Pretty Pretty Princess

by McKenzie, Shane

  The ducks spiraled across the battlefield, taking out rows of men with ease, then shaking the blood from their wet-resistant feathers. But still the men came, their numbers seemingly never-ending.

  “Sisters,” Sonia said, and lifted her black mask over her face. “Let’s fly.”

  The women cheered, then followed Sonia out the window, diving toward the fight. The queen lifted her black mask, concealing her pruned, pale face, and started following the others, but Pretty stopped her.

  “You don’t have to go out there, Mother. Stay here. Where it’s safe. This won’t take long.”

  “I know you speak from a place of love and that you only mean to protect me. I’m familiar with the tone. However, I’ve been itching to get my hands bloody. And my blades are mighty thirsty. I may be old, my gorgeous daughter, but I’m not dead yet.”

  The queen kissed Pretty on both cheeks and dove from the window, flipping on her way down. She landed blades first, driving both into the shoulders of a Granada soldier, decapitating him as she spun away. The other women bounded over the army, kicking off helmets and leaving bloody, crumpled bodies behind them as they sliced and cut their way across the field.

  A chorus of shrieks erupted from the wilderness as a wave of men ran out of the woods, looking over their shoulders and pumping their arms and legs, slamming into the backs of their fellow soldiers.

  Titan was the first to step out, swinging his broad sword in a wide arc that separated bellies from the waists of a dozen men. By the time their top halves had hit the ground, Shadow was zooming past them, rushing into the center of the army, leaving body parts in his wake.

  Gwarp and Wendeego came next, charging into the battle with their weapons swinging. The men turned and tried to fight back, but were no match for the undead warriors. They each had skulls for faces, a spiraling purple energy wafting off their bodies as they fought.

  The King of Maxion kicked his steed and spun away from battle, galloping toward the tree line with the least amount of commotion. He dropped his massive shield, the sigil instantly painted over with blood and mud. His men called for him.

  “Where in the hell do you think you’re going, Jameson! If you abandon us, I swear your kingdom will burn!”

  A dark figure leapt from the wilderness, only visible because of the purple energy swirling around his black armor. His sword cut through the Maxion King, slicing him in half vertically, separating his face, chest, and belly from the back half of him, and the front half of his horse from the rear end.

  The black knight stepped over the corpses as if he had already forgotten them, hungry for the next swing.

  Balthazar gasped and yelped, he and his horse spinning in place as he took in the massacre around him. A duck sped by, missing him by an inch and shooting through a row of men just beside him, spraying him with blood.

  “The potion. Give me the bloody fucking potion!”

  The knight closest to him reached into his chest plate and pulled out a small vial filled with a metallic, gleaming liquid. He handed it to Balthazar, and in the next instant, had his arm severed by Gwarp’s axe. The hand still gripped the vial, and Balthazar brushed it away, popped the top off the vial, and drank half of the stuff down.

  Titan landed from a long leap just beside Balthazar, quaking the earth and smashing two men to mush beneath his boots. He swung his sword, the massive blade colliding with the center of Balthazar’s torso, cutting through the armor with ease. The blow made the king lose his grip on the potion, the vial flying over corpses and bloody metal before landing just beside Francis’s father, still weeping over his animals.

  “What is that?” Francis said. But he had his answer.

  Balthazar stared down at Titan as the barbarian’s sword bounced off Balthazar’s gut like it was made of iron. Titan stumbled, roared, and swung again. The mighty broadsword broke to pieces when it collided with the king’s head, the shards implanting themselves into the soldiers nearest them.

  “Iron wine,” Pretty said, her smile fading. “No. No! I won’t let him!” She stepped onto the edge of the window, tilted her head back and sang. The rats and flies emerged from the giants, now reduced to bone and sinew, the pests dripping with putridity.

  “Wait,” Francis said, then wrapped his arm around her, kissed her deeply. “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to fight. Like I said before, Prince Francis. The tower is the safest place.”

