scribeofarawn
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The symphony of machine guns. The orders being yelled in his ears. The piles of rotted corpses littering the ground, their rancid blood long dried in the hot sun beneath them. He was smelling death. He took a slow and steady breath, straining his ears as he did so to analyze his situation. He heard a fire crackling nearby. He could tell that it was a small fire by the sound. He heard no footsteps, no breathing. He had no idea whose bed he was in, nor what they wanted in return.
This fic has incredibly graphic violence in a sexual manner. Please read every single tag before proceeding.
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They had won swiftly and with glory. The invaders never stood a chance, even with most of their warriors being absent. He felt free during battle. He felt at home. The violence sung in his veins and spurred him on and on. He held his arms out at his sides, dropping his weapons to show his palms to the sky. He threw his head back, closed his eyes, and laughed. He welcomed the violence. He loved the slaughter. He felt it before he registered what it meant.
Siabann is the son of the chief of the great clan MacTavish. They have suffered a great loss so they must follow tradition and sacrifice the clan chief's firstborn son. Their greatest warrior. They must do this to secure the prosperity of the clan's future. What they didn't expect? The slaughter that came instead.