Morbid Fascination

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy belongs to Square Enix. I own nothing that you recognize.

Written for the Second Halloween event at the Imperial Palace
Prompt - violence


No matter how advanced weapons and technology became, there were still some things that were better off being done the old fashion way. Kefka could think of more than a dozen different ways to decapitate someone. But his favorite method was the good old fashioned guillotine.

He liked the suspense, the anticipation building as he watched them breathe their last breath. In and out, one last time. Enjoy it while it lasts. Then came the gorgeous spray that filled the air when blood gushed from the neck of his victim. The first few spurts were always the best. So fresh, so delicious and hot, pouring over his lips and oozing between his fingers.

He noticed that while the severed heads often landed neatly in the basket, the blood didn't always end up in the same place. It gushed and flowed, splashing the sides of the basket and spilling out onto the floor, making him wonder why they used a basket in the first place. Baskets couldn't hold liquid. Those ignorant buffoons should have used a large bucket, or some kind of tub.

He also wondered why the executioner always wore a mask. Perhaps it was like his own mask, only Kefka's was made from several layers of makeup. But Kefka wasn't trying to hide his face. No, if anything he preferred to draw attention to himself. Much like the silver blade drew the attention of the crowd before it fell.

And there was always an audience for this sort of thing. Kefka could understand them having a morbid fascination with death. What he couldn't understand was why they were so quick to condem him for his actions when they took time out of their day just to watch someone die.

It was always the same. If someone was sentenced to death by hanging, people showed up to watch them hang. Kefka was always present when the sentence was carried out, laughing gleefully as he rubbed his hands together, a sadistic smile spreading across his painted face. He thought perhaps these people liked death more than they were willing to admit. It wasn't considered socially acceptable. You weren't supposed to kill. You weren't supposed to take pleasure in taking someone's life. And yet here they were, men and women, all lined up to watch the show.

Kefka's high pitched laugh rose on the wind, the noise drawing the attention of the crowd as one by one they turned their heads, staring at the crazed magician. Who were they to judge him? They wanted to watch someone die just as much as he did. And the executioner, with his black mask flapping in the wind, maybe the only reason he hid his face was because he was ashamed of his bloodlust.

These people knew what they wanted, they just didn't know how to embrace their love of death the way Kefka did.