Chapter Two : Blood Brothers

Ten years after the slaughter at Endra

Tornur silently made his way to the line up at the Port City Prison's cafeteria, his obsidian dreadlocked hair swaying methodically with his steps. Eyes followed him as he passed. He had earned a reputation at the prison, his home for the past eight years. He had earned that reputation even before he had been transferred from the Rehabilitative Children's Home in Mastriask, where he had been admitted after biting another child's throat out in his hometown of Endra.

His sadism and bloodlust had been his saviour. His incarceration had spared him from the massacre, and he had not seen either of his brothers, Torn and Torna, for a decade. Torn had disappeared and Torna had been studying in Zeideroth. What he was doing now, Gods knew. Tornur was the youngest of the three, making up for his lean stature with his insanity, an affliction that had been present since he was young. Torna was in the middle, the scholar, always looking to learn and travel, and Torn had been the eldest. He of the long black hair and the piercing green eyes, eyes ever watchful of his younger brothers, for their safety and their betterment.

Almost all at the prison knew Tornur's name, and the new admittants to the Prison learned it quickly, through whispers on the yard and stories told in bunk beds after the inmates were ordered to sleep for the night. Some were not as fortunate as to hear the whispered tales of Tornur and thus made the mistake of crossing him, as such crossings are apt to happen in prisons. One of these fatal lapses in judgement was about be made.

Tornur had found his place in line and was nearing one of the cooks, spooning portions of unidentifiable slop onto the plates of the other inmates. He was not very physically intimidating, being slightly scrawny, with dreadlocked black hair and a pale complexion. His eyes told a different story. They were alive with a fire usually seen only in the eyes of those who are criminally insane, as many would testify that he was. They would not be incorrect.

Blissfully unaware of his impending demise, a large, musclebound elf shouldered past Tornur offering a contemptuous glance over one of his hulking shoulders and a passing, "Move whelp." Tornur began to smile sunnily, and the other prisoners in the line began to exchange glances.

"Dead man." One muttered.

"Call the yump. They're gonna need to clean it up." Another whispered.

Two individuals who already had their plates and were seated stood to get a better view of the impending carnage. These were the member of Tornur's triumvirate gang, the Port City Brood. The first was a burly and incredibly hairy goblin named Kengzka, whose wiry hair was drawn back in a ponytail. Kengzka was a werewolf, bitten when he was a teenager. He spent his nights in a special cell made to accomodate and contain his nightly transformations. The second was a muscular and towering human, who stood at least 7 to 8 daggers tall. His face was badly scarred from an encounter with debt collectors, whom he had afterward hunted down and killed, earning him his spot in prison. This was Samrith.

The guards had also noticed the prelude to the elf's untimely death and began to move forward, drawing their Pacification Sceptres, large metal maces with retractable prongs for subduing unruly prisoners. They were too late.

Tornur, smiling his beatific smile, set his tray upon the serving counter and lightly tapped the elf upon the shoulder. "Excuse me my friend," he said. "A moment of your time?"

The elf turned, a derisive sneer upon his face. "A moment is all it'll take to put you down, whelp."

"Oh, I'm afraid this will take a bit longer than a moment." Tornur said happily, and the carnage ensued.

Tornur leapt upon the more powerful elf, using all his weight and the element of surprise to drop both of them to the floor, the elf laying flat upon his back and Tornur straddling, his formerly blissful smile now insane laughter. The elf was cursing, struggling to rid himself of the suppressing Tornur, and as Tornur's thumbs found the elf's eyes, the curses turned to screams.

As ichor and blood began to squirt from the elf's devestated oculars and Tornur's cackling resounded throughout the cafeteria, the guards broke into a run. Seeing them bearing down upon their leader, Samrith and Kengzka moved as quickly. Kengzka swiftly grabbed his tray off the table and pivoted, the twirling motion concluding with the aforementioned tray being slammed off the head of an inmate occupying another table. The stricken inmate's comrade's reacted with haste, and leapt up from their seats.

"Riot!" Samrith roared as he wrapped his powerful arms around the throat of one of the guards, intercepting him before he could reach the laughing Tornur. The guard's attentions were pulled in three directions; to the wailing elf and the assailing Tornur, to the slew of inmates now battling, and to the guard being sleeper-held by Samrith. "Riot! Riot!"

Melee ensued.

Food flew, tables and chairs were overturned, and an ocean of bodies collided with each other. Pacification Sceptres flew up and down in the hands of the guards, and yells, curses and the thud of metal meeting flesh were the music of the prison caferia, as well as, clearly audible over the collage of noises, the screaming hysteria of the dreadlocked Tornur. His victims screams were drowned out by the cacaphony, but it was undoubtable that they were still being uttered.

Finally, two of the guards broke through the wall of human, dragonman, elf, goblin, and Malidanian, (There were even a few Shaded, the mouthless, obsidian skinned beings from the Northern mountains) bodies, and grabbed the arms of Tornur. His foot skyrocketed up from the ground and caught one of them in the face as they tried to pull him back. He stumbled backwards, and Tornur flew to his feet, turning his attention to the second guard, whom he promptly pounced upon and began strangling.

More guards reached them, and Pacification Sceptres rained down upon the pale young man, and he was pulled from the guard, who retreated, wheezing for breath and clutching his throat. The now eyeless offending elf groaned and began to crawl away. "Just kill me!" He wailed. "I can't live without me eyes! Kill me now!" His cry ended as an unintelligible gurgle.

