Lycenea

by Rory D Nelson

  Tears stream down her eyes and she wipes them away, averting her face from Felinius. “Ai. My father owed the Prince a heavy debt and I am sworn to pay it off, lest my family be displaced.”

  It is a common and sad story Felinius had heard many times before. Though slavery is outlawed in Visi-Gaulia, it is still considered the common practice to conspire children into involuntary servitude when their parents are unable to repay their debts. Felipides will keep her as long as he believes the debt is paid back or whenever he tires of her-whichever comes first.

  “Well, you may not believe such a tall-tale, but I will set you free.”

  “You jest.” She responds. And yet, she cracks a slight smile, as if perhaps considering its veracity.

  Felinius looks at Paige intently, causing her to avert her gaze. She is intimidated and mesmerized all at once. He holds her chin affectionately. “You must trust me. I am not who I seem. Whatever happens, stay close and know that no harm will come to you. You ken?”

  “Ai.” Tears stream down her face. “You must be my knight.” She says half-heartedly, half-joking.

  He smiles at her. “Something akin, beautiful.”

  They walk up to the door. Felinius appears casual and collected, almost too casual.

  “Good day to you sirs. I got this fine pube girl for Princely bedtime.”

  The men stare at them and pause. “A fine lass, indeed. “One of the men moves to touch her. Felinius instinctively strikes out his hand, knocking it away.

  “What gives?”

  “You would seek to soil the Prince’s bedcharm before he has chance to himself. Are you tripe?”

  “Just wanted a touch, so I did.”

  “Mayhaps I would inform Prince of such?”

  “No,” says the man, disappointed and irritated with Felinius, but clearly fearful of inciting the wrath of the Prince.

  The large brutes name is Menaveer and he is as dim-witted as he is large. The other chaps name is Cusbert and what he lacks up for in size, he makes up for in intelligence. His eyes look Felinius up and down, assessing his abilities and motives. The corridors are filled with armed men all the time and while occasionally new soldiers assume posts in the castle, he had never seen this chap before. And something is terribly off about him. Perhaps it is his exaggerated gait, which exudes over confidence or his intelligently radiant eyes, which seem to take everything in, almost as if he is over-analyzing the situation. For what purpose?

  Felinius grows nervous but feigns boredom and complacency.

  Menaveer extracts the large key ring, which opens up the locks on the Prince’s floor and begins to search for the key. Felinius prays he does it quickly.

  Unfortunately, his worst fears come to pass. Cusbert intervenes. “Wait a speck there Menaveer.” Menaveer looks at Cusbert curiously. “Tell me now, Menaveer. Have you seen this chap before now? Look closely.”

  He looks closely and ponders. “No, can’t say I have. But he is with the girl, so I ken he must be one of us.”

  Cusbert gives Menaveer a reproachful glance. “You aint never seen him. I aint never seen him. He could be a spy.”

  Menaveer looks at Cusbert dubiously but then turns to Felinius, suspiciously.

  “What say you, private?”

  “You see my lack of emblem. I am the lowliest of the low.”

  “Ai. Either way, you are. It’s so. But tell me Private, if you do know the prince, then tell me what he looks like.”

  Felinius is well prepared for this question. He had been briefed by Jaden. “The prince is a rather lanky fella with straw-blonde hair, quite tall and walks with an almost unnoticeable limp from an accident he had when he was pube. Everyone knows such. Now, the prince is waiting. You satisfied?”

  Menaveer extracted the key and slides it into the door. Felinius breathes a sigh of relief. Cusbert notices it. He holds up his hand to Menaveer. “Hold, Menaveer.”

  “The prince is waiting. Perhaps I should tell him it was you who made him wait for bedtime shenanigans. You ken?”

  “The Prince can wait a bit. Besides, he is just getting up. I just have another question, an easy one. Not as easy as the last question, but if you are who you say you are then you will have no problem answering. You ken?”

  “Don’t have time for your questions, so I don’t,” says Felinius impatiently.

  “And you are out of line. And will answer me or be arrested.”

