Priest Becomes.
It's interesting how easy your own rage and pain can become something effective.
Now I really like this, but to other's eyes I might've oversold it, who knows, not even sure it's gonna be in the book, but I felt it was necessary to get into words.
A fair warning, slaughtery, bloody and horrible things after the jump, such as implied rape and most certain a baby being shot.


”Please don't do this, Sir.” Angus clenched his hand, ignoring, the dark shadows of men dressed in grey appaeraing at the outskird of the forest clearing. From bushes and behind trees, men on foot and on horses slowly circled in.
His look had said anyhting, the hard clenched jaw in his stern face, his dark eyes looking and surveying over the coming battlefield. Herrek rode beside him, looking smug as ever, licking his lips as if he was at some whore house. Zachayah and Hodgens sat next to each other on their horses, Zachayah avoided looking directly at Angus, while Hodgens looked pale, with a blank face.
Angus knew behind him, Celeste stood clutching their little daughter in her arms. His hands shook, as well as his legs, moist tear brimming at the edge of his eyes. He had no gunbelt, and his Elir visitors were merely 15 strong, with no weapons between them. Until now, they had had no use for weapons out here. Angus, in effect had brought them to ruin, he knew that now.
”You sacked the camp earlier, didn't you?.” Angus pointed an accussing finger at Nelson. His mentor, his friend, his killer.
Nelson kept quiet, his clenching and unclenching his own hand, the leather gloves creaking loudly.
A bird sang in the distance, a played with the tall strong trees of the ancient forest. The sun had earlier illuminated, the hut Angus had built for his family, for His wife and daughter. For their future.
This was too good a day to die.
”Say something you son of a bitch!” Angus roared, his angry voice carried through the forest sending bird into flight, the song stopped immediately, replaced by his daughter's wailing.
”THEY HAVE MY SON!” Nelson shouted back, spittle flying form his mouth, a wild-eye in his face, a tear trickling down his cheek.
”My last son...”
”General, you don't have to-” Herrek tried to say something, but Nelson held up a hand to keep him quiet.
”At least, let my wife and child live.”
”We can't do that.” Nelson shook his head. ”You know who you are. It can finish the war.”
”He doesn't have to know. Belrose wouldn't have to know!” Angus cried.
”He would know.”
”He would kill his own daughter and granddaughter then?” Angus knew there was no way out of it. He had no gun, no rifle, but he had his Uncle's dark metaled ternawk clutched in his right hand.
Nelson held up his hand to signfy a charge, he held up there in there, taking one last look at Angus, that look lasted seconds, but felt to Angus like minutes, even hours as Nelson signalled for the death sentence of unarmed innocent people.
The hand dropped, like stone into the rippling waters, and the 50 soldiers began to slowly move. Angus took one quick look at everyone, hidden beneath their new Grey- colored uniforms, signifying their jump to the other side of the war.
The Death Sentence had been given. At least Angus was not quite that innocent.
”So be it them.” He muttered under his breath, a gravelly raspy voice, he never knew he had rose from his mouth. The wind seemingly carrying it to the ears of Nelson and the others.
”Celeste RUN!” He roared, and uttered animalistic bearlike growl from the pit of his stomach. He flung his ternawk, letting it fly through the air.
It would not miss.
”General!” Herrek called out. Screaming horses and gunfire began, but did nothing to lessing the sound of the screaming people as bullets tore through their bodies.
Angus did not see the Ternawk hit, as a bullet tore through his upper body and he fell backwards onto the ground, green fresh grass sticking into his mouth and nostrils. He could not move, as he felt another bullet tear through him.
He screamed as loudly as he could, turning his head, just enough to see the fifteen young Elir tribesmen who had visited them, getting cut down by repeated gunfire.
Celeste ran, clutching the small bundle that was their beautiful daughter in her arms.
”Celeste, don't look back!” He called out to her, and she didn't, she ran, her green dress flailing to all sides, as she passed in the tall grass. Their daughter screaming as they made their flight.
That was until the worst sound of gunfire Angus had heard cracked above all else, and Celeste fell. Their daughter's crying continued as soldiers, no butchers, circled around them in a ring, one raised a pistol, cocking the hammer, they were no more than forty feet away.
The revolver discharged, his daughter crying stopped.
”NOO!” He moved slowly, crawling with one arm as he found the other did not function anymore.
”Bear!” His wife's voice wailed. One man was moving towards her, a wide grin upon his face, as he loosened his belt, and dropped his pants before lowering himself.
He crawled as fast as he could, until a third gunshot stopped him.
”Stay still you whore!” Herrek's screamed. He walked into Priest's line of view, in one hand holding a smoking revolver, in the other a profusely bleeding arm. He spat, his spittle lined with blood, before moving away. Almost falling before someone offered him help, he pushed away. He looked over his head, his weasel like face narrowed at Angus, he was not just bleeding on his arm, but his face and in his mouth where he had lost a few teeth. ”Watch this.” he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He threw his revolver away, and with one hand dropped his pants as he stopped in the tall grass where Celeste had fallen.
”MOVE!” he kicked at someone who grunted loudly. He lowered himself, a knife in one hand.
His wife was crying, and there was nothing he could do, he could feel blood trickle out of him, his eyes becomming heavy, and blurry with tears.
Sound was a torturous cacophony, his wife, screaming and crying, sounds of Herrek laughing and grunt, as he violated Angus' wife. At this moment, this very day, he wished he had been born blind, and deaf.
He could not move anymore, as he grew weaker, blood flowing from his wounds, turning the grass beneath him crimson. Not even his head could he turn away from the deadful events. All he could do was lie there, and scream and rage and curse the men who had done this.
