moment and examined it. He then took the edge in his hand and put the handle within Feringal’s reach. “Take it.” He said. “You’ve not completely failed.”
He did as instructed and held the stolen sword, but before he could react, the Red Mask pulled his own sword from beneath his white cloak, and with a swing of a blade that ignited and burned with the red hot flames of Hell, the Red Mask burnt a cauterizing swipe that severed Feringal’s empty left hand from his wrist.
The smell of his cooked flesh, and the ice cold shock that ran up his arm was overwhelming. He fell to his knees and pleaded for mercy though whimpering sobs of pain and surprise.
They turned and ignored his cries, so as to leave the grand chamber from a door Feringal could not see. “Since you had no use for that hand I have relieved you of it. Now, go.” the Red Mask said, “And should you return empty handed again, our mercy will not be so prevalent.
“Thank you my lords.” Feringal said as he clutched the sword and stumbled toward the door.
Before he could leave, the cold steel words of the Red Mask stopped his retreat, “Do clean up after yourself, servant.”
Feringal paused, sweat drenched through his black leather and wool ensemble. He stumbled once more back to the center of the room, “Yes, my lords. Thank you, my lords.”
He clumsily fumbled the sword back into the sack, picked up his severed hand, and all but ran out of the White Chamber.
The Yellow Mask spoke first, “We should deal with the Thantosa Heir first.”
“I agree.” The floating Blue Mask said.
“The keys should be the priority.” The Black Mask whispered in rebuttal.
“Come, let us retire.” The Red Mask assured the others, “I sense that soon, both problems will cancel the other out. In fact, a plan is already in motion to see it done.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
G.X. Knight: He is a single father from Montgomery, Alabama. If he were a Musketeer, he’d be Porthos (The Oliver Platt version). If he were a Power Ranger, he most definitely would be the very first green one (Play Dragonzord tune now). And if he were to pick only one superhero to spend a day at the amusement park with, it would be Iron Man (Stark’s paying). He enjoys showing his son who’s boss in Halo (the Sprinting Assassin forever rules!), he loves all types of music (please get back together, N*SYNC), and he hopes to one day live the Jimmy Buffett life of margaritas (Vodka/Red Bull) and cheeseburgers out on the white sand beaches of Gulf Shores. If you see him out-and-about you will know it’s him because he’ll likely be singing these wrong words:
“Did you ever know that I’m your hero? I’m everything you would like to be!
He did as instructed and held the stolen sword, but before he could react, the Red Mask pulled his own sword from beneath his white cloak, and with a swing of a blade that ignited and burned with the red hot flames of Hell, the Red Mask burnt a cauterizing swipe that severed Feringal’s empty left hand from his wrist.
The smell of his cooked flesh, and the ice cold shock that ran up his arm was overwhelming. He fell to his knees and pleaded for mercy though whimpering sobs of pain and surprise.
They turned and ignored his cries, so as to leave the grand chamber from a door Feringal could not see. “Since you had no use for that hand I have relieved you of it. Now, go.” the Red Mask said, “And should you return empty handed again, our mercy will not be so prevalent.
“Thank you my lords.” Feringal said as he clutched the sword and stumbled toward the door.
Before he could leave, the cold steel words of the Red Mask stopped his retreat, “Do clean up after yourself, servant.”
Feringal paused, sweat drenched through his black leather and wool ensemble. He stumbled once more back to the center of the room, “Yes, my lords. Thank you, my lords.”
He clumsily fumbled the sword back into the sack, picked up his severed hand, and all but ran out of the White Chamber.
The Yellow Mask spoke first, “We should deal with the Thantosa Heir first.”
“I agree.” The floating Blue Mask said.
“The keys should be the priority.” The Black Mask whispered in rebuttal.
“Come, let us retire.” The Red Mask assured the others, “I sense that soon, both problems will cancel the other out. In fact, a plan is already in motion to see it done.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
G.X. Knight: He is a single father from Montgomery, Alabama. If he were a Musketeer, he’d be Porthos (The Oliver Platt version). If he were a Power Ranger, he most definitely would be the very first green one (Play Dragonzord tune now). And if he were to pick only one superhero to spend a day at the amusement park with, it would be Iron Man (Stark’s paying). He enjoys showing his son who’s boss in Halo (the Sprinting Assassin forever rules!), he loves all types of music (please get back together, N*SYNC), and he hopes to one day live the Jimmy Buffett life of margaritas (Vodka/Red Bull) and cheeseburgers out on the white sand beaches of Gulf Shores. If you see him out-and-about you will know it’s him because he’ll likely be singing these wrong words:
“Did you ever know that I’m your hero? I’m everything you would like to be!
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