《KI Anthology V》
Hero #57 Name Unknown
As I look around the shattered, dilapidated, once resplendent throne room, The fallen crystalline chandelier, painstakingly made with the labor of the now extinct elvish nobility under a compulsion lay shattered on the castle floor. Glittering remnants of innumerable Mana stones, now dim and lifeless rest in the warped remains, a pale imitation of their original luster.
The carpet, made from the tireless effort of a single elder druid held in captivity. Years worth of regrown unicorn hair, now burnt and ripped, scattered haphazardly about the floor amongst the rubble.
Muffled booms of yet another hero battering away at the oversized entrance door echo through the desolate throne room like a steady heartbeat.
The grand portal splinters and shakes, the being on the other side battering away at the stalwart defender. Bound to the last true Treant beneath the castle, the door regrows at a singularly unmatched pace. Mocking the assault upon it, its regeneration far outstrips the damage.
This hero must be a Barbarian.
How do I know?.
Well, the door is not even locked. If one would simply pull, rather than mindlessly bash away, one would find their progress unhindered.
The complete lack of a wall surrounding the door is another clue, the entire side of the room reduced to rubble from a misaimed spell.
In my defense, Heroes rarely dodge.
One could step slightly to the side and freely bypass the obstacle, if one had more brain power than a bag of rocks.
Finally wising up to the futility of the assault on the poor wooden door, the Barbarian sheepishly climbs over the collapsed wall beside it, his entourage following behind like lost sheep. The looks of exasperation, resignation and disappointment makes it clear this is not the first time such an obvious solution has been disregarded.
My heart goes out to you, poor unwitting support staff. I wish you better luck in your next life.
A standard group, this time.
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A Priest, a Spellcaster and the Sneak, who has already started looting. The chandelier? Do you even know what those are?.
Or are you just helplessly attracted to shiny objects?.
The years pass and yet some things remain entirely the same. No, please, take as much as you can, don''t pay attention to the other bags full of shards just to your left.
I am sure the last three thieves left them behind by mistake.
Rogues.
Truly, self awareness is the real ultimate spell.
Oops, the Hero is making his grand speech, I should probably pretend to pay attention.
Hmm, indeed, great evil, a dawning of the light, something something freedom. I should compile all these speeches into a book, though with how similar they all are, it likely wouldn''t be worth the paper used to create it.
Would it kill them to be honest?. You want my stuff. Say that.
Wait.
Wait just a second.
Is¡.is he using an actual paper script?.
Must maintain composure. Goddess, I bet the Mage wrote the speech for him. I am genuinely amazed he can read.
~¡°That is not how you pronounce Overlord, you buffoon¡±~.
¡.and the Fool is charging. Without his party. No buffs, no preparation.
Nothing other than his giant axe and a warcry.
Is he really that stupid?. Honestly, that was barely an insult.
A glance over to the party as they stand in stunned horror is answer enough. The heroic assault halts at the foot of my throne, one of the many defensive runes turning his forward momentum against him.
Clever enchantment, that. Are you stronger than yourself? Likely not.
The dragon that taught it to me now only exists as a skull in my vault.
With the barbarian helpless, I slowly stand, all 3¡¯6¡± of my imposing undead glory on display.
With a dismissive flick of my fingers, a probing mind dart punches through the nonexistent mind defenses¡.
Wait.
Nonexistent?
None?
This ~Hero~ has nothing to protect himself from mental assault? Is this a joke?
This must be a trap. There is no way he would be unprotected like this.
With the smallest possible mental nudge, I superimpose my own image over the support party, the illusion taking root in his defenseless mind.
Watching in disbelief as the barbarian immediately turns and starts hacking his own party apart like an over-excited lumberjack brings me only feelings of disappointment.
Really, one wonders why I bother to be Evil when the true threat to the planet will forever be the incompetence of the Good..
In rememberance of the Frayfolk
The edge of a serrated claw ran along the weed¡¯s stem, splitting it open and revealing the uncountable fibers within. One by one, each of them was tied into knots, each loop diligently planned.
An art lost to all but her, beautiful in its malice.
Ulcers, vertigo, blindness; the hexwork turned inert life into silent guardians of her domain.
Anything to attain the peace she had been promised.
The peace they have all been promised.
The thought was enough to break her composure; talons stabbing into the packed dirt lining her dwelling. The passage of time had hardly dulled her burning anger, fed into by their every loss.
Until only she remained.
The miserable memory of her kin at their prime quenched her fury into sorrow as she completed her wards. Sinew, fibers, blood, bones. What sheer terror of such a sight couldn¡¯t accomplish, her seething hexes would ensure.
Once, she was the youngest and most cherished of the Frayfolk, a symbol of hope following a great famine.
Now, she remained as the only guardian of their promised land, the only upholder of their traditions.
With nobody but the wind to hear her wailing.
With nobody but the stars to mourn her once she rejoins her people.
The thunderstorm was her only company as she ascended the nearest hill; weathered body long since dulled to cold. What once used to be diligently kept bushes of life-giving herbs had decayed to more than swaths of thorny vines.
Her kin watched as their offspring affixed her creations to the lowest hanging branches where they¡¯d be noticed, their bones providing company even as the woods reclaimed them.
Company, and judgment.
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A human skull hung from underneath the largest of her cursed sentries. It stared towards the distant lights, shining callously through the battering rain.
Their presence was an affront that would¡¯ve been unthinkable mere centuries ago.
Nowadays, it was just an appalling reality.
Humanity has always reviled them, no matter their nation or people. Little more than basal, short-lived pests, spreading through the land like vermin spread through crops.
In the past, though, they at least held to their word.
Ageless treaty, written in the old tongue of stone and birch. The lands of the Frayfolk and men were to never intersect; their borders were to never be crossed. Stragglers and fools aside, the n¨¦hinaw upheld their promise, and so did her kin.
Many centuries later, humanity had changed, turning even viler. Pale-faced savages, callous in their disrespect. They spat upon their pact, but her kin was bound to it; the mere idea of breaking it unthinkable.
Her kin defended their promised land, but the humans were endless, their armaments growing ever vicious. Tools of iron, rods that drove thunder.
The Frayfolk fought bravely, but were not to last.
