He was lost; adrift in a stone labyrinth, confused and dazed. The smooth, gleaming white walls seemed to close in, mocking him with its pristine glare, so reminiscent of his father. He could see it now, the sneer forming on those imperial, aristocratic features: "Filth. Call yourself a prince!" Disappointment would creep into his voice, and he would look away. "You are no better then a peasant." The sharp sting of disapproval, that made him feel so small once, seemed so fleeting now.
A dull boom sounded from afar, and the walls shook. Dust and wall fragments drifted down, covering him partially. Blood trickled down his soot and dust stained face, dripping onto the remnants of his once magnificent attire. He had to concentrate, but there was so much pain; throbbing, aching, scattering his thoughts. He had to get away, had to think. The creatures were coming.
He had no one to rely on now, no supervisor or adult to tell him what to do, or to correct his mistakes. No retainer to await his every need; he was alone. Tears filled his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, this at least his father had taught him well. Straightening his back, he squared his shoulders and strode forward with renewed vigour. The massive, sprawling palace, an ostentatious construction designed by his father--the emperor--loomed above him as he scurried deeper into its depths.
Everything was going wrong; his father had been taken captive, and even now the palace was being sacked. The surprise attack had shocked everyone; the creatures had never been so bold before. The last image he had of his father; a wretched, screaming visage--eyes rolling in torment as he was dragged away--was seared indelibly on his mind. The emperor and a small band of loyal soldiers had fought the beasts of nightmare that had crashed into the room--a mass of scales, claws and demon-red eyes that dripped gore. They hadn't stood a chance. Overcome, they were quickly taken away, the creatures roaring in triumph and glee. Despair encroached, how could he, one boy take on the forces of Hell? He wasn't sure, but he was determined to try. The over dressed, gaudy crowd of sycophants that were his father's retinue had fled at the first indication of battle. They were quick to return though, like vultures circling the remains of power. Cowards! He thought angrily, treading his way carefully now. The darkness was alleviated only by the faint glow of the walls, his eyes strained to make out details, and his heart beat frantically against his chest.
He stopped, peering blearily ahead. Had he heard something or was it the darkness playing tricks on him? He was being hunted, the fatigue that was hovering around the edges … just waiting for a slip up, a drop of defenses. He was approaching a well of darkness, one not illuminated by the cool, marble walls that lit, like reflected water. The prince decided to forge ahead, only to find a crossroads facing him with a myriad of tunnels branching off into different directions. A new wave of despair mingled desperation swamped his tall, lithe figure. Which road to choose, which path to take, what journey to traverse? … the possibilities confounded. He closed his eyes, breathed deep the darkness and walked forward, trusting to fate. There are some things that are just beyond your control.
After hours of seemingly fruitless search, he began to wonder if he’d even made the right decision. Why defy convention? Once you were Taken, you never returned, everyone knew that. Was this perhaps just a desperate attempt to avoid the massive responsibility thrust upon him? Well, he was determined to prove that wrong. His love, tortured and abused, a small pallid thing once, now flared brightly. He would save his father, and prove all wrong; he was no longer a child. The walls continued to shake, shiver and crack; tiny flaws spread eating away at the magnificence. The facade was breaking; it was just a wall, father was just a mortal man. Trailing his roughened fingers along the wall, feeling the imperfection, he was surprised and exultant to realise the marble was coming to an end, leading to warm, dry earth. He was getting closer. The Crypt beckoned him and the first faint snatches of screams could be heard. He bared his teeth in a snarl, drawing his sword. He jogged forward now, heedless of the dark and the potential enemy, a predatory gleam emerging in his eyes. He loved his father, he realised that now, and that love was returned in equal measure--this journey was proof of that. To think of the petty anger he had felt at his father for his cold disapproval, his standoffishness, made him burn with embarrassment. He had been a fool and had truly acted like a peasant child.
A blazing red glow tinged the darkness, seeping through toward him--it shone from the end of the tunnel. The faint glimmer of light from the marble walls had long since faded, and he could hear the odd guffaw, snicker and grunt, signatures of the creatures. His lips pulled back and his face twisted into a rictus of ferocity as he braced himself. He ran, stripping away the humanity that cloaked him. Thoughts were left behind and the emotions, only recently uncovered, were abandoned. To survive this he needed to become that which he would encounter. Otherwise he would not return, but be savaged both physically and mentally. The red light burned into his eyes--and the madness that gleamed there. At the heart of the palace, of Man, there lay the Creatures, the Beast. It was revealed to him now, the boy prince no longer, but a man come to the end of a tunnel.
He stood on the edge of a precipice, grinning down into a pit of evil. His eyes flicked to and fro, seeing but not taking in the images; the blood, the twisted flesh. It was too much: he screamed. Veins throbbing visibly against his skin, hair twirling madly down his back; caked in mud and blood, he was an animal. A true man. He looked down at the Beasts glaring up at him, "Come now, don't act as if you don't recognise me," he said with a smile.
And lunged.
should be good to turn into English class.