by Ted L C
“Not as good as yours my lord,” he drags a nail across the parchment and stops. “What if this is a trap?”
“I doubt my woman will betray me. If she does, then we will deal with the trap, along with her transgressions to the great empire,” the king grips his fingers into the hilt of a blade. “Fetch my squire boy. I wish to speak with him.
Clanks fill the man’s ears as Achilles makes his way toward the door.
“Squire boy!” an upbeat roar echoes.
A boy with shoulder-length brown hair, about the age of twelve, enters the tent.
“What is wrong my child?” king’s eyes follow the liquid droplets racing against his cheeks.
“Have you summoned me here to punish me?” quivers run along his arms.
“There is no reason to punish you,” a laugh dribbles throughout the pelt surface. The man rests his palm against the boy’s shoulder. “I request an errand. Inform the people’s army their king wishes to set sail at hora quinta.”
Achilles scoots past the boy into the room. “Do you need assistance with your armor, my lord?”
“That would be appreciated.”
The general slides a polished, golden breastplate over the king’s head. Fingers navigate around the straps, locking each side together. A helmet slides over the king’s scalp, molding with the shape of his skull.
“You are ready to add more lands to our cause!” Achilles throws a crimson cloak over his neck.
The man’s nails pinch the dancing flame of the candle. His legs carry him toward the shore. A sling to the left of the vessel hoises a horse with silver mane and a beige body into the giant wooden bowl.
“Why take that ship?” Achilles mirrors his movements while facing the boat.
“I wish to accompany my steed that I will ride to victory on.”
The king makes his way up the steps and past hordes of filth-ridden figures. Muck covered men avert their stares to the golden breastplate.
“Be we behind schedule, lord?” one of them presses their nose against the wooden floor.
“You all please the great one with your work,” the horse from earlier beckons the man’s emerald gaze. “I wish to accompany my stallion and wait for battle.”
“Ready yourself for the great Greece’s new land, Cyrene!” a shout echoes through the ship.
* * *
“Shore!” a worker facing him sets his eyes upon the fogged abyss ahead of them.
A symphony of whinnies flows throughout the rooms. The structure surrounding them jerks their bodies forward.
The man’s gaze shifts in different directions. Numerous ships hurl themselves into the strip of sand. Some throw much-covered figures over their edges.
The king moves toward the stallion and hurls his palm into the steed’s rear. It bounces off of the vessel. Its four limbs maneuver the creature into a circular formation. Splashes erupt from underneath its feet.
The man leaps overboard. A crack emanates from his knees.
His hips bend sideways. The stallion rises to its hind legs. The beast propels its front limbs into the golden metallic piece encasing the king’s chest.
It makes its way into the void. He flashes a blade from his side and dashes into the fog.
“Do not be reckless!” a series of chinks approaches the man. “No, king, stop!”
The king halts as a cart made of gold blocks his path. Numerous sets of footsteps follow and pause. An aroma of musk flows throughout the man’s nostrils.
“Welcome Alexander,” someone utters in a Copic tongue stems from within the chariot. “Bastard child of Avitus the Third, and ruler of the mighty Greek empire. What brings you and your conquerors to the lands of Cyrene?”
“Greetings Zeresh,” Alexander’s grafting voice echoes. “Spoiled son of Pariah the Corrupt. I see you have become the new Pharaoh of Egypt. Since your true pharaoh is slain I come to vanquish your kingdom and free your slaves.”
Two silhouettes hurl themselves over the cart.
The moonlight blazes through the fog, revealing a man with a towering stature. Beside him stands a half-naked, bloodied woman.
A symbol of a phoenix ouroboros with the tail of a crescent moon appears on the woman’s left bicep.
“What happened to Midna, Zeresh?” Alexander’s gaze shifts to the smoldered mahogany skin. It envelops a teardrop dripping from the bird’s rear.