Her needle-like teeth rent the deer carcass with inhuman precision. Bones for tools, sinew for hexes, eyes for medicine to abate the sickness decaying her insides. Flesh for her kin, to nourish them in their endless journey beyond, as their ancient tradition instructed.
When she was a mere hatchling, the living and dead alike partook in grand feasts. And she, a beloved scion, was showered with the freshest of blood and fed the juiciest of flesh.
Now, alone and feeble, she satisfied herself with scraps. Too weak to hunt most days, too tired after giving the dead their fill.
Their dwelling used to befit gods.
Now, with almost all of it collapsed and decay eating what remained, she alone slept like an animal.
And, like an animal, patrolled what remained of the Frayfolk¡¯s territory. Humanity had no end to their cruelty; a truth rediscovered by the day. Even with their tools, even when arriving in a flood of vermin, they did not simply slaughter her kin.
Instead, they starved them out, murdering whichever weak they found. Each time, an echoing thunder would fill the woods, followed by her kin¡¯s wails. A heartbreaking loss, a promise of revenge.
A failure of the living.
Her failure.
A distant crunch of bone snapped her focus away from preparing a meal for her kin, her six eyes narrowing immediately.
Her wards whispered of four humans, two grown and two hatchlings. Too foolish to have heeded her warnings, now trespassing on their sacred burial ground.
Unfurling her wings, she slithered out of her den, the forest itself shuddering at her furious shrieks.
"FRAYFOLK, FEAR NOT. YOUR DEFILEMENT SHALL BE AVENGED!"
"TONIGHT, WE SHALL ALL FEAST ONE MORE!"
Stretched Thin
¡°You again, stretchy boy?¡± a grating voice calls from the entrance to the alleyway.
I freeze, caught in the act. My arm stretches all the way up to the top-story windows of the Montiago Central Bank. There¡¯s always some idiot who forgets to lock their window; one opening is all I need to get in, get some loot, and get back out again. I¡¯ve done this so many times, I could probably break and enter in my sleep.
The man at the other end of the alley complicates things. He¡¯s lit up by floating shapes composed of light, constructs formed by his stupid magic powers. He¡¯s wearing his rainbow hero¡¯s suit and fool¡¯s cap, as he always does, and his arms are spread out wide like he¡¯s performing for an audience. His face is smooth, handsome, and incredibly punchable.
¡°The Jester versus Putty Boy!¡± he cries out with a manic grin. ¡°A classic!¡±
I grimace and pull my arm down, compressing it back to its normal length. As I move my joints creak and a muscle in my shoulder spasms in agony. Stretching used to be natural, easy. But these things change over time.
I know he¡¯s expecting one of my usual tricks. A Springy-Kick, or a Slingshot-Punch, or even just a good old Super-Run-Away. In my prime I could even pull off a Bouncy-Ball maneuver.
Instead I raise both hands in the air. ¡°I yield.¡±
Jester looks confused by that. He somersaults forward until he¡¯s right in front of me, then waggles his eyebrows. ¡°That¡¯s boring. C¡¯mon! Fight me!¡±
He doesn¡¯t get it, and why should he? It¡¯s been twenty-eight years since I first got my powers and faced him in the shopping mall over my petty teenage crimes. Twenty-eight years, yet he looks the same as always. He never changes, and it¡¯s not fair.
¡°I can¡¯t fight anymore,¡± I tell him. I wish I could inflate my chest and scream him into submission, but my ribs can¡¯t handle stretching these days. ¡°I¡¯m out of options, Jester. I got old.¡±
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¡°Old?¡± he cackles. ¡°Don¡¯t teach your grandmother how to make jokes!¡± For a moment he looks slumped over and frail, one hand clutching a construct shaped like a cane. Then he zips back into his normal form, pulls an oversized object out of his pocket, and holds it out. ¡°Why, you¡¯re just a cheeky little kid!¡±
It¡¯s a mirror, all bright lights around the edges but somehow reflective in the middle. I look into the mirror and a round, wide-eyed face peers back at me. Smooth skin, bushy blonde hair, a few stray pimples. I blink and the face blinks back.
I¡¯m¡ young again? How?
When I slowly stretch out an arm there are no aches in my joints. The scars on my right hand from the time Jester tossed me a burning juggling ball are gone, and the bone-deep weariness that plagues me every day has vanished. I haven¡¯t felt this alive in years.
I¡¯m so engrossed in being fourteen that I don¡¯t see Jester¡¯s fist until it clocks me right across the face.
~
When I wake up I¡¯m still in the alley, but Jester is gone.
My head is pounding like it¡¯s gone through a tumble dryer with a sack of bricks. I groan and try to reach up to massage away the pain, but my hands and feet have been tightly bound. Stretching my way out will be a challenge.
That doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m young again! I have a second chance! My heart beats wildly at the possibilities. This time things will be different. I can get out of this cursed city, start over again somewhere new. All I have to do is scrunch my leg up this way and -
My knee screams in protest.
No. No, no, no, no.
I have to find a mirror to see the truth for myself. I can¡¯t move my arms or legs, but he didn¡¯t secure my head. So I stretch my neck out as far as it can go, angling out to the side where a streetlight next to a window bathes a small patch of the city in artificial light.
The reflection in the window shows a weathered face. Wrinkles, receding hairline, uneven stubble on the chin. A face I know too well.
Was it all a trick? Of course it was all a trick. I sigh as sirens echo off in the distance.
All these years, and I¡¯m still just another joke in the Jester¡¯s routine.
Of Fosterage, and the Risks Therin
¡°Heavy, is the head that wears the crown.¡±
Never did King Alcreus, Ninth of his name, Lord of the Esthelt Kingdom, felt it more than in this moment, staring at the order awaiting His royal seal. He wanted to scream. To rage against the unfairness of it all. He could feel the bitterness rising inside of him, waiting to be unleashed in a torrent of expletives and curses.
Instead, he calmly grabbed the block of wax, cutting a slice and bringing it to the open flame of his candle, his face impassive.
He kept his eyes firmly on the slowly softening substance, not thinking of his little girl. Not of the way she¡¯s been so fascinated by the flames, and of the way she¡¯d spend hours, asking all manners of question to her tutor. His mouth quirked up as he remembered her awe, as the 4 years old lass witnessed him ¡°transforming¡± the chunk of wax into a red, bubbling liquid.
