I still remember the way it looked. My reflection in the wine glass. Crimson and dark, staring back at me with tears welling in its eyes. One salty drop rolled down my cheek and landed in the liquid, killing it in a sea of ripples. Unable to look anymore, I brought up a shaking hand to shield my watering eyes while the other pushed the glass away. The textured bubbles were cool to the touch from the wine’s chill, but the golden handle was almost frighteningly so, and my force made it topple, rolling off the table before the glass shattered on the ground. It was the first sound in hours. Hauntingly, I could feel the red pool form underneath me and dampen my socks, stains setting in.

Uncomfortably, I could hear the man seated at the far end of the table clear his throat. He had requested audience with me earlier that day when the sun had only begun to rise. A doctor, but to many, the doctor. Robert Schultz. All he brought with him were the clothes on his back and the news he came to share. That news was what brought us into the deadly silence. The Madness Outbreak, he said, isn’t something that can just be whisked away with a pill or shot. Our corner of the apocalypse is the collateral damage of other men’s war, our well water has been poisoned with radioactive chemicals to weaken an enemy we have no allegiances with, the effects of which are slowly dissolving the brains of all who drink it.

We have no other water.

It would take weeks for our merchants to trade for more, and what they acquired would be severely limited.

We have no time.

Additionally, danger lies beyond our walls, the road ahead is treacherous and survival is no guarantee without protection, especially with the current war raging. We are a nation of peace, as we always have been.

We have no soldiers.

We have nothing but our loved ones.

But I have none.

I dismissed myself into my study shortly after the wine fell. Whatever the good doctor had to say, I could not bear to hear. I said I needed time to think, but I lied.

I have no hope.

I needed time to write.

The breeze outside the open window beckons me. It calls my name. It knows that I have failed. I have doomed us all with my ideals. I was the one who promised the wells would be enough. I was the one who assured you all we had no need for guns. I was the one who said we could survive if we veered from aligning with the nations of spilt blood. I am the reason why our bodies will fall.

I have no escape.

Snowflakes are dancing into my study, they’ve only been falling for an hour but they’re peaceful and bliss. They’re like so many of you, they do not know what’s coming as they follow the changing wind. Perhaps if they could they’d fear the mystery, but they seem to have faith in the course. Words cannot express the pain I feel that yours was misplaced in me. I have peered off the ledge, I can still see cement underneath them and the green of the grass.

I have no cussion.

Whoever finds this, please tell the good doctor that I’m not coming back.

There is no need to bury me, just let me lay.

Sincerely,
Your former King, Felix Hill

This story will be a work of fiction, about a fictional kingdom known as Luxmort. Luxmort has a class system in place, with the stereotypical "high class is full of assholes, low class is heavily abused and annoyed with them." The leader of Luxmort, interestingly enough, came from the lower class, and this has always been a problem for the high class-born people. There is indeed magic, and there is a certain level of technological innovation. Think steampunk, minus guns. Luxmort has been in two wars, and ties have been strained between the people. Now that you have a basic idea of things, you can proceed to the main story.

There is something to be said about the beauty of the sky. No matter what may occur in this world, it constantly shimmers with a certain... something, a vibrancy which is difficult to explain. I look up at it now from my seat on the veranda, as all around my kingdom slowly tears itself apart. The kingdom which had survived against odds much greater had finally broken down, crumpled beneath the pressure. Smoke and flames danced their macabre dance all around as the crescendos of screams echo through the palace. I let out a slow breath, coughing up some bile and blood. My hand slowly wipes it from my lips and beard as best it can, before limply falling down onto the hilt of the bronze dagger protruding from my chest.

It was a commoner's blade, of crude craftsmanship. The polished wooden handle was unadorned, the pommel the same bronze as the blade. Though it was nothing special, it was still the weapon which would end my life. It stood out, but a breath away from my heart, and this only due to my own blade having impaled my would-be assassin before he could properly align it. He lay behind me even now, eyes forever seeing naught but the darkness of the afterlife, a half smile gracing his cold face as he died knowing his mission was a success. For indeed, I would surely die. The blade had been dipped in poison, and even now, I could feel it slowly oozing through my veins, my pulse ever slowing, my mind ever dimming. I let out another sigh, then breathed in the smoky air, it burning my lungs slightly. It was curious that I was still able to feel even that sensation, so numb did I feel. But it was not the poison which numbed my body, sapped my will to live. No, it was the knowledge that this great kingdom, which neither barbarian nor rival alike could touch, was to be destroyed by its own citizens.

A memory came to mind, of a day not too long before. It was a day of praise, of celebration and jubilation. I was walking amongst my people, when a young boy with black hair and red eyes pulled on my cloak. I knelt to see him eye to eye, and marveled at how different he was from the typical citizens. He spoke but a single sentence to me, which as I think on it now, was frighteningly accurate. "When the king falls, so to shall the kingdom follow." At the time, I laughed, thinking it was praise of my ability as king, of the accomplishments I had earned. I had assured him that there would be great kings after me, kings to preserve the kingdom's legacy. But it seems that a legacy was not in my nor my kingdom's future.

It was strange that I thought of the boy now. But it was not as strange as when he placed his hand on my shoulder, having somehow appeared without a sound. He was like a shadow, just as he was that day. I turned my head slowly, slowly, ever so slowly to take in his form. His skin was of a deathly pale pallor, and smooth, very smooth. His nose hooked ever so slightly at the end, giving him a somewhat impish appearance, though there was no humor in his expression. Those red eyes, like blood, looked out to the kingdom, allowing me to soak in the boy. He wore dark leather breeches, and a cloth shirt that seemed more like a rag in all honesty. But though his garb seemed common, his features bore a noble air, as did his stance. His silken black locks turned along with his face as he turned his focus onto me at long last. "Who... are... you?" I said in a croak. My throat felt as dry as the blood that caked my robes.

"You could say that I am a guide of sorts," the boy said, his voice taking on many tones at once, as if there were many whispers speaking verbatim alongside him. It was disorienting to say the least. "You know me as Skulker, a name with which I cannot say I am not fond."

