Prologue

Long ago, deep in the ancient lands of Asia, there used to be a city known as Haifeng, the sea breeze. Haifeng was an ancient place of bustle and activity. And, as with any city, that came with a rise of crime. The first crime was brutal. A man known as Xiu-Li. But no one calls him that name anymore. They call him Shīmián. Insomnia. For he is the man that never sleeps.

Shimian’s First Crime: The Basuki Massacre

2:30 a.m. The morning was bright and cold. In the small town of Sahiri, lay the even smaller Basuki Supermarket. Thirty seven occupants, ranging in age from six to sixty, plus a young shopkeeper. And, in the midst of all this, there enters a thirty-eighth person. Xiu-Li, for back then, that is what they called him.

“Hello, Xiu-Li,” says the shopkeeper, Miss An-Li Soul.

“Hello, Miss Soul,” Shimian says with a polite nod.

“What would you like to buy this early in the morning?”

“Oh,” Shimian says. “I’m not here to buy.” He waits in silence for all the shoppers to be lined up in neat rows at the checkout, like lambs begging for slaughter.

“Citizens of Haifeng!” he shouts. “Bow to me, or pay the price!” All thirty seven heads turn to him. Murmurs arise, but no one bows. What a crackpot, they think. Then, Shimian pulls out a katana. The first row scrambles back, but still, no one bows. What can he do with just a sword? He leaps down, and, at the speed of light, slices the throats of everyone in the room. As if held up by a string, they wait until Shimian is out of the way before unanimously falling to the floor. Puppets, led by the master puppeteer.

**UNFINISHED**

To love a sociopath

Is an easy mistake to make

They have so much charm

But they cause so much harm

They know everything that makes you tick

They are full of lies and evil tricks

They know exactly what you fantasize

Because they constantly psychoanalyze

They will be everything you ever dreamed

But it’s nothing more than their scheme

They come across as confident people

But of course they have no fear

They seem so charming and sincere

But the ability to love isn’t all that they lack

They will feel nothing at all as they slide their knife in your back

But oh my god they are fantastic in bed

It’s beyond intense as you give them head

It will only be you, they’ll have you believing

They have the devil within, their perfect looks are deceiving

They have no shame

They are never to blame

They have no remorse

And yet of course

They have no real friends

Friends are only the means to their ends

They keep no connection to their past

The epitomistic iconoclast

They have an inflated ego

But that you’ll never know

They hide their inner narcissist

Yet another act so pertinent

Making them that much more sadistic

In true form cold and distant

Real human emotions are nonexistent

They should win Oscars for their acting

All you value, they have been extracting

With sociopathy you often see

A Jekyll and Hyde personality

To them everything is a game

With a steady hand they take perfect aim

You are their prey

Nothing more than a pathway

To get precisely what they want

While completely nonchalant

They will use you

And emotionally abuse you

And when they are bored

You will be ignored

Devalued and discarded

You will be left desheveled and broken hearted

To love a sociopath

Is the easiest mistake to make

And you won’t know what they are

Until it’s far too late

Because chaos creates the aberration

Charming master of manipulation

Who only plays your heart for recreation

Pure mephistophelian

An almost human chameleon

Your eyes will lock as he speaks the words, I love you

And to you, I am forever true

Without the slightest change in expressions

His shorts still damp, from earlier transgressions

It’s all a game

You’re the game he’ll play

You’ll never win

You have no chance

Within his dance

Spinning webs of deceit

He will always earn defeat

And you’ll be left devistated

He will have you laying lifeless at his feet

Long before you even heard the music’s first and final beat

Evil laughter. Evil, cackling laughter. The same laughter that I had been trying to trace for the last two months. It was a phantom. Always there, but never quite where you expected it. Wherever it went, destruction always followed behind. Murders, robberies, and countless petty crimes lay behind it. It had led me through the streets of London, always a step ahead, but waiting if I fell behind. The crime scenes were always devoid of clues. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Ever. But always the same cackling laughter. Mostly the trail fell cold in some deserted alleyway, only to pop up again hours later as another crime hit the headlines. This time I had had it cornered. Something, maybe intuition, had told me where it would strike next. So I’d had a constable stationed in every alleyway. How could things have gone so wrong? The constable had got bored and had a booze. I’d found him knocked out cold. Then I heard the laughter again. Louder this time, and coming from behind me. I turned around, but that evil, cackling laughter was the last thing I heard as the shadowed form pulled the trigger.