Bringing the pot over his letter, he poured the liquefied substance in a perfect circle, slightly bigger than an inch. She never did manage to master this part of the process¡
His mouth back to a firm line, The King grabbed the Royal Seal, symbol of His authority. It was the work of a few seconds of pressure before he could lift it up and away, storing it back into its ivory chest.
The deed was done. His little wildfire was¡
¡°The orders have been signed. The Realm is now at war.¡±
There was but a smattering of acknowledgement. They all knew that it was a polite facade ; the war declaration would take place on the morrow, in the throne room, with all of the most powerful vassals present to witness it and rally their banners as quickly as possible.
This opportunity had only a short window of time, after all. And it wasn¡¯t one that would present itself ever again.
Betraying an oath of fosterage wasn¡¯t an act done lightly, after all. And even less forgotten.
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¡°Lord Welfred, how fares the boy?¡±
¡°He is traveling as foreplanned, escorted by the royal knights of Alcor. Our scouts report he will reach the border in as little as a month, and should enter Elysee for the royal funeral three weeks after.¡±
¡°And what of our most puissant vassals?¡±
¡°They have done their preparations. The musterage should take but a dozen days, your Majesty.¡±
¡°Then all our preparations have been done. The council is thereby dismissed. We meet on the morrow, my lords.¡±
Raising up at once, they all exited the room, their footsteps echoing behind them. With a gesture, the guards exited the room too, closing the door shut.
Alcreus waited a few moments more.
¡°Sir Tablak, are you ready to do yet another task for your king?¡±
Stepping out from the shadows, as though materializing from it, the tall, lanky form of the spy master showed itself to its king.
¡°Methink the king has no need of me. The man, though¡¡±
Letting his kingly facade fall slightly, Alcreus snorted lightly.
¡°I can never hide those matters from you, old friend. There are¡ two letters I''d need you to send. I wager I have no need to explain more?¡±
Loichi Tablak nodded his ascent, though Alcreus had not waited for it, already rummaging through his desks for spare papers and quickly writing down his instructions. He looked perfectly unruffled.
¡°I wonder when the lad managed to become part of your circle. Why, but a few years back, you swore you¡¯d only treat him as courtesy required.¡±
¡°Ah, if I could but point to a moment.¡± Alcreus pondered, his hands never stopping in their tasks. ¡°Was it when he first arrived in this castle, a young lad not even a decade old, stumbling over his oath? Or when he arrived, triumphant, into the solar, humbly asking to squire under me, still clutching the letter from his lord father?¡±
Yet, of course, they both knew it wasn¡±t so. Unbidden, he remembered those fateful words that thawed his old, scarred heart. ¡°Thank you, my lord. You¡¯ve welcomed me as a son, and I¡ wish I could call you father.¡±
Handing the letters to his most faithful friend, Alcreus allowed himself a moment of weakness more.
¡°They¡¯ll be safe?¡±
Taking hold of the letters and storing them in his travel cloak, Tablak replied simply before vanishing again.
¡°They will be.¡±
His Angel
He walked down the street, armoured boots clanking on the stone road. The Vevalon Kingdom was rather nice, all things considered. It had a thriving economy, lovely locals, and farmland that could feed the region for generations.
Until He had burned it all.
It wasn¡¯t anything personal¡ªHe rather liked this place. It was dispassionate violence. A necessity to achieve His one goal.
Nothing else mattered.
Adults crumpled to the ground at His feet, bodies twisted into a sick effigy with a single flare of magic. Children wailed for their lost family before they too were silenced¡ªtheir heads pulled from their bodies. He ensured He was slow and methodical so that the children¡¯s spines would slide from the meat of their corpse like snakes and dangle from the head in His grasp.
It didn¡¯t bring Him any pleasure in doing this¡ªfear and despair made the magic easier.
Having the severed heads of children slithering along on their animated spines served to unnerve the kingdom¡¯s magic users. They couldn¡¯t fend against Him when they were too busy screaming in horror at their young lunging at them like feral serpents.
So too did the magic users fall, some strangled to death by their own children¡¯s spines squeezing around their throats while the young faces tore away at the flesh of their parents. Despite the gruesome sight, He felt nothing¡ªHe just needed to get rid of the evidence.
The resulting inferno scorched half of the city, incinerating the wooden structures. Flesh melted off bone and the rock beneath His feet bubbled.
He marched toward the castle.
The townspeople had the good sense to run; He didn¡¯t blame them. Unfortunately for them, the Direwolves that prowled around the city''s outskirts weren¡¯t merciful.
He kicked in the massive steel doors, shearing the dozen wood pillars that kept them locked. Guards rushed Him, as was their job. He didn¡¯t blame them for it; He admired their courage in the face of Death.
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He clenched His hand.
The guards approaching Him imploded, their bodies warped into a ball no larger than his fist. Their armour acted as a container for their entrails and prevented the floor from dirtying. He flicked His wrist and the metal hurtled out of the doors into the Hellfire that raged outside.
¡°Please, you don¡¯t have to do this! Spare my people!¡± The King cried.
The King was right. He didn¡¯t have to. But He needed to. It was necessary for His one goal, and He would accomplish it at any cost.
He tilted His head to the side, and the King¡¯s head spun around in a tight circle, a sickening crack sounding out. The King¡¯s eyes rolled wildly in his head, the last remains of consciousness struggling to comprehend that he was already dead.
The crown was plucked away, and He placed a hand on the King¡¯s head.
A gust of wind swept through, clearing out the ashes that formed at His fingertips. All that remained was the crown, and the purple cloak laying on the ground.
He picked up the cloak and began His walk back through the city. Direwolves feasted on the people who tried to hide, and the Hellfire licked up what remained. A wave of His hand caused the inferno to go out like a candle.
He entered the woods and found a small child lying on the back of a white direwolf, clinging to its fur. She looked tired, as always, but perked up when she saw Him.
¡°Come with me. I have a surprise.¡± He settled the cloak over her head. ¡°No peeking.¡±
The three moved through the remains of the shattered kingdom. A gust of wind blew in, guiding out the smell of blood and char, replacing it with clean forest air.