  Felinius appears to be slightly exasperated, which would have been expected. Already two guards who are standing down the hall, overhear the argument and approach, in the unlikely event they will be needed. Guarding the castle is a boring job and they look forward to any chance of excitement they can get.

  “Hey now, lads. What is the reason for hard words?”

  “It’s this fella, him not being who he claims,” says Cusbert.

  “Now, that’ a haughty accusation? Have any evidence?”

  “The captain who ordered you down here?

  Felinius is not prepared for this question. The other men look at him. “It’s a fair question, private. Give us an answer.” He pauses and stares at him icily. “Now.” He commands through clenched teeth.

  He looks down at the ground, as if he is contemplating the answer. “Never have been one for memory, so I ain’t. He quickly and almost imperceptibly retrieves a butterfly knife in his pocket. No one catches the movement- only the shining refraction of light off the gleaming blade.

  In one lightning quick movement, he swings the butterfly knife out and catches the guard next to him in the throat, emitting a spray of blood from his jugular vein.

  While his right hand goes for the man’s throat, his other hand pulls a switchblade knife from his pocket and he jams it into the guard next to him violently, emitting screams of agony from him and an unstoppable spurt of crimson, which drenches himself.

  Cusbert begins to reach for his pistol and starts to raise it, but Felinius is too quick. At the same moment, he begins to point his shooter, Felinius grabs his hand and twists it grotesquely and unnaturally, exposing the bone from his wrist. He cries out in excruciating pain.

  Menaveer begins to reach for his pistol and points it, but Felinius deflects it. Unfortunately, Menaveer has relatively quick reflexes and he can’t stop the big man from firing. The shot ricochets off the wall and blasts an ear-deafening bang throughout the corridor. All within ear shot are alerted. There is no use in holding back now. Felinius nimbly pulls his own shooter from his hip and fires off two quick rounds at point blank range into Menaveer’s prodigious gut. The shot knocks him back several feet into a wall that sits cattycorner.

  Felinius looks for Paige, who had managed to hide out near a recessed doorway. “Go, Paige. Get out! Hold nothing back about me. Now go!” She complies, looking back at Felinius as she runs.

  Menaveer had luckily put the key in the hole. Felinius does not hesitate in opening it. As he does, a soldier from inside forces himself out. Felinius grabs his arm and snaps it violently back, breaking it. He sticks his gun up to the man’s temple. “Drop your gun. Go inside!” He orders.

  He complies. Felinius shuffles himself inside. He had never intended things to be played out like this, but there is little he can do now except improvise.

  “Whatever your plan, it dies with you, cuntweed! They will shoot you down like a rabid dog!” Warns the soldier, doubling as Felinius’ shield.

  As soon as the man is inside, Felinius closes the door, but not before twisting the key in the lock and breaking it. They will eventually open it, but it will buy him time. The man he had taken as a hostage is a large brute and he uses it to his advantage.

  Felinius smacks him hard in the face with the butt of his pistol, causing a small laceration to appear on his cheek. “Go!”

  Felinius has no illusions about what will transpire. The man he holds as a hostage is as expendable as any of the other guards and they will not hesitate to shoot him down in order to save the life of the prince. He knows a gunfight is i
mminent. He just prays that he doesn’t face overwhelming odds.

  Felinius pushes the hapless soldier through the door, using him as a shield against gunfire.

  “Drop your shooters!” commands one of the men, probably the one in charge. Felinius peers around the corner at him. He knows he can get a shot off at him, but there are two men at his side with nervous trigger fingers. It will be too risky to fire on him.

  “You will give me a safe passage out of here, so you will! There is a secret exit out of here through this room!” yells Felinius.

  “There is no such room. I am Captain and I assure you there is no such exit. Set watch and warrant there is no escape for you! Now throw down! I can plead for leniency but only if you cooperate.”

  Felinius has razor sharp peripheral vision. The two men on his side are inching up discreetly to plan assault. As soon as they are within range, he drops to his knee behind the large brute, seamlessly pulls his other gun and fires both shooters simultaneously. The slugs shoot through the two men with vicious menace, knocking them back against the wall violently. A splatter of blood stains the wall behind them in crimson gore.

