Anything For You
By Allyson Gomez-Martin
“Tell me how it all happened, please?”
“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you. There was this girl in the village. She was the daughter of the baker. She was the most beautiful person that had ever walked the earth. She had fair skin, beautiful chestnut hair, and most beautiful and innocent looking brown eyes. It’s as if they were two marbles crafted with extreme precision. She wore a simple white dress, but somehow she looked like a bride, my bride.
“Each day she would walk through town and buy a single apple from my cart. She would hold ten shillings in one hand, and a hand mirror in the other. It was a beautifully crafted mirror. It was made of pure silver engraved with flora and foliage with a cross in the center. Her hand grasped the handle so delicately that it looked like it could fall out of her hand if a slight breeze came through. Her hands were so dainty and perfect, all I wanted was to interlace my fingers with hers, caressing the back of her hand with my thumb. It sent a shiver through my spine whenever our hands touched when exchanging shillings for an apple.
“These used to be mostly silent transactions until one day she struck up a conversation. My heart was a flutter and I tried to talk as nonchalantly as I could, containing my excitement so as to not scare her off. I can’t quite remember what the conversation was about because I was so lost in her magnificent eyes, but she was upset and sneezing quite profusely. Those sneezes were the cutest noises I had ever heard. And the way her nose scrunched up right before made my insides seemingly melt. I do remember what the last thing she said to me was.
“‘I’ve been out too long; my father will get worried; I should be off. Oh! I haven’t even told you my name, have I? After all the time I’ve been buying apples from your stall – how very rude of me. My name’s Maryam, but you could call me Mary if you’d like. Thank you so much for the apple, have a nice day!’ she said as she smiled and waved while turning back around to head on her way. I replied, ‘Anything for you.’
“Everyday she came by and she told me how her day was going. Getting to hear her sweet voice was the highlight of my day. Each encounter would end with a thank you from her, and me saying, ‘Anything for you.’ But one day she stopped coming.
“An illness had spread around the town, and although I had been fortunate enough to be virtually immune, Maryam wasn’t as lucky. I debated with myself, and decided to start bringing her apples, free of charge. The town was small, so it wasn’t hard to find where she lived. I met her parents who seemed like lovely people, and invited me in to see Maryam each day. They were charmed that a ‘strapping young man’ such as myself would bother to bring their daughter an apple. ‘Anything for her,’ I would reply.
“She was bedridden. Each day I would come by, and her condition only got worse. Her parents tried different kinds of medicines from the local clinic, but none substantially improved her health. Then one day a crazed man came through the town. He looked a mess and had dark reddish-brown stains on his shirt and blood-shot eyes. He had been travelling to different towns and claimed to have cured people. The girl’s parents turned to him because of their desperation. He tried different remedies, and they had cured the girl some, but she was still too sickly to leave the house. He then suggested one last cure.
“‘I have one more thing to try,’ he said to Maryam’s parents. I had overheard him in the living area while tending to Maryam. ‘I could go through the process of blood-letting. I’ll drain the blood from your daughter's wrists to remove the illness from her body. I will collect it in iron buckets, then drink the blood to rid her of any contact with the illness again. I know it sounds strange, but it has worked many a time,’ he explained in a tone that struck me as odd.
“I bid the girl adieu, letting her rest for her treatment the next day. I wished her good luck, and gathered the courage to kiss her hand. My heart felt it was about to burst out of my chest, but she pulled away, worrying that she may be infectious. She was so kind-hearted, I wished to stay by her side for all of eternity. If only.
“I went the next day, although I didn’t expect to see her. I figured she would be sleeping, too tired and needing to recover. I went to the front door as I always did and knocked. When the girl’s parents answered, they were in tears. I stared at them for a moment, then a fear shot through my body. I pushed past them and ran to the open door of Maryam’s bedroom and halted. My eyes widened and started flowing like a waterfall. I started screaming, ‘No, no, no!’ What I saw before me was the lifeless, mangled body of the girl. She was even paler than before, her skin as white as paper, with a distressed look on her face. She was half hanging out of her bed, her hands next to a tipped over iron bucket. On her wrists were slashes where the blood flowed out of her, but around it was a pinkish mark, as if someone had sucked out all her blood. And leading away from the bed where the corpse lay was a trail of blood droplets heading toward the now open window. The white curtains were fluttering from the draft coming in. On the windowsill and curtains I could see the bloody handprints of the crazed man. I looked back to the girl and rushed over. I grabbed her small hands with my own and felt a shiver through my body. However, this wasn’t from excitement, but from the realization that she was ice-cold. She was really gone. Her sweet voice and smiling face were gone.