They walked up the steps into the castle; the massive steel doors closed behind Him. He picked her up, set her on the throne, and pulled off the cloak.
She looked around in confusion, then her face lit up when she was presented with the crown.
¡°You are now a real princess, just like you wanted, my Angel.¡±
She clutched at the crown desperately and her eyes watered.
¡°I¡¯m a real princess?¡± She breathed.
He nodded. Her wish was granted.
¡°I knew you could do anything, Daddy,¡± she whispered, her smile wide.
He could do anything.
Except cure her cancer. She wouldn¡¯t last a week longer.
¡°I love you, Daddy.¡±
¡°I love you too, my Angel.¡±
She¡¯d never know how she got her wish.
Like Always, It Starts With a Few Grains of Salt
The first handful is given to a sickly child, grains falling like snow from my palm into a meager bowl of almshouse gruel.
The next day, I see the same child running along the shores of this grand city, babbling about someone blessed with salt flowing freely from their hands.
The rumor doesn¡¯t go unnoticed. A fisherwoman approaches me, both arms around a hefty earthenware vessel, and asks for enough salt to preserve her daily catch.
I cup my hands over the container¡¯s mouth. When I hand her the oversized pot, it¡¯s filled to the brim.
She returns every day with the same vessel, emptied, and makes the same request. Salted fish from the city finds itself on tables across the Empire. The woman grows fabulously wealthy; She even commissions a new harbor. It would¡¯ve been in my name, but she never asked for it. Nobody ever does.
And I had such high hopes for them.
Word spreads of a miracle worker. People flock to the city, for salt is as flexible as it is precious. No one ever asks where the salt comes from.
A local merchant waves to me from his horse and wagon, asking for an entire cart full of salt. I pull away the tarps covering his wagon. Polished white blocks appear where empty space should be.
The next day, a second merchant demands three wagonfulls. I grant his wish as well.
This song and dance continues ad nauseam. Even as salt loses all value. Even when a dozen barrels fails to buy a single loaf of bread.
Trading houses go bankrupt. The two merchants are found dead in their homes. I care not by whose hand they expired.
I hope others see the folly of their greed, for their own sakes.
Hearing news of economic catastrophe, the Emperor himself comes to investigate, with a hundred royal guards in tow. When he sees the miracles I worked, he demands a grand sculpture of himself without a second thought.
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I ask only for an empty plinth.
He marches his men into the Hall of Ancestors, and tears the statue of this city¡¯s mythical founder from its foundations. A pillar of polished rock salt bearing the Emperor¡¯s likeness, as tall as five horses, takes its place.
Then the fool shows his true colors, and tries to arrest me.
As the royal guards charge, I sigh, raise my arms, and throw open my hands. Jagged shards stream from both palms, scouring polished armor, sandblasting marble to dust, and stripping flesh from bone.
The imperial column is cut down in seconds, along with the imbecile who led them.
Like all those before them, these people have failed.
News of the Emperor¡¯s death spreads like wildfire. The land falls into civil war.
I give my gifts freely to any general and profiteer who asks.
They salt the fields and wells of their enemies.
When the innovative and ambitious ask for aid, I give unto them sal ammoniac and saltpetre. For my gifts extend beyond salt of the table variety.
Refugees soon bring with them tales of unimaginable destruction; of rockets and firebombs that erase armies, and turn walls to rubble.
The taste of victory turns to ash in the mouths of conquerors, along with the cities they sought to plunder.
They fight over me, of course. By the gods do they. The city suffers accordingly: The Hall of Ancestors, burned to the ground. The new docks, shattered by endless fighting. Even the expected refugees and vagrants are strangely absent.
No one ever asks where the salt comes from.
Some of the fools catch on. Emissaries practically beg me to stop bestowing my gifts. They offer up anything which they think will end the madness.
I laugh in their faces.
All this time, all you¡¯ve wanted from me is salt. If you want salt so badly, then salt you will have, even as it suffocates everything you know and love.
Eventually they stop asking, and resort to harsher measures. Fire and sword waste themselves against compacted salt domes. Assassins turn up as shriveled husks.
Years later, and the empire is no more. Cities lie deserted. Mummified corpses decorate expanses of cracked, barren earth.
And to think it all started with a few grains of salt.
When will they ever learn?
That perennial question hangs heavy in my mind as I leave the ruins of this city, this empire, for wherever the fates lead me next.
Time to find out, once again.
Untitled
The sound of mere trees rustling in the wind, the smell of only mud, earth, and endless green, and of course the sight of no other humans here, except for this so-called hero trapped beneath my paw.
¡°So the rumours are true! You, foul villain, are truly here!¡± the puny hero exclaimed.
"Oh, so I''m the villain?" Napi questioned while the so-called hero squirmed under his giant paw. "You know, it¡¯s people like you that turn creatures like me into ¡®villains,¡¯¡± Napi leaned in a bit closer, ¡°I am done seeing myself as the monster, hero.¡±
"Unhand me, you foul beast," the hero said, pointing his sword towards the throat of Napi, though short a significant distance, "your words of poison mean nothing to me." The hero struggled against the warm, oppressive force of Napi''s paw, hoping to get any sense of leverage he possibly could. Napi only felt embarrassed for the man.
"I can''t believe a fool like you is the hero. This is ridiculous." The hero let out a mix between a scream and an exhalation as Napi only barely put weight on him. ¡°I thought you would be stronger than this,¡± the large wolf creature let out a chuckle, ¡°When I saw the glint of your armour, I thought there would be even a slight struggle!¡± Napi appraises the man once more.
His armour is now extremely bent and slightly bloodied. The man occupying the shiny metal clothing is a man as lanky as he is arrogant. Not only did he lack muscles, but it seemed he lacked calluses as well. He had cuts and bruises from what seemed to be just traveling the forest. His face was traditionally handsome, at least in some sense, high cheekbones, defined eyebrows, and stuck in what could be considered a face of pride; although it¡¯s a bit hard to tell if it¡¯s prideful, seeing how it is currently shrouded in pain.
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¡°You¡¯re no hero, are you?¡± Napi questioned.
