by Lani Lenore
“Is that so, Armand? That is truly why you have wanted to confront me. In hopes that I can destroy you?”
The nutcracker’s lips shifted; his gaze did not. He’d found out what he wanted, which was that this rat could kill him. Why was he hesitating? They should have been locked in battle!
Move, nutcracker. End it! he urged himself, but he could not move.
“Do you know how many times I have sought to lift the curse that I placed upon you?” Augustus asked, examining his claws distractedly. “Under these most specific circumstances, it turned out that I cursed myself along with you by doing to you what I did.”
“If you did have a way, now would be a most convenient and opportune time,” Armand pointed out. “Release me before I kill you.”
It was not as if Armand wanted to be fixed. If not for the shame, it was as Anne had said. She thought she could not go back into that other world after spending such a short time here. After centuries, how could he ever hope to integrate back to a human life?
“And spoil this moment?” the rat sneered. “Why would I do such a thing?”
Their hard stares stayed together. Armand cracked his wooden knuckles.
“If you did manage to kill me, what if you did not die?” the rat asked conversationally. “What if you are to walk on forever with no purpose?”
“You have already told me different,” the nutcracker insisted. “Are you so terrified of me that you would continue to stall like this?”
The rat stared indignantly for a moment, insulted by this hurry, but on the other hand, had he not also been impatient just a short while before?
“Is there nothing you want to say to me before it is done? Nothing at all?”
The silence was so heavy that it left little room to breathe. Armand supposed he could have said many things then. He could have given a speech on the subject, had he so desired. But after all this, what was there that needed to be said.
Wait…
“There is one thing,” Armand said, clenching his teeth.
The rat listened intently. The nutcracker did not bother containing himself.
“I want to thank you for this hell!”
His grip on the glass sword tightened, all muscles throughout his body tensed, and finally his feet began to move. Armand tore across the open space, aiming for the monster before him. The sword was outstretched, steadied by both hands. He gained speed with every step. He could hear his heart pumping faster. Now was the time to end it.
2
Augustus was not pleased with this, but what could he do save to relent and do battle? The forsaken prince was thirsty for blood? So be it.
The rat’s long hands rested beneath the bloody tabletop, holding for the right moment. Even though he did not like the details of this situation, he could not keep the crooked grin from growing on his face. The clacking of footsteps overtook his ears. Augustus waited until he could clearly see the snarl on his enemy’s lips. Then, he flipped the table forward.
The long wooden object slung blood from its surface as it rolled through the air. It blocked the path, but it was not a worthy obstacle for Armand. One hand came off the sword and swung downward, the metal ridge of the arm smashing into the table. The wood burst into pieces, falling past the nutcracker. The jolt made him lose momentum, but soon he was dashing forward again with the gleaming red blade in both hands. His hair and cloth coat billowed behind him as he raised the sword higher. The King of Mice raised his hands.
The nails of one claw blocked the blade’s edge while the other resisted the hilt that Armand pressed against. They held a moment there–pressing–each testing the other’s power. The rat was larger, though not quite back to his full strength. The nutcracker, smaller but so full of rage, glowered beneath the enormous face of the rodent. In this moment, neither used their entire might, hoping to bluff the other. Neither was fooled.
“I want you to know,” Augustus began, pretending to strain against Armand’s force, “that I never acted inappropriately toward your tiny sister.”
The smell of the rat’s hot breath was like a pile of corpses in the sun, but his words were even more rancid. How could he dare say that he had never touched her when Armand had seen it with his own eyes? He had looked through the window! He’d seen the truth!
“She was my daughter,” he growled, “and you’re a liar!”
He pushed harder, managing to press the blade closer to the rat’s thick neck. The Rat King’s eyes widened with the prospect, staring down at his opposition with his vein–ridden, red gaze.
“Does it hurt your poor, wood–encased heart?” the magician taunted, “and would it hurt more to know that it was consensual? Entranced, she did everything I asked willingly.”
“Bastard!” Armand yelled, losing his calm. No, he was not numb to it after all these years that had passed. He had learned that.
At the outburst and the surge of strength that followed, pushing the glass into, but not cutting, the rat’s flesh, the rodent laughed loudly. He did not mind that strings of saliva were dripping from his teeth.
“Goodbye, Armand,” he bid.
3
A shock rattled Armand’s flesh and shook his innards. He was thrown back from the rat by an invisible force, sailing through the air until his body connected with the floor. He fell with such force that he might have cracked the tile, but he did not stop to look. The sword of glass was no longer in his hand. Where?
He sat up swiftly, though immediately was shoved back down by a heavy pressure against his chest. The pain was dull for a moment, but when his hand reached up and gripped the glass blade sticking into him, it flared quickly.
The rat had projected the blade toward him with his unseen power, hardening it in order to penetrate the wooden plate over Armand’s chest, but it had slid further past that, moving through flesh and muscle until it had pierced the prince’s heart. Armand could feel the vessel struggling to circulate his blood. He certainly felt the pain. Still, he managed to sit upright. Dark blood flowed from the wound in his chest. He felt it rise into his throat and he spat out a mouthful of the acrid fluid.
