Who was the enemy? Were it the foot soldiers, shrouded in black from head to foot, fighting against warriors who held the life-givers crest of a lion to their chest plates? Or the lion-crest warriors who cried out for their emperor deity at every moment they sensed a victorious win or hopeless defeat?
Either way, they were men who fought and bleed to the death on a battle field for whatever reason was dearest to them in life. Where they had been certain in body, they were confused beings the moment their soul was freed from its flesh sheath with a killing blow.
Childish chants of an old nursery rhyme stabbed at my subconsciousness.
A red sky burns,
One thousand men bleed,
Crestfallen hope, shattered determination, trampled pride, hate and dejection squeezing out joy from a man's heart at the moment of his death. Strong energies emphasized by these dark and potent feelings were identifying the purity belonging to a soul.
A fire breathes,
The wyrd is freed,The unbound energy of freed souls tingled the pivotal points of my aching fingers.
Thrice it burns,
Twice they churn,
The sickly-sweet scent of a person's sin; their soul energy teasing my senses into madness. Crushing, breaking and suckling away as many human souls and their life force to sate my long dormant and famished needs. My salivating mouth opened wide for more.
Hungry... extremely... morbidly hungry.
"NO!" I heard my screams cannon off the rock cavern walls when I returned to consciousness.
It was followed with a grand slap to my cheek. I realized I was staring at the bull-mask of the henchman. My stomach groaned miserably with hunger for real food. I figured it was the cause for my mixed up dream.