¡°Preposterous,¡± The man exclaimed, at least weakly. Napi commended his bravery, but bravery is not a replacement for sensibility. ¡°Of course, I¡¯m a hero. I¡¯ve got the sword to speak for it, right?¡±
¡°Oh, yea? Use it.¡± Napi stared into the man¡¯s eyes. Ocean Blue eyes filled with uncertainty, that is what Napi saw. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Napi asked, leaning in even closer. The clean steel touched his furred neck. Napi isn¡¯t one to taunt, but this case is different.
Fire, strength, power. This man is nothing like the hero that got Napi to get stronger. A clean sword, eyes filled with innocence, muscles and skin lacking so much the very act of walking caused it harm. It¡¯s insolence even daring to try and be so prideful, so arrogant, and yet have no power to speak of. No strength to back up your words.
¡°I must know, ¡®Hero,¡¯ how did your status come to be?¡± On some level, Napi already knew.
¡°My father-¡± a cough of blood interrupted his answer, ¡°-was a soldier.¡± He took another labored breath. ¡°And my mother had connections.¡±
Napi took a deep breath. Bravery was never, ever a replacement for strength.
¡°Hero, I¡¯ve killed men thousands of times stronger than you. Swords enchanted with powers against darkness and ¡°monsters,¡± muscles so dense it puts metals to shame, And skin so thick that my claws struggled to pierce them, and yet, every one either fled in panic, or died. Tell me, hero, would you rather flee a coward or die in idiocy.¡±
Napi towered over the hero. The lanky man tried to speak but coughed blood. Struggling, he managed to get out, ¡°The others will find you.¡±
¡°Incorrect answer,¡± Napi replied coldly while piercing his claw through the man¡¯s heart.
Inquisitors Duty
¡°Inquisitor Telias!¡±
Telias slowly opened his eyes as the enraged voice echoed out into the prayer chamber. Quietly rising to his feet, he turned to face the source of the voice. Across the room, standing between the pews of the corridor, was a man he had once called a brother in all but blood. One that had grown up beside him, and faced trials that neither of them would have withstood alone. One that now held a blade in his hands, aimed towards him.
Letting out a sigh, Telias shifted his robes and adjusted the thin chestplate beneath as he regarded the man. He was drenched in sweat and wearing nothing but a tunic and his sword belt. He must have just come from training, he thought to himself. There could only be one reason he had come so quickly¡
¡°Marco,¡± he began. ¡°I can only presume you¡¯ve come to give prayer to the Goddess?¡±
Marco¡¯s face twisted in fury. ¡°You have the audacity to ask that of me? After what you¡¯ve done?!¡±
It seems my hopes that he would understand were for naught, Telias thought, a frown coming to his face as he began to descend from the altar to the pews. ¡°Marco. You must understand, what I did was for the protection of the village under the Goddess¡¯ authority.¡± Stopping at the beginning of the stands, he continued. ¡°It was for the best.¡±
¡°For the best? Murdering my sister was for the best?!¡± He screamed, body and voice shaking in rage.
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¡°She was touched by the Wood, Marco,¡± he calmly responded, the initial vestiges of remorse beginning to paint his features. ¡°It was only a matter of time before she was lost to it. And what then? Would you have her turn into a monster?¡±
¡°So that gives you the right to just murder her?!¡± He pointed the sword at Telias again, advancing forward with a determined march. ¡°After everything the three of us had gone through? The feasts? The hunts? The afternoons wandering the wilds? She was as much of a sister to you as she was to me!¡±
His breath stuttered with each word Marco screamed, the pit in his stomach growing with every moment. ¡°That is exactly why I had to do it, Marco,¡± he sighed, the remorse building on his face. ¡°Had it been any other inquisitor, she would¡¯ve burned. Had I known earlier, I could have potentially stopped the corruption before it went too far. By the time I came to know of it, she was too far gone for any ritual the church knows of.¡± He stopped a mere few feet from the man, Marco¡¯s blade hovering in front of him. ¡°I gave her a quick end, Marco. A blade to the heart, done quietly and without any to witness it. She was gone in seconds.¡±
Marco¡¯s face twisted into a hateful scowl, yet Telias did not stop talking. With a quick flick of his wrist, a sword came into his hands and knocked Marco¡¯s down to his side. The frown on his face grew cold.
¡°Marco. I will offer you this to you alone, for all we have ever gone through together.¡± He brought his sword up to a ready stance, eyes narrowing as he continued. ¡°Drop your blade. Go home. We can pretend this never happened- the church, the town, none of them need know of what happened here. We can give Gayle an honorable burial.¡± His breath stuttered as he forced himself to continue. ¡°But if you do not, Marco¡ I will not hesitate to defend myself. Do not make me lose another sibling today. Please.¡±
His plea was met with silence. Marco¡¯s blade did not drop, but rather raised to a ready stance in turn. He could not stop the despair that reached his expression as he offered a silent prayer to his god. Let it be known I tried, my Goddess.
The clashing of blades could be heard for hours.
Breezy Fenberry
The clack of iron talons of her heels was felt but not heard, as she stepped through the cold stone corridor. She smiled, she felt at home within this fortress of her¡¯s. All of whims, all of her desires we accepted without question, most of the time The brazers that lined the corridor dimmed as she strutted forward in her disgusting low quality disguise, but that was what prison residents were wearing, a burlap blanket that she fashioned into a cloak.
A large oaken door branded with age and iron stood in the way before it. the darkness in the corners loomed as if they were alive. With a wave of a hand and a dash of intent, the door groaned open into the abyss.
What was behind was a stone staircase littered with skulls coiling down into the darkness. The air was damp with moisture and thick with the taste of minerals clogging the throats of all who walked down there, unwilling or not. She wrinkled her nose in discomfort but forged down into the abyss. She was here for a reason. Finally, she would taste some cold revenge.
She finished her musings and went to the end of the prison corridor passing the poor wretches that found themselves here. They probably pissed off her, or her monsters for one reason or another, or it could be a new shipment of slaves for the breaking. It didn¡¯t matter.
She walked into the cell right next to the last one, one slightly below max security. The jagged adamantite bars flickered with arcane light, acknowledging her presence before switching to the ruby red of all the other occupants, a simple disguise that should fool her most recent capture. She was waiting for this for years after all.
She got as comfortable as she could and then began managing her fortress from a distance; it wouldn''t do to let her minions do as they wanted without supervision after all.