  “How can I fight from inside the tower? And if they make their way inside, I’ll be trapped. And I’m not sure if I’ve made this clear . . . fighting is not a skill I possess. I’m afraid I’m no good to you.”

  She laughed. “You will not fight from inside the tower. You will fight as the tower.”

  “Wait. I what?”

  “Gavin, he will need you to be his eyes. Destroy only those you must. You were right, Francis. These men deserve a chance to make a choice. Their own choice. Without men like my brother to influence them.”

  The flies poured into the tower, lifted her like a glimmering, buzzing cloud and carried her into the sky. The rats were already swarming the battlefield, crawling under men’s armor and gnawing their flesh.

  “One more thing, my love,” she said. “Save Balthazar for me. We are the Warriors of the New Realm. And today we fight, not just for the ethical treatment of princesses, but the ethical treatment of every man, woman, and child who deserves it.”

  And she was gone, blazing toward the fight on an iridescent stream of flies.

  “Fran?” Gavin said. “Bad news.” He pointed out the window toward Francis’s father who was just finishing up drinking the last of the potion.

  Balthazar laughed as Titan and Gwarp tirelessly attacked him. Their weapons shattered, they beat on him with their undead fists, breaking bone and splitting flesh, but never slowing their action. Balthazar’s horse shrieked, legs shaking and buckling. Its back snapped, the crooked halves collapsing to the ground. Balthazar’s heavy feet slammed to the earth, and he reached out and gripped Titan and Gwarp by their skull faces, plunging his fingers into their eye sockets.

  “I am the king! Bow to me!”

  Balthazar slammed their skulls into each other, crushing them like hardened sugar. When their bodies dropped, he hopped and slammed his feet over their chests, crushing them. The purple energy engulfing them fizzled out, disappeared back into the dirt.

  Rats climbed his body, covered him completely. The sound of their incisors and claws scraping across his impenetrable flesh echoed across the land as Balthazar cackled from beneath their furry bodies. He slammed his arms across his chest and belly and head, crushing the rodents like gnats as he stomped forward.

  “Fight as the tower,” Francis said. “Any idea how to do that, Gavin?”

  “How in the fuck should I know? Maybe . . . think about it really hard. You know? Wish for it. I don’t fuckin’ know! It’s not like there’s a goddamn button!”

  Francis closed his eyes, imagined becoming the tower. He thought about it so hard his body shook and the beginnings of a headache crept into his skull. Sweat poured from his face and he felt ready to pass out from the pressure in his head. He exhaled, gasped as he gripped his knees, glanced up at Gavin.

  “Nothing’s happening.”

  “Shit. There’s a button, isn’t there? It’s gonna be somethin’ stupid like that.”

  “Fraaaaaancis!”

  The voice shook the tower and got Francis’s ears ringing so loud it felt like hot needles prodding his brain.

  He ran to the window, peered out, and found his father smiling and glaring up at him. One of the ducks nosedived toward him, its bill striking the top of the Granada King’s head. A puff of feathers exploded into the air and the bloody body dropped to the ground.

  “Come down and see me, my son,” his father said. “Come down here and get the beating I should have given you the day you were born. I’ll take your head to your mother as a gift. Maybe make a nice hat out of it.”

&nb
sp; “Iron wine? What, are we makin’ up the rules as we go now? This is . . . Fran?”

  Francis couldn’t move. The stones had swallowed his feet, working their way up to his knees. The walls rumbled as they closed in on him, pressing against him so hard he thought he would be crushed.

  Darkness. But he could sense the world around him. Could feel the sun’s heat lowering as the day began to dip beneath the horizon. Could feel the infant night breeze start to roll in and hear the sound of metal against metal, metal against flesh and bone. The air smelled of blood and death, of hope and the future.

  “Gavin?” His voice thundered from his mouth, startling even himself.

  “I’m here, Fran.”

  “Where is my father?”

  14

  The princess had asked them to spare as many men as they could, but Sonia forgot about that the moment she leapt into battle. The words echoed through her mind every now and then, but there was no time to spare lives. Every man she encountered had hate and violence in his eyes, swinging his weapon with the intent of killing her and her clan. And so every man she encountered was cut down and added to the countless other bleeding corpses watering the soil with their fluids.