The advertisement blared across the screen as two girls looked on giggling. A spokesman with too much energy, was going on and on about how you could make your kid disappear for a stress-free week with a simple pill. The background was a bright pink, almost like Pepto-Bismal. Something sickly to an adult, yet entertaining and eye-catching to two girls.

The ten-year-olds picked up the phone dialing the number flashing across the screen of the TV, calling the company about the so-called “free” disappearing pills.

“Hi” Chloe started out trying not to burst out laughing after making eye contact with Mackenzie sitting across from her.

“We saw your commercial for the disappearing pills, we need two week packs. As long as they are both free.”

Mackenzie watched bright pink, like the advertisement had been, from laughing.

“And you promise we’ll be one-hundred percent healthy when we reappear, almost like no time has passed?”

Chloe nodded some more on the line give a fee mm-hmm’s as she often heard her mom do on business calls.

“Thank you,” she said finally before hanging up the call, looking at Mackenzie she smiled, “now we wait.”

Before Mackenzie could reply there was a knock at the door. The two girls exchanged confused glances, no one was supposed to be coming over. Mackenzie’s mom wasn’t expecting anything in the mail, a large no solicitors sign hung on the door, and Chloe’s mom wasn’t going to pick her up until tomorrow.

They carefully walked to the door. Both feeling like if they reached it too quickly it would be more likely that a monster lie in wait on the other side.

Mackenzie slowly drew open the door, and as she peeked out she saw no one stood there. Thinking it was a ding-dong-ditch she almost missed the small pink package on the welcome mat.

Opening the door the rest of the way, she picked it up finding there was “disappearing act” stamped across the front in cursive lettering. The name of the product.

Mackenzie could fit the box in her palm, “that was fast,” she whispered to Chloe who was peering over her shoulder.

“I mean they did say same day delivery.” Chloe reasoned, but she still looked uneasy staring at the small pink package. Mackenzie shut the door locking it tight, and turned to face Chloe, “I’m starting to think this isn’t the best idea.” Mackenzie whispered, a fluttery feeling in her gut sending her topsy turvy. “Oh don’t worry Mac, they couldn’t put it on TV if it could hurt you. It’s probably a hoax, we’ll take it and in reality it’ll just be a sugar pill. I think it’s called a placebo pill, it doesn’t actually do anything.

Mackenzie nodded, not feeling reassured, and the two girls went back to her room upstairs. Chloe closed that door and they both climbed on her bed. On the way up to her room Chloe had opened the box to reveal two small pink pills. Each with the same cursive lettering as on the top, this time saying swallow whole. Mackenzie took a water bottle from beside her bed, and Chloe grabbed a glass of water she had brought up there earlier that day.

“On the count of three,” Chloe urged staring deep into Mackenzies eyes who still had the same squirrelly feeling in her stomach. She nodded, shivering, despite her windows being closed against any wind outside.

“One... Two... Three!”

Both girls tossed back the pills chugging down the water each held, helping the pill to glide down their throat to their stomach.

They waited a moment staring at each other, but nothing happened. They were still just as visible as they had been before the pills. After a few minutes, and nothing happening, Mackenzie felt a huge wave of relief. “I guess you were right. About them being fake and all.” “Yeah,” Chloe replied seeming a little disappointed.

Suddenly, a loud knock came on the door downstairs. They both froze, that topsy turvy feeling was back, this time tickling both of them. Chloe went to get up, but Mackenzie’s hand shot out, “no, just wait, they’ll go away.”

They both waited with bated breath, then the knocks came again, louder. When whoever it was knocked a third time Mackenzie and Chloe began to cry, both terrified. Mackenzie took Chloe’s phone calling her mom.

“Hello?”

More knocking

“Momit’sMackenzieChloeandIorderedthedisappearingactpillsandwetookthemandnowsomeone’sknockingonourdoorandnotgoingawayandI’mreallyscared!”

More knocking

“Woah Mac, slow-wait did you say you ordered the disappearing pills?! Mackenzie I am coming home right now. Stay in your room! Hide in your closet! Do not open the door for anyone! Do you hear me?”

More knocking

“Yes mom” Mackenzie sobbed.

“Now go in your closet, and stick you fingers really far down your throat so you throw up. I’m on my way.”

More knocking.

Mackenzie and Chloe sprinted to the closet. “My mom said we need to try and make ourselves throw up.” Mackenzie immediately shoved her hand deep in her mouth probing her throat. She kept gagging, her whole body wracking, and finally she hit just the right place. Mackenzie fell the ground shaking as she heaved up everything in her stomach which all came out disgustingly pink and slimy. The vomit burned the carpet, and reeked of something almost like disinfectant. Mackenzie stayed on the floor, hunched over.