  Two men from the front of him fire off a couple of nervous shots in response. One of them catches his body shield in the kneecap, eliciting a cry of excruciating pain. Unable to hold up his leg, he drops to the ground, moaning in agony.

  Felinius tries to reason with them. “Not one more man has to die!” It is a lie and their Captain knows it. During the brief standoff, Felinius discovers the perfect place to hide and mounts an assault to attain it.

  It is a large, Birchwood armoire, which looks like it weighs a ton. Directly to the left of the armoire is a massive oak dining table, supported by a tripod base. He now has the basis for a plan.

  Felinius crouches down behind his shield, forcing him to stand; and for several minutes there is a stalemate. The Captain is in no way going to risk the life of the prince. And yet, he cannot afford to permit the man to make an escape.

  Felinius smiles at his predicament. He has the Captain where he wants him-indecisive. He fires several rounds from his shooter, blowing out two of the bases on the table. Unable to support its prodigious weight, it topples over, creating a barrier for him to exchange gunfire.

  As Felinius peers over at the men, he notices there are six standing in front of the prince, blocking him. He perceives a possible shot on the Captain. If he can take out the Captain, the situation will be a mad clusterfuck with every man for himself. He snickers to himself, anticipating the chaos. He holds his breath and shuts his eyes for a few seconds. And then by pure instinct, grabs his gun with preternatural speed and fires it once on the Captain, sending his brains out of the back of his head.

  As to be expected, there is retaliation. The guards unleash their fire power on Felinius, despite the fact that one of their own is a body shield. They fire without conscious thought or even attempt, but only to fire in the general direction of Felinius. His body shield inevitably buckles under the barrage of numerous slugs tearing through his body in a dying wail.

  Before the man buckles under the gunfire, Felinius manages to fire off several deliberate and calculated shots. One shot hits one of the men in the face, shattering his cheekbone and knocking his head back against the wall. He screams and reaches for his dropped pea-shooter, only to be blasted by another shot just under his chin, causing blood to gush unceasingly from his jugular vein. He topples to the ground in a mess of crimson and gore.

  Felinius’ slug finds its mark in the chest of another soldier, who is thrown back, only to try to raise his head, while blood flows into his lungs, choking him. He coughs up a fair amount of blood, wheezes in terror and then slumps his head.

  As soon as Felinius’ body shield falls to the ground, he runs out from under him and dives behind the armoire and readies himself for another round, re-loading his weapons.

  Several seconds later, Felinius hears the massive oak door behind him erupt in a loud crashing noise. Unable to open the door with a key, the men resort to crashing through the door with gunfire. Fortunately, the door is at least three feet thick and it cannot be broken down easily. But they will eventually bust through. With a ramming device and constant gunfire, they will breach the room in as little as two minutes. Probably less.

  The remaining guards abandon the prince. It is now every man for himself. He looks up and notices one of the soldiers hunkering down behind a small nightstand shivering. His leg pokes out of from behind it. Felinius smiles to himself. Too easy. He fires into his kneecaps. The man cries out in surprised agony and reflexively reaches for his pulverized leg, exposing his head.

  As he does, Felinius fires a shot through his head, killing him. The two remaining guards fired randomly upon him, more in fear than retaliation. Felinius takes the opportunity to emerge from his hiding place. He jumps out and fires near simultaneously. A guard who had peered out for a second split chooses the wrong time. Felinius fires two deadly slugs through his chest, knocking him back against the bed, staining it in crimson and gore.

  The remaining soldier takes the opportunity of the brief exchange to mount his own assault. He fires off two rounds at Felinius, but with his nervous trigger fingers, his shots go wild. However, another wild shot ricochets dangerously close to Felinius’ head. A wooden beam just above his head splinters when the slug crashes through it.

