bombardment first."

"Daring, aren't we? I can say, you really are bright for your age," the bearded man once again applauded. "Fine, we will. It's someone's orders after all, and he did not pay us enough to continue. Halt the dynamites!" 

All that Nicolas could do was look back at Alisa, but when he noticed that her chest was still moving, he's certainly sure that she's still alive, and for that, he is already thankful. But he's not out of the woods yet; the following events would decide his life forever. As he took his step, he felt like a hero, the kind that he reads from the story books he has on his bedside bookshelf.

Though at the same time, it felt wrong, Deep inside, he feared what would happen to him as he reached for those hands. He desperately wanted to cry; he desperately wanted to turn back, but this is what he decided to do. He convinced himself that it's a Prince's duty to protect his people, so he is simply fulfilling it.

Despite the panicking beats of his heart, the desperate control of his breathing and tears, and the overly shaking of his fingers and knees, he pushed through. He had saved Alisa and Gregoria from further pain and destruction, but as he held the man's hand, something flew overhead.

"Oh, that can't be good," the bearded man let out before an explosion occurred.

Nicolas wished and prayed that that was just the fireworks but wishes does not always come true and prayers are not always heard. The shock wave pushed him forward, and the man quickly caged him. All he could do was look back as the man carried him on his shoulders.

Alisa was no more; the place she had been lying just moments ago was now only a crater. It broke his heart in pieces, probably less broken than the probably scattered pieces of his friend, but who cares? Whoever threw that thing is now laughing together with his comrades as they retreated with him as their prize.

Confused about whether he should laugh or not, he is mentally breaking apart as the tears he's been holding have finally been let loose. The bottle cracked, and there is no other way to fix it. He was eaten by his capturer's laughter; it made him sick and ignited his hatred. He had lost the sense of what he wanted to do, and so he drowned. He slowly smiled wide and grimly before following through with the laughter.

By the time he had burst into laughter, the bearded man was already bleeding on his back on the burnt grassy ground, and that giant man had lost his head. All eyes were were on him as he owned the last laugh, no one knew what happened, all they know is that their boss is out cold, and whoever's that boy laughing in front of them is far from the boy from earlier.

"That really can't be good," he chuckled.

His eyes constricted, dried of tears, as he looked at them one by one with his burning gaze. One brave man decided to call him out but was immediately cut off, leaving his comrades stunned. "Why do you look surprised? I thought you'd like to see some blood," he added before the man's head slowly slid on his perfectly severed neck, squirting like a fountain.

The clear sky, the stars, and the moon slowly succumbed to the clouds. The wind briefly blew cold before the sky cried. Maybe it's Nicolas's agony; the sky must have known that he's out of tears to shed and made him a favor, but it's not enough. Not enough to quell the fire, not enough to ease his rage, and certainly not enough to quench his thirst for revenge.

All of the remaining men burst into panic as the prince began slashing them like unwanted weeds on a garden full of precious yellow tulips, though his flower had already wilted and all that's left is his hatred for those weeds who prevented the flower from growing.

"I will make you all pay for what you've done! Don't think that it will be pain-free." He laughs hysterically as he bathes in their blood, enjoying every cry and every inch of their pain. In his mind, this is what they deserved, and in fact, they deserved more.

All of them have occurring thought as they tried to escape their end. Where did he get the sword that seemingly materialized from thin air?, why does it glow?, how in the world such small boy would be so mentally twisted that he can mercilessly decapitate a man limb for limb without any remorse.

"Tell me who threw that fucking bomb and I might spare your life," he maniacally whispered to his captive but he got no answer, Fear ate him up, and not even a word came out of his coarse throat from all the screaming. One tried to escape, but he was immediately impaled by the sword Nicolas had thrown.

Upon closer inspection, he had a match and three more dynamites on his waist. "Found you," he said, catching the man by the hair and pulled him right back to the center of the bloodshed. "What in the word agreement don't you understand?" he cast the man on to the bloody ground, making him swim through the intestines of his comrades.

They did not look like a person but butchered pigs. It took a toll on the culprit, all he can do is scream as Nicolas laughed in the background, and so he began the punishment. "Go on, crawl, I might spare you if you can escape," he decided to have fun and helped the man stand. "I'll count to three, and on three you run like hell got it?"

The man shakingly nod as he snorted back the green mucus that's running from his nose, his feet were weak, and his wound can't seem to find a break. "One—," he took the stance. "Two—," he forcefully calmed his legs. "Three—," and he began to fall back to the ground. There was a burning feeling in his knees which made him screech.

"You did not think I would really let you go, did you?" Nicolas rejoiced as he picked up one of the man's severed legs and handed it to its owner. "Go on, squeal, like the bloody pig that you are."

"Please stop I'm begging you please," his lips are trembling as he can feel his consciousness fading with each passing second.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," Nicolas stabbed him again, this time closer to the heart but making sure that he avoided the vital organs that would make the man's suffering short. He knows where exactly to puncture; he had aced his anatomy class with his learning sessions since he was four years old after all.

 The man's vocals are already rough when Nicolas severed his hands. His vocals had already given up when the Prince started slicing him like a loaf of bread. His consciousness is wavering but every new cut put him back to the present.

"I always wanted to know; they say that a severed head still has consciousness after it's detached from the body. Would you like to help me in a simple experiment?," there was no longer a reply but a glaring sorry look and panting. He screamed in silence.

Nicolas made sure that the man would feel every second of it. He slowly sawed his neck like filleting a fish and by the time he picked his head up, his eyes are already diluted and stuck upwards leading to his disappointment. "He had loss too much blood, too bad, that or I should have made a clean cut," he kicked it away like a soccer ball scoring a goal on one of the surviving archways.

He was about to head back to the castle when all his hair stood straight followed by an applause from behind. He had heard it once, and he wished to never hear it again.