Crimson shades

Tarim was in the middle of this sort of temple in the center of the world with Zarkhaïm next to him, understanding now how the Ombrae was ruled by emotions and how its leader was controlling everything. 

The lost souls trapped here were the matter forming the world, bound to the castle and the current ruler, they were under control of the hearts of those who could use them. It was clear now how things could have been out of control in so little time when Jäwell ravaged the world and how things have been repaired so fast when he regained hope. Tarim was aware that Jäwell heard the whispers of the damned without even understanding where it came from, he probably never found this place. Ruling by instinct and controlling things by the power of will as usual. 

The realization that he could be so much more powerful if he knew where his power came from was overwhelming and Tarim looked for a long time at Zarkhaïm, not daring to ask the question that was burning his lips. Zarkhaïm chuckled, almost as if he could hear the young one.

"Yes, Jäwell could be more powerful than me, but this will never happen," Zarkhaïm confirmed with a chuckle.

"Why is that?" Tarim asked with sparkling eyes of curiosity.

"Because I am older, I have more knowledge, and Jäwell is too stubborn to learn anything new. If he started to open a book, then yes, I would be worried about his power, but he hates it. It is a part of his character, it reassures him to always be the same as when he was human."

Zarkhaïm walked to the altar and let his hand touch the cold surface of what seemed to be a tomb.

"Jäwell is terrified to be alone. He knows that if he changes and improves, there will be nobody able to remain around him anymore. People will fear him for his power, they will avoid him or try to manipulate him. He took an example of me, I have been considered to be a monster by all and I have been alone for more time than I can count. Without Zuline and, after, Miroïr, I would have lost my sanity already."

Tarim was listening, learning every word from this unexpected elder, ready to share with him his knowledge. His eyes could not unglue from the pools of shadows. They were looking tremendous. Hands and faces were trying to go out regularly but they were retained by the others. 

They were forming one huge figure of melted individuals. Seeing mouths screaming in silence and hearing no sound at all except for the regular breath of Zarkhaïm was a vision of horror Tarim would never forget in his life.

Zarkhaïm took another deep breath, "We will spend time here. I will teach you how to use them," He said as some shadows left the pool and joined his hand to form a dark sword. Tarim was amazed, his heart was beating strongly in his chest and he could not deny the excitement he could feel at the idea to master such a power.

Zarkhaïm was strict and cold, the weight of his multiple years was heavy on his shoulders. His words were harsh, yet, Tarim was honored to be in his presence. Knowing that Zarkhaïm was taking time to teach him something he didn't even do with Jäwell despite their strong connection. 

"Do it, summon a sword," Zarkhaïm said to Tarim while standing up. 

Tarim looked at the shadows, trying to feel how to do without success. He was focusing on the faces he saw and that was making him uncomfortable when he felt an incredible pain in the shoulder. 

Zarkhaïm's sword was planted inside his flesh and bones, Tarim winced in pain, looking at the sword. He saw a face that looked like mocking him and enjoying his blood. Tarim took a step back in horror, but Zarkhaïm assaulted him repetitively. 

"Summon a sword! Or a shield! I will kill you if you are unworthy!" Zarkhaïm said with force, cutting and slicing Tarim from parts or parts. The dragon was in incredible pain, he didn't even know how to use human legs or arms and he already lost a limb. Looking at his right arm falling to the floor and disappearing, eaten by the shadows like hungry snakes. 

Tarim used his wings to try to fly away, without counting on Zarkhaïm who summoned a whip and grabbed his ankle before throwing him to the floor with extreme violence. The king was the most powerful being of the night, Tarim knew he had no chance and didn't try to fight. He was searching for an escape, terrified to die here. 

"Do something!" Zarkhaïm yelled as he raised his sword once again. 

Tarim dodged many times, the fight was unilateral. The young dragon was running away and trying to avoid Zarkhaïm's assaults while the king was cutting him to pieces little by little. The young one could swear he heard the sword giggling when he saw his leg falling to the floor and him tripping over it. Failing miserably. 

With one leg and half an arm left, Tarim tried to stand up. Zarkhaïm walked slowly, taking his time as he was about to give what seemed to be a final blow. The dragon closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the horror of the situation. Feeling guilty to have believed in Zarkhaïm and his teachings, Tarim was furious at himself for being so stupid and naive. 

He was about to die, underground, in a creepy temple with pools of souls as a last vision, but what hurt him the most was that Talim would never know what happened. His sister was probably at the castle, waiting for him to join her. As he thought of her, he could hear the heart they shared. He could feel her pain and worriedness. Tarim found the connection to the shadows he was searching for. It was just a shame it was too late. 

His eyes showed him the beautiful girl on the balcony with hands joined on her chest and a black rose held strongly with hope as she looked at the sky hoping to see her dragon brother flying toward her. 

Tarim was exhausted, he felt tears running down his cheeks at the thought that he would never see her again. Zarkhaïm's steps were getting closer to his back, his incredible aura was pressuring the young man and pinning him to the floor. 

Zarkhaïm came to his back, approaching his ear, he then murmured, "She is the next one after you. I will not let a weakling like her live in my family and take my name."

Tarim heard it and panicked. He screamed from the top of his lungs, "No way!"

And before he even realized it, Zarkhaïm was impaled on dark spikes that came from the floor. The shadows were having faces popping here and there with large smiles and excited eyes as Zarkhaïm's blood was flooding the place. 

Tarim rubbed his eyes, he didn't believe what he had done. He also was terrified that he had killed Zarkhaïm and took a step towards him slowly. Being prepared for anything to come. Once he was close enough, the spikes melted with the dark blood and turned into weapons as Zarkhaïm stood up with holes in his clothes.

"Is it this, then? Your sister? I definitely will visit her," Zarkhaïm wondered with a dirty grin. 

Tarim yelled in rage and fear. He rushed to Zarkhaïm and punched him in the face multiple times. His broken nose started to bleed on the boy's fist but this didn't stop him. The weapons summoned by Zarkhaïm turned against him, obedient to their new master. 

They savagely came to pin Zarkhaïm's body to the floor, piercing his wings, arms, and legs. Surprisingly, Tarim noticed that his limbs had formed again and he didn't feel unbalanced anymore due to his human appearance. 

There was something easy in his gestures that was very welcome at the moment. 

The fight lasted for a very long time. The swords changed master from Zarkhaïm to Tarim and the inverse regularly in a continuous battle of will to control them. Zarkhaïm took advantage, his claws tightened around Tarim's neck. The young man was about to lose consciousness when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder that pushed the grip of Zarkhaïm away. 

Tarim opened his eyes and saw Talim in front of him, defending him. 

"How? What are you doing here?! This is not safe!" Tarim yelled to his sister, desperate to send her somewhere safe, but she turned to him with her red eyes shining like rubies.

"Together, brother, from the wombs of our mother to the ashes of our tomb."

Tarim shook his head to wash off his dizziness. Zarkhaïm didn't comment anything about Talim's presence, the king was ready for the assault. The black swords were on his side, he had a whip in one hand and his claws were extremely long and strong on his other. 

Tarim, in the presence of his sister, felt a great sense of duty to protect her and things changed quickly. 

Talim charged Zarkhaïm, pushed by her blood thirst, while Tarim was pushed by an incredible force that made him control Zarkhaïm's body. 

It was for a short time, yet, it was sufficient. Talim reached Zarkhaïm's chest and plunged her hand through his ribs. She ripped out his heart and showed it high over her head with a scream of victory.

Zarkhaïm fell to the floor, his body was inanimate, and on the altar, the shadows turned crimson.