“I glanced around the room. I saw her white dress folded on her night stand, and on top of it her hand mirror. They were the last remnants of her, so I reached for the precious items. The smell of her dress smelled just like her. The sweet floral scent that drifted from it made it seem like she was still here with me, like we were back at my stall selling her an apple. I realized I couldn’t let these go, I had to have them with me. I hid them behind my back and slipped out, tears still spilling out of my eyes.
“I ventured back to my house then quickly to the small abandoned shed out back. I carefully placed the items on the floor and then ran back to my house for some candles, matches, and a broom. I headed back to the shed and swept around before I set up the shrine. I placed each candle strategically around the dress and the mirror, then lit the match to light each candle as the sun went down. It illuminated an eerie, yet warm glow. The brilliant light off the match seemed so dim on the candle wicks in the small shed.
“I was still sobbing through all of this, although it was a dry sob. I was breathing her name under my breath: ‘Mary… Mary… Mary…’ And all of a sudden a bone-chilling wind came through and extinguished all the candles in a fluid motion, smoke filling the room. A familiar voice then filled the void of silence, the voice of an angel. ‘Yes?’ the voice said, emanating from the small mirror. I grabbed it with little haste, fearing that she may be a figment of my imagination and vanish. But as I looked into the mirror, there she was. The beautiful chestnut hair, and the mystifying eyes staring back at mine. She was so miraculous, even with her snow white skin still remaining.
“She uttered some words with her voice as sweet as honey, ‘Please, do me a favor. I feel weak, all my blood has been drained from me, I need more to run through my veins. Get me some, please?’ I replied as I always did, ‘Anything for you.’
“I set out in a hurry to find an animal to slaughter for blood. There was a sheep nearby, so I found a pointed stick and dealt a fatal blow to the head, just the way my father had showed me when he was around. I hauled the sheep on my shoulders and brought it back to the shed quickly. I stabbed it a couple of times in the torso and blood came spewing out. The girl then said, ‘No, that will never do. The blood of a sheep cannot run through the veins of a girl. I need human blood.’ As I gazed into her glorious black eyes I realized how foolish I was. The blood of a wild animal flowing through her wouldn’t do her justice. I reexamined the situation and thought of the perfect solution, and with that I grabbed my stick and was off. ‘Anything for you.’
“I rushed to my house and crept into the room of my sleeping mother, who still only took up half the bed, even though there isn’t anyone to fill up the rest of it. She looked so peaceful in her nightgown. What an amazing woman she was. I raised my stick and did just as I did to the sheep. I dragged her body out back to the shed and gouged at it for the blood to start flowing. The girl reached through the mirror and her hands seemingly soaked up the blood, until my mother looked just as Maryam had earlier this morning. Some color came back to Mary’s face, but she still seemed unsatisfied. She longed for more blood, and so I followed her commands. Anything for her.
“I repeated the process countless times, sneaking into each house in the village and slaughtering the family it held inside. The smell of blood protruded and the glisten of it in the moonlight seemed almost magical. I went through every person in the village until there was no one but myself and my beloved Maryam in the mirror, but she still craved more blood.
“‘There is no one else but us my darling, I have no more blood to give,’ I told her, only for her to reply, ‘You still have blood in you, do you not?’ It was an idea I hadn’t fathomed. ‘Why yes, there is. I’ll happily give it to you if it shall please you.’ She responded, ‘Yes, that would make me quite happy.’ ‘Anything for you.’
“And so I started doing to myself as I did to my victims. I stabbed my torso and let the blood drain out of me. However I did not strike myself in the head. That’s when you asked me to tell you the story again with my dying breaths. I don’t regret anything. Like I always say, I’ll do anything for you, Maryam…”
“Maryam… that’s such an outdated name. She’s gone. I’m now drenched in blood and revenge. I still do like Mary though, but that isn’t enough; too simple. Ahh, I think I’ll be known as Bloody Mary from now on.”
It’s said that Bloody Mary still haunts the mirror realm to this day. And if you enter a dark room with a mirror and a candle and recite her name three times, she will bewitch you with her beauty and make you perform inconceivable actions.
Winner of the Highpoint Scary Short Story Contest, Halloween 2021!