I turned back to face my kingdom, the screams slowly dying down, but the sounds of destruction raging on as yet another place of residence goes up in an explosion. "So... you are... the keeper... of the dead." It seemed my time had truly come. I had not expected the reaper of souls to appear as a child. Then again, could one really know what to expect? I had not expected that my kingdom would fall, my people at each other's throats, nor one of them try and succeed at bringing about my own demise. In truth, this was but a simple thing to accept, and accept it I did.

"I have watched over you," Skulker said, the whispers still ringing through my mind. "You have been marked by death since your birth. I pity this of you; no matter how you lived your life, you would die on this day, and this kingdom would fall." His eyes remain on me, not a glimmer of humanity within them. I knew he was not jesting. His words sank into me, the whole inevitability of things crushing my spirits further. "So many lives are lost on this day.... And all connected to you. You are a curiosity, which is why I spoke to you on that day. I wished to observe you, to see what man lurked within those eyes which would soon grow still."

"So... now you know... the man was... a failure." I had no strength. I had nothing. I could hear someone in one of the rooms of the palace begging for their life. I couldn't tell who though. I wanted to feel bad for them, but my heart was already dead even though it still beat rhythmically. Thump... thump... thump it beat at irregular intervals.

"That is not my belief. Still, I am curious as to how this event came to occur." Skulker raised his hand, and a small book with a red leather cover appeared. He casually flipped it open, and looked through the pages. "The story of your life, available towards the time of true death. Your exploits have been promising; if not for your predestined death, I'm quite sure that events would have played more in your favor. However, reading does not do much justice." The book snaps shut with a sound like thunder, as if signifying the end of my life. I felt my time drawing ever nearer. "Therefore, before I take your soul away, I wish to hear why you think things became like this, when it all turned downhill."

I blinked, my head like mush. Memories tried to come forth, but the slurry of poison and blood loss made things so difficult to focus on.... "I was raised... amongst the commoners. I believe that's why... why the high class never trusted me, why the low class felt betrayed. I tried to... tried, to make things even amongst the people." I gasp for air, and cough up more blood, letting it sit on my face. If I was to die, why care for my appearance? It was unlikely I'd be remembered in history books as 'the ruler who was covered in his own blood and sick.' I smiled weakly at the thought. "Things... fell apart... last weak, when the riots began. The poor... had finally had enough." I remembered... there was a string of attacks along the walls that separated the classes. Things had deteriorated henceforth: the rich started randomly attacking districts with magic, the poor started to attack with their technological advancements they had kept secret. So many deaths, until full blown civil war had broken out, and I had been in the middle. "Looking back... trying to keep peace... is why I am here now."

Skulker nodded, and looked back at my book. "It seems your time is up. Perhaps you'll be luckier next time around." With those words wrapping around me, I shut my eyes for the last time, the ruins of all I had loved crumbling along with the final thumps of my heart.

“How did this even happen?” – I thought, sitting in a well ornamented throne, face firmly in my face as I sighed.

The locked doors to the room banged loudly in a rhythmic fashion. By the force, you could tell a group of people were using a battering ram to try to take it down.

- Filthy, ungrateful traitors… - I mumbled under his breath before shouting in a defiant manner – You’ll have to try harder than that you trecherous low-lives!

I knew they didn’t listen, but that wasn’t the real reason behind the shout. I was just releasing stress.

I was once known as Guilherme Noronha de Lobo Ashen I, king of Galtopur. Now, only after two years of rule, I’m just waiting for them to break down the door to my throne room and get this over with.

“My father owned most of the coast of the New World; traded in all kinds of exotic goods to the rest of Poreua; made the country rich; made our capital one the most important trade nodes in the world. And, because of one little detail, I’m not even given a chance to try on his shoes. That… one… little…detail.”

In a loud bang, the wooden bar that held the door shut started to cede as splinters started flying. It wouldn’t take them much longer to get the door open.

I unsheathed the sword leaning on the left side of my throne while looking through the window on my right. The sword was beautiful in its own right. The blade was pure and well polished, giving it a clear reflection of what it saw while the cross-guard and the pommel were made of steel, making it durable and the grip was wrapped around in blue-tinged leather, giving me a solid grip. Another thing of note was that, in the pommel, the crest of my father’s dynasty was displayed, filling me with pride every time I looked at it, but, at the same time, guilt, since I failed in continuing it. As for the window, it gave a beautiful image of the city, were not most of it in flames, as well as a nice view of the port, where I saw a huge navy composed of mainly naus and a single caravel that had just docked, unloading its passengers.

- Punctual as always… - I mumbled, tightening the grip on my sword’s handle before continuing – you prejudiced ass…

The boats held my country’s flag in their sails, but they were not under my command. Those were on the same side as the ones knocking on my door.

Another bang on the door and the beam gave in a bit further, already arching quite noticeably in the middle. Just a little while longer.

I took a bite out of this new sweet that my cook came up with a few months back before leaving my crown next to the plate and raising myself to prepare to take down as many as I could. The chef did tell me the entire recipe for the sweet, but all I understood was that it was made mainly of a combination of cocoa and sugar.

Giving the sword a couple of swings, I got myself ready, and waited.

Bang! The beam ceded a little more, just barely holding out as the floor in front of the door was already covered in a fair amount of splinters. I held my posture, giving my intruders a freezing stare of determination if they had gotten in just now.

Bang! The beam gave in just a bit more, arching so much that the door already opened slightly. The shouts that were previously muffled now sounded twice as loud. Orders were being given; men were running with their armor clanking and in between all that, various death threats. I did not move. My sword was raised, and I was prepared to fight to the death.

Bang! The beam finally broke in half and the doors opened. I steeled my resolve as I saw men entering in pairs. The first two bearing large shields in one hand and a short sword in the other; the next two wielded bows with an arrow already prepared and a full quiver on their backs. The process repeated about five more times as they split in half and made a couple of lines on my sides. Shield men in the front and the archers behind them aiming at me.

With sword held high, I was surprised they didn’t attack me immediately. Looking at them wearily, I reached the conclusion that they were told not to, likely until he arrived. Or so I thought. Two men came in storming into the room; they were carrying a long sword each and had a clear intent to kill me where I stood. With ample time to analyze their approach, I swiftly blocked the vertical swing of the first man with the flat side of the blade in such a way that his sword slid to the side, leaving him open for me to pull my weapon back high and quickly stab him on the neck and pulling it out immediately as I gave a step forward to allow myself to dodge the second man’s diagonal slice. To kill this one, I stepped on the side of his knee when his back turned to me from the force of the swing, forcing him to kneel before I grabbed his helmet and pulled his head back. With his neck exposed, I brought the blade close and just sliced it, immediately looking behind me to see if anyone else dared to attack.