Chloe stared down horrified and the gurgling vomit leaking from Mackenzie’s lips. Mackenzie slowly tilted her head to look up to her, “you have to do it Clo, my mom said so.” Chloe shook her head, “no way I’m doing that. Plus, listen.”

The two girls froze, there was no knocking. “Whoever it was is gone. We’re safe.” Chloe insisted. But, that topsy turvy feeling was still in Mackenzie’s stomach. And this time, she wasn’t going to ignore it no matter what. “No Chloe, I don’t think we are. You need to throw up the pill. Like my mom said.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “You’re such a mommy’s girl. The pill had nothing to do with the person, and it stinks in here. I’m leaving, I’ll call my mom to come get me.”

Chloe moved to open the closet, and instinctively Mackenzie’s arm shot out stopping her. Her fingers dug in like claws into Chloe’s arm. “Don’t Chloe. Please.” Chloe stuck out her tongue, “chicken.” Mackenzies face turned red at the insult. Dropping her arm Mackenzie sank back to the ground. “Am not, idiot.” Chloe rolled her eyes again throwing open the closet door and strutting out. Mackenzie quickly shut it behind her curling up in the corner hugging her stuffed animal dog to her stomach. She tucked her face into her knees and sobbed as they had when the person first knocked on the door.

No longer in the closet, and now alone, Chloe was feeling bites of fear. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she felt like she was being watched. But she couldn’t go back there where Mackenzie was, she couldn’t admit she was wrong and as big a coward as Mackenzie. Holding her head high, Chloe slowly opened the door of Mackenzie’s room to the hallway.

Looking left and right, she saw no one was there. Stepping out with a little more bravado. Chloe shut the door behind her.

Turning to face the hallway again. A small pink monster about the size of her palm lunged up at her out of nowhere. Chloe screamed, and as she did the little furry goblin shot into her mouth scrambling down her esophagus. She clawed at her throat choking. It’s needles scratched her soft inner skin as it scuttled down her, burrowing into her insides. There it opened wide beginning to gnaw away at her soft intestines. Chloe fell to the ground still screaming long and loud. She could feel it eating her inside out. Blood spurted out of her mouth and she cried, finally passing out from the pain. Blood and pink liquid oozed, bubbling and fizzing, from her ears, eyes, and nose. A loud squelching sound coming from the monster within chopping through her bones like they were butter. Till she was completely invisible inside it. All because of a pill that looked like candy.

I was born blessed by Aphrodite. Such otherworldly beauty and grace I possessed. When women saw me they would fly into jealous fits, throw stones at my innocent body. When men saw me they took me, they had me, ignoring my unhinged screeches. I once knew a man, a God, he came from the sea. He came upon me while I prayed to Athena, kneeling before marble feet, he raped me and left me on the temple steps. Bruised and bleeding. The fire and thunder of Athena came to me that night, how dare I defile her temple with filthy sex? Was Olympus deaf to my cries for help or just wilfully ignorant? I awoke a creature of hate, a monster, with hissing snakes for hair. I ran into the street, leaving behind a village of stone men. I carried a demigod in my belly, up into the mountain caves where I could harm no more. After many months of solitude they found me, they slew me, punished for my ghastlty appearance. And I am the evil one?

“Oh, my dear son! Look how much you have grown! Became so mature to even betray your own mother”. With a feeble voice, “Like you were any better, all i did was for me and my son, my family but you... argh”.

” Ha ha ha,you should have known better when you stabbed me with that dagger of yours”, “Please, stop... let me leave”. “Just some minutes, dear boy, when that dagger has gone through with your life, you can leave wherever my master wishes you to.”

A dagger was peircing his heart slowly, an inch a minute. As he’s body was floating in the middle of the hall of their small house, with his mother infront of him seated against the wall knitting some sweaters.

“I didnt really mean to offer your soul to my Lord Kofnataria, mother”. “But you, did. You did stab me with that accursed dagger, bled me to death, for all kinds of mortal riches and had my soul caged to your lord. Such a pity, dear boy. But now, he is my master. And he wants you too, Ha ha ha ha”, a blundering laugh of a shriek echoed around the walls.

“Maybe, it was my mistake too. I should brought some sense to you, in your young days. It’s too late now. When the dagger is through, you will be brought right to the far ends of the infinite realms of hell.”

“You cannot forsake me, i’m your son, your blood, please mother”. “Nothing can save you now dear, once your soul is corrupted by the infernal chaos of hell, not even the light can save you. Oh, oh my, maybe the darkness will.”

