A young man’s lone back faced the world.

Luscious hair cascaded around him like a curtain. The elegantly long, and river flowing silver icy-blue golden hair; the ends were crimson as though they were stained by blood - along with black tinges of color, lie it was dipped in ink.  He was bent over his knees, back bowed down; hugging himself as he was rocking back and forth.  

    The trees were withering, shriveling - lonely and cold without their leaves. The bitter gray sky watched indifferently from above; dark clouds hovered ominously, ready to unleash their wrath with a sundering thunder. The wind howled; beckoning a fiery storm. The earth was scorched and stained with blood, cracks littered the ground and splintered into the earth like veins, forming small rivers of blood that flowed through them.

   Thunder roared. Tremors shook the earth. The sky above and the ground trembled from the visceral and primal scream that echoed. An echoing scream that was so loud that the winds could not carry it away and the ground shook, more so than even the wrath of the heavens.

    The figure kneeling in agony and despair, wasn't completely alone - not with blood that was not his own coating his hands. The smell of iron and blood permeated the atmosphere. He could taste the tang of copper on his tongue that hung in the air, an was repulsed by it. 

It had been a one-sided massacre, for no mortal had the power or strength to to match someone that had ascended as a God. 

   Weapons had broken and the ones that were still whole were stained by and rusted with blood and bodies littered the ground around him - mutilated and disfigured with some of their flesh looking bruised. Some of the corpses had been average, regular citizens they had lived nearby. 

They all died with terror in their vacant eyes. Some were the bodies of the elderly, women and children.  They were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. There had been civilians that wanted to involve themselves and fight alongside the soldiers. 

 They were all cut down ruthlessly in the end and he had shattered his own sword, overcome with the knowledge of what he had done. 

   Some of the bodies had already long begun to bloat; blood that contained a foamy substance leaked from their noses and mouths gaped open in horror. The bodies had started changing color; the blood and organs of the bodies breaking down. 

    The earthworms and maggots had long since been feasting upon the dead flesh.  Dried blood caked the armor and tattered clothes of the deceased.

Though his chest burned with pain, reminding him that he was alive, he felt more like the corpses around him instead. He swallowed down all of his anger and sorrow; the pain of betrayal, and shoved them deep into the back of his mind and deep into his gut.

     He raised his heavy head, tilting his chin up to the sky for the heavens to be his witness.

   His slender and gentle, calloused hands, betrayed the effortlessness they had in wielding a weapon - hands so deceptively pale and delicate, full of deceit for harboring natural strength - up to his eyes and with the pads of his thumbs, he pressed them against the area around his eyes. Clawing into his eyes, his fingernails stab him, digging into his flesh. A sickening crunch greets him, with a sharp jolt of pain as he gouged out his own eyes. Red tears streamed down from the now empty eye sockets, dripping from a pale and elegantly beautiful face. His expression was warped in self-hatred and sorrow; full of deep regret.

     Drowning in endless darkness that was an abyss of nothing and with no glimmer of light; he cradles the eyeballs in his hands, holding them away from his face. The eyes that he had once glimpsed in his reflection; a passing glance in a mirror, were two peach-golden eyes that once shone with life and had unique colors - one had flecks of shimmering mercurial and the other a deep violet, before being detached from his body.

 He stood on shaking legs. His formerly elegantly embroidered attire of robes were in tatters and stained with dirt and bloodstains. The bloodied white bandages he had applied to himself were wrapped around his upper torso and abdomen - soaked and dripping from still bleeding wounds.

            And now...he had nothing.

     There was no one by his side.

   They… were all dead… because of him – he had killed them with his own hands when he was madly out of his mind.

  "What have I done?" He whispered to the air, his voice was wisped away by the wind as he spoke. It echoed in the darkness and silence surrounding him.

     What have I done?

He took a step forward and another, and then another. His body worn and stumbling, although he managed to stay upright.

   He had stuffed his hand into his robes, next to his thudding heart as it continued to beat wildly, though he wondered why. He continued onward, walking away from the blood-stained earth and corpses.

 He did this.

This was his fault.

  He stumbled a little as strode forward with heavy steps – path unknown and with weighted bloody limbs; exhausted deep in his bones. He did not turn his head back at the sheer carnage he had wrought; not that he would be able to truly see now it anyway.

Still, he would return to give them a proper burial.

 Burying them all... one by one.