I couldn’t help but be unsure if I should respect their obedience or condone the fact that they didn’t even try to stop their brothers in arms’ deaths. Regardless, I looked at them suspiciously once more until I started hearing steps.

Luís Gonçalves Augusto de Graçanbra. The man behind my downfall.

Slowly, but confidently, he walked into the room with that damned smile on his face. That stupid, condescending, rage-inducing smile. The type of smile you give when you see your master plan come into fruiting exactly as you had planned it and are just now amusing yourself by seeing the losing party squirming in a pitiful attempt at survival.

Daring to walk close to me, I swung my blade, stopping right in front of him as a warning. Left arm stretched as the tip was just a couple of centimeters away from his neck.

Clearly faking fear, he playfully raised his hands in surrender before walking back to a safe distance and actually talking:

- So you really are left-handed, huh? The devil’s right hand. Satanic and a bastard.

- My father didn’t think so. – I retorted

- Your father was a fool! He was too kind for his own good. And so are you. You wasted your chance to kill me just now! – He then leaned slightly to the side to notice the two corpses that were still bleeding out. – I thought I told everyone to stay put. – he then shrugged, as if the prospect of having two of his own man dead in his presence wasn’t a big deal – Well, it was their own fault. I knew you could at least handle a few people with your sword.

- My father was great man! – I half shouted; annoyed as I remember his motives - He made this kingdom the great colonial empire that it is today! And you’ve been destroying it for the past year simply because I’m not the late queen’s son! It’s idiotic!

- Your father had no right to take you in! – he shouted in return, making a great display of poise as he only moved his mouth to present his anger – He took pity and legitimized you. That’s an outrage in of itself, but inheriting the throne!? That’s scandalous! I cannot stand the fact that the son of a prostitute is ruling the country. Ruling over me! One of the purest of nobles in the entire realm!

- He had every right to do so! – I retorted, fully shouting as well – That was the best thing he could have done for me! Had I stayed with my mother, I would have probably been dead by now!

- And the world would have been better that way! – He interrupted.

- You, and everyone else, see me as a taint in the realm’s image, you never gave me a chance. As I grew up in the court, I heard all the gossip about me. Some of you kept it behind my back, and others told me straight to the face, but the message was always the same: “There goes the King’s bastard son. The one that came out of a whore. What is he even doing here?”. Father was the only one who treated me like an actual person. He educated me the same way he educated his other children.

- Which conveniently died to leave the space open for you. – Luís added

- Carla died of pneumonia and António was killed in a hunting accident when I was thirteen. I had no involvement in their deaths. All I ever wanted was to prove my worth. Get that stupid prejudice off of everyone’s minds. I didn’t even think I would rule this empire until António died. Well, it isn’t much of an empire right now, is it? At least not the part that’s still under my control.

- Indeed – he agreed calmly – All your colonies are now producing for me; your navy answers to me; your army answers to me; everyone with power who was loyal to you is now dead and was replaced with someone who answers to me. Just like you should, you have nothing.

- All you need to do now is to make it official.

- Anything you’d wish to say before my men fill you full of holes?

I didn’t even hesitate:

- Yeah. For once in my lifetime, let me take advantage of my “tainted” bloodline to disregard court manners and say: Fuck. You.
I knew I was going to die, but I still tried to make something out of it. I pulled my left arm back as the archers launched their arrows and threw my sword at Luís, which seemed to expect it given how quickly he just moved to the side.

One after another, I felt them pierce me from everywhere: legs; arms; shoulders; lungs; stomach, but no head. I collapsed on the ground, losing blood rapidly as I saw the soon-to-be king reach his hand to an archer next to him and receiving one of his arrows before walking next to me. Although my consciousness was already starting to fade away, I saw him kneel next to me and saying with an authoritarian tone:

- How predictable. It was obvious you were going to throw your sword at me, I mean, what did you have to lose? You already knew you were going to die so you might as well take me with you, right? Simple-minded peasant. You weren’t fit to rule this kingdom even for a day! To rule, you need to know how people work. What they want, what drives them and what are their patterns. By knowing that you can adapt to anywhere, manipulate anyone and best of all, don’t get manipulated yourself, but I suppose that’s too much for a simple plebian like you, right? Burn in hell, filth!

And just like that, raising the arrow he received, he struck me in the head with the sharp end of it, killing me and placing my name in history as simply Guilherme I – The Bastard King.

This might be a bit of a personal thing, but I'm really not a big fan of having to look outside of a story to not get sucker-punched. Like, if I read a story and like it, from there I'll figure out how the cards all fell into place. I was immersed in the story and went the entire time trying to figure out where things went wrong, but then when I finally reached the why, it was like "Oh yeah! By the way!". 7 sentences from the end I suddenly discovered there was magic and technology going on. It really seemed pointless, but if it was important, it could've easily been hinted at at practically any point of the story. Especially the magic. The king's dying and so are his people, and not even the healers can save them. Wizards are burning the poor and turning them to ash. That common dagger could've been something the gearheads or whatever the word is crafted for the assassin. Maybe his special armor couldn't save him from his own death. Just, anything to prevent surprise critical information. I know that you did have a spoiler for it, but you have to understand a lot of people are going to jump right into the story.

That aside, I thought it was very good.

The sword was beautiful in its own right. The blade was pure and well polished, giving it a clear reflection of what it saw while the cross-guard and the pommel were made of steel, making it durable and the grip was wrapped around in blue-tinged leather, giving me a solid grip. Another thing of note was that, in the pommel, the crest of my father’s dynasty was displayed, filling me with pride every time I looked at it, but, at the same time, guilt, since I failed in continuing it.

SJCRPV, you did that right. And I mean that far beyond the fact that you described the blade. The weapon itself came off as heroic, strong, and came equipped with emotions, guilt and pride, both of which were clear and emphasized with what came before and after those words. To be honest with you, there are a lot of times I think actual objects make good characters, and the sword right there is a great example of that. This might be more writing style than anything else, but you might have a lot of fun playing with personifications, which is when you apply personality traits and whatnot to what isn't alive. You're blade discription worked extremely well for me, and it would've been nice to see something similar with the door.