“What, you do not mean the realms of death, the necros itself”. “Ofcourse, ofcourse the necros, you will have little time to move upon the realms of hell, push yourself far away, enter the necros. Dive into it’s core. Only that can shred apart the chaos chained upon you, but you will be shred to bits and tats. You, as a soul will perish, and be sent back to the universal consciousness, and through that you shall live again as a mortal someday. Live, unbounded”

The dagger of kofnataria was about to seal his soul.

“It’s about time, son. May upon your next life, do not trust unaware. Deep down we all are evil. But you cannot trust an evil person, and do not trust your own self when you’re evil”.

He was gone.

“Ah, the sweaters are done.”

“Atleast, I’ve knit it right this time.”

#evil

#again

#fiction

#ishouldeatlessmagicmushrooms

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a prince. He was the prince of a teeny tiny nation, devastated by civil war. One day, as Prince Edward sat in his solid gold throne, a man came in to request an audience. The guards outside the throne room, impassive and stony-faced, let him in to see the Prince. The man claimed that his name was Sir Jeffrey, and he had been sent with a message from the Very Mighty All-Powerful Baron King Allen. Prince Edward hated him. Many said that the Baron King hated him back. Bored by the monotonous tone of Sir Jeffrey’s voice and of his own mind’s wanderings, Prince Edward started to fall asleep. Seeing an excuse, Jeffrey reached into his jacket, and drew out an old rusty dagger. He threw it at the drowsy Prince.

Prince Edward sat bolt upright in his throne. He realized that a single ray of sunlight had reflected off a rusty dagger spinning out of Sir Jeffrey’s hand toward him. Leaping from his throne and out of the dagger’s path, Edward ran to one of the nearby windows. He tried to open it, but to no avail. It was bolted shut. Grinning, Sir Jeffrey advanced knife once again in hand. He threw it, and Edward ducked as the knife smashed through the window. Yelling naughty words, Sir Jeffrey ran toward the Prince. Unsure of what to do, Prince Edward jumped through the flying shards of broken glass and out the window. 

Regretting it instantly, he saw the sparkling blue ocean about three hundred feet below. He knew, from his earlier travels, that the nearest land was a desolate island about five miles north of his position. Edward (now the ex-Prince) thought about how funny it was that he was plunging to his death within sight of his entire country, as the palace was on a tall mountain. Then he passed out.

When he woke up, Edward’s first thought was that he should be dead. While he was pondering this strange event, he realized that he was still falling! As the sheet of blue-green water rushed up to meet him, Edward straightened into a diving position in preparation for the bone-crushing impact impending. Splash! As soon as he hit the water, Edward somehow knew that his arms were the only thing broken. Rocketing toward the ocean floor, he saw a cave off to his right. Edward foolishly turned and swam into it. 

Thirty seconds later, his head popped up out of the water. Edward saw a vast underground lake, with a shoreline a stone’s throw away. Getting over to it was the easy part. Getting onto it was not. Edward bashed his hands again and again on the slick, smooth rocks, hoping desperately to find a handhold to pull himself up with. After what seemed an eternity to Edward, his hand struck something sharp, and started bleeding. 

Ignoring the screaming pain from his broken arms and hand, Edward hauled himself out of the frigid water, and onto the rocks, cold, but immobile. Finally! A solid surface! He groped his way along in the darkness, wishing he were elsewhere. At last he reached a door, set in an archway of gold. Thinking that it might leadup to the palace, Edward continued. Passing by doors framed in silver and bronze, he came to a door, seemingly without an archway.

Edward felt around for a doorknob but couldn’t find one. As his fingers ran over the spot where he guessed the doorknob should go, he discovered a small hole and some grooves in the cool stone of the door. He traced the first groove with his finger. It was an N. Then there was a L. The next one felt like a V, no, a Y. “NLY” thought Edward. “What does this mean?” 

A soft voice sounded in Edward’s ear. “Only the chosen shall enter there. Others beware.” As suddenly as it had started, the voice stopped. The letters on the door glowed with a golden light, and Edward saw a stone nearby light up as well. He picked it up. Then he saw his arms. They glowed with golden light, and they weren’t hurting anymore! He looked back down at the rock. It looked like a doorknob, with a little rod poking out of the back. “Put it in the door.” the voice in his ear urged Edward. Edward put it in the hole quickly.

