BONFIRE SOUL
By Fala
I pressed my nose to the glass of the window as our floating fortress ascended, watching flames lick at the poor defenseless town like glowing serpent tongues, consuming it. I smiled at the morbid satisfaction of knowing that before dawn, all of those fine cottages and beautiful mansions would be ashen skeletons. Fire was the world's tyrant. It ruthlessly destroyed, ravenously consumed. Such a potent and irrational master of all things. So full of pulsing power...Like me. Someday, when that old wizened willow tree of a man, whom everyone called Emperor Dornkirk, was no more, I would take the Zaibach throne, by force if necessary, and there would be a few...changes made around here...eh heh heh...
Agh! No! I cried, slamming my fist upon the window as the flames grew smaller and smaller, Until eventually, they were out of sight. How dare they leave before ordered! Arrgh! GodsDammit! I growled, hitting the window again. My fist made a dull thud against the pane. I hit it again, wanting the glass to shatter. I wanted to feel those cold, crystalline shards biting into my flesh. But the glass was too thick. It did not break. Snarling, because my quest for pain was unsuccessful- wait, there was still the wall... I ran over the other side of the room and threw myself against the cold metal paneling, crying out as I struck it, the pain spreading in a heat wave, starting from my shoulder, and creeping through my upper body. It felt nice...But it wasn't enough...I hurled myself across to the other side of the room, and send my body crashing into a tall wardrobe, knees first, I fell back, whimpering, relishing the pain seeping up through my legs. I lay on the floor, beating the hard tiles with my fist, crying out as white-hot pain exploded through me, piercing my very core. Too exhausted to continue, I went limp, my aching body sprawled out on the floor, the hardness and coldness of the tiles harmonizing with my heart, numbing my being until the pain became a pleasant prickling sensation, and then it was gone. Yes, I thought triumphantly as I gathered my body up off the floor. Dilandau Albatou is indestructible. He is like a forceful battering ram. He feels no pain. I stood shakily, as yeah, go me thoughts cheered me on. I could almost hear my Dragon Slayers calling out Dilandau the Mighty! Long live Albatou! like some group of masculine cheerleaders. I could see their faces, simpering and shining with intense devotion. Of course, I would've let them know in advance that a lack of enthusiasm on their part would not be tolerated. That was how it had to be. If I went soft on them, they would start to do their own little things and it would just be work, work, work, for me. I had to train them hard, not that I minded. Power in possession was pleasant, yes yes.
I hobbled over to the mirror, supporting myself with my hand as I leaned against the wall and poured over my own reflection. I saw a slender adolescent youth, with silver hair, his bangs over-shadowing his forehead in two graceful sweeps. Behind his bangs his hair was not quite straight, not quite wavy, but hung in short, shimmering tresses. His skin was fair, and smooth over his svelte frame, though most of it was concealed by black leather and shining red armour. His eyes...they were the eyes of a snake, but rather than being a cold lemon yellow as the eyes of serpents often were, the boy's eyes were a scarlet-magenta color, like pools of liquid fire, as red as the blood he so lusted for. Wait a minute, did that red change to blue? And did my silver hair look like white gold? I must've imagined it, but I swear, I saw the blazing orbs as placid oceans, for just one second...It greatly disturbed me. I stared intensely into my own eyes, readying myself, should it happen again. But it did not. I smiled in satisfaction as I was convinced that my eyes had always been and would ever be the same color as my two favorite things in the world. Fire and blood. What beauty the world has is bottled within these two things, I thought, then, with a wry smile, I added, and within myself. I reached out to touch my reflection, letting my fingertips stroke the two-dimensional face of my mirror-twin, Gods, you are the sexiest beast in this, or any of other of the three-thousand worlds... I muttered, smiling wickedly, thinking of all the ecchi things all body such as mine could perform.
Lord Dilandau?
I whirled around, upon hearing a voice to my left. There was my strategist, Folken, draped in black velvet, his facial features, tattooed and real, somber as he eyed me. I scowled at him for no apparent reason. Just to be unreasonable. Being unreasonable was fun.
Dilandau, why are you in my room?
I smirked, Because it is yours.
He said, not looking even the tiniest bit curious.
Why do you care? I asked insolently.
Because it is my room, not yours. He replied calmly.
What, is there some golden nameplate above your door, engraved with the words This Is Folken's Damn Room or sumthin'? I asked, mockingly, enjoying my little game immensely. Folken was so difficult to get a rise out of. And that made it all the more fun. But apparently Folken had taken some happy little patience pills this morning, because he momentarily released what frustrations he might've had in a small sigh, and came into the room, walking past me, and seating himself down at his table. He produced a bottle of red wine from beneath his cloak, along with two pewter cups. I drooled.