It had been only a chance and a hope, but Augustus had not truly expected the glass blade through his heart to destroy Armand. He had designed him to never be killed! This was a fine time for his work to be flawless. As he watched, Armand sat up, wincing through the pain of his flesh. Within the next moment, the nutcracker was rising to his feet. Staring at Augustus with dark blood dripping from his chin, he broke the glass sword and left the remaining shard protruding out of his heart. If anything was going to stop this demon toy, it would be the agony, for wounds were not going to do much damage.
“Still alive, are you?” the rat asked, his tone promising that he was not surprised. “I suppose that crushes your hopes and dreams of death. I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got in me.”
“Bullshit!” Armand choked. “Hit me with something else unless you’re a coward! You said yourself that you can’t undo what you’ve done to me! This is nothing compared to what you’ve already done!”
The rat ignored him, pacing a short distance away from where Armand stood in a very awkward manner.
“I have to say, it is a bit amusing to me to know that my darling Clara was your daughter,” Augustus mused. “You would chase after your spawn even past death, and yet it is by destroying mine that I live!”
Armand straightened himself and stepped forward. He reached for the screw rapier as he did so. The rat magician pretended not to notice.
“And I suppose that since you were designed to live on forever, I must at least render you harmless. A simple dismemberment should work properly. You’ll be alive, no doubt, but I won’t have to worry about you any longer.”
The screw was in the nutcracker’s hand. More steadily now, he approached.
“How is it that you are going to rip me apart if you have no more power than what you’ve shown me?” Armand asked.
The prince stood straight then�
��a reflection of his former, prouder years. He held his weapon straight out in front of him, aiming at his enemy in a threatening way. The glass still slid within him with every pump of his heart, and his chest and mouth still leaked blood, but he was feeling stronger. It was just a little while longer and then all this suffering would be over.
The magician smiled at this. “You said yourself that I’m a liar,” the rat admitted.
Armand’s vision blurred slightly, and it almost appeared to him as if the rat’s body had shifted–grown. The nutcracker gave his head a short jerk in order to straighten himself, but when he saw the same thing once more on the rodent’s opposite side, he knew he had not imagined it. Before him, the rat’s body budged, expanding in all directions. He had dropped down to be on four legs like a beast, and the bones and muscles of his shoulders shifted outward. The robe was stretched and ripped. The front legs were much greater than the back ones, but that seemed reasonable once the heads began to emerge.
Head after monstrous head grew from the expanded shoulders of the rat King until there were seven sets of eyes watching Armand; seven jaws gnashing at him; seven tongues writhing for his blood. Armand was not intimidated. His enemy was more than twice his size, but the Rat King was nothing more to him than the cowardly toymaker who preyed on young girls. There would be no mercy.
The pain from his chest touched throughout his body, but his fingers wrapped around the makeshift rapier that only a doll would wield, and his feet found traction in his own blood. Clenching his teeth, he ran toward the monster. The heads kept watch on all sides. Armand knew he could not hope to bypass them, and so he ran straight on toward what would be death–for anyone other than himself.
The first head that snapped at him caught a taste of riveted, sour metal against its lips. It was knocked away but not defeated, shaking away the hit in order to make another attempt. Armand used the red liquid on his feet to slide a bit on the tile floor, catching the next head as it wrapped its jaws around his raised arm. The sharp teeth dug into the wood thoroughly, biting down to the metal that it could not break. The pain was great, but Armand blocked it from his mind. There was no time to dwell. He twisted his arm that the rat’s head was clamped onto, efficiently snapping the neck.
He nearly expected the ruined head to fall off and a new one to grow back in its place, but that did not happen. The head remained, hanging lifelessly from its neck. Armand considered this as he gripped the open jaws of the next head that struck at him. He felt two rows of sharp teeth dig into his shoulder from behind as he snapped the jaw of the head in his hands and ripped the flesh apart back to its ears.
The nutcracker’s fingers lowered down to his leg, finding one of the needles strapped there. He withdrew it quickly, gripping it tightly in his fist. Armand threw his hand up over his shoulder, stabbing the rat head there squarely in its eye, pushing further into the undoubtedly small mass of its brain.
Three out of seven, Armand’s self reminded him. In response, Armand coughed up another mouthful of blood.
The Rat King screeched as Armand stabbed the fourth head through the roof of its mouth and out its skull. Something had to be done.
Like a snake, the long pink tail of the rat slid across the floor until it found the nutcracker’s leg, twisting around the ankle until it had a firm hold. The wooden soldier tried to stab down at it with a needle, but he was unable before the rat-creature pulled him off the ground.
The rodent roared, slamming his enemy’s body into the floor again and again until the tile did shatter and begin to break away. Armand did not struggle against this beating, only holding tightly to the weapon in his hand while the other clenched at the glass shard in his heart. Augustus punished him on all sides, but once again Armand was absent from the pain.