The Intruder
By Nella Hakobyan
It was a completely normal Saturday night. I was home alone and offered for my friend Elise to come over. She had been distant lately, so this was supposed to help break the ice between us. She’d been out with her new friends, forgetting about me, her one and only true friend. I decided to ignore that for her.
We were finally getting along like the old times, laying on my carpet that blossomed with an innocent shade of white. The wool stitched into it felt exactly like a sheep’s before it was shaved mercilessly by its owners. A vase sat next to the carpet on my desk, a shade with such a bright red I couldn’t bear to look at it for longer than a minute. It sat so close to my pure, white, carpet of safety. It threatened me with its glare every day. It was almost as if the vase inched closer and closer to the edge of my desk. I told myself that I wouldn’t let this vase threaten me and my wonderful Elise. I looked over at her.
The sound of her laughter echoing through my ears brought me a sense of relief. I stared at the perfection laid upon me. Even if I watched her almost every day, it felt like I saw her for the first time. Her silky, smooth, red hair smelled of fresh daisies. A candle couldn’t even make up for her natural scent, which is why I keep a few strands for myself. Her eyes resembled a moonlit sea with a hint of green sprinkled here and there. They glistened excitedly every time she spoke. Her fair skin was like a painting, the brush organizing her freckles with a few flicks of brown paint. To avoid suspicion, I closed off my thoughts of admiration and decided to lean against the wall next to Elise, laying my head on her shoulder. Since I hadn’t slept the previous night when looking through our texts, I must’ve dozed off for an hour or so.
My eyes blinked open wearily as I looked over to Elise. She hadn’t noticed me waking up and rather brought her attention to the texts displayed on her phone. She had been texting her “friends” of course, and I squinted my eyes to interpret the conversation.
Maya: “You’re seriously at her house? Even after the things she’s done?”
Elise: “I feel bad for her. We used to be close friends before it got weird.”
Maya: “Wasn’t she literally stalking you? That’s a crime, you know? You better get out before she steals another lock of hair when you aren’t watching”
Elise: “Maya, stop overreacting, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Maya: “You won’t be saying that once I find a flyer of you that says ‘MISSING.’”
Elise: “Whatever, I’ll talk to you later.”
I couldn’t believe what I had just read. My head jerked up from Elise’s shoulder, and I backed away from her. After all I’ve done… this is the treatment I get? I wasn’t stalking her, I was only protecting her from disgusting people like the friends she’s made. I only helped her; how could she not realize that? How dare she spread such far-fetched lies about me? I was the only friend she had, I helped her at her lowest and supported her at her highest. The immediate rage I felt was interrupted by the sound of a vase shattering and a thump.
Without hesitation, my mind jumped to the number one priority I had: protect Elise. I could put everything behind us, but I couldn’t lose her. I grabbed hold of her wrist and dragged her downstairs without looking back. I sprinted to the kitchen in hopes of finding a weapon to defend ourselves with. Rewarded, a kitchen knife laid in the open. I felt it call out to me. Letting go of Elise’s hand, I reached for the handle and placed a firm grip. Soon after, I turned back, already losing sight of Elise. I quickly reached into my pocket for my phone while I still had the chance and dialed 911.
Suddenly, my vision caught the sight of small, subtle, drops of blood on the ground leading back up into my room. Terrified, I inched towards the flight of stairs. Each step generated another horrifying image of what could’ve happened to Elise. The guilt of my anger lingered with me as I dreadfully creaked open the beige door. I trembled at the sight of that color. It flowed so deep into my carpet that I couldn’t even imagine that it used to be white. The source of this color, this red pure hatred, was drained from the lifeless body that I once knew, but now could hardly recognize. I kneeled in front of it, my knee scraping against the broken shards from the vase. I remembered the red vase that sat on my desk. A moment later, police sirens crowded my wave of thoughts.
And I dropped the bloody knife onto the ground.
Runner-up in the Highpoint Scary Short Story Contest, Halloween 2021!
Freedom In Fantasy
By James Sandler :
Twenty years ago she arrived in this world. At first her goal was to survive. Now, it is to bring freedom.
[This was originally published as a serialized creative writing piece. The entire story has now been published!]
Part 1 :
Evade, sidestep. Swing, blow. The prince wildly swings his sword at me all between chokes and sobs. Snot and spit fall from his face for every cuff and swing he brings. My armor has not been dented or scratched for the last few minutes; he is becoming weak. Dodging his swings and tiring him out is also making me become weak; my stamina is draining. I am backed up to a pillar in the throne room. I extend my arms to the sides of the pillar, my front facing towards the prince. He runs up to me and attempts to slash my side. By ducking from his attack he mistakenly hits the pillar, and thus his sword is stuck. I swing my warhammer, the Authentic Harmony, into his leg and pull the trigger right before the impact. His knees shatter and both of his legs below the thighs fall off. He lets out an ear-piercing scream and starts to cry.
