Joseph, Doom bringer.

Joseph stirred awake in a dark stone cell. He felt an eerie sense of betrayal and anguish. His memory felt hazy, and his bones ached as he moved his sore, stiff joints. He raked his mind, trying to make sense of the strange situation he’d found himself in. Why was he here? What had he done?

He inhaled, and ash filled his lungs, covering every wall and inch of the floor, coating his hands grey as he pushed off the ground. His back ached with an intense burning pain above both his shoulder blades. Like a knife had been driven into his flesh, and cut something away from him.

What had been cut away? And who had done so to him?

The more he thought about it, the more his mind drew a blank on, well, on everything. He couldnt even remember a time in his life where he had been this confused. The stinging pain in his back brought him out of his muddy thoughts, and he reached behind him to check the very evident wounds.

The metal shackles on his wrists prevented him from getting very far.

He grunted in defeat, only able to take a step or two before the metal around his ankles cut into his bare flesh.

He’d guessed there had to have been a draft coming from somewhere in the room, as he shivered slightly. Besides a pair of ragged pants torn at one knee, he was bare.

His captor could have left him with a blanket or a shirt. On that thought, he peered down at his chest, seeing what appeared to be long claw marks across his torso. A grim frown spread across his face. What kind of scuffle had caused such wounds? Had he wrestled some beast that bested him? Had its owner chained up his unconscious body in this dark room until the proper authorities arrived? He speculated about many things while inspecting his body. He looked for any other signs of what transpired.

The grim of the floor covered most of his bronze skin, making it a dull grey colour in patches. He dusted himself off, muttering curses under his breath.

‘’Tell me, are you afraid?’’ from the shadows came a stern feminine voice.

His head shot up from its downward angle, eyes searching for movement at the corners of the room.

The voice had a mocking tone, one that seemed to dig under his skin, like nails on glass. His eyes shot across the room as a spark caught and a fire came to life in a small nook in the far wall.

Standing next to the flame was a woman draped in red. Her figure was hidden in the shadows, with only the flickering flame illuminating her, showing bits of her alabaster skin.

‘’Step into the light, women!’’ he shouted, pulling on his chains. He was certain he could break them. He was a man of broad shoulders and a body built from his own hard work and labour, which was one thing he knew for certain.

She flung her head back and laughed, tossing her silvery hair in the process. As her mouth opened, he caught a glance at her fang-like teeth. She took a long stride towards him, doing just as he had demanded.

A wicked grin was plastered on her beautiful face. Her beauty was astounding, but it was a momentary distraction, for his struggling to break the chains did not cease but for that moment . ‘’madam, please’’, he said, refusing to look right at her.

There was no way that she was a prisoner, not with the way she was dressed. Such an elegant gown was made for nobles, the rich and powerful, whom he suspected her to be.

‘’There's some sort of misunderstanding,’’ he suggested, although he was in no condition to do so. ‘’Oh, there has been no misunderstanding, nor mistake, sir Dawns’’ she spoke, reaching her hand out towards him from a distance.

Without making contact with him, he was beckoned to his knees, and slowly lowered his body, although unwilling. His eyes lit up with anger. ‘’ you witch!’’ he, continuing his shouting, proclaimed. To which she laughed again. ‘’Hardly, although I've been called much worse’’ she now stood over his kneeling form. ‘’For I am much worse than that,’’ she whispered, reaching her hand down, using her index finger to tilt his head up towards her. He tried to move, but that proved useless, as his entire person was held in place.

‘’What do you wish to gain, madam?’’ he said harshly, gritting his teeth.

‘’I wish nothing from you’’ she muttered, looking him over thoroughly, as if inspecting some sort of livestock before purchase.

‘’But there are things I command from you, as your Queen,’’ she finished, her hand retracting as his head fell, his body coming back into his control. He scurried to the back of the wall, putting a little distance between himself and this Mist Witch. She was a Mist twister, that much was clear. He had heard tales of this sort of being before. Powerful and dangerous.

Something as intricate as Mist, the very essence of life, was uncertain, unstable, and therefore deserved respect. Or at least he thought so in his own heart.

‘’Queen of what? Trickery and deceit? What noble Monarch chains a man up and keeps him as a prisoner with no explanation?’’ he combated. ‘’And regardless, whatever I have done, surely it doesn't warrant such crude means of detainment.’’

Her eyes turned dark; they were those of rubies before, but now seemed black and dreadful.

‘’I am Queen Sevira of Neacirith, the realm of Destruction and Damnation!’’ her voice boomed, a dark presence surrounding her. It seeped out of the cracks in the floor and from the cleaning above. He felt fear in his soul, but refused ot let it show as he pressed his back flush against the wall. concealing a wince of pain.