  The dead warriors the rat had conjured back to life sliced through soldiers with ease. She could feel the heat from their illuminated bodies, and though their faces were only bone, she could see the enjoyment there. They were happy to come back and fight and send more men to the place they had risen from.

  Though they appeared to be on the princess’s side, Sonia kept her distance.

  She flipped forward, sticking her blade into the top of a man’s head and gripping the hilt as she did a handstand. A wave of three more growled and came for her, and she flung three daggers at them with a flick of her wrist, each plunging into their throats. Throwing her weight upward, she dislodged her blade, somersaulted through the air with her sword held firmly in front of her. She split another soldier in half from his skull to his groin, his two equal parts spreading slowly from each other, gore stretching between them like red and pink accordions.

  Men circled her, whistling and cackling despite what they had seen her do to their fellow soldiers.

  “I’ll be claiming her cunt, I will, once she’s dead,” one said.

  “I’ll cut open me own hole. Side o’ the neck’ll do. Best to do it while her heart’s still beating. Keeps it nice and moist, it does. Throbs too.”

  Sonia smiled. “How are you fools going to fuck anything with those dripping twats between your legs?”

  Their smiles melted away and they came for her, weapons swinging and teeth bared.

  She fell backward, spun on her shoulder, her feet connecting with chins as her blade severed the men’s legs at their knees, tearing away all armor below their waists. Using her momentum, she spun again, slashing, removing each of their genitals before their bodies could fall over. On her feet, she approached the neck fucker, drove her sword into his bleeding groin.

  “Too big for you?” She twisted the blade, then shoved it upward until the tip protruded from his mouth, then pulled it back out.

  Marigold dropped from the sky beside her. Blood was spattered across her face and chest and golden hair, and Sonia could tell by the arch of her eyes that she smiled beneath her mask.

  “Are you hurt, sister?” she asked.

  “No.” Sonia noticed the slash across Marigold’s back, could see the cut was deep. “You all right?”

  “It’s fine. A fight’s not a fight unless you walk away with a scar to remember it by.”

  “Memories will suffice for me.”

  Their backs to each other, they cut down another horde of men, smiled, and started to dash off again when they heard Balthazar.

  “Mother? But . . . but you’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead!”

  “Yes. I could say the same about you, Balthy. What do you think you’re doing?” The queen’s blades dripped with blood, and with her mask lowered, the men around her stopped and stared as she approached the king.

  “Queen, get away from him!” Sonia screamed and ran toward her, but was met by a large man who lifted his plated boot and kicked her in the center of her chest, throwing her off her feet. Marigold caught her, and they both ducked when the man swung his sword. Sonia slit his throat, jumped, and leapt off his massive shoulders.

  The thumping of her pulse drowned out the king’s shouted words, and as Sonia sailed toward him, the queen spun her swords at her sides and thrust them forward. The metal broke, and by the time Sonia landed, Balthazar had the queen by the throat, lifting her off her feet.

  “Let her go!” she shrieked, but was batted away by the back of the king’s hand as if waving off a bad smell. She flew backward, barreling into the men behind her and knocking them to the ground. Her lungs begged for air as she writhed and tried to get back to her feet.

  Marigold slayed five men as she approached the king, spinning and flipping, then chopped down on his arm, but her blade shattered as well. The shards sprayed her in the face, and the scream she unleashed only lasted a second before Balthazar drove his fist through her chest, exploding out between her shoulder blades.

  “Noooo!”

  Before Sonia could climb back to standing, the men piled on top of her, pinning down her arms and legs, gasping their horrid breath down her throat as they growled into her face.

  The buzzing was sudden and deafening. Flies swarmed over the men, covered them completely. When they zoomed away, in search of more meat, there was only bone and armor left. Rats squeaked as they scurried across the field, and Sonia flipped to her feet.

  The princess hovered over Balthazar and the queen on a carpet of flies, slowly descending to face her brother.

