Hell is not punishment, Hell is becoming a god; reaching out and grabbing the light at the end of the tunnel. This is what Mr. Ratburn's rotting corpse whispered to me as it entered rigamortis. His matted hair and off white skin almost blackened underneath the damp candlelight. I promised to come back, and I held my promise. Bones and the charred remains of what I assume were my classmates lay scattered along the dungeon floor. I was too late.
Eight years ago today I woke up inside a flower that had not bloomed. A fully grown fetus dreaming and drinking a lily's sweet nectar. This was during the end of fall, the leaves falling creating a orange tidal wave over all of us. When the lily spit me out I was naked. Looking around there was a field of lilies, some bloomed, some still closed, and others smelly and withering. The scent of rotting flowers filled my lungs and then-
The corpse had begun to smell of death. No longer could I take the smell of the last person I loved being strangled away from me. There were no tears to wipe. I stood up, lurching above him and gave him one final look. Despite our differences we all end up in the same place, either dead or alone. The other piles of assorted remains were unknown and distorted. If these were my classmates, my friends, than I felt no connection to them.
Nausea. I cover my mouth and nose, coughing, the reek of stagnation overwhelming my senses. I tumble to the ground and feel a heavy weight on my chest. Cough. There's something on me, but I can't open my eyes. Cough. I aggressively send my arms in a flurry, hitting something massive. Cough. An acute pain hits my neck but my senses, overwhelmed, are unable to register this as an immediate threat. I attempt to roll over on my back but the beast clings to my neck, tugging on my throat. I reach for my knife, clutching on to it and shooting it forward into the monster. It lets out a screech and weakens its grasp as I shove it off me, injuring my back in the process. Scrambling to my feet I finally get a good look. A giant jet black rat, yellow pasty teeth dripping with blood. The fat demon stands on its hind legs and murmurs out, twitching, its mouth in a stupid smile, "You must be Arthur."
I bite my tongue, regaining my senses, my back quivering in pain. Red eyes glare at me licking lips under the candlelights, the beast hides within the shadows, standing maybe 7 feet high. I reach for my sword, if you can call it that. A giant chunk of metal named Pal. I hold the monstrosity in front of me. This blade is an extension of the self. Smelted under an eclipse, the only object anchoring me to the world of mortals. I am not a god. I am not a human either. I am Arthur and my blade does the talking.
Charging forward I drag the sword behind me, carving a long vein against the cobblestone. Before the rat can react I am facing it. My arms lifting the sword behind me, it swings its thick tail towards me, but it meets Pal's coarse whip . Half of the rat's tail falls pathetically to the ground like an oiled sausage. It vibrates as if it were still receiving tiny electrical messages from the expressionless giant. Screeching the rat crumbles to the ground.
"You're all bark and no bite," I chuckle. Winding up my blade I raise it in the air, and bring it down with great force. It snaps the beast in half. The rat screeches, twisting in pain. His legs continue moving while his abdomen begins to collapse. He doesn't bleed. Just screams and pulls away, arms slowly crumbling as death begins to form its bitter rust.
"You'll regret this, I promise you," it says between moaning breaths. His head falls to the ground in exhaustion with a heavy thump. I watch it slowly seizure to death, it's morbid body succumbing to the massive loss of plasma.
It feels nice to kill your demons. Seeing their last moments in shame, watching them wrestle with their own bodies falling into the abyss. A dance as beautiful as the moon going round and round until it's gone. No name. Never ask for their name, they don't deserve to be acknowledged. I leave their bodies to rot among their own scavenges. Like a rich man dying in his own vault. Of no help now is it?
I walk out of the dungeon and out of the empty stronghold. It used to house many poor soldiers who were indebted to the king. All of them are dead and I sliced them in half, some horizontally others vertically. They were not at fault, but they are part of the pyramid. The capstone is nothing without the base. I ignore the smell of death and continue out into the small town.
The village is at peace, hardly a sound. I tend to spare the villagers, especially the women and children, it's a personal weakness. They all stare at me from their small cottages. They know who I am. They know what I do. Colony 3 is a scatter plot of villages under the rule of a king. A king I personally sent to the afterlife. Despite their objections I stumbled into his lair and diced him whilst in his primal, demonic form. They were all cultists, and wanderers who found comfort within a false god. They should be thanking me but of course they hate me. They hate that I stole from them the idea of hope, the idea that things would be the way they were before. Luckily for them, I couldn't care less whether they live or die.
The air was heavy. Villagers began spitting outside their windows, yelling slurs. The dusty town would collapse in a matter of time. With no king, there was no one to tell these peasants what to do. Their cobblestone houses were but sand.
As I walk down the main road, I see a shadow emerge from a cloud of dust. I stop, listening to the dirt crunching below. The steps are of medium weight. I relax. A pink face pokes out of the mist.
"You're that demon guy, right?" the young face exclaims.
I look down at him.
"I knew it was you! I was waiting for you to get here!" he clutches a small sword from his sheath, "I told the blacksmith to wait until an eclipse to happens to meld it, but it was taking too long so I had him make it during a full moon, what special properties does a full moon give a sword," he smiles at me jumping up and down.
"Nothing… that twig would be snapped in half by any fool with half a wit."
His mouth opens, but he doesn't say anything. I continue past him.
Before I get to far I hear his footsteps, pittering towards me. I put my hand on my blade, and rip it out, parrying the boys sword. The twig-like blade flies off into the air, the tip of my sword on the boys throat.
"Your parents should have taught you not to meddle with things you cannot comprehend, had that blade been melded under a full moon a lower demon would have ripped your throat out in your sleep"
He whimpered, and fell to the ground defeated. I continued walking down the dirt road. The dust would never settle until Buster was dead.