The locked doors to the room banged loudly in a rhythmic fashion. By the force, you could tell a group of people were using a battering ram to try to take it down.

I only had one final guard standing before me, the massive metal door defending the sanctuary of my thrown room like a proud knight in shimmering armor, feet planted behind his shield as he endured an onslaught. It grunted with each bang against it, but the strong beam holding it shut held its ground with each blow. From the force, I could tell it was a battering ram pounding into its gut, but hopeless or not, it was glad to defend me until the end.

Just something you might enjoy experimenting with!

How could it all come to this? I tried so hard, but it turns out it was all for nothing. All I can see is my face in the golden-framed mirror; everything else is already made of ashes. Even the reflection is old and decrepit. It is nothing but an old man with hollow, gaunt eyes and a skinny frame. It didn’t use to be like this, I used to be strong, I used to be courageous. Where has that gotten me?

Everyone is dead or dying, death itself permeates the air, not just the smell, either. I can taste it, hear it, and I can feel it. The screams get to me the most, the howling of the wounded, the gurgles of those punctured in the lung or the throat, the echoes of thousands of people dying screams in my ears.

And it’s all my fault.

I’m the one who started all of this, so I guess all these deaths are on me. I got greedy, tried to take something that wasn’t mine. They retaliated. They attacked us with all their might, saying they would not be happy until they had me dead. I thought they were bluffing, I thought our forces could take them. I was wrong.

Even as I speak, here they come. They are right outside the doors, screaming at me to stop hiding like a coward, and to fight their leader, man to man. They’re right, no matter how weak I may be. A king must have honor, and I have fought with none. I should go out there and fight. I guess I should grab my sword first. This blade is a beauty, and has served me well in many battles. It is polished steel, with a simple iron handle. It is not beautiful in itself, but in what it means. It is to remind us that even though we are in power now, nothing more than our own sword can save us. It was my father’s sword; he was the one who had fought his way up to being a king, with this very sword.

Now I stand before this door, a challenge waiting on the other side. They have already destroyed everything around me, what difference does it make to me if they destroy me, as well? I will at least get some revenge, by fighting the man who destroyed my kingdom. Whether I win or lose, I will know I did my best to avenge everyone.

Unlocking the door took longer than it should have; I had to move fast my fumbling. I am nervous and… excited? It’s been a long time since I actually fought someone; I guess I’m looking forward to the challenge. Opening the door, I catch my first up front look at everything. Well… if you can count nothing as everything, because that is what’s left.

“David.” One word comes from the enemy, my name. I respond in kind; “Charles”. He’s speaking again; it’s hard for me to hear over the sound of my own heart, “You shouldn’t have stolen that relic. It is holy among our people, and we will protect it, as you see now.” He’s staring at me, I should stare back. I make eye contact, and he laughs, saying “Such a coward, shaking in your castle, and all the while these people dying. I will enjoy killing you.” I slowly draw my sword, and point it towards him. He also draws his sword from a golden scabbard. His sword is inlaid with gold, but made mostly out of silver. It has many designs on it, black, flowing lines from tip to hilt. Despite its beauty, it was marred with blood, showing its effectiveness. He makes me one promise; “If you are alive after this fight, you will win your freedom. If I kill you, I take your land, and settle in it.”

He’s walking towards me; he’s getting ready to attack! I should work on the defensive, only attacking when he is off balance. Wait, what’s going on? He’s slipping? On what, is he slipping on blood? I should try to slice his throat! He dropped his sword, too! Wait, is he going to…? He fell on his blade! He inadvertently killed himself! After all this anticipation, I am cheated even the right to try to kill this man? I can barely see through the red haze that has dropped over my eyes, but I can see his men are shocked.

Finally one of the men walks up to me, and he tells me “Well, he did make a promise. You are free to go where you wish.” I can hardly believe my ears; he will actually let me go? This isn’t a trick? I sheathe my blade and walk slowly towards the group, and then past them. I am now at the edge of the city that I have known my whole life, I can hardly get it back up and running, so I may as well leave.

Too many people are dead because of me, there were several thousand in that city! It’s my fault they died; their deaths are on my hands! I don’t see how much one more death could hurt. I draw my blade again, and look at it. I admire it one more time; this is the last chance I will ever have. I slowly kneel and grasp the sword firmly, but with the blade towards me instead of outwards. I have to do this quickly; I stab the sword downwards with all the force I can muster. With the feeling of a cold chill, I push the sword farther and farther into my stomach. The pain is almost too much to bear, everything in my body is screaming at me to stop. I ignore these screams, and slowly draw the sword upwards, towards my heart.

It is a wonderful morning as a tribe of goblins celebrated with a large feast. Near one of the large picnic tables at the edge of the meadow I stand. My name's Grumm, the tribe leader of the Grumm clan. I am sporting my favorite leopard-skin cape as I feast on some delicious roasted deer while all the other goblins are frolicking like usual. It is a day like any other, the other goblins are frolicking like usual and I am going to meet up with TukTuk after this meal.

Before I could bite another meaty chunk off the leg, I hear a loud crashing sound that completely ruins the atmosphere. I swiftly turned my head around and I see a large boulder where Slobad's picnic table used to be. As I look back at my meal I see from the corner of my eyes another boulder, crushing Boggart and the bunch of twigs he is carrying. Everyone, including me, is sent panicking into the forest while more boulders fall on the picnic grounds. Who wouldn't panic when giant rocks fall from the sky? The abrupt chaos subsides after a few minutes and, in a sigh of relief, I tell my tribe that it's still safe to salvage the rest of the picnic.

I am hiding in one of the nearby bushes while I oversee the remaining goblins clean up after the sudden mess. I snicker at the one lifting up his brother's corpse before promptly getting incinerated. All eyes look to the sky and spot a hellish dragon circling over us. Well, if the reptile wants a piece of goblin, he'll most likely get the ass. I tell the only warriors we have, a brave group of only three people strong, to get their weapons ready and we're going to have dragon for dinner. As I draw my copper dagger, I charge along with my group towards the beast that just landed on a clearing. It looks very upset with such roaring flames in its mouth. All of the sudden, the dragon chickened out at the last second and flew away from the area as fast as it can. I couldn't breathe from laughing so hard at how it can't handle the might of the Grumm clan.