After a few hours of waiting, a bloody well muscled white bearded dwarf was dragged in by a pair of vampires and shoved into the cell next to her, they didn''t even notice she was there, perfect.
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Her blue eyes peeked into the cell, peering at the dwarf, she glanced to make sure the vampires were very far back off their patrol. ¡°What happened to you?¡± *she said, her voice just loud enough to get into the cell next to her.
It took several moments before the dwarf got off the ground, he grunted and didn''t even acknowledge her words. He limped over to the cot and picked up the burlap blanket and shook it out before he wrapped himself in it.
¡°What¡¯s it look like to you? Little lass.¡± the gruff baritone that seemingly all dwarves had rumbled through the air. She stepped closer to the bars and her hood down and revealed her face. Raven hair that fell down in locks to her shoulders, a soft round face with several freckles adorned her nose, to finish it off red pouty lips. She tugged on her spiked leather collar as her eyes searched his face for any sort of recognition. She saw none.
¡°Like you got your ass kicked Mr.dwarf, seems like you put up a fight.¡±
¡°Aye, that¡¯s the least I could do.¡± he nodded. ¡°My names Varrik little hin. What¡¯s your name?¡±
She felt fury that slept in her gut. Did he really not even know who she was? Was his apathy so far gone he couldn''t remember her begging for help ten years ago? When she came into his fortress, in the bonds of drow slavery She still remembered those words even now ¡°well, if you really wanted to be free, then you would do what it took to be free. That''s on you.¡±
She couldn''t believe it and weaved a spell behind her back to weaken and read his thoughts.
There was no recognition at all within his head.
None. Her most important day was Tuesday for him.
She would break him, this dwarf; she would break Commander Varrik of the Hawkin.
Her fury reached the corners of her mouth as she gave a smile. She flared her magic which melted her disguise showing off her royal regalia. Skulls floated around her as her purple aura gave off a feeling of dread and majesty.
Varrik¡¯s eyes widened in surprise as he finally remembered.
¡° Breezy Fenberry, Queen of the Undead.¡±
Only a monster could rule down here.
Liar
It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this, you know.
We were partners. Even swore an oath to be by each other through everything.
I thought it would be okay.
That we talked it out.
Had an agreement.
But the distance between us only got wider with time.
I tried changing how I acted. How I spent our money. Who we hung out with.
It wasn¡¯t ever good enough.
I suggested a date. Like we used to do.
I took us out around town to clear our heads.
We went to your favorite restaurant.
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Guess it isn¡¯t your favorite anymore.
We went to the park! You loved to sit on the swings.
But you kept staring at all of the tiny smiling faces. Their happy laughs.
I suggested volunteering.
It wasn¡¯t enough for you.
We got a puppy.
It was great for a while! You were smiling just like you used to.
Then the puppy became a dog. A chore.
He misses you, you know.
The backyard is too big for just the two of us.
Without your green thumb to hold back the weeds, the garden is just a jungle.
I remember the fight we had that night.
You thought I would change my mind.
But I told you at the beginning.
You called me a villain.
An ass.
You called me a liar.
But I told you at the beginning.
I don¡¯t want kids.
The Promise of Time
I slowly spun the brick in my fingers, the smooth silvery surface glinting dully in the bright white light. I brought it to my face and drew in a breath, the plastic scent of hopes and dreams filling my lungs, the bouquet enhanced by metallic notes of revenge and a supple ozone tingle of power. The light was bright. Too bright. Painful. I frowned. That wouldn''t do.
"Computer, take me under the sea."
My faithful Dot booped and dutifully switched every other light to a soothing blue, and every other light to a verdant green.
"That''s better, isn''t it, my soon-to-be-quite-mortal Enemy?" My voice, smooth in thought, came in rough bursts, as if my spine was a particularly shitty router. I pinched a brick from one of the carefully-labeled bins before me, and joined it to its brother.
My eyes traced lovingly over my vengeance. The tongue that had tortured me - sliced into wonderfully useless ribbons. The voice that had betrayed me - excised and flayed wetly red by his side. The hands that had condemned me - broken like my trust.
"Do you think?¡± I paused. It was important to do this right. I had promised him I¡¯d do it right. That I¡¯d come for him. My Enemy moaned damply.
¡°Do you think that the universe is deterministic?¡±
¡°Consider the following thought experiment.¡± My voice sped up, the bricks swirling from their bins ever faster. ¡°Suppose you have, say, a time machine. You observe someone committing a terrible crime. For argument¡¯s sake, say that you¡¯re far enough away that your presence can¡¯t possible interfere with the event in any way. You go back in time, observe it again. Again.¡± A delightfully hysterical tone crept into my voice, all quiet-like. ¡°You build a terrible dataset of this single crime, repeated. So, what do you see?¡±
The corners of my mouth pulled up. I knew.
¡°Either the same thing, down to the deepest level, happens every time ¨C so the universe is set in stone, and nothing can change. Or. Or. Or you observe some set of different outcomes according to some distribution ¨C so the crime is committed at RANDOM!¡± My throat thrummed agreeably with my rage. I cleared my throat. Rage, agreeable or not, hurt. I picked up the next brick and connected it.
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The Enemy¡¯s eyes (the eyelids that had closed against my pain, sliced off) darted about the room in fear, finally settling on the silvery geodesic brick-sculpture behind me.
¡°So then, where is free will?¡± I smiled truly, my face spasming in pain. The Enemy did not smile (the lips that had pursed when I begged on my knees for his help, crinkle-cut).
¡°I have an elegant mathematical solution to that philosophical quandary¡ but alas, our time is too small to contain it!¡± A laugh grew in my belly. It burst out, a deep, cathartic guffaw bending me over gladly. The Enemy did not laugh (the diaphragm that had failed to propel the words that would have saved me, carefully paralyzed just enough to not kill him).
¡°I¡¯ve done the experiment you see. Not the thought experiment over there, the real one.¡± My voice took on a terrible cold timbre. My fist slammed my construction into his chest (ribs connected to the backbone he had only for refusing to help the children he was responsible for, selectively removed). The cracking took the place of my voice as I meticulously took away his remaining bones (the bones that had failed to carry him to do what was right, shattered).
