24

                                    

                                          

BRAN 
Bran never thought the day would come when he would witness the castle under attack. 
The vampires didn't have much enemies and even the few they had wouldn't dare launch an attack on the king's house directly. Bran was known far and wide for his ruthlessness and unforgiving nature—people knew better than to cross him. At least smart people did. 
But perhaps he had underestimated Ariti.
Other than the sorcerer messenger he'd sent to strike the exchange deal with him—the one Bran had refused—, he hadn't shown any interest in getting his daughter back. 
Until now. 
Bran was in the throne room having a discussion with the commander of his army when one of his men had rushed in, gasping and shaking with fear. 
"What is it?" The commander asked, sitting taller, every fibre of his being now at alert. 
Bran watched silently. He was now at alert too, but he didn't show any reaction to the man's sudden presence. No one would dare burst into the room in such manner if what they wanted to say wasn't important. And that was the only reason the man was still standing. 
"The castle..." He gulped in air, eyes wide. "Is under attack."
"By who?"
"The Sorceri."
And that was when Bran knew for a fact that he had underestimated Ariti. He didn't know whether to applaud the man for his bravery or balk at his foolishness. But then again, Bran knew just how mad revenge could drive a person. It was for the same reason that he'd captured the sorceress in the first place. 
"I'll assemble the guards at once." The commander shot to his feet, speaking to Bran. "We'll fend them off, Your Majesty." Then he bowed before hurrying out of the room, the man following closely behind him. 
A sudden explosion rocked the castle. They were probably trying to get in but his men were probably putting up a strong front, so they'd decided to blow up the walls and force their way in. 
Bran smiled grimly. The Sorceri wanted a battle? Then he was going to give them one. 
He traced into a hidden room behind a wall in his room where he stored his weapons. From the outside, one would never be able to guess that there was anything behind it, but a plain wall. That was exactly what he had intended. 
He walked towards the wall, withdrawing two sharp swords from it. He lifted one high above his face, until his expression reflected back at him from the sharp blades. He smiled. It felt good to hold these weapons in his hands again. It had been a very very long time since he'd used them. 
Ever since he left the battle ground. Ever since he returned back home and took his throne. 
A dagger was already shoved into the side of his boot because he never went around without it, so he took just an extra one and shoved it into the side of his other boot. Another explosion rocked the building and the ground shook underneath his feet. He almost put a hand to the wall to steady himself. 
His blood boiled and a red haze covered his vision. That the Sorceri would dare attack and destroy a castle his grandfathers had built ages ago...
He traced into the battleground in a cloud of fury, swiping a sorcerer's head off before he had even materialised completely. As he turned, his sword moved with him, taking the limbs of anyone he came in contact with, delivering blows that had his victims screaming in pain. 
No one had ever met his sword and not screamed in terror. The frozen looks on their dead faces always told the tales. 
He fought through the mass of bodies and despite the chaos around him, kept his peripheral vision focused. He saw when a person decided to attack him and gutted them before they could even come close.