He extends his hand. “Kill her! Rip this murderer limb from limb,” the prince orders his guards.
Thirty of his guards approach me, swords and shields in battle stance. “Now, now,” I say. “I gave the queen a chance to back off. I did the same to your merry prince. Likewise, I will give you one chance to back down, boys and girls. You have seen what this weapon of mine can do to a person. Do you really want that to happen to you?” I tighten my grip on my warhammer, standing taller than I usually am, now at a height of six foot five. The steel boots of the guards hitting the marble floor slow down from a rushed walk to a halt. “You have made a timely decision,” I say. “One that is not stupid.”
“You have killed my mother. Queen Korenthus. She was innocent and compassionate. For most of my childhood she was by my side, ruling this nation, and was such a wholesome person. Yet you murdered her,” the prince says.
I grab his cape and hold him off the ground. His blood from his missing legs starts gushing on my armor as I hold him up to my face. “I killed your so ‘nice and innocent’ madre because she quartered, cut in half, sawed, skinned, and did a great many other horrible things to her citizens who were simply criticizing her,” I explain.
“So you fight for those peasants, those farmers and horse dung shovelers who cannot write or read to save their lives,” he cries out.
“I fight for freedom. In my country the government allows its hundreds of millions of people to criticize and dislike and like whatever they want to their heart's content. The government allows its citizens to worship whatever god they want, and you should too. My gov –”
“No, no. Our gods are superior to whatever false gods or goddesses are out there. I will not allow inferior deities to be prayed to.” He has started to whine.
“Tsk tsk tsk. You are getting on my nerves, kid, and I already smashed your legs off. Your arms may be my next target,” I warn, dropping his body to the ground. Nurses rush to his body and start patching up his legs. I walk to the throne room’s exit and crouch down towards my bag, right of the exit. I dig around in it until I find a scroll. I walk up to him and read my words aloud: “Your court shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.” I close the scroll and give it to him. “Now violate any of these laws, and I will come after you with an army of your people by my side.”
He coughs up blood. “Oh gods, they will sing songs of my defeat to a woman, and they are now allowed to say what their rotting minds want.”
“They will say, think, do whatever they want, and that is the beauty of it.” I grab my bag, head out of the throne room, and leave the palace. A large group of people await down the stairs to the streets.
“Good citizens of this country,” I yell while sticking out my hand. “I have fought your queen and prince, who did not agree with you all doing what you want. But now you can. You can worship what gods you want, criticize and speak how you wish, protest and assemble whenever you desire, and prevent any action the government partakes in.” Everyone looks around, confused. They must not be used to this amount of free will.
“Are there any limits to what we can do?” a young woman says.
“I said you can do and say whatever you wish to do. But don’t slander people or do harmful actions,” I answer the woman’s question. An infantryman pushes through the crowd with a scroll in his hand. He enters the palace. Ten minutes later a company of guards move out of it and past the crowd in front of the palace. I pull one of them to me.
“Ma’am, wha-what are you doing?” a boy with a high-pitched voice questions. He is clearly too young, at least in my world, to be doing this.
“Boy, tell me what is happening – why a hundred guards are leaving the palace,” I say.
“Emperor Kiafdos has reached the Yojirutu sea and has reached the end of the world to the east. He has now set his conquests to the west, and this nation borders it,” he answers frantically, then rushes to get back to his troop.
Ah, Emperor Kiafdos: the first leader I picked on at the beginning of this quest of mine.
Part 2 :
More than two decades ago, I was living on Earth. I was at the ripe age of twenty-five, and I owned a gunsmithing shop. A lot of cash flowing in, a second shop close to opening, more customers than guns – I was set. Until I was making a gun and touched a mysterious part. I will never forget that moment.
A new world, one with villages, travelers moving only by horses and wagons, armies of thousands lining up and slaughtering each other. Cities without skyscrapers, and nations that had no basic human rights.
Just like the ancient nations of Earth long ago with their kings and queens, chieftains and elders, shoguns and sultans, emperors and empresses, this world had monarchies. And just like the ancient nations of Earth, these leaders did not allow their citizens to have basic human rights. No freedom of speech, religion, press, and assembly. I learned this the hard way.