My medical equipment beeped in distress as the Enemy¡¯s life drained away. ¡°You see, you never changed. You chose to betray a small child in your care. Every time.¡± The light ebbed from his eyes (the corneas that had seen but failed to see, peeled away).
¡°Funny thing is, for most events, for most people? There¡¯s a bit of a spread. Not that anything is possible ¨C just that sometimes, they reconsider and take a path less likely to be traveled, or do more or less the same thing by a different route. But you? You never change.¡± I straightened, a weight lifting from my shoulders as the last life left the Enemy¡¯s body (the life that had been stubborn in evil, excised).
I walked across my lab, my comfy lab shoes thwopping quietly against my immaculate tile. The warm water kissed my hands as I cleaned the final piece.
¡°I¡¯m coming, me. I will save you like I promised.¡±
Pint-Sized Evil
¡°EVERYONE, DOWN ON THE GROUND! THIS IS A ROBBERY!¡±
Heads turned towards the bank¡¯s door in mild panic, yet no one noticed him. How typical. No, instead they noticed Acolyte¡¯s rotund form as he maintained a strange pose with his chest outstretched, only morphing their original panic into confusion.
He really should¡¯ve insisted he not wear spandex, but the man would¡¯ve never stopped complaining. Regardless, he needed to gain control before things went off the rails. The Grand Meister of All Things Evil lifted his foot tall staff ¨C a massive feat of strength, if he were being honest ¨C and pressed a button on the side. A beam shot at the ceiling and panic returned.
¡°HE¡¯S NOT IN CHARGE!¡± the Meister yelled. ¡°I AM!¡±
The people in the bank realized someone else was there, yet only a few spotted him. An irritated groan came out.
¡°DOWN HERE!¡± he supplied and, finally, they noticed him. The Meister smirked, breathing in their¡ wait a moment.
¡°MINION!¡± he yelled at Acolyte. ¡°WHY AREN¡¯T THEY QUIVERING IN FEAR AT MY EEEVIL PRESENCE?¡±
¡°Uhh,¡ I dunno boss,¡± Acolyte drawled with a scratch of his belly. ¡°Probably ¡®cause you didn¡¯t do all too much yet.¡±
The Meister clicked his tongue. People were always like this. Clearly, he needed to demonstrate just how powerful he was. He pointed his staff and-
A tile fell, shattering on the ground inches away from him. He squeaked. He was under attack already! He hid beneath Acolyte, utilizing the man¡¯s fat stomach as a shield to protect his head and-
Wait, that tile was burned¡ Ah, that was from his own beam.
¡°You okay there boss?¡±
The Meister coughed. ¡°OF COURSE! I MERELY¡ TOOK PRECAUTIONS. SAFETY FIRST. NOTHING TO FEAR.¡±
A snort came out from the crowd, followed by a laugh. The Meister¡¯s grip tightened on his staff. They were laughing at him, just like they always did.
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A guard finally braved forward, seeming encouraged by the crowd¡¯s lighthearted reaction. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough. I don¡¯t know what kind of prank you¡¯re playing at, but you¡¯re like a foot tall. You¡¯re a little too small to be robbing a- ¡°
¡°Disintegrate,¡± the Meister calmly spoke with a point of his staff. A beam shot out and struck the guard in the knee, instantly vaporizing him-
¡°Fuck!¡± the man yelled out as he gripped his knees. ¡°What the hell man! You burnt my kneecap!¡±
-or not. How strange. That was usually lethal. It worked on all the rats he had tested it on. Hm¡ Well, it disabled the guard, so at least he could gain control of things again. It wasn¡¯t as if a mere guard could stop a supervillain.
¡°Hey, uhh, boss,¡± Acolyte spoke up, earning the Meister¡¯s attention. ¡°You mind if I take care of the line? Looks like it¡¯ll be a while if I don¡¯t get to it now¡¡°
¡°YES YES, YOU DEAL WITH THE HOSTAGES IN LINE.¡± The Meister answered with a dismissive wave, ignoring the guard¡¯s agonized cries. Acolyte sloppily saluted before stumbling towards the line.
Now, what was the next step of a bank robbery? Oh, right.
¡°EVERYONE! PUT ALL YOUR MONEY IN THE BAG!¡± he demanded, yet no one stepped forward.
¡°Uh¡ what bag?¡± a hostage spoke up.
The Meister¡¯s sighed in irritation. Right. Acolyte was supposed to have the bag. He turned towards the man and-
¡°ACOLYTE¡ WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT THE BACK OF THE LINE?!¡±
¡°Oh,uhh, I had a few paychecks at home that I wanted to turn it,¡± Acolyte explained. ¡°Thought it¡¯d be mightily clever of me to hit two stones with one bird or whatnot.¡±
The Meister worked his mouth quietly before facepalming himself. Well¡ that¡¯s what he deserves for using Craigslist to find Acolyte. Besides, they always said your first heist would be your hardest, so it was a wonder nothing else was going-
¡°Halt, criminal scum!¡± a voice spoke up. The Meister turned, spotting a man in white spandex floating passed the door with his finger pointed at Acolyte. ¡°You and your miniature minion¡¯s crimes end here!¡±
Oh for the love of- ¡°I¡¯M NOT A MINION!¡±
¡°Ah-ha! But you are miniature!¡± the hero retorted.
The Meister eye twitched. Yet again, he was made fun of for his height. But finally, after all these years, things would change. Now that he had power, no one would ever make fun of his height again.
Especially not a hero.
--
Thirty-six seconds later
¡°I surrender.¡±
Bitter Fruit
Four. This person was four things to Martin.
First, she was his target for assassination.
"Tell me," the tiny old woman whispered to the dark-suited man. "Was I good to you?"
He stood amongst the beeping machines in the secure, windowless hospital room. His mind was as blank as the walls as the enormity of the revelation washed over him.
"¡" the mute man stepped closer to the bed.
"Bah, what am I saying? Of course I was. I suppose I''m not right now though," the woman sighed.
Second, she was the reclusive Director of the AgInServ Administration. When Martin was a kid, that was just a large corporation. Now, in his fifties, it was the sovereign entity of Earth, ruling with suffocating efficiency and tyranny. The supposedly majestic and Olympian power structures of the old world had folded like wet tissue paper in his thirties.