I turn around to discuss our next course of action only to bump into a giant's foot. I look up and see a familiar face wearing rags that can cover whole plains, it is Jed the Mountainwalker. He apologizes to stepping on my tribe's only warriors but I forgive him, at least now there are vacant spots for the role. He congratulates me heartily for driving away the dragon and pulls out an irregularly-shaped gem larger than the fattest boar I've ever seen. It's glistening with a purple tint that radiates a very mystical aura. He places it right in front of me, saying something about a one weird trick that makes people fly. I listen eagerly, I'm always up for weird tricks.

We spent a few minutes gathering everyone still alive to look at this gem of a gem and marvel at what's going to happen. The tinkerer Slobad suddenly weaves through the small crowd, pickaxe in one hand and a small emerald in the other. He spits a slimy glob at the side and prepares his usual method. As he places the green gem on the splatter of saliva, Jed starts warning him. I for one approve of his methods, he has never failed me before. As he slams the pickaxe's beak, driving the small gem into the big one, a bright purple light engulfs everything.

The next thing I know I find myself actually flying skyward, just what Jed is talking about. I orient myself to spot a large purple cloud shaped like a mushroom where my settlement is. Slobad's done it again, now I have to start another Grumm clan settlement wherever I land, as soon as I figure out how to.

“Hey sis,” I hear my brother call out. He sounds excited. “Felicia!”

I was searching for junk in the pile of garbage. Some of the Cacophones had wanted a few batteries, I’ve found a few and had them stashed in my fanny pack and now I’m swimming out of the pile. I had my goggles over my eyes and a thin face mask covering my mouth as I push myself out into the sunlight.

“What is it?” I ask him.

Stain holds something up, his leather gloved hands grip a weird contraption. It looks to be a pair of goggles with a cord that connected it to a black box on his other hand. It looked heavy and the hand that held it proved my suspicion.

“What do you think it is?” I move closer for a keener look at it. The goggles looked especially like my own but the lenses were conjoined and had one thin blue line that could be interpreted as the glass of the lens. The thin white wire that connected it to the black box was dirtied and its jacket was torn slightly. The black box was roughed up, it had dents all over.

“It looks old…” I muse. “Is it a special goggles that makes me see through things?”

“You mean those X-ray things dad said?” He laughs hard. “I doubt those exist, Felicia.”

I take a good long stare at Stain and cross my arms. I bet he can’t see that I do through my greasy, dirty lenses but I stare at him all the same.

“What do you think it is then, Stain?” I ask, prying away my face mask.

“Well,” He says in a matter-of-factly voice. He even holds up the goggles in the air like he owns it. “By the looks of it, this object seems to be some sort of machine!”

I don’t hesitate to slug him on the arm as hard as I can. He nearly drops the black box as he flinches in pain.

“Ow!” He laughs and cringes at the pain.

I reel my hand back for another go at his arm but he flinches again before I throw it. I stop and smile, even giggle.
“Seriously though,” I say enthusiastically. The feeling of something new fills me with curiosity. I feel so ecstatic. “Do you know what it is?”

I see my brother blink a few times, I can even feel as if he’d scratch his head if he had a free hand. He bites his lower lip and observes the machine in his hands with an inspecting look.

I look around and rummage around for a few makeshift chairs. I throw bottles, cans and pull out tires before I find a couple of box baskets in the underlying items. I come back and put them down beside each other, their opening faced downwards so they can be real seats. I take off my goggles and sit down. He didn’t seem to notice my short leave so I snap my fingers.

“Come on bro, maybe sitting down can help that brain of yours.” I say. I even pat the other basket to make him sit beside me.

He looks at me with his brown eyes and hands me the cool looking goggles. I take it from him as he sets his butt on the basket’s.

And, as I expected, he scratches his head because he now has a free hand. Stain begins to painstakingly take close looks at the small black box.

“I’m sure that this will do something to that…” He stops his inspection and points to the goggles in my hand. “But I can’t find the button...or lever, or anything!” He throws his hands in frustration as he allows the box to fall on his lap.

I look at the goggles attached to the box and hold it up in front of my face. “It looks nice.” I mutter and test it out. The goggles fit nicely over my eyes but its all dark. “Hey Stain, I think you’re right, this isn’t those X-ray things Dad said.”

I guess he didn’t hear me when all I hear is he say: “Found it!”

I feel the goggles hum and vibrate. Suddenly, I feel my ears getting covered by something and a flash of light burns through my eyes. I feel myself fall over the basket and hit the ground but after that, I feel something else. My mind feels as if its being penetrated and my body feels numb. I can feel myself flinch, my hands grip the sandy soil and my legs thrash but slowly I feel as if I’m mind is violently ripped out of my own person. I can feel the hold weakening until finally I am detached and all I can feel is my own loneliness.

I can feel the walls rumble, Katrina. I feel them ebbing closer and closer. The cracks growing larger by the second. I hope this message gets to you. I’m sending you this through our best messenger since communications are down. I hope it gets to you, my dear. I hope you get to hear my final words.

I’m finally able to open my eyes but I awake someplace else. The voice in my head is not my own and I can’t control my body. I feel myself walk in some sort of massive house. I can feel my eyes turn glassy and a few tears blur my vision. My head looks up and I see brilliant lights arranged around a disk that hung on a cord. Everything was painted so surreal on the ceiling that you could mistake it for the sky. My hand fishes something out of my pocket and brings it up to my face to dab away the tears. I keep walking until I reach an oval mirror big enough to reflect my body for me to see. It was weird, seeing myself as another person. I had a beard and full on metal armor and helmet.

I can feel a deep chilling despair creeping up on me like a snake constricting and forcing out every fiber of happiness I can muster. I feel awful, this feeling…

Katrina, please understand that I can’t come home. I must watch this. I must view my mistake and accept the consequences. I hope you understand.

There’s that voice again. Its not mine but nor...is this body. How am I in someone else’s body? I begin to walk closer to a door, small windows decorate it in rectangular fashion. Both my hands grab the door’s knobs and pull them open and what I see is utter chaos.