I was boxing in taverns and in streets. I was a champion, taking on men and women alike, as I was twice their height; the food I’d eaten back on Earth was filled with far more proteins and nutrients than the food was here. That was twelve years ago. After a boxing event, a man was being hanged. Before he could be killed I asked the guards what he did. They said he criticized his Emperor’s battle tactic constantly before, during, and after a battle. When I agreed with the man they threw me into a cell and locked me up for a year. I was let out after I taught the guards how to make a musket, courtesy of my gunsmithing skills.
They let me off after that, and I was relieved knowing that I wouldn’t serve a life sentence for what I’d said. But I knew others were in more unfortunate circumstances. Whilst in jail I’d had a certain dream, and said to myself, once I was free I would enact it.
That dream was for everyone in this world to have what the First Amendment of the United States Constitution aims to grant everybody: freedom. I would go to every leader who did not allow their citizens to have basic freedoms, and they would either submit to my idea, or pay the price in death for refusing. I started this dream by drafting the First Amendment in my own handwriting and grabbing the most expensive sword I could find. I then set out for the man who refused to give his subjects freedom of speech, Emperor Kiafdos.
I thought if I could take on a leader such as an emperor, all other leaders would submit to my idea, my dream. Then, with my dream complete, prosperity would be given to all, and science would progress.
My dream became a nightmare as soon as I set eyes on Emperor Kiafdos. He was seven feet tall, compared to my height of six foot four. I underestimated him, thinking he would be the same size as the little opponents whom I would box and batter and beat. Alas, he almost killed me. If it wasn’t for my stamina and speed, again thanks to foods I had on Earth, I would have been a dead woman. Due to this failure, I had to flee his nation. It was difficult; a nation that is an empire is huge and treacherous for runaways. Once I crossed his borders, I spent a full year in isolation.
Instead of having this dream of mine in the back of my head, I wrote it all down. Thus, a concrete and airtight plan was forged. I first made a war hammer. It was as tall as me and had what could be compared to a large brick on it with a devastating secret inside of it: a mechanism that could fire eight bullets at a time, again thanks to my skills as a gunsmith. This weapon would be called Authentic Harmony. Authenticity was what would be brought to the leaders I would face when I duelled them. Harmony was what their people would feel once freedom was declared for them.
I started off with the most isolated and smallest of tribes, challenging their chieftains. I told my first opponent of my discount First Amendment, and in our duel he beat me to a pulp. If it wasn’t for my secret weapon on the Authentic Harmony, I would’ve died. I shot him in the arms and they blew off. He yielded and told his people of the freedoms they now had.
My morale was boosted, and my dream grew ever closer to fruition. I would set off to defeat chieftains, village elders, and then other leaders, and after that the leaders of empires.
That is my dream: for everyone in this world to have the basic human rights of freedom.
Part 3 :
As the mules pull my wagon ever so closer to Emperor Kiafdos’ palace, I close my letter. I have been beaten, groveled, banned, and imprisoned. By doing that I have grown stronger, and so has my dream, emperor. Have you grown stronger as well?
My cloak keeps me in cover as I enter the empire’s capital, and when I pass through its gate one thing captures my attention. Every guard is holding a musket, and they have the same design as the ones I crafted for the prison guard over a decade ago. I whip my mule and he travels at a greater speed, I must deal with the emperor.
I arrive at the palace. Many people enter the complex, specifically guards, nobles, and servants. I walk up to the doors. A guard puts his hand in front of me and stops my walk.
“I do not recognize you. State your business,” he says. His stare is ice cold.
“How do you know whether or not I am needed here?” I question him.
“Because the emperor tells me who is who. Now why are you here?” he demands again.
“I wanted to bring the emperor a gift. Here,” I say, while giving the guard a sword that is covered. “Simply place it by his feet if you are close to him, if you could do so. Thank you in advance. I’ll be waiting.” I give him a fake smile.
“Annarieta, watch this person,” he orders the guard to his left.
“Yes sir,” she says, pointing the bayonet of her musket to my chest. I sit down on the ground, waiting.
Five minutes pass before the guard returns with a shout: “You! It is you! Guards!
Every other guard leaves their position and all aim their guns at me.
“Ah, yes, it is me,” I say dryly. “Now, is it a yes or no as to me going inside?”
“I must obey the emperor’s commands. You shall be allowed inside of the palace. Go straight to the courtroom. You need no directions as you have been here before. We will point every damn gun we have towards you,” he says.
