Fáfnir kicked Kiran to the ground. His lips turned up in delight as the Summoner began to crawl away from him in the dirt.
“Yes.” Fáfnir hummed in delight. His steps were slow and heavy. The metal of his armor gently clinked together. The black of his metal dyed with the deep hues of blood. “Grovel before your new king of Askr.”
He lifted both his arms up as if to present himself to this kingdom. The beautiful fields of grass now laid to waste in ash. The carefully carved buildings of the kingdom reduced to nothing more than rubble and flame. Screams of the innocents rang out as his army crawled into every door to subjugate his new people. Through force, if necessary.
But this one, this lonesome Summoner of Askr, was left for him.
What to do with it?
“Do not run, dear Savior of Askr.” Fáfnir spat the words out. He stepped over the trail of blood Kiran left behind. “Your life is now in my hands.”
As he drew closer to the Summoner, he was able to see the glint of fear behind in Kiran’s eyes. It was as delicious as the screams that surrounded the two of them. Slowly, he knelt beside Kiran and smiled kindly down at the Summoner who tried to roll back away from Fáfnir, to no avail.
He stared at the tattered cloak. Felt the kiss of a memory crawl into his mind. But the urgings to kill consumed him deeper than the abyss of his memory. It was the abyss of a calling that led him here. The urge made him reach out to Kiran. Made him grasp the cuff of their shirt. Made him draw them near. Bloodlust clouded his mind.
“What to do? What to do?” He mused to himself. “A bride, perhaps?” With his other hand, he reached over Kiran’s face to draw the hood down. He stared down at their beautiful face covered in blood and bruises. Even more enticing with than without. “Or a pet for my throne?”
“P-Please…” Kiran gasped. They reached their hands up to grip onto Fáfnir’s wrist. Their pitiful attempts to wrench free from Fáfnir was laughable, and he could only smile.
“Which is it?” Fáfnir drew his face closer. When Kiran did not reply, he continued. “Ah… I know…” His smile only grew wider. “The answer to my question.” He leaned forward, pushing Kiran back into the ground as he got above them. “One you had failed to answer from before. A rather poor reflection of Askran hospitality.”
The Summoner lifted their arms up to protect themselves, but Fáfnir batted them away. They were too frail, too weak, and much too injured to do much of anything but lay on the ground below, bathed in the blood of all those around them. The King of Niðavellir climbed on top of Kiran and straddled their hips as they laid powerless to stop him. He rested back, staring down at Kiran with a smile as they trembled in fear. He would keep this image of the Summoner forever in his mind.
He leaned forward again and began to untie Kiran’s blouse, and once the shirt had been parted as far as it would go, he began to tear at its seams.
Below, the Summoner’s bare chest. Just as human as anyone else. Normal. Disappointingly so.
“Does your heart look the same as any other’s?” Fáfnir stared down with a smile. He began to take his gloves off to better handle the flesh beneath. A more delicate touch was needed. Tossing the gloves to the side, he began to trace his down Kiran’s chest. Once satisfied, he let a hand rest against where Kiran’s heart would be. “Would it look the same as mine if we compare?”
“N-No…” Kiran gasped. “Don’t—”
“I will.” Fáfnir leaned into Kiran with a whisper. “As your new king, it is my right to see how mortal you are. How worthy you are for me.” He drew closer to Kiran. His lips closer to Kiran’s. “We are two warriors chosen by Gods. And I want to know which of us is more Divine.”
He drew back and reached for his sword. As he withdrew the blade he relished in the struggle below his thighs. He felt Kiran’s feeble hand wrestle away from his weight, but merely writhed against the dirt as the King chuckled.
“Struggle all you wish.” He smiled as he pressed the point of the blade against Kiran’s skin. “It will make the kill all the sweeter.”
Fáfnir sunk the blade into Kiran’s flesh. His smile widened as Kiran’s screams filled the air. Once the flesh had been carved, he discarded his blade to the side. Fingers tucked into the flesh, fishing through the bone and pulling them upward. With his strength he broke several pieces away and, like a blossoming flower, the heart was revealed beneath. Beating. Nestled softly inside Kiran’s chest.
He tossed aside flesh and caressed the Summoner’s heart resting peacefully within their body. Like a blushing bride, a sickly sweet smile reached his lips as he cupped the heart as though he were cupping his spouse’s cheeks to kiss. In his hands was a Divine Relic. In his hands was life. In his hands was Kiran’s heart. A beautiful festering flesh that beat. That drove him mad. That drove him to this sin.
“So, this is it.” Fáfnir whispered. He pulled at the heart. Tearing away the veins. Tearing away the arteries. And he stared up at it in fascination.
The Summoner was dead. Or perhaps too far into shock to be able to scream anymore. But Fáfnir cupped Kiran’s heart close to him with a smile. His new bride. His new pet. Niðavellir’s new Divine Relic.
“Just the same as any other.” He smiled softly down at Kiran’s mangled body. They looked like an angel who died beneath them. So beautiful and serene. Tarnished and too far gone.
He leaned into Kiran once more. His chest pressed against the carved flesh. Further tainting the black into red. His cape draped over this holy body. Both his, and Kiran’s.
“A shame you are like any other.”
He pressed a kiss to Kiran’s lips.
“Dead.”