The exact date of this is July 15, 2876. So you know, Katrina.

Who is Katrina? Why am I seeing all this carnage? My feet take steps forward and my hands grasp the balcony’s cement rails. I can see blood everywhere, fire is spreading at an alarming rate and people. I’ve never seen so much people in one place and they’re all killing each other! I can see guns, powerful ones, being used against people! Explosions haphazardly scattered all across the field before me. A war is happening on this guy’s doorstep and all he’s doing is watching it. I can feel my hands grasp the cement tighter. Then I yell something but it isn’t my voice. It felt strange.

“Press on my allies!” My male voice screams. “Fight and survive! We will not die this day! These metalloid men will fall on our last soil!”

I feel his conviction ring through my being, my soul. He’s hiding his fear and despair under a curtain of rage. I can feel that this man is a ruler but of what kingdom? I feel him shudder, he was breathless. I can feel the beads of sweat forming on the back of my...his neck and forehead.

I suddenly feel a change in myself. A strong burning heat from deep inside, it swells until I feel the warm energy pass from my center towards my hands and they burst into flames. If I was in control of this body I’d have gotten surprised and screamed but I felt different, I felt calm or his calm seeped into me. I feel his conviction, his fear and despair burned as fuel and turned into sheer determination.

If you received this message, my dear, then you know my fate. Our kingdom, the kingdom we have strove to protect has fallen and the legacy is broken. You and whoever is with you will be the last of our kin.

I suddenly feel my body shift in weight before I realize that I had jumped onto the cement railing. He raised our burning hands, surprisingly I feel no heat singeing them. I feel his rush of adrenaline surge through his body, his flaming passion for his country in an inferno of empowered anger towards the enemies. We take one last look at the nemesis of his kingdom, our eyes sweep the field.

These men know nothing of peace, Katrina. They are different from us.

We jump to the battlefield and land on both feet. The drop felt exhilarating, the thrill of it despite the stare we make at death.

“King Thezen!” One of the soldiers call. “King Thezen! Our reinforcements…”

The man’s face was covered in crimson and he clutched his side tightly. I could see his pain through his face and the hope draining out of him. Then I recognize the name, it was my...no, this body’s name. King Thezen.

“Persevere, young Dren. Persevere as all Trizans have!” Thezen yells. I no longer think different from this man...Our ideas are converging.

The reinforcements will arrive soon. Our aerial superiority will have this day.

“..but my king.” Dran’s face contorts to pain. “My king...Our reinforcements are dead.”

That cannot be. How?

I can feel it again, that rising despair. I feel as if I was falling through an endless abyss that consumes all hope and light.

“Trust in me, Dran.” The King says. “Trust that they will come and we will see the next day’s light.”

Thezen steeled himself and the flames on his hands grew brighter. “For Trizan!” My voice boomed. I could hear the remaining soldiers cries, shouting the same battlecry. Our body moves forward, the charge towards the frontline thrusts me into a field of blasts and blood. Despite seeing the scenes right before my eyes, it takes me awhile to follow what it happening. I see flashes of Thezen’s hands in front of me, his blazing fist punching holes through enemies. I can feel his anger burning through my consciousness. His hatred, his worry, his anger and despair...so much negativity, all of it. All of it poured into every strike against his enemies.

I will kill all of you! I will see my daughter! She will see the next light with me!

A surge of pain surges through my body but it feels so distant, I feel detached again.

This will not stop me! Katrina will see next light!

I finally get a clearer grasp on who the enemy is. They’re humans, soldiers carrying rifles that look so different than what Stain carries. They’re bigger and they glow whenever they fire. And whatever they fire, it looks like a blazing light that cuts through armor and flesh. My body tilts forward and my feet push me towards the opponents. My fists find one of the soldier’s faces, smashing his skull as well as burning his flesh. Thezen and I collapse on the ground, our energy wanes but his will keeps him awake.

The final moments.

Another painful blast radiates from my back, my soul feels as if it was ripped halfway from Thezen’s body before my consciousness returns. The burning sensation takes our breath away until it gathers into his will to stand.

...I hope this message gets to you, my Katrina.

“My King!” A voice screams. A blast of white energy slices a nearby human clean in two and another wave of blue power disintegrates four others.

Even as I fall with my kingdom...

My eyes begin to fog but Thezen and I keep our balance. We look to our side, we barely felt the arm that supported us as we stood.

“My King! You are injured!” One of them exclaims.

Our race must live on. Katrina. Once this memory tape reaches you. Once it finishes the record and stops in the hands of the messenger, know that I love you to this day. Know that our kingdom fell today but our race lives on. In you and your siblings.

“Fall back to the confines of the castle.” My voice quivered. “We make our stand there!” I command.

“Yes my king!” The other soldier salutes and retreats. Volleys of blue energy zip across the air, striking Thezen’s soldiers. Under the cover of darkness, I barely made out what his soldiers looked like but now, as everything slows down, my heartbeat, my vision, everything seems to slow down. I can see Thezen’s men clad in green and gold armor. They were either fighting back or bloodied and dying. The unyielding tide, as we turn my head to look over our shoulder, were a mass of human soldiers with faces blank as a starless sky.

Katrina. Goodbye…

Then I felt a powerful sting. My head burned until I felt a powerful pain shoot through my entire core. My head felt as if a sharp pain erupted from the inside and radiating outward. If I could have screamed, I would have used up all the air in my lungs. The pain was overwhelming, if before I felt my soul being forcefully ripped from Thezen’s body this felt a hundred times worse like every strand and fiber was pulled apart.

I woke up screaming my throat out. Instinctively, my hands found their way to the goggles and wrenched them out from over my eyes and threw it as far as my strength would allow. My back arched upwards while my body balanced on the tip of my head and the heels of my feet. I try to grip my head, trying to find the source of the pain, searchingly my fingers found nothing but my own hair in between its spaces. Then I feel the embrace of my brother, he wrestles me flat on the ground, my body still registering the pain in my head. Was Thezen shot in the head? Can it be that painful? I feel my arms being suppressed by my brother’s hug. It takes me awhile to recover from the pain and a few more before I find myself coherent enough to answer my brother’s first question.

“What happened, Felicia?” He ask, holding me up in our box seats. I feel sorry for making him worry.