“Thanks.” I get up, and take one step. The guards do so as well; all the while, their guns are aimed at me. I stare down the barrel of one of the muskets. The wooden cherry oak stock, the steel bayonet and intricately curved iron sight is an exact parallel to the one I made over a decade ago. I enter the palace and hasten my speed towards the throne room. Every person stares at me, and all the guards in the rooms I pass stop what they are doing and point their guns at me.
If only I had been patient, if only I had served my sentence properly and stayed in jail for nine more years, I wouldn’t have given the emperor’s soldiers a weapon so modern compared to the swords, bows, shields, axes, and maces of a time like this. But it was wrong to have me jailed for ten years total over some criticism; that is the whole point of my dream. If I got out far later than the time I did, I wouldn’t be on my quest to give the basic human rights of freedom to everyone in this world. I would still be taking out tribal chieftains instead of the most powerful leader this world has seen. I gave those guards muskets all those years ago so I could get out of jail easier. Now I have left every nation in the world at the whim of Kiafdos. I never thought such a mistake would haunt me. I must make this right, once and for all.
I realize that my pace has increased two fold and I stop in my tracks. Twice as many guards are surrounding me than there were beforehand. I look at each and every one of them.
“You should thank me, for those guns of yours,” I say, then enter the throne room.
It got bigger; that is what I first notice. The columns, there being six of them, are now twice as thick in diameter than they were eleven years ago. They also have colors splashed about them instead of their natural dark red coloration. In addition to the new colors, the pillars have five words, each in dozens of different languages, covering them.
A chandelier in the middle of the throne room hangs from the ceiling, and it has about two hundred candles on it. But the chandelier is round, in a sphere, with five distinct colors: tan, white, blue, green, and grey. Three painted lines on the ceiling protrude from the chandelier. One points to another chandelier, this one yellow, on top of the throne itself. The second line points to another chandelier, this one grey and small. The third line points to a chandelier as well, this one with red tinted coloration and about the same size as the grey chandelier. My eyes lead me to a dozen more spherical chandeliers, each in different colors. From what I can remember about my time here, eleven years ago the chandeliers were not even chandeliers. A hundred candlesticks dotted the throne room then, all poorly waxed and small.
My gaze turns to the throne. It had stairs leading up to it when I challenged Kiafdos, but there are six steps integrated to the throne itself now. Over the throne flap sixty banners, each with a different color and symbol.
“So it is you, here to declare once again that I should let my citizens have those freedoms,” the emperor says, his voice coming from my right.
“Yes, Arch-Grand-God-Emperor of Mankind,” I reply.
“Like my map?” he asks. “You may recognize it.”
I look towards Kiafdos. His body is faced at a wall, on a map. The map itself is the same one displayed in educational rooms and geography books: the map of the known world. Though the names are small, I move closer to it to get a better look. I then inch closer, very weary of what he may do. As I am ten feet behind him I take out the Authentic Harmony and prepare to swing. But as I lift up my hammer and move my head with my body, my sight touches upon a name on the northernmost territory of the map: Russia. I then slowly lower my hammer as I continue reading the map. Names such as Italy, England, Germany, Luxembourg, Poland, appear in the northwest part of the map. Saudi Arabia, Armenia, China, Taiwan, Kuwait, Japan, Korea, Iran, Syria are northeast on the map. Somalia, Nigeria, The Congo, Lybia, Egypt Morocco, Kenya, Zimbabwe are on the south western part of the map. The names Australia, the Philippines, and New Zealand are on the southeast part of the map. To the very west of the map, on the great Edilie ocean, it says: The Americas?
Part 4 :
I back up in shock, my legs shaking at the knee joints. My hammer makes a large bang that rings throughout the room. My mouth gapes open and I look towards the emperor.
“How do you know those names?” I ask.
“Kiafdos is an alias. My real name is Bartolo Perez Rejikian,” he says, not answering my question and instead speaking as if he is answering an entirely different inquiry. “When news of your declaration for freedom of speech, religion, press, and what-have-you started spreading, I paid no mind as one of those leaders was bound to put an end to you. But when one citizen from a village made his way here and recited your speech, my mind was running,” he reveals.
“I – I thought… how?” I stumble with my words.
“I was just about to get into a college when I was teleported here,” Kiaf – Bartolo – continues. “And how could I not recognize those words?” he asks.