‘’And you’’ she added, ‘’are now under my employment.’’

Within the blink of an eye, this otherworldly presence vanished, and so his intrigue piqued. He glared at her, finding her entire person distasteful, but alluring. A bad combination to be had. He may have forgotten much of who or what he was before now, but he hadn’t forgotten his morals and ideals. Those were things a man carried not in his mind, but in his heart. ‘’What kind of job will I be doing for you, your highness?’’ he mocked.

‘’I need a new royal executioner, my old one met a very unseemly end,’’ she answered plainly, as if this kind of thing happened daily.

‘’I will do no such work for the likes of you or your Queendom,’’ he bit back, pulling harshly at his confinements, attempting to lounge towards her. ’She chuckled. ‘’Well, the King was the one who accepted you as a gift from your original realm. You, dear, do not have a choice in the matter.’’ Her words held no room for disagreement.

A low growl-like sound came from deep in his chest, his anger consuming him. Before he could rebut or ask further questions, she clapped her hands loudly.

The door swung open, and in stepped a man. He wore a long black apron and a weary-looking face.

She turned to him, resting a hand on his shoulder as he came closer, clearly causing the man discomfort. A moment of awkward silence went by before her voice cut through it.

‘’This, Joseph, is my Ink mage, Darzack. A true artist and inventor.’’ she introduced the man, although he looked just as angry and distraught as Joseph did. ‘’Well i have no taste for the arts, nor the inventions of this plane or the next’’ he grumbled, still pulling at the chains, silently praying they would snap.

She smiled unamused, ‘’well since you seem to be anything but obedient, he is here to help with that’’.

She moved her hand from his shoulder, letting the man walk to the fire that burned hot.

Joseph furrowed his brow, a bad feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. The ink mage stood for several moments at the fire, with something in his hand. Something Joseph couldn’t make out with the fire and its flickering and fleeting light. ‘’Whatever this man is set on doing, your majesty, I would recommend, for his sake, that you advise him otherwise,’’ Joseph growled.

She stood by the door, remaining silent.

Darzak turned around and faced Joseph. There was a sympathetic look in his eyes.

‘’Im sorry, Sir’’ his voice was raspy, but sincere, an airy accent unlike Joseph’s, which was rich, deep, and brooding.

Joseph's eyes locked onto what Darsak had been holding. It was undoubtedly a branding rod with an intricate symbol on the end. It was red hot from being stoked in the fury of the fire. Joseph made a movement to back further, only finding the wall and nowhere to go.

He fell to his knees, thanks to that witch in the corner. He grit his teeth. Darzak whispered something under his breath, much like a prayer, as the hot metal made contact with Joseph's skin. Compared to the searing pain now right over his heart, the aching from whatever wound lay across his shoulders felt minuscule.

After a moment, the Mage removed the hot iron, the brand now red and painful on his chest. From the pocket of his apron, he produced a small vial of purple ink-like substance. He popped the cork and poured it out. The mage's hands worked quickly, intertwining the ink with the brand, creating some sort of seal. It burned badly, but not in a physical sense. It was a deeper kind of pain that he now dealt with.

Joseph's vision went in and out, as flashes of his life before now came with each second of unfocus. The whispering of a lullaby sung by his mother, the hot summer days spent outside, and sparing with his father. A beautiful spring meadow, where he and his childhood friends would run through chasing one another. Billowing clouds that held his sleeping body, and a beautiful forest made from pure white trees with golden fruit hanging from their branches.. All left his mind, and all was cold and void.Joseph came to, with the mage patting the leftover ink into his apron. ‘’Its finished, his highness will be very pleased with this one, I assure you,’’ he said as he stood.

‘’Good work, Darzak’’ she said, ignoring him and walking over to Joseph.

With a final look of pity, Darzak left the room. Leaving the two alone.

‘’What have you done?’’ Joseph asked, through heavy breathing and gritted teeth. He would not scream or cry where she could hear or see his weakness. ‘’I did what you forced me to. Now, if you ever get the idea in your head to escape, or disobey, or even wander, I will know, and I will punish you as I see fit’’ she taunted, leering over his hunched form, as he cradled his wound, seething with anger. ‘’You are the most vile being... that I have had the displeasure of meeting,’’ he muttered, the pain causing his vision to blur.

‘’Indeed, I am what you say.’’ she laughed and walked to the door,

‘’We will meet again when that is healed. And your work will begin. Until then, good day, Sir Dawns.’’

She left him to his pain and suffering.