  “You did this, didn’t you, sister?” Balthazar said. “You used your dark magic to bring her back. First you kill our father, then you resurrect our mother?”

  “I did neither of those things. But it doesn’t matter. Put her down, Balthy. Put her down and stop this.”

  “Don’t call me that! I’m the fucking king now! You must respect meeeee!”

  He crushed his mother’s throat, threw her limp body at Pretty. The flies caught it, held it in the air like a soiled garment.

  Pretty roared as her flies engulfed Balthazar, covered every inch of him.

  The royal siblings ran at each other at full speed.

  ***

  “Where do these knights get trained?” Gavin asked. “Unless their technique was getting killed, these guys never stood a chance. A shit load of them, but that’s about all they got goin’ for them. Not many of them left out there. The Black Knight is mowing the fuckers down. Those other kings and their pussy armies aren’t even worth describin’.”

  “What about my father?” Francis said, ripping his stone legs from the ground and taking his first steps toward the battlefield. The scent of blood was intoxicating.

  “Across the moat. Our old friend Shadow is on him, though, so there’s not . . . Oh fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  “Shadow’s gone. We need to find us some of that wine.”

  “Gavin! Focus! Where is he?”

  “I’m right here!”

  “He’s runnin’ right at us, Fran!”

  Francis could hear the man’s breathing, his heavy footsteps. He kicked his giant, stone foot, felt it connect with something hard and dense. But only laughter followed. Then a stinging sensation in his leg, climbing his body.

  “He ain’t alone. Big crowd of ’em! Granada sigils,” Gavin squealed, hopped. “Flatten those assholes!”

  As the stabbing pain climbed his belly, he heard the shouts of the men, their armor rattling. He swung down, slammed a rocky fist to the earth. The ground shook as he pulled his fist from the crater, his knuckles wet with warm gore. He stepped forward, stomped down on what remained of them.

  “Holy shit! Fran, I love you just like you are, but maybe we keep the tower. Could come in handy!” He oinked. “More! To your left!�
��

  Francis swung his arm, sliding it across the dirt, digging a trench as deep as the moat. The men flew across the air on impact, landing somewhere far off. None of them got up again.

  “Straight ahead!”

  Francis swung again, stomped his feet. A war cry blasted from his mouth, erupting over the battlefield in a baritone roar.

  “Shit!”

  “What is it?”

  “The queen . . . she’s—”

  “Dead!”

  Francis knew his father’s voice, and the sudden burst made him flinch, nearly tipping the entire tower over. He almost slammed his fist into his own head, but feared Gavin would get the worst of it.

  “Giant and made of stone, and still you’re too weak to face me. I’ll tear you apart the way I should have done while you were still in your mother’s womb!”

  “Gavin?”

  “I got him!”

  There was the clicking of rapid hooves, a deep oink, and then the bassy steam of flatulence.

  “Drink it in, motherfucker. Ohhh yeah.”

  “Fool! You think your . . . swiney gases can . . . s-stop . . . ”

  The weight disappeared from Francis’s body, then a loud boom as his father slammed into the ground. A low moan, gagging.

  “Let me guess!” Gavin shouted. “You’ll cut the bacon off my back and make me watch while you fry it up, right?”

  “Weak!” his father said, a low chuckle building. “You’ve always been weak, Francis. And you were never my son!”

  “You’ve got one thing right, asshole,” Francis said, then stomped his foot down on the Granada King, letting the taunting laugh be his guide. “I was never your son. Thank the gods for that!”

  His father wiggled his way out from under his foot, but Francis pressed down harder, pinning the man’s legs to the earth.

  “But things have changed since you saw me last, old man!” Francis lifted both fists over his head, slammed them down on top of his father’s head and torso. He felt the ground collapse under the blow, burying his father in rubble, yet the man still chuckled. “I!” He lifted his fist and smashed it back down. “Am!” Slam! “Not!” Slam! “Weeeaaak!” He pummeled the king with both fists, screaming as he swung, digging a hole so deep he expected to feel the fires of hell against his stone skin at any moment.