  The guffaw is all the opportunity that Felinius needs. He fires off two successive rounds at the remaining guard. Two shots hit him directly in the neck, emitting a spray of crimson as his vulnerable neck muscles are devastated by the internal trajectory of the bullet. It exits out his spinal cord. He tries in vain to breathe but chokes on his own blood and darkness overtake him.

  Felinius looks around cautiously and hears a large, thumping sound and splintering wood behind him and turns to confirm his worst fears. The men are ramming the door and firing rounds simultaneously. They will be through the door any moment. He has to get to Felipides. And fast.

  “Come hither, Prince.” No response. “Come hither nigh. Or I promise that I will start firing until I hit you. The crackling hearth produces shadows in the large room and he can just barely make out a figure behind a large rector set and desk. He fires two successive rounds to remind him of his commitment.

  Felipides receives the message. He throws out his pea shooter. “Surrender, so I do. You can stop your firing now, foe. I will come out of my own accord.”

  Felipides steps out to meet Felinius. He is everything he had been briefed about. He is very tall, lanky man with large, piercing blue deep-set eyes. He is unusually tall, but walks with an awkward gait, as if his legs had not entirely adjusted to support his massive frame. He is said to have been a sharp shooter and equally as fast, but he never had to prove himself. Even if the rumors were true, he never would have ventured a contest with a seasoned killer like Felinius.

  He had just witnessed his entire entourage gunned down by this man. He will take no chances himself.

  “Don’t shoot. I am at your mercy, so I am.”

  Felinius smiles and approaches him quickly. “Ai. And don’t forget such. There is a secret passage out. Where is it?”

  Felipides shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  Felinius grabs his hand and twisted his pinkie until he hears a sickening ‘pop’. Felipides cries out. “There are nine more digits. How many do you wish to retain?”

  Felipides nods. “Steam bathroom.”

  “Take me there. Now!” Felipides complies, leading him into the outer chamber of his domicile. As they enter through a large oak door, Felinius shuts the door and locks it and not a moment too soon. The massive oak door that stands sentry to the hall splinters and then crashes down. The men spill into the room and begin a desperate search for the culprit.

  They enter the steam room with several porcelain tubs, large enough to accommodate a plethora of orgies. Felinius snickers to himself at the thought of it. He has no sympathy for the pathetic young man wh
o could have literally any woman he desires but longs for pube play. When Felipides pulls open a loose floorboard, there is a switch underneath, which he flicks on. The wall immediately opens to the whirr of churning machinery. The opening is big enough for anyone, but Felipides hesitates, given his size.

  Felinius induces him inside with a sharp slug to his kidneys. Felipides cries out, ducks his head and ventures inside awkwardly.

  Chapter 29: Nightmares continue to Plague

  Maximus awakens once again from one of Morgana’s induced visions, a scream lodged deep in his throat, bathed in a sheen of oily sweat. He sits up and pushes away the thought even as the relentless knot churns deep in the pit of his stomach, causing an acid bile of seething rage. Even awake, he cannot stop the visions. He sees himself returning to his father, displaced from the Brotherhood, his father with downcast eyes, shamed at the sight of him.

  To assume his place in the Brotherhood, he needs to attain his place honorably. He had maliciously set out to injure Dante in the test of Manna and his plan had backfired on him. He was so consumed with sabotaging Dante that he had forgotten his objectives in the games and because of this he had lost. He would not let such an oversight put himself in jeopardy again.

  He needs to win at all costs. He shuts his eyes again and tries to will away the visions, but they continue. This time, he sees himself in chains, taken away from his school-his destiny and everything that gives him joy. He tries to avert his eyes, but he can’t help but to look.

  This time he sees himself forcibly taken from the castle, displaced and exiled. In his place is the grown man of Dante, taking his place in the castle where he was raised. He clenches his fist so hard, he can feel the bones beginning to creak and a small amount of blood seeps out from his fist.

  Maximus punches his fist through a post in his bed and watches as the wood splinters. A small amount of blood seeps through his knuckle. He looks at it curiously and then licks the fist, laughing to himself. Is he mad? Perhaps. But he could be mad, so long as he is King.