Come sit, Dilandau. I wanted to talk with you as it is.
Oh really? I said indifferently, flopping down on the couch across from him and using the table to prop up my booted feet. Folken winced as he looked from my feet to his marble table, whose surface had been scratched by my steel-soled boots. I pretended to ignore him and folded my hands in my lap. Hey I hadn't gotten the rise outta him that I'd wanted when he'd come in, so why not requite that loss now? Seeing as I was not about to apologize nor was I going to be moving the offending boots anytime soon, Folken sighed and poured himself a cup of wine. I watched longingly as he took a sip and tried to bore into his brain with my pleading eyes. He placed the cup back on the table. He must've felt my eyes upon him for he filled the second cup, and handed it to me. I accepted the cup with gusto and drank it eagerly. Heh heh, I got his attention without touching or talking. Brainpower is mine! Next thing you know, I'll be bending spoons with my thoughts. Yeah go me.
General Adelphos has given us our next assignment.
I nearly spat. My gods, we hadn't had a good job in weeks, and I was starting to get melancholy from the lack of killing and fighting and all of my happy hobbies. It was about time I had some fun around here, sheesh. Goodie Goodie Gumdrops.
Wer'e to scout the terrain around the mountains to the north of Asturia. We have to find a good place to set up camp to prepare for our attack.
I froze in horror and anger. Scouting??? Finding some gods-damned place to crash the fort? Just walking about in Guymelefs, traipsing around, downing trees like robotic Paul Bunyans? I growled and and crossed my arms over my chest, frowning.
I'm sorry Dilandau, but there will be no killing included in this assignment. He didn't look the least bit sorry. I harrumphed and slouched against the back of the couch, glaring intangible daggers at him. But then I thought of something...there would be trees nearby...lots trees...lots of lovely timber just waiting to be reduced to itsy-bitsy embers...
No, Dilandau, Folken shook his head, upon seeing the suggestion in my eyes, We have to remain as inconspicuous as we can. There will be no forest fires allowed.
No. Bad Folken. I snarled and he ducked as I hurled my cup at him. It clattered harmlessly to the floor behind him as I fumed, and saw fit to tear out my hair...no wait...that would put a real damper on my beautiful visage...okay, then I saw fit to tear out HIS hair...
But Folken glared at me with those eyes...he too was an albino, but unlike my eyes which burned and thundered at the same time, his were soft as burgundy velvet, but hard and firm as two shining garnets. Something about them always seemed to quiet whatever rage or lust I felt bubbling within. I sat back, and crossed my arms, frowning like a four year old who found out he was not getting dessert tonight. And it wasn't just his eyes either. Folken had an arm that was not really an arm at all. It looked like something he might've ripped off a human-sized guymelef and bolted to himself. He'd said that many years ago a dragon had ripped off his real arm, and he'd gotten this one to save his life. But it never failed to creep me out. The thought of the cold, clawed appendage, touching my flesh, defiling my fair skin with its steely fingers...I shuddered, and hoped that Folken had not seen. I reached for the wine bottle, but Folken snatched it away before I could get it, and he turned to leave.
Wer'e gathering in an hour to board our guymelefs and explore the territory, Folken said over his shoulder, Don't be late.
I watched him leave, and the frustration mounted within me. I needed to relax...and that left me with no choice...I leapt up, and ran over to the small cabinet where Folken kept his emergency supplies. I yanked open a drawer and retrieved from it a book of matches, and a candle, then I gracefully bounded across the room, flicking the light switches along the way until the room was dark and I'd found a corner. I sat down on the floor, my back pressed up against the wall, and struck a match. It's beacon-like presence in the dark made my heart leap with joy. I lowered the match the candle. When the flame latched onto the wick, I snuffed what remained of it upon the match and held the candle close to my face. I stared into the flame...into MY flame...my very essence, I found in fire. I stared intently, marveling at the tiny flame...drinking in its power...I stared through the tiny bud of fire, at the room, picturing the whole place, ablaze, and roaring with heated passion. My heart danced, along with the flame upon the candle. I watched as my orange, yellow and blue companion played upon her little twig, the wax falling in pools below her. She was the one whom I could confide in. It was she whom I trusted. Even though life could be a bitch sometimes, there was always one friend I could turn to, no matter what.
THE END