“Before father was murdered by your assassin, he hexed her. With a curse of bloodletting,” Zeresh’s hands arc sideways, hurling Midna’s body into the towers of grass. A twitch pulses through her right arm and left leg. “Lay your eyes upon this monstrosity you forced upon my family, a lame who cannot move or speak.
“Do you feel content, king?”
His onyx steed emits a deafening screech as it hurls its hooves into Alexander’s chest. The king slides under its legs and grips his hands against Midna’s searing rags.
“I had never had the opportunity to tell you this when you were your former self. Now I must confess my love to you!” his neck shifts toward Zeresh. “Search through your hardened heart for forgiveness, son of Pariah!”
“Forgiveness is screaming, then silence. You of all men should be aware of this saying.”
As the Pharoah’s arms lift an ax over his head.
“My lord!” Achilles’ and the squire’s voices echoes.
A thump emits from Midna’s corpse. Her body detonates. Shrapnel of jet ebony fluid splashes the king’s right cheek.
The smell of sulfur blocks the air flowing through their nostrils. His gaze shifts to Zeresh. The Pharaoh’s skin bubbles as an onyx tint devour the surface of his left forearm. A searing sensation surges through the Greek emperor’s face.
Alexander’s deflating pupils drifts toward the splotches of black goo spread throughout the tan tinged dust. The logo on Midna’s arm illustrates itself within the man’s mind. An army of ash spirals upward, materializing into a humanoid figure. Armed with wings of an angel, identical to the branded image.
The seraph aims a scythe with the Phoenix as the blade toward Alexander.
“W-what is this black magic!” Zeresh’s voice overpowers the symphony of screams repeating in Alexander’s mind.
“I be’ith Sekhemet,” the sounds grass blades brushing against another muffle. Both Copic and Greek tongues flow from the being’s lips. “Protector of the unlimited. Daughter of Aeternus. For transgressions against the unlimited, you becometh subjects. Some might ‘rejoice’ over this disease in which you could call a blessing. I bid you farewell and hopeth our paths cross not 4,001 years from now—
“Adalfieri—”
* * *
Alexander’s eyelids reveal a blur of tiny figures heaving weapons at one another.
A figure jerks the king’s arms backward.
“What happened to me—” Alexander digs fingers into an armored man’s cheeks.
“You, general Achilles, and the Egyptian pharaoh were unconscious. We need to get you aboard this ship king. Your face is seared.”
“I do not feel my armor anymore!” Alexander’s grafting voice overwhelms the symphony of screams and clanks. “Where did it go—the squire—where is my squire?”
“Look down king—your armor remains intact,” the man’s eyes shift downward. “As for the boy, his entire face is covered in a black substance. We left him where he was.”
My armor remains in the same place. I have never been able to not feel my armors heavyweight.
His gaze shifts toward a figure dragging Achilles across the beach. “Release him, now!”
The soldier releases the general from his grip.
The king’s feet brush the sand as they trudge to Achilles.
“Are you alive general?” Alexander’s deflating pupils aim at the melted armor on his chest. An ebony splotch beckons the king’s gaze.
“Possibly,” an ivory tint consumes Achilles’ skin. “I do not feel the ocean breeze anymore. Do you?”
“I am taking us to a prie—”
&nbs
p; “Incoming!” a distant voice echoes.
A chariot soars through the air and bombards the powder hand-length from the king’s feet. Hunks of sand, along with pieces of wood chunks and gold erupt. The shards of material scrape Alexander’s arm as he shields the two.
“How is this possible?”
Three flaming arrows soar through the sky. Two dig themselves into the chariot. The third wedges into the king’s forearm.
“Conquer these rats!” Alexander’s legs carry him toward a formation north of where he stood.
Yanking a metal sheet from a man’s hand, his gaze glues itself to the soldier. “Your king demands one of you surrender your shield upon me.”
A fighter comes out from the middle and rests the stick of a spear into the king’s palm.
“Will this onslaught be the end of us?” the legionnaire to his left uttered as our formation continues. “What if our wall of shields leads us into the abyss?”