“I…” I try to find words to explain whatever happened to me but I find this summarizes everything. “...had a history lesson.”

In that four-sided, one-way mirror, room,
I saw my fellow suits get dragged away.
Their benefits expunged, they drift in gloom,
And I've been spared from this tenacious fray.
I sat uneasy, in my easy chair.
"Congratulations! You've been reassigned!"
John Cole from R&D was also there.
That snitch! He must've blabbed about my vines.
He tapped his clipboard, turned, and did he leer:
"I hear Alaska's nice this time of year..."

I had to kill him. It was getting too much. The Way was shattered ages ago, but I was too blind to see it.

Once we were regarded by the world as important and valuable. I started the Way to eliminate violence and my belief grew. Many joined me and the world became peaceful around us. However, like all great followings, it had a flaw. Our greatest downfall was that under no circumstances, even defending one’s own life, may you commit an act of violence unto another.

It all started with small raids from bandits and looters. They threatened us and pillaged, taking whatever they wanted without any of us lifting a finger to stop them. It was hard, but I internalized the pain, dealt with it and moved on. A few of my followers became restless however.

As the months wore on, the bandits started killing, raping and even went as far as setting fire to our camps. One night they kidnapped a few of our women and dragged them away into the night. I personally lead a band of men to retrieve them. We tried finding a peaceful solution to the problem, but the bandits let us watch as they killed the women in front of us.

After the ceremony was complete, the other men in my party were livid beyond imagining and for the first time in years, someone forsook the Way. They picked up spears and swords and murdered the unsuspecting bandits. I wept for their sins throughout the bloodshed.

I had no choice, but to exile those men once we were back at the camp. They were no longer following the Way and must be left to their own vices. The men left reluctantly and created a new camp, not too far, and named themselves the Exiled. Over the next few years after many more killings and looting, more and more forsook the Way and joined the Exiled. They say that they are the ones who fight for their belief and are not so complacent.

I hated them. No one seemed to grasp how the Way can actually make the world a better place. Why was it so hard for others to fathom?

My belief also changed on that fateful night.

We just set up camp and were about to make supper when a new band of looters came into the camp. They claimed to have been attacked by the Exiled and wanted revenge. Thus they came to attack the Exiled’s peace-loving cousins. They started a genocide that night.

I looked on as everyone was killed in cold blood. The last of the Way was dying and I was powerless to stop it. Our cattle were killed, our tents were set alight, and our food stores were destroyed. The night wore on and I couldn’t help but stand there and gaze at the destruction before me. As last, I was the only one left and the looters thought it fun to beat me.

Every blow strengthened my resolve. Every wound made me forsake my belief more. As I laid in the dirt, aching with the pain of my enemies, I saw my saving grace. The Exiled returned and with their new weapons, they attacked the looters. I saw one fleeing the chaos and hiding nearby and I knew exactly where he was.

Picking up a dagger from a nearby enemy, I grasped the hilt firmly in my fist and approached the coward’s hiding place. I do not recall much of what followed, but looking down upon the red mess before me and my blood stained hands, I knew I have left the Way.

As with all these controversially tragic pasts, it was dark and stormy and we were all in some graveyard. The Bin as they called it; where dead RHG Clans forever roam endlessly in pointless clan wars, and stickmen wander walking but never getting past the 10th frame and so their movements remain stilted and choppy like a shitty gif. We met here, wtih the six other memebers of our coven. Yeah, I know, we weren't really witches. But it was a phase and we were all into the dark arts or some shit. If animating sticks was especially niche, then delving into the science of necromantic stick revival was teh most hispterest thing to do back then. Deal with it.

Naturally we were all wearing cloaks. Not just because it was raining, but so we added a sense of dramatic tension--who ARE these people and will they be slowly revealed one by one as this plot moves forward? Of course, I'M here. I know who I am. But why reveal myself so easily when the namedrop in the end of this flashback could just as easily resolve it. ANYWAYS, we gathered to perform this insiduous ritual that was basically an attempt to return SP to its roots. Pivot. Easytoon. Flash 8 (the ORIGINAL Flash 8 mind you). Every one of their souls lingered in this dump and we were standing on the apex of it all. We took out our scrolls and began chanting. And tweening, cos that's still a thing btw. And right then and there without uttering a single word we conjured what would be our last collab---the return of an ancient classic stick of olde, a golem of hard work. And it was glorious at that: simple and clean. Guns and sword-wielding. No scarves. No clones. No special fx and angles. It was beautiful in its most basic form.

Now we figured, all we needed to do now was get one of these babies into a YT Portal and let the interdimensional net do the rest. By reshaping history, oldschool animation will once again rule and we'd have to find another more hipsterish thing to do now that that was popular. Once again, noob logic I know. I see that now. Buuuut something happened. Well, actually I kinda saw it coming a mile away---the problem was that there was only one collab and seven of us. Whoever managed to claim their right to this guy would be the ultimate trendsetter. And of course we were practically your stereotypical cultists so we each had knives. You know, for aniamting. And we went into it back and forth. Well okay fine, I pussied out. I was hiding by the trees (the poorly rendered trees that seemed to be made in MS Paint) and I was waiting for them. They told me to make myself scarce the moment we did the deed.

And in the next few seconds, angels descended. Or as far as we could tell. They had wings of some sort, but the rest was just a grotesque attempt at physiology; bony reconstitutions, glowing eyes, and malformed features. It made me dizzy just thinking about them. Nobody's ever seen a Mod up close before until you were practically dead, and these beings loomed before our coven and disposed of us one by one. Or something. I was curled up behind a fallen log and heard their screams. They say if you ever saw a Mod in plain sight you would go blind forever and receieve a thousand cuts in an instant. This was in fact the dreaded "infraction" bestowed upon you like a mark of shame. But to us repeat offenders it meant death. Huh. Guess wearing those robes served an aesthetic purpose after all.

I felt a tiny sliver of cold brush past me and my nipples froze over like pencil erasers. It was quick like a wrath but I knew that it knew that I knew it was there and it had spared me. Rightly so, since I was the one who reported it. You see, ancient technology wasn't welcome in the Town of Sticks. No matter how creative it was, it was never enough for the rest of the world. Animating for fun was just a thing of the past. Now it was all about the currency. Glory. Celebrities tossing thirty-second fireworks at the masses and they just gobbling it up.

