servants entered. The King turned to face him, noticing how frighten he seemed.
“Damon has come to turn himself in but he demands to see you about his mother.” The servant told him.
“His mother, why would I know anything about his mother?” the King inquired.
“He is quite insistent upon speaking with you.” The servant persisted. The King knew that the knights had gone looking for Damon in his hometown. Had something happened to his mother while they were there, he wondered.
“Lead me to him,” The King ordered him as he followed his servant down the shadowy corridors that were lined with stiff suits of armor.
He approached a set of double doors that were left wide open. He slowed. Damon was pacing before his throne, his smooth black mane bounced with his every step as his golden eyes flashed in the dim light.
“Damon,” The King greeted him as he growled.
“Where is she,” he snarled as he advanced slowly, menacingly.
“She won’t be harmed if you surrender.” A knight announced as Damon froze when a knight entered, dragging in his mother. A group of knights followed after him with swords drawn.
“What have you done?” The King demanded as Damon’s anger welded up inside his chest, exploding in the form of a deafening roar. The knights did not stand down though fear caused a few of them to shiver violently, his reputation and ferocious form, being too much for them to handle though one was brave enough to step forward and thrust a dragger under his mother’s throat.
“Stay back,” the knight warned.
“Let her go,” Damon demanded as the knight forced his mother to her feet.
Damon growled as a drop of blood dripped onto the blade. The knights slowly advanced with their swords drawn though the King ordered them to put them away so that he could speak with Damon. The knights backed away, which caused the lone knight with the dagger to feel insecure as thoughts of Damon’s fury whirled around within his mind.
The King cautiously approached with his hands raised to show that he was unarmed as he spoke in a calming voice but all Damon could hear was the sound of his own frantic heart.
“Don’t hurt her,” Damon warned, panic urging him nearer which only frightened the knight farther. The knight gripped the dagger’s handle tightly, feeling as if it was the only thing keeping Damon at bay and fearing that if he released it that Damon would surely kill him.
When the knight gave no sign that he heard Damon, impatience urged him closer still. Love sparkled in his mother’s eyes as she raised one of her hands, wishing to ruffle Damon’s thick mane like she would in the past though there was urgency in her curved fingers as if she feared her fingers would never again touch her son’s unruly fur.
Damon inched closer with his head bowed so his mother could reach his mane. He could feel slender fingers combing through his hair when something yanked at a handful of fur, loosening a few strands from their place. He looked up to see the knight backing away and his mother struggling to free herself. Damon roared indigently as the knight tensed and the dagger dug into his mother’s exposed neck.
Blood poured like a crimson waterfall, soaking into the front of her blouse. Her head fell to one side as her eyes grew dull and lifeless. Her body became limp like a partial full bag of grain.
The knight dropped the dagger and stopped supporting Damon’s mother’s body, so it fell onto the ground. His mother rested in an unnatural position, not responding to the impact with the stone floor.
Damon stared at his mother’s corpse in denial. He was waiting for her to twitch as blood pulsed through her body. He was waiting for her eerily unblinking eyes to stir. He was waiting for sound to surface from her motionless lips. He was waiting for conformation that everything would be alright but his mother remained motionless showing no signs of life.
Damon closed his eyes, shaking his head in denial. He could not bear the thought of his mother being dead or even looking at her corpse that defiled his memories of her. He rejected the sight of her broken body as he thought of her fair skin that emitted a comforting warmth. He thought about her eyes that sparkled with a joyous luster like polished jewels.
There was a faint groan as Damon opened his eyes. Damon’s mother sat up, joints popped loudly as they bent in odd ways he was unsure her body wouldn’t permit. Her eyes were milky white like those of the blind or of a dead animal left out to rot. Her skin was as pale as the light ones sees before one dies without blood to get it, its natural blush. Her blouse was still covered in her own blood and the deep gash in her neck was still visible.
She stepped toward Damon, reaching out to touch his forehead with her icy fingers. Her skin seemed to drain the heat from him. There was no heartbeat or circulation of blood to warm her, for she was merely a reanimated corpse Damon had created out of ignorance and fear of lost.
Damon backed away horrified as the knights circled her, though being too fearful, they dare not approach. She bared her flattened teeth in a beastly manner then lunged herself at her son. Damon remained frozen, unable to retreat with the knights surrounding him and having no desire to attack his mother. Damon closed his eyes, not wanting to think of his mother as this monster, as she attempted to savagely take his life but the King intercepted her, since he was the nearest one and was armed with a dagger, which he wore concealed at his waist under his robe.
The King stabbed Damon’s mother though he did not anticipate that she would spin around and grab hold of his shoulders. She pulled the King down to his knees with surprising strength then sank her teeth into his neck. The King gasped as his knights rushed to his aid.
The knights managed to pull her away from the King. She struggled, impaled on their swords, as she snarled with her bloodied teeth exposed.
Damon could bear the sight no longer as the knights made easy work of cutting up his mother only to burn the pieces later. No one attempted to stop him, too busy tending to the injured King or his deranged mother.
Damon hid himself as best as he could and kept everybody at a distance, fearing his power, deeming himself unfit for company. He became more of a beast than a man, hunting for food, when a constant flow of magic could not be found, using his claws, unwilling to resort to his unnatural abilities.
The King became very ill. He lost his strength, becoming bedridden as the last of his golden brown hair of his youth faded into an ash gray. His warm eyes became overcast in milky white cataracts. Blankets and scolding soup were given to him because he grew colder with the passage of time despite their efforts. Finally it seemed as if life had left him as his heart slowed. Some would swear there were lengthy periods when his heart would grow silent though oddly he did not seem to mind or notice. His voice left him, forcing him to resort to grunts and growls.
The knights continued looking for Damon but gave up after finding no sign of him and resumed looking for other Intrinte. They managed to capture one but they were unsure what needed to be done so brought it back to the castle instead, wishing to confer with the King on the matter.
They informed the King, who seemed to have recovered much of his former vitality. He rose when they entered then demanded to see the Intrintelos for himself before deciding its fate.
The King approached the Intrintelos as an odd look flashed across his face though he quickly suppressed it. He knelt on the ground taking the Intrintelos’s shoulders in each hand then sank his teeth deep into the Intrintelos’s neck. His flat teeth broke the Intrintelos’s skin as easily as one’s teeth would an apple, his jaws being mystifyingly powerful.
The Intrintelos’s eye rolled up into his head as he fell forward. The King stepped back whipping his mouth as the knights rushed to check the Intrintelos’s pulse. The Intrintelos was dead.
“Bring all the Intrinte to me so that we may live in peace,” the King commanded as the knights fearfully rush to carry out his orders.
There was only one way to stop the Intrinte and there was only one person who could do it. It took him years to figure it out b
ut he finally understood what needed to be done. He has finally accepted the responsibly that has been thrust upon him.
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