“Your name – that type of name. It is –”
“Yes, it is, and that is why I consider myself the most important and all-powerful person in my empire. Someone from a superior planet is a superior person compared to these medieval idiots,” he says.
“I’m lucky to have the mindset that you are the greatest threat I have ever had in all my career of fighting,” I finish.
Bartolo takes a deep breath. “I was going to offer you a place of power by my side. A noble, council member, if you want to. But no, you want to declare freedom of speech and so on for everyone in this place. I was stubborn when you came to my pal –”
“And you are still stubborn now,” I interrupt. He gives me a deep glare.
“Palace,” he continues, as though I didn’t speak. “I believed I could not lose and that I was the person I am now. I did not give reasons for my actions, believing I am not warranted to do so. But now I do give rationales for what actions I take,” he declares. “And let me give you two justifications for not giving my subjects the freedoms you want for them. One, they do not deserve it, as the people I am ruling over are inferior to those like you and me. Two, it ruins the justice that prevails through my empire.”
“What justice?” I query.
“My justices of banning slavery and incestual marriage. Equal amounts of food given to the people relying on government warehouses. Helping small booming businesses and resetting the wealth of large corporations that build up. Increasing the age for consent. Giving out free education to kids and uneducated adults,” he explains. “If freedom comes into my empire, a lot of people can use that excuse to bypass my laws.”
“That is all pointless if they cannot say, do, think, worship, the way they want to,” I counter.
“One exists with chaos, the other exists with order,” he says.
“I’ve had enough.” I go into battle stance, warhammer behind my back, ready to blow. “Pick up your weapon and fight me.”
“Use your brain here. You are now taking action without knowing the consequences, just like all those years ago,” the emperor says, in a calm and collected pose. “By the way, thank you for the guns. It made my conquests far easier.”
His truth only builds my anger further. Due to my selfishness I gave those prison guards technology that would outwit anyone. I have one last point in my argument to say to him: “I think you do not get it, Emperor. When it came to technology and progress on Earth, it was freedom that allowed humanity to advance in the first place. To give people freedom is to give them the limitless ability to create, and do, and think ideas that change how we live for the better. Now, let me say this as one more warning: your court shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
“Let those be your last words,” he says. He takes out his sword. It is the same sword he fought with over a decade ago. Despite the blade being different in color, the hilt is the same. The entire length of the sword matches the height of the emperor: seven feet long. The blade is deep black, no scratches on its flat side or edges chipped; it hasn’t been touched. The metal reflects my face onto his. It must be some new metal. I was looking at Bartolo’s face during our conversation, but his armor now catches my attention. He has a red chestplate with tan, white, green, gray, and blue in a swirl in the middle of his metal plating. The top of his besagues on his shoulders have spikes on them, his couters on his elbows have two spikes protruding from them, and his gauntlets have blunted spikes on the joints of his fingers. Between the shoulder plates, elbow joints, and gauntlets are lengthy, one plated vambraces. Below his chestplate and waist are his heavily armored legs. The poleyns on his knees are, again, tipped with spikes, but they are very thin, as if they were daggers. His sabatons have blades under his toes. Red covers his armor throughout, but gold lines flow through that color red as well.
“Everyone out!” he commands. All the guards and other government officials rush out of the throne room. I raise my hammer again. The emperor looks down and to his left at the entrance. “There are more people from Earth in this palace. Want to see them?”
“Wha –” Before I can properly respond, he lunges at me at full force. I am knocked to the floor and he pummels me with the sword. However, because of my wiggling he can only chip off my armor. I use the special feature of Authentic Harmony to push him back and get myself back up. He recedes up and covers his shoulder, as that is where I randomly hit him. I check to see the impact point, and his armor is dented but not penetrated. I then rush at him, hammer back, to achieve a full force blow. I take my swing but before the mallet can hit him, he swings his sword at my handle and knocks me off balance, then punches me in the face. I am knocked into a pillar; a hole is created from my impact. I snort out the blood from my nose, I don’t want it to mess up my vision while I flail about. I leap to my left and try to take him on from his inferior left side. But he brings his sword to his left hand and parries me, countering another attack. He is dominant in both hands?
Part 5 :
Recovering from my confusion, I swing at Bartolo’s thigh from the bottom of my hammer, not the mallet, and it knocks him off balance. He circles around several times as the momentum from his swings come back to him.