Until this moment, he''d not had a single inkling who the Director was ¨C almost no one did. The information was heavily compartmentalized. In a very real sense, this job was the Big One that all of his comrades gossiped and dreamed about ¨C the one that would finally make a difference.
"One of your easier jobs, huh, TIGER?" she commented, looking up at him with foggy eyes, "Just in and out. No jumping out of any moving vehicles or sneaking around."
"..." the man with graying brown hair pulled up a chair and sat. The woman''s gaze followed his movement.
"...?"
Slowly, he first touched his forehead with the tips of the fingers of his right hand, and then brought his hand forward and down, folding his middle three fingers while sticking out his thumb and pinky.
"Why? Dear, I''m 112 years old. It''s time. There''s nothing left for me to do¡ TIGER, dallying isn''t like you."
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Third¡ she was his handler in the Resistance Intelligence Service. Her voice was unmistakable. So¡ the hated ruler of the world was moonlighting as a mid-rank spook, in the organization which was her greatest adversary? How did she get that past the Commander¡?
In any case, she''d been sending him on missions and assignments for fifteen years. She had treated him well, never using him callously the way that other handlers treated their assets¡ And she''d just ordered him to kill her.
"Right here, TIGER," she tilted her head vaguely at the machine next to her. "Unplug that, and I''ll drift away. The world will have its hero to rally around."
Sitting frozen in the hospital chair like a statue, his gaze bore down on his target in accusation.
"..."
"Oh¡ perhaps you meant, why the hostile takeover of the world?" she muttered idly. "Obviously. Bah, I''m far too old¡"
Shifting her head, she directed her gaze into his own.
Fourth, and finally¡ She was his grandmother, Melanie. He hadn''t seen her in forty years, but he could tell. She didn''t look so different from when she was in her seventies, when he last saw her. He''d thought she was dead ¨C of course he did. Who expects a frail old woman to survive such brutal times?
His childhood was the sweetest time in his life, the memories he cherished most when the bitterness of the present became too much. And Grandma Melanie¡ would visit every Sunday with a blueberry muffin, and then they''d go to the park, or the arcade, or sneak into an R rated movie at the theater.
"Call it a premonition, dear. If I hadn''t done what I did¡ Well. You know how the world is. Someone was going to get stupid and blow everyone up if they were left alone. And I¡ didn''t care to allow it. I''m afraid there were a few too many people in this world that I cared about."
To know that the cause of all these ashen years, the one responsible for the death and suffering of so many of his friends¡ was the same person as¡?
Dipping his head so that he wasn''t looking at her, Martin felt like a brittle shell.
"..."
"I''m sorry. I''m a horribly selfish person. And I''m being selfish again. Please¡ finish the job. Make sure the world has space in it for you. This world¡ it shouldn''t fly apart the second I''m gone. If the world doesn''t end while you still live¡ I''ll consider it a job well done."
Silently, he lifted a hand, reaching¡ and placed it on top of one of Melanie''s, rustling the hospital bed sheet.
"... Alright, then. Just a minute more, Martin."
Eternal
It wasn¡¯t supposed to end this way.
They had made promises to each other a lifetime ago. She, to grow old. He, to truly age. Together, to die as equals.
He believed himself cursed from a young age. Bound to an immortal entity that took a liking to him and granted a similar ¡°boon.¡± To never age. Whenever injured, either from an iron brand or a simple paper cut, his body would patch itself together like new. Magic, he knew. A form of which he was completely ignorant to, only a na?ve idiot trying to escape a dangerous situation. Helping someone that took advantage of his vulnerability. Lives lost because of his desires. Both innocent and guilty, like his late master. Those who were guilty connected with this entity and worked to exploit its abilities and powers. However, he could not deny his role in the slaughters that took place in the name of his ¡°gift.¡±
The man knew there was a catch to his immortality, but in his many conversations with the entity known as Leo, he could never entice answers from the creature. Even without these answers, once he found a method of escape, he took it. Working endlessly with opposing forces, he helped put Leo¡¯s machinations to an end. He was a ¡°hero,¡± someone who was a ¡°victim¡± of the situation. Bile would always rise in the back of his throat whenever he heard anything of the sort.
His own personal tragedy would not become apparent to him until later. The research that had been the center of so many problems disappeared when the government got involved. Even with his own involvement, he could not get them to release the records or tell him anything about them. Fear of what another selfish individual could unleash upon the world.
After everything, he felt this was a fair compromise, with a hollow feeling taking hold in his soul. So he left. His ¡°gift¡± meant he had no need for food or water, so he went on an endless journey. While he himself viewed it as nothing more than a curse, many of those he had encountered in those days believed the opposite.
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It came down to time. The time to learn and grow. And so he did. He learned a lot about the different cultures and natural phenomena of the land. After many years, society regarded the man as an eminent scholar and innovator.
The hollowness remained.
Until he got to know the love of his life. The taste of food and drinks finally appealed to him. She herself was an expert on the plants and animals of the world with a boundless curiosity. They spent hours working through theories and experiments to continue to grow and gain knowledge for the sake of it. The pair spent years together until he felt secure in sharing his secret with her. He had no expectations regarding her response, but he definitely did not expect her immediate support in removing the curse¨Cthe drive behind his journey and search for answers. With tears running down his face, they made their promises to each other. And for a long while, he was content.
Life had other plans for him, as it did his entire life. One summer, a plague had spread throughout the community they called home. The man was unharmed by this worldly burden. The woman, however¡
Despite his experiences, he had never learned to extend his powers to another being. Desperate manipulations and urging, yet the regeneration never took hold. The best he could do was place her in stasis, neither improving nor worsening, simply stuck in time. The irony burned inside of him, but now he had a new goal¨Csave her.
Thoughts of his past before and after her flitted through his mind as he laid on the ground in their lab, surrounded by corpses and the blood of their enemies. Those that dared to stop him from reuniting with his love. Laid there, with the lives he had gathered in trial after trial to make it happen. Never succeeding, but trying again. After all, he had time.
Voices made their way into the lab from outside, and the man felt nothing but exhaustion. Would these mere mortals be able to end his curse? Or would the knowledge of his failure be his only keepsake?
¡°Oh, Skylar, my love. I¡¯m sorry I could not keep my promise.¡±