!!️I do not claim any image I use as my own!!️

TW: Blood, intense violence

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He never would really help a village, especially if it was a young boy that had come to him looking lost. Though when the name of the group The Sons had slipped the young boy's lips, he decided he would but for different reasons.

As he wanders from alley to alley, avoiding any possible conflict, he comes across the center of town, where a singular man stands leaning against a statue. His face, mostly obscured by a young ice dragon skull, altered to serve as a mask. The only thing giving away that it had belonged to such a dragon is the faint blue hue and the spiraling smooth horns. "Thought I'd be seeing you soon,” he says.

"Why are you so goddamn persistent?" The dragon rider tightens his grip on the handle of the sword he’s wielding.

"Brother," the masked man begins, rising to his feet fully, two other dragon skulls on his shoulders. On the left is a young black dragon skull and on the right is a young electric dragon skull. The left skull has a faint black tint and big rigid black horns, as well as one on the end of its snout and around the back of its nostril. The electric one has a yellow tint and larger teeth than the other two, small horns under the eye sockets.

"I am not your brother," he states coldly, locking gazes with the man in front of him.

The older one chuckles, "my mistake. Why don't you put the sword down and we can talk like men, hm?"

"Don't start with me," he shifts his stance, now standing almost perpendicular, both his hands on the swords grip.

"Seems you don't have much of a choice here," the second flicks open his cloak and places a hand on his sword. The broadsword holstered at Holden's side has a blackened pommel and grip, the hand guard resembling two snakes, their bodies rising and twisting towards the blade end, tiny rubies in their eyes. The blade itself is black with a red line down its center that seems to pulse if stared at too long. The entirety of the sword emanates a feeling of death and fear.

"You have no right to wield that sword, it should've been incinerated and melted down to a mere marble," the man growls his hands tightening, the leather creaking under the force.

"Now now Mayfield, calm down," Holden chuckles and removes his hand from the broadsword pommel. His black cloak coming back down around his form and around the black and gold chest plate that adorns his body. Underneath is a black shirt and what covers the rest of his body is black pants and boots.

“You have no right to call me that,” he suddenly releases one of his hands from the grip and rushes forward, knocking Holden’s mask to the ground. The older man sidesteps to get out of range as he pulls out the broadsword, his long black hair falling over his face from the sudden movement. “Now just hold still so I can end you,” the words come out as a growl once more, the Mayfield removing the bat mask to get a better look at his surroundings as well as his target.

Holden chuckles, rubbing where the skull mask had cut the scar tissue on the left side of his face. The scar tissue being from a burn that stretched over his left cheek, across his nose and under his right eye a little. The tissue being an ugly reddish purple against his skin which is an ashy tone compared to the dragon rider’s. “No need to be aggressive,” he lowers his hand and looks up to the other. “I used to be such a welcome sight to you, what happened?” His left eye sparkles with mirth deep in its brown depths while his right stays dead in its white appearance due to a scar cutting through his skin and through the top couple layers of the eye itself.

“You know what you’ve done,” he jerks his arm, though the gash that had been inflicted due to the guard shoots pain through his nerves. He grimaces at the feeling but still rushes forward, Holden grins and dodges as if this is a dance for him, easily maneuvering away from the Mayfield. “Hold still you bastard,” he growls through gritted teeth, lunging forward in a feeble attempt to cause harm. Though still managing to slice the black blade through the soft flesh of the other man’s leg.

Holden stumbles from the pain, “ .” He looks down to his thigh with a hiss and when he looks up again, the ice dragon skull that was his mask collides with the side of his face. The rough points of the bone tearing into the flesh and knocking him onto the stone pathway encircling the statue. He looks up, blood oozing out of his face and almost running into his blind eye, as the other man steps closer. He spins about to his feet and throws a punch to the wound that stretches over the dragon rider’s side and stomach.

Pain explodes in his body, dizzying him, and making him stumble backwards, the younger man wraps an arm around the slash wound as he pants for air. Holden charges forward though as he raises his fist to get a knockout blow, he falters, a sharp pain forming in his side. He slowly looks down, seeing that the dragon rider had sunk his dagger into a vulnerable area of his side. His gaze slowly rises as the other chuckles, “never fight a desperate man.” Holden grits his teeth and lands a blow to the younger man’s temple, causing him to go unconscious and collapse on the stone pathway.

As the young man comes too, he groans, sucking air through his teeth, “haa...” His breathing is heavy, and labored, his chest rising and falling with each strained breath. The ache of his wound is much less now but still very prominent and noticeable. Slowly, with the little strength he’s gathered, he props himself upright, his muscles and flesh protesting the movement. He blinks as a ray of sun filters in through flittering curtains, slowly taking in his surroundings. The bed beneath him is firm but still much more comfortable than he’s used to, the white sheets now stiff with dried blood.

A dragged out groan forces itself through his teeth as his jaw clenched when he sat up fully. He looks to where his healing wound is to find it wrapped in stained bandages. He scoffs and shakes his, but when he looks around the room, the sound of the wooden door opening catches his attention. He looks over to it, an irritated look on his face, he looks the figure up and down before looking away once more.

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