I then run towards him, heaving the Authentic Harmony to the bottom and swinging at him to the top. He is launched ten feet into the air and I fire several bullets at him. But he deflects all in midair with his sword. The emperor then points his sword to the ground and penetrates the floor with it. His impact shakes the tiles and I am knocked back. My right gauntlet falls off, revealing the leather tunic I wear for non-combative actions. I spin and fire five bullets at him. He takes a step back for each hit and now is at the map again. I am parallel to his location, at the dozens of tables where councillors and nobles and representatives usually sit. I grab a chair and hold the Authentic Harmony by the mallet side. Throwing the chair into the air, I hit it with the hammer when it is eye level to me. The chair whistles across the throne room and hits Bartolo. The wood shatters into chunks and splinters, and the feathers from the cushions fly out. I rush to Bartolo and strike his chestplate. He slams into the wall and slowly falls to the ground. I grab his sword and empty the rest of the bullet magazine into it. The black blade shatters into seven pieces.
A wet palm grabs my leg and pulls me to the ground. My face hits the ground so quickly that my eyes flash stars. I feel my hammer ripped from my grasp and I hear it hit a wall. The five colors of the emperor’s chestplate are in front of my eyes as I am lifted up.
He and I are now eye level as he holds me by my neck. “I see what you do. You use your immense strength to rush at enemies; that takes brawn. But surprises? Those take brains. I am taken aback as to how someone as dumb as you can memorize the First Amendment,” the emperor asserts. I claw at his arms in a vain attempt to free myself, my fingers becoming bloody as they rub sharply against his armored tips. He rips one hand away from my neck and grabs a piece of his shattered sword. He raises it and hacks my exposed forearm three times. I scream in agony. It is unbearable. My bone hurts the most, the harmless air molecules touching it causing me terrible pain. But what hurts the most is the realization that in the future I won’t be able to do anything properly anymore. What can I do with one hand? Fix my hammer? Craft more bullets? Climb? I can fight, but with a one handed hammer now, it won’t go well. My boxing and fighting opportunities are now down the drain.
He then smashes the blade against my armor in an attempt to disconnect the rest of my arm from me. I put my right connected hand under my arm. The snapping of steel rings throughout the court as I feel my chopped off arm fall. But it lands right into my right hand instead of onto the ground. I then raise my right hand back and with my left arm I hit the emperor square in the face.
Bartolo stumbles back, and a piece of his helmet flings off, exposing his face. He releases his hold on my neck and puts both hands over his face and screams in agony. I rise and see blood pouring out of his face. I drop my left arm into a puddle of blood. Panting, struggling to balance, I limp to my hammer. I use what strength I have remaining to lift it up. With two hands it weighed like a feather, but now it feels like one hundred pounds. It does weigh one hundred pounds. I start feeling hazy, my eyes closing themselves as if they have a mind of their own. The gravity of the world is increasing, as my body starts to crumple. I grab another magazine from my belt and put my hammer in my left hand. It falls. I hold the magazine in my right hand as I hold up my hammer and then load it in. It used to take three seconds, but now it takes one minute. I then aim the Authentic Harmony at my enemy.
Part 6 :
Bartolo’s words flash in my mind: “There are more people from Earth in this palace.” I hate my brain; for years I believed it worked differently from others’. I sulk and drag my hammer to the emperor, now on his throne. He is patting at his face; his skin is now covered in blood. The white, blue, green, tan, and grey colorings are smudged with his crimson red.
“MY EYE, MY LEFT EYE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I CAN’T SEE!” Bartolo cries.
“You said there were more people from Earth in this palace. Where are they?” I ask.
“No, I can’t let you. You won’t touch them!” he continues.
“You cut off my arm, prick. I need that to fight,” I remind him.
“They can’t hear that word, please,” the emperor grieves.
“Who cannot hear a swear?” I ask. “Answer me where they are, the people from Earth.”
“I – I cannot say,” Bartolo wheezes, then grasps at his throat. “My… voi – hel –” His pleas then become forceful breathing.
“If you won’t give freedom to your citizens, I shall do so myself.” I raise my warhammer and let gravity do the rest.
The entrance opens and a bang rings out with it. A woman with five muskets on her back is there. She wipes away tears and pulls one musket from her back. She presses the trigger.
As she approaches my dying corpse, no pain aches my body anymore. My life flashes before my eyes. Only the silhouettes of those I loved are in my memoires, as my time in this wretched place had me forget their faces. Did they even know I was alive? Me, the one who gave this unworthy world improvement. Me, killed by my own weapons. April Amura, who gave this world freedom.
May those who are free last and live long.