The guards promptly began to drag Tornur away, who despite his being upon the wrong end of countless Sceptres, was still giggling. Blood trickled down his brow and he grinned broadly as they passed Kengzka, who was being restrained by several guards. The numerous inmates he had been fighting writhed upon the ground, the lot of them unable to best the behaired Goblin. "See you on the other side, Tornur!" Kengzka roared, and several Sceptres rained down upon him.

The guards flew through the door to the Secure Wing, clutching Tornur beneath the arms. A place that Tornur should arguably have been in the whole time, but he was usually a model prisoner unless provoked. Tornur's cacklings resounded throughout the long hallway, and faces appeared through some of the bars. "Fuck me. It's Tornur again." A voice muttered. There were other rumblings of voices traded back and forth.

"What'd you do this time, dreadlocks?" An elf screeched through the bars. "Fuck anybody up royally did ya?"

"Just your mother, Kenith!" Tornur barked, and laughter rippled down the hallway.

"Nah, you ain't getting near her or any other dame the rest of your life mate." The elf in question, one Kenith Krinn said with a flip of his hand. "Bloody neckbiter."

"Eye gouger today!" Tornur chuckled as he passed, then turned grim. "I'll get you later."

Finally, they reached the designated cell where they usually took Tornur after one of his bloody escapades, and roughly threw him in after unlocking and swinging open the barred door. The cell stood at the end of the Secure Wing hallway, as far away from the other prisoners as he could go, so they didn't get him riled up and have it be taken out on a guard.

"Stand back while I get you a light." One of the guards instructed, and Tornur obliged as he got to his feet. He wouldn't have been able to reach the guard through the bars anyway and the cell was pitch black. As he took a step backward, he immediately sensed a presence behind him, and as the light orb spell conjured by the guard illuminated the cell, Tornur whirled to face the cells other occupant, and broke into a smile.

"Stand aside, brother." A voice whispered.

The first guard squinted into the newly illuminated Solitary cell. "What in blood..." He began, and Tornur pulled back, revealing the mysterious figure who had been waiting in the cell.

Customized and obsidian armour, undoubtedly crafted by Inferni smiths in the fires of the Infernal Dimension Golgothana, adorned his body: Armour adorned with crimson T's, signifying the name of their bearer. His hair was long and straight, the same shade of glittering black as his Infernal armour. His once green eyes were now crimson, and glittered with rage and anticipation. Here, ten years after his recruitment at the hands of Cerebus and the Inferni, stood Torn, now Tornad, in his brothers cell.

The guard didn't have time to regard Tornad's intricate armour. His head turned, perhaps to tell the second guard, who stood to the left of the cells viewpoint, that there was an intruder in the cell, and Tornad's right wrist flicked lightly. A throwing knife with an ebon handle ripped through the air and found a place in the guard's jugular. Blood spurted as the stricken guards hand flew to his neck, and he crumpled to his knees, dying swiftly.

The remaining guard gasped and took a step back, before he pivoted on his heel and began to run down the hallway. "He won't get far." Tornad said quietly, and extended his left hand. It was tradition to do Inferni magic with the left hand, a sort of mockery to the religious of our world, who once viewed the left hand as belonging to the devil. A dark purple orb formed in the air above two of Tornad's fingers, which were crooked in a Christlike fashion, though his goal was anything but holy.

The orb was formed by dark vapors that seemed to emanate from Tornad's body, and as quickly as it formed, it shot forward and entered the mouth of the dead guard. The deceased guard twitched, some spare blood gouting from his throat wound, and began to rise to his feet, his eyes staring sightlessly ahead and his jaw slack and open. Tornad's own eyes had began to glow, alight with malignant crimson reverence. The newly reanimated living corpse retrieved the knife from it's throat with swift twitching motions, and jerked it's arm back as Tornad laughed from the cell, miming the moves of the corpse to control it.

The arm of Tornad and his corpse minion unleashed the blade simultaneously, and it whistled through the air until it found it's place at the base of the fleeing guards skull, severing the brain stem and the vertebrae as simultaneously as Tornad's and the corpses arms had moved. He fell, life extinguished, before several of the enclosed inmates, who began to hoot in jubilation.

Tornur laughed. "Two for the price of one! Gods damned!"

"They will be if I have my way." Tornad said quietly.

"How have you been Torn?" Tornur beamed, clapping his newly reacquainted brother upon the armoured back. It had been a decade since the two had seen each other, and something was blatantly different about the young man. Gone were his eyes of green and carefree smile. He was now approximately six and a half daggers tall (daggers being the Terran equivalent of a foot), and his hair was much longer than Mere and Pere had ever let it grow. His eyes were the biggest difference, now a dark scarlet red that seemed to pierce the soul.

"As well as I can be. Better than Mere and Pere, and all the others." Tornad said. "And I am Torn no longer. I have shed my former name as well as my humanity. I am Tornad now." He placed a hand upon Tornur's shoulder and continued. "I want to avenge them brother. Every last one of them. Strike at the elves first, then at those who are truly responsible."

"And who is that brother?" Tornur asked in wonder. "Truly responsible?"

Tornad's grip upon his brothers shoulder tightened and his voice was low and bitter. "The Gods themselves, Tornur, and all of Terras."