A low grin creeps across the king’s face. “Does the path our gods set before us weave fear into your heart?”
I do not blame him for his actions. From the tone of his voice, the boy sounds as if he is only twenty years of age.
A symphony of mighty horns resonates through the land with a thunderous tune. The shield walls housing them trembles. A shockwave surges throughout Alexander’s arm and slides into the bones lining his spine.
One of the frontal shields sways left to reveal the ebony skies. A lone arrow engulfed in a brilliant flame forces itself through the small opening. It burrows into the thigh of a man in front of the king.
Torrents of arrows fall from the heavens.
The anterior shield clanks against the board to the right of it. Their visions dim.
Nature transforms into a series of metal walls.
“Collapse!” a grafting voice echoes.
Everyone encased within the formation moves in unison. They clatter shields against one another. The injured man drops to the earth, throws his board into the emerald grass, and pats the flame.
The veins on Alexander’s arms inflate. A sound like a hailstorm of acorns pounding against the ceiling intensifies. Moreover, the grunting deepens.
The constant clatter against their roof dissipates. The man ditches the arrow and leaps to his feet. He raises his Scutum and slides it between the other shields above us. Each soldier takes a step in different directions.
Alexander mirrors his movement to the person ahead of him. The formation moves as one being.
The muffled sounds of decrepit chariot wheels mixed with rattling chains emerge. A symphony of gallops follows.
Outer forces hurl objects against the front of their barrier. Blades clank the frontal shields. Foreign commands shout at whatever is out there.
The king heaves his calves through charred grass and lit arrows. The forward Greek soldiers grunts while hurling their bodies into the wall.
An ear-piercing whinny travels from the bulwark’s exterior.
The unit disbands the barrier and hugs their shields.
Squadrons of Egyptian cavalry speed through the fiery landscape. Horses trample the figures behind Alexander. The remaining hussars arc their curved blades, painting the fields in crimson milk.
A horse along with its master stops in front of the Greek king and stands on its hind legs. He takes a step back, raises his spear, hurls it into the steed’s flank and rolls left. The steed wails while falling.
Alexander’s emerald gaze faces the right of the beast. A soldier pinned underneath the horse’s body digs his fingers into the ashen dirt. He pushes his arms back and pulls himself forward.
A blade pulls from the king’s scabbard and plants into the man’s bare chest. Retreating the reddened sword, Alexander’s board raises toward his own neck.
Each step becomes lighter the farther he moves.
An arrowhead brushes against his cheek. The king’s shield shrouds his face. Multitudes of metallic thumps reverberate through the bulwark.
Over the rounded edge of his board, a figure appears.
A lone pikeman running at Alexander. His protection lowers and flicks itself forward. The spear’s shaft shatters as the king’s bulwark comes in contact with the spearhead. A clunk emits from where his body was.
Alexander’s gaze moves toward a dancing flame engulfing a patch of grass—free of arrow remnants.
Movements transform into blurs as an army of arrows dives in his direction. A chariot wheel flies by his nose like a discus, tearing off a chunk of skin.
Zeresh appears in front of Alexander, two massive axes rest within his clutches.
He swings the right one downwards.
Alexander’s body shifts to the left. The blade scrapes the lower half of his breastplate.
His head lowers itself duck as a clink reverberates from the top of the king’s helmet.
His sword arcs upwards, tearing through Zeresh’s shoulder.
The limb drops to the ground in front of Alexander.
A shriek projects from the Egyptian’s lips. The skin where his arm used to be grows a replacement in a matter of seconds.
“What kind of black magic is this?” Alexander utters.
“The kind that does not fail me!” Zeresh’s cackle fills the skies.
Zeresh forces his foot into Alexander’s right knee and raises his ax. His blade hurls itself downward.
Chains of ice weave into the king’s shoulder and tug.
His back forms a trench within the sand while dragged. The ax’s teeth crunch the air in front of him.
His eyes drift toward pale hands with cables made from ice attached.
“Come, king,” Achilles’ voice drowns a multitude of metallic clanks. “He is too powerful for us at the moment!”