In Armand’s mind, he was in a very different place. He was with Clara again and Anne was there with him. It was cold outside, but it was warm by the fire. His back split against the tile. His nose chipped and then broke off completely. Then the tail of the rat unleashed him and he was sailing through the air–so free–before he crashed into a wall, jarring his brain and popping his ears.
4
The rat looked on at his work, ready to dive in for more and truly tear the cursed toy apart, but the beast stopped suddenly after only a few steps. Even through all of that abuse, the nutcracker was pulling himself back off the floor, standing on shaky legs and holding the screw in his hand.
The Rat King ground all three of his remaining sets of teeth. This bold defiance could not be tolerated! Augustus was finished with this game–with this ridiculous dance. He knew that once he’d turned himself into this much larger creature, it would be the last of his power to change. There would be no more growing heads and no turning back to his right form until a long period of resting had been done. He’d thought that seven heads would have been enough to last him, but apparently he had miscalculated. Armand was hurt, but he had no fear of death. It was pointless to let this drag out for so long. He’d had enough. Enough!
Two of the rat’s heads aligned together, resting chin to chin, both pointed Armand’s way. The nutcracker rushed toward him, ignoring the threat as blood ran down his limbs. A glowing light emerged in both throats of the rat’s heads. Armand thrust out his blade as far as it would reach. It was only a few more steps and he could ruin those remaining heads just as he had done to the others. The nutcracker rushed on.
A stream of flame burst out through the Rat King’s jaws as easily as if it might have been breath. Armand stabbed with the screw, connecting with nothing, and his wooden body was engulfed in flame. The fire rolled over and around him, searing him with its heat.
5
The blaze caught Armand’s hair before getting its hold on his wooden flesh, singeing it and then burning the white strands wholly until there was nothing left. A heavy stench and black smoke overtook the air. It was fitting for him wasn’t it–he who had watched the fire in order to think clearly? The fire was brilliant. It had great knowledge and secrets. It whispered to him.
It told him now that if he did not act, he would burn until he was ashen and brittle and full of holes, but he would not die. The flames could eat his wooden skin, but they would not get his life. Armand had to act. There was wisdom in the flames.
He listened.
The rat was crazed in his anger, roaring and hissing and snapping his teeth, but Augustus had made a horrendous error. Had he forgotten that he too could burn?
The flames ate at Armand, partaking slowly and politely. The cloth coat was already earning holes and the fire greatly enjoyed the paint of his body, licking it happily. Armand understood the fire’s hunger. He had his own.
He ran forward at the rat-beast. It didn’t matter where their bodies connected; just a simple touch would do. The rat guarded, snapping at Armand but he wasn’t slowing. The nutcracker lowered his shoulder and threw his burning body onto the rat’s front leg, wrapping his arms and legs around the limb.
6
Augustus’s eyes widened at the sight of the fire, realizing what a foolish mistake he’d made. He’d not even protected himself against his own spells! He shook the leg to free himself, but he could not manage to pry Armand from him, and he could not put out the flames.
The fire climbed across his fur, trailing up onto his back, destroying his skin. Augustus let out a terrible scream with his three remaining heads, dropping to the floor to roll and try to smother out the blaze. The fire would not be defeated. It spread with gluttonous hunger. The rat was helpless to stop it.
In how many ways was this wrong? How could he have struggled to survive for so long, only to be cut down in this moment, burning in his own fire and bested by his own creation? This was fate, and he would burn eternally for all this. This was retribution.
7
The fire crackled against the wood. Tiny embers drifted from Armand’s body. The time for the final strike was now. He held fast to his enemy even through all the squirming, but now he wit
hdrew slightly, leaning back enough to see his target.
For you, Clara. Olivia. Anne…
He drew back the screw, and with all of his strength, thrust it into the chest of the rat. The pointed end pushed through and the spiraled metal tore raggedly inside until it found what it was looking for: the magician’s black heart. It entered therein.
The heart burst within the Rat King’s chest, stinking blood spilling out in a shower over the nutcracker. The rat–the man, the monster–expelled blood through his mouths, convulsing as his body shut itself down. He’d not given it permission to stop working, but it had surrendered nonetheless to the nutcracker’s weapon. Augustus looked at the one he had once been so jealous of, knowing that finally they would both be the same in this world. They would both be dead to it.
The Rat King’s body fell lifeless, and his soul was released into damnation.
After his enemy was finished, Armand did not bother standing back up. Why should he bother? The rat’s mass had fallen atop him, and he had no strength to move it. He simply remained, lying flat against the tile, letting death swallow him. Finally, it was over.
He could feel the fire fully attacking him now. The pain was tremendous–unlike anything he’d felt before. It covered every part of him, even blistering and devouring what little human skin remained. His blood was boiling. His muscles jerked. This was death. This was the sweet death he’d sought after.
After one last, burning breath, Armand’s curse of eternal life ended.
8
Once the Rat King had fallen in death, there was a stretching hush over the underbelly of the London home. No one saw what happened, but it happened just the same. In a world created for toys and mice, all life and meaning was abolished.