After 300 years of experimentation, any hint of that long-sought Originality had been snuffed out by our ancestors. And so any attempt at further experimental animation was deemed "the devil's talent". Blame the attention-seekers and their avante-garde excuses for art and expression. We sort of hated that coming here, but I hated the fact that I was dragged into all this mess. I just wanted to make a name for myself. Most of my coven were subdued and re-educated by the principles of stone, an art in itself that was as ancient as time, ironically. I myself was promoted as their puppet Mod, but soon grew to have my own domain. In this castle, in this town, I had become that with which my young self so deeply despised. And yet I felt no such notion of dying inside. I was invigorated; glad that my rightful place was here. But tonight was a bad night to doze off. I was startled by one of the guards.

"Lord Devour! Someone has broken into the archives!"

I shudder to ask what was stolen. Ever since the main form of execution became via a modified perfected form of the Spam-O-Matic, we've had to contain their IP souls to keystones tucked away in the archives. The users who exist now don't really know how many times they've "died" and often times it's led to permanent amnesia. This was all in accordance with the laws that no new thing can ever come to be because they don't exist. And now the thought of having one stolen meant that one of these creative bastards was going to return. But who was it? Gyohdon? Miniman? As I pondered on the possibilities, a giant column of light beamed down from the heavens outside my balcony. It was horrible. The smoke cleared and a single individual stood in its center with a sick grin on his face. The glowing green keystone hidden in plain sight and now deeply embedded into his chest. Though miles away he looked at me as if I was a familiar friend.

Arch-Angel. That Son of a bitch.

"LONG TIME NO SEE, DEVOUR OLD PAL!" my ex-coven mate bellowed as he snapped the necks of two more guards who had the gall to charge at him. "I was hoping you'd be sleeping like the rest of us in The Bin. But you just HAD to chicken out, didn't you?" The bulk of Devour's Militia charged at the lone cultist, only to dissipate with a single wave of Arch-Angel's wings, erasing them into non-existence. Looking curiously at the burnt corpses around him, sneered in discontent. "This isn't The Bin that I remember...but it'll have to do. Just wait RIGHT there, and I'll be coming for you real soon!"

I clutched by bleeding heart. It was too good to be true. Of all the coven members, why did it have to be that stuck up jackhole! He was the most defiant or our crew, always wanted to be creative in the ways no one imagined. He was a pioneer born in the wrong century, but for all his radical misgivings, he couldn't have done this alone. And I already knew that something was fishy the moment that Advisor showed up 6 months ago. Her organization skills were too good to be true, and she had always avoided direct conflict and pined for the old days to return. Mustika. I'll deal with you later.

"Send in my Elite Guard." I bellowed. "Arch-Angel must not reach this castle, alive!"

"We cannot stay here." Tears streamed from my eyes as I addressed what was left of my people. Once mighty and rivaling kingdoms were now reduced crippled bands of survivors cowering behind crumbling walls. Many lay sick or dying and unable to rise from where they had fallen. We had not long been at war with a neighboring Kingdom of men.

They feared us so, the humans. First only a few, but as they grew in number and power they pursued to conquer us. They had strayed so far from whence they came. They did not care for the earth, or what it gave us. They had such never ending hunger, such greed and animosity towards those who might oppose them and their ravaging, killing ways.

They rape the earth, leave behind fields of dying rock that cannot be reclaimed. Slaughter and lay waste to other creatures or themselves for sport. They set fires to our forests, to our homes and lands. They hunt us like game, selling our goods and our magic like toys.

War was inevitable, we were so sure the gods would side with us and the earth as our swords clashed. Arrows were exchanged and iron burned as it cut our flesh. Their hatred and sinful ways gave them the power to end our lives. Their weapons out matched ours which we were given by our earth. Their armor was thicker, their swords stronger, horses faster. All our armies combined never stood a chance.

All the magic in the world could not save us now. So many of our ways have already been forgotten, only those of nobility remember.

Our ways are simple, celebratory and pure. We always remember from where we are born; we come from the earth, and so when we grow weary of this world we return to our beginning. We become the opportunity for new life.

We are born from nature, from animals and trees, rivers and mountains. We influence and create the life around us; we are the stewards of this world. We are immortal to time and it’s ending powers.

I cannot remember the last time a Fae arose from these pillaged lands.

No Fae had ever died before this new kingdom’s reign. I cannot say we never had never gone to war-had never fought within our people or defended our lands, but all Fae follow the way of our ever cycling lives. Life was never forcefully taken, never stolen...but now, so much life has been wasted; lost to the knife or bayonet.

If we do not willingly return to the earth we cannot become new life. We cannot live anew, continuing our lives with in those we helped birth.

When death comes we become lifeless stone, our souls become dust and the earth rots away below the empty shells, unable to bear even the hardiest of seed.

In the eyes of this new king our ways are crude, barbaric. Our mourning songs and cries of despair cause them to turn away in disgust. They see us as dangerous and animalistic. We were once valued as pure spirits, as the children of the gods.

Now were are hunted. Many have relinquished their right to life to pursue the mortal ways. Some have sacrificed their rights to become fearsome creatures that they might protect us who remain.

I was born from the stars, and once I was a shining light for our people. Now I am as dim as a dying ember. I was Queen of the evening sky, I watched over all and guided us through every age of conflict.

My King was the fiery son of day. He burned brighter than anyone of us, his temper and rage were unmatched, as were his gentle and caressing ways. He was the center of This kingdom, respected and loved by all. He was our fearless eternal leader, the light which kept us alive and thriving. He was the love of my life, the strength of this land. He now lies empty in this tomb of a palace, slain by the senseless hatred of man.

"There are too few of us left, we have no choice but to turn and flee. We've no army, no support from those who have strayed. We are too heavy with grief; to go and fight would be to die in vain. We retreat from these lands, and seek refuge beyond the reach of the humans."

It was done, we would leave.

Cries were lifted to the skies, tears streaming as we were torn from our home, a final dirge rasped past our lips and echoed howling into the sky as those too weak to run lay dying next to their king. Several turned to fight, too consumed with hatred to leave.

"The Kingdom of the Fae has fallen. And so we shall fall back into seclusion, to return in peace and pray the gods allow life to once more flow into rebirth."