“Retreat!” Alexander’s neck shifts to the side, facing Zeresh’s darkened gaze.
“Get back to the boats and set sail for home!”
“I owe you, one son of Avitus the Third,” Zeresh’s voice flows through the king’s ears. “Your assassin’s repercussions have truly blessed us!”
Fire arrows pierce dashing Greek soldiers as they make their way through the fields and dust.
“Achilles, how did you create those chains of ice?”
“I have no idea my lord—” Achilles’ pupils dilate. “I imagined a chain dragging you away from Zeresh, and those ice chains came forth from my palms—”
Alexander’s vision darkens.
The flame-ridden fields surrounding him evaporates into pixels. They fade into the air, revealing a pale oval face exhausting vapors.
* * *
The Center
Pixels forming the hologram evaporates. The coaster shaped device detonates into a cloud of smoke.
The rose vines aligning Alyssa’s arm swivel, dancing with the flesh-tinted bumps on her skin.
“What did we just watch?” the flowing NanoLites beckon the boy’s gaze.
“The answer to so many questions I’ve been thinking about for ages,” her vines calm as the Nanos stop. “The theorists—the stories—the blogs—all incorrect. The Alpha was only a carrier—she didn’t wield giant axes of wind and fire. I’m disappointed, yet relieved.”
“You shouldn’t feel defeated,” Derek says. “Other than my lost caretakers and my sister is missing, I can say I was satisfied with my life. I still am, though I’ve realized what I thought was a reality, isn’t.”
“Why do you keep saying she’s your sister?”
“Because there’s no proof she isn’t—”
“Saying goes; whatever skill the offspring owns depends on their gene parent’s fears. Which is odd, because from what you tell me, Rainy manipulates water. Whereas you manipulate plasma. Oh—common sense tells me your parents must not be the same as hers!”
“One parent can’t feat two things? How about two HESTEK parents?”
“If that were the case, both you and Rainy would have identical abilities—”
A clip of Alyssa sinking a dagger into Diabl
o’s throat streams within her head. A scene of Daisy and Derek’s bodies mutating to ivory silhouettes follows.
“Shit,” the vapors spouting from her lips hasten.
“Identical abilities—shit?”
“Is it enough proof Rainy isn’t your sister?”
“What the hell is happening with my life!” the boy clamps fingers against his skull. His legs collapse upon each other.
“You’ll be fine—”
“No, I won’t!”
“What more can I do to help you, Derek?” Alyssa’s palm slumbers on the boy’s upper back. “I’d love to erase what happened—”
“Not necessary,” Derek’s front and bottom teeth grind against one another. “Thanks for salting the memories that Rainy and I had together, though. My years of happiness were just flushed down the drain. I really loved Rainy, even if she wasn’t blood. I loved treating her like blood.”
“I loved my family as well. At least from what I knew about them,” the thorns on her tattoo transform into a collection of droplets. “You aren’t the only one who has abominable situations placed before them—everyone does. I was once told there is always someone with a worse situation, yet they’re alive—haven’t committed suicide.
“They find a way to make the best of life. Because it’s a gift. I understand that a person who you loved and cared for was slain in front of you. Moreover, my mommy was taken in front of me. But there are worse situations out there. If you take a look at history, and third-world countries in general, their lives are horrid.
“They endure torture daily. The rules of Darwinism state only the strongest survive—and that’s what they did. Yet they’ve found a way to make the best of their situations. I haven’t passed over, yet. Don’t know what it feels like. Moreover, it gives me the shivers every time I think about it
“All we can do is enjoy ourselves. Pursue our goals. Strive toward being the best versions of ourselves, rather than wasting it away.”
The glisten filling his eyes disappears.
He collapses, landing face-first into a blanket of snow.
“Derek?” Alyssa’s fingertips snap against each other.
One of her appendages mashes between the back of his ear and neck.
Faster than a normal twenty-one-year-old’s should be, but not hazardous.