A hand came to rest on his shoulders, his own bloodied ternawk came before his eyes.
”This is yours.” A voice whispered in his ear, and threw the ternawk in the ground before walking away.
A fire suddenly blazed from the wooden hut, a hut he had built himself.
Fire licked around it's tree-walls, blackening it, before it would crumble from the raging fire.
Smoke rose through the tree in the clearing into the blue sky, and with it, Angus' life, and future.
It over in a heartbeat, and suddenly, the grey soldiers packed their things, with no real sign and a silence descended over the forest clearing. Flames and wood still thought eachother at the hut, but no bird sang here, no whispering wind amidst the trees.
Angus closed his eyes, all that he could was death, blood, death and a fire still burning.
”Angus...” a voice croaked, broken and weak called out, followed by a cough.
”Celeste!” Angus bit down, pressing his teeth together and roared like a bear. He pinched his eyes, tried to move, slowly at first, as pain jolted through him from his gunshot wounds with each tiny movement. A first a finger, then his arm, and ever slowly he dragged himself forward, towards his wife, gaining strength with each move.
Rage, sorrow and love fueled his every move, tears streamed down his face, as he couldn't control them.
He chanted his wife's name with every move, never letting it go from his tongue, never letting her broad smile from her narrow lips, her glistening green eyes disappear from his memory.
He crawled over the tall grass, and in front of him she lay, blood streaming from a leg wound in her thight, and a wound in her lower gut. Her dress had been torn and her face was all swollen black and red with bruises and blood. Several teeth had been knocked out of her mouth, and fresh tears marked her face.
On his right. He could not look right, he could not.
On his right lay the still form of his baby daughter, a gunshot hard torn through her little head, there was not much left.
Angus stopped and vomitted, trying to stop a shaking hand, and a failing body.
He looked away, knwoing he didn't have long crawling to his dying wife.
She looked even worse up close, half naked, and broken, beyond saving.
A pool of blood lying beneath her, a dead gleam in her green eyes, which cut through Angus, and was even a bigger pain that his gunshot wounds.
He fought himself to a sitting position, using the last vestiges of strength to take his wife into a hug.
”It's all gone, isn't?” her voice was cracked and ruined, hoarse. ”Samaire, our daughter?”
Angus could not make the words come out. The butt of the knife in Celeste's stomach jutted into his own, a constant remainder of the death sentence which Nelson had given with a simple drop of the hand.
”It's all gone.” He finally fought out hoarse, gravelly words. Slow he fought with his not working hand into moving, wrapping bloodied fingers around the knife in his wife's gut and pulled it out.
She gasped, and gurgled blood, fresh tears coming, Angus would never, not even in the after life, finish crying. He fought his arm with the knife in hand towards Celeste's chest, right where her heart beat weakly in her chest. He could feel it, hear it, as he could smell the death in the air.
He hugged his wife close, emitting a sad howling sound from his throat. His sharp blue eyes suddenly become dry, Emitting a sudden glow, as if a fire raged in there, his face turned to stone, and a beast grew inside him, a deadly killing beast.
She opened her mouth as the knife bit into her chest, life ebbed from her eyes quickly.
Finally her dead body slumped against Angus, and he fell backwards onto the ground, as a cushion against his dead wife's fall.
The words on his lips, all those who had betrayed him, all those who had wronged him. He remembered and cursed them all.
Angus closed his eyes to die.

”How do you feel?” The old man's voice asked, he had a sad look on his face, which was perked a little bit to the left. He was wrinkled and gray, his eyes pinched together, scars all over his still strong body.
”Alive.” Priest responded his voice sounds like he had risen from the grave.
The old man did not feel a need to respond.
He moved his cigarette from left to right. A packed saddlebag is sitting in front of him, the dark metal ternawk is in his belt. A belt with a hip and crossdraw holster, each one with a big black revolver. Priest finishing buttoning his light blue shirt tucking it into his faded dark green military trousers. He felt sore from the healed bullet wounds, one in the arms in a leg, and one in his gut, everytime he breathed, a sharp pain tugged at all three places.
He sneered, the sour taste of the cigarette made him do that. His hard blue eyes pinched together as if he was constantly scowling. He scratched his white-haired beard with one hand. The other one constantly on the grip of his hip placed revolver. His hair had been blonde once. He had for the first time in three months looked himself in a mirror, or rather a lake. The wavy image making him look like a wild man.
His hair had grown long, not quite to his shoulders, but he felt no need to cut it. His wife had done that for him.
”When will you leave then?” The old man sat with a stringed instrument in his idly touching the strings, playing a soft tune. They looked alike, both of then possess high marked cheekbones, though Priest's nose was long and thin, the old man's was broad and broken several places, and even a little crooked.
While they may have been blood related, the old man was not his family. That was gone.
”Now, Adda.” Priest replied, putting on his blood red Serape, finallizing it all with black flat-topped hat.
”In the middle of the night?”
”No sense in stayin'.” he blew out the acrid smoke of the cigarette but it could never overcome the lodged in scent of death and decay in Priest's nostrils.
”It's coming,” The old man shook his head sadly, ”ending of days and sun.” he swallowed hard.
”You want me to forget them, old man? I aint gonna do that.” Priest rasped. He picked up his packed saddle and saddlebag with one arm, and in the other held a long rifle in a holster. Half his face was obscured by the shadows of his hat, except for his fiery raging eyes.
”Then what will you do?”
”Kill them. Kill them all.”
”It is a path of darkness you will travel down, Angus Lonesome-bear. Your mother would be sad to see you like this.” The old man shook his head sadly.
”My mother's dead. So's Angus.” Priest turned his back to the man, his so-called grandfather, and walked out into the darkness.