Summary: The King doesn't think he can get away that easily, does he?
Notes: Written because I don't like how the (fat pig) king seems to get away scott-free. First try at a dark piece. Critique, comments, and suggestions welcome. No flames please.
The King of Forgotten Sound smiles coldly at the captive bowed before him. His clothes are torn and bloody, and his arms and legs are chained to the ground. Strands of long, golden hair brush the dirty floor, no longer pristine and immaculate. But though his blue eyes are clouded with pain, the Sun Knight still stares up at the king with that haughty expression on his face. (The king knows that expression well. After all, that exact same expression graces his face most of the time.)
The king hates this most of all about the Sun Knight- that he has the nerve to denounce what he does. To think that he has the right to judge the King! As if they were equals! What arrogance! He is the King. He answers to no one! And the sooner the Sun Knight can learn that, the better.
"Well? Have you learned your lesson yet?" The king had a sadistic smirk on his face. "If you beg for forgiveness like the dog you are, I might even consider going easy on you." Against all expectations, the Sun Knight starts to laugh.
"Go easy on me?" His gaze sharpens, twisting into something unfathomable. The King looks into those defiant eyes, and a stab of fear shoots through him, even though by all means he was the one in charge of the situation. The Sun Knight continues talking, his voice wreathed in deceptive sweetness. "Who do you think you are, Pig?"
Outraged, the king moves and slaps him across the face. "YOU DARE-" he splutters angrily. But the Sun Knight keeps on talking, his voice now veritably dripping with honey. "Say, have you seen Roland yet? He's not too happy with you right now, I daresay." He starts laughing again.
The king steps back as if physically struck. Though his face tries to look impassive, the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his true emotions. "What are you talking about?" he snaps. "The Death Knight is DEAD!"
It was then that everything went to hell.
An explosion outside rocks the room, destroying the door and kicking up a huge cloud of dust and rubble. Screams split the air, and people slump, their blood staining the whitewashed halls of the palace. (But blood in the palace is nothing new, is it? The king, especially, can testify to that.) The Sun Knight simply burns his bonds away and heals himself, that mocking smile still on his face.
He usually would be more concerned with whoever caused the explosion in his overly elaborate palace, but right now, the fat pig of a king can't see anyone but the figure standing in what used to be the doorway.
"This-This is Impossible!" he screams, pointing a quivering digit at Roland. "You died! I saw you die!" But the terribly familiar figure in front of him just laughs. The young man whom he had tortured to death grins at him and draws his sword in a rasp of steel. The burst of dark aura that results is saturated with the feeling of hate and pain, so strong that the king is left paralyzed in terror.
"But I've already died once, have I not?" The Death Lord raises his sword. His flaming eyes are merciless. In them, the king can see the accusing faces of all the people he'd killed over the years, the hatred burning in their eyes before the life faded. Roland's ashen face curls up into a smile. It is not kind, promising pain and retribution, lodging into the king's cruel, unfeeling heart and piercing fear into his soul. For the first time in his life, he prays to the God of Light for help; but in his heart of hearts, he knows that there is no reprieve, no forgiveness for what he has done.
A flash of magic, and the king finds the Death Lord pressed to his side, skeletal wings pinning him in place, claws posed to rip and tear into fat, pliable flesh. The Death Lord whispers into his ear. "And how could you possibly think that something as mundane as dying could stop me from finding you?" A pause. The king whimpers in terror. "and I'm not the only one who wants to see you." A smile. "In fact, I know some people who are dying for the opportunity to see you again..." Roland steps back and waves his skeletal hand. A crack opens in the earth, and the dead start pouring out.
"Remember me?" a young, female voice sings, liltingly. The king's face goes white as he sees the rotting corpse of a cleaning maid he had killed not long ago, a terrible smile centred on her once-pretty face. Many other familiar, decomposing faces join her. Lowly palace servants. People who had seen too much. Political enemies. People who had tried to stop him. He watches in absolute terror, as they all turn on him, united by their desire of revenge, blocking all hope of escape. Look at what you did to us! Their accusing eyes seem to say. They swirl with a twisted delight. But now you'll know what it feels like. After all, they murmer, it's no less than you deserve.
The King of Forgotten Sound wets himself in terror, falling to the ground. He abandons his virtually non-existent dignity and begs for mercy, like the fat, pathetic creature he is.
"Please!" he cries desperately. "Have Mercy!"
"Don't worry," the army of undead choruses as one, amusement in their voices and hate blazing in their eyes. "We'll give you just as much mercy as you gave us." They smile gently, mockingly at the fallen king before descending upon him in a swarm.
The former king of Forgotten Sound screams himself awake.