As soon as he no longer heard her footsteps, he let out the most ear-splitting scream his lungs could handle. He lay on his back, which ached horribly, and stared at the ceiling, his eyes welled with tears, as he cursed her over and over. Why had he been given up to such a being? What had he done? Was his family displeased with him? Had he committed treason? What realm had he come from? Surely one that was more pleasant than here.

His lips muttered prayer after prayer. Begging for mercy.

And that was how each day went by. Lying there, begging for mercy, for forgiveness for whatever sins warranted this. The days melted into weeks, and eventually he was released from the cell. He was given barracks in the great hall, where the knights, alchemists, mages and such resided. In the first few months, he tried to remember more of his life before, but each time he dug too deep within his own mind, Sevira punished him horribly. Eventually, just as she wished, he stopped searching for answers.

He was brought before the King and Queen and pronounced the royal executioner. A sword was thrown at his feet. And he was forced to pick it up, only to never again be able to put it down. He was made a killer at the hands of a cruel leader.

Cursed words that he was unable to read gleamed at the sword's edge.

Those words, he was told, meant ‘Doom Bringer, Fate Destroyer’, a title so cruel and heartless, he cursed the name of the king and queen for doing him such a dishonour. For Fate was not something a mere mortal was to deal in. It was not his place to give or take life. Even still, every day he took at least a dozen.

Darzak, the man who had invented the shacklelss chain, seared into every servant's flesh, soon found Joseph and fell on his knees before him, begging for his forgiveness. Dazsak was an inventor from across ‘’The Veil’’. He was from a place known as the Misty Seas, a land that had just and noble kings and queens, and fair lands that were very beautiful.

For this place was no Queendom at all, like he had first suspected. Darzak told the tale of Wraith and how it all came to be. A very tiring tale of murder and horror. The king's real name Joseph knew not, only his title.

Nine years of his life passed by. Each day, his age showed more and more on his face. He had no idea how old he truly was, just that his bones ached, and his soul wept heavily. During this time, he had brought the royal's anger down upon himself many times. Accumulating many scars and wounds. That was until he took his Fate into his own hands.

It was months after Darzak had gone missing that, somehow, a note found its way to Joseph's room.

‘’What was forged in fire may only be broken in fire. Sear what has been seared, and break free from their hand’’ read the note.

That night, he took hot coals and a metal rod. He burned the seal and felt his freedom at hand. But some scars simply run too deep to ever truly leave.

He stole a suit of armour from he kings very own armoury, and armed with his sword, he jumped the kingdom gate, and made his escape through a hellish landscape.

He walked many days and many nights, following the direction of the birds, searching for water. Finding the ocean, he boarded a ship, and in the bottom of said ship, he lay for days, unmoving. For how long, he did not know, but eventually he stirred. Coming to the top deck of the ship, he looked out at what he assumed to be a port. He had made it to the Misty Seas.

He quickly thanked the captain and made his way to land. He walked through the crowd as people's heads turned to stare at the stranger. His heavy metal boots clanked against the wooden dock, and his odd asportment of clothing made people question him.

His skin was stained red, his salt and pepper hair long and unruly, and one eye bore a long gash across it. He frowned, knowing he was scaring the townsfolk.

His two jagged horns sat atop his head, one broken and the other very chipped.

He looked very much like a monster, a devil, but he was only a mortal. A very broken one.

The most striking thing about his appearance now was the sword slung across his back.

He trudged heavily through the streets until he came to a small tavern with some blue aquatic creature on the sign.

Weary and restless, he walked along the way, but as a light shone down in an alley, he heard the screams and cries of some innocent being. He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned, peering down the way.

He stood there, filled with fiery anger. In the alley, stood a man over a little boy, who couldn't have been older than 6; the man was raining down blow after blow. Something deep within Joseph snapped and came alive. A spark, a light, a fire that was a burning pit of hate.

He ran, his sword coming down heavy on the man's arm.

With a wail of agony and a cry for help, the man lay on the ground, his arm no longer with him.

Joseph stood over him. ‘’Hit him again, and see what else I cut from you,’’ he said calmly. The man's eyes were filled with tears and fear as he picked himself up off the ground.

‘’You crazy bastard! Take the rat for all I care! Just get the hell away from me’’ he screamed as he ran away.

Joseph, wiping the blood that had splattered on his face away with the sleeve of his undershirt, sheathed his sword and turned to the little boy.

‘’Its ok, don't be… be afraid’’ he said, as he began to feel dizzy, taking small steps towards the boy.

‘’S-sir?.. Sir!?’’ the little boy yelled as joesphs heavy body fell to the ground.

‘’help! Somebody! Help me! H-he needs help’’ the boy cried. The rushing of foot steps was the last thing he heard as he was grabbed and carried inside the tavern.

Everything after that was very, very blurry.

To Be Continued.