As soon as the doorknob touched the hole, the door transformed. The gold seemed to seep from the doorknob into the rest of the door, and before long, it was all glowing gold. When Edward took his hand off the doorknob, it transformed into a giant key. The door grew and divided in the middle. Soon two huge oak doors ribbed with gold stood before Edward. “Enter, Prince Edward,” a new, powerful voice boomed, “You are the chosen one!”

The doors opened, and there stood Sir Jeffrey. He threw his knife, and it hit Edward in the chest, killing him and knocking his body into the lake. Sir Jeffrey dusted off his hands. "Ha,"he said,"I win!"

THE END

Mrs. Lee Fu was a well-known farmer in the rural province of Xenth. Every villager knew her name, from poor peasant to wealthy lord. She was middle-aged woman, always seen tilling the earth, watering crops, or feeding farm animals. She prefered to work alone on her acres of farmland, enjoying the company of her border collie Tot. Still, as if by magic, her determination and labour always produced the best quality crops, and fed many citizens of the little province.

However, Mrs. Lee Fu wasn’t entirely alone, for she had a 16 year-old son named Chu. Chu was a trouble maker, and whenever he attempted to help his mother on the farm, he would end up causing more problems instead. As such, his mother sent him on errands around the village, keeping him busy and away from her precious crops.

Chu was an adventurous lad, youthful and carefree as adolescents aught to be. He was a daydreamer, concocting fantasies of wizards, swordsman and magical creatures in his mind. He strolled down the cobbled dirt roads of his home town, Mashu Town, lost in his imagination, walking endlessly and forgetting the errands his mother gave him. He never realized that he drew in the villagers’ attention, the way they would stare at him as if he were a lunatic, worrying that the mischief he brought would cause them trouble.

One tragic year, a deadly plague spread across the country, including the province of Xenth. It infected thousands of people, slowly rendering their bodies useless, until they finally died at the plague’s cruel hands. Doctors travelled constantly by train, visiting the ill and hunting for a cure. But their efforts were all in vain, and the plague continued to murder.

Sadly, Mrs. Lee Fu was one of the victims, slowly losing her ability to farm her land. All the villagers in Mashu Town feared for themselves, for if Mrs. Lee Fu was to die, they would not be able to enjoy her delicious crops and goods.

Chu also feared for his mother’s wellbeing, taking care of her as her condition worsened and she became bed-ridden, unable to cook, work or even stand. Every wheezing breath led to a fit of coughs. She was exhausted and weak, but no amount of sleep restored her to her hard-working self. It was strange for Chu, as his mother never required assistance from anyone before the plague, preferring to do everything on her own. But, he worried for his mother’s life and dreamed he could save her.

“I’m going to cure you, mother!” Chu exclaimed passionately, as he sat by her straw matress, feeding her porridge from a clay bowl.

“How...do...you...plan...to...do...that?” she asked between gasps and coughs.

“I’m heading off to find the Healing Well, of course!”

She sighed. “But...that’s...just...a...child’s...story...Chu...”

“No mother, it’s real! It really is! And I’m gonna find it and bring you some of it’s magical water to heal you! I’m gonna save you, mother!” He grinned.

“You...fool...you...will...get...yourself...killed...”

“Imagine mother, with that water, I could save the whole town! No, the whole province of Xenth!” He continued, paying little heed to his mother’s warning. “I’ll be a great hero! The Legend of Chu Lee Fu! They will share my story in every royal court and palace!”

In his excitement, he jolted up from his criss-cross position on the floor. He rushed around the house, strapping his father’s sword around his waste and holding a large metal bucket.

“I’ll use this to get as much magical water as I can! I’ll be back mother!” He called, rushing out of the house, shoeless.

He raced across the city, bumping into many villagers. He ran past the mill, over the bridge, and across the fields of grass. Eventually, he neared the edge of the Weeping Forest, and haulted. He stared up at the towering black trees, leaves blowing in the eerie breeze. The Weeping Forest, where mythical creatures lived, where the Healing Well lay hidden and guarded by a powerful sentinel.

“Well, here I go!” he smiled from excitement, and headed into the forest.

In the Weeping Forest, Chu heard the sound of squaking crows, growling tigers, and screeching monkeys as they swung from tree to tree. He stumbled down uneven forest paths, the rays of sun lighting up patches of the forest floor as they wove themselves amongst the canopy of leaves above. He was unsure of the time he spent in the forest, nor the direction he travelled. But, in his cheerful state, he payed no attention, caught up in the glorious fantasy once he returned home with that magical water.

The Healing Well appeared before him, as he stood panting from exhaustion, a foolish grin creasing his cheeks until they hurt. Moss and flowers sprouted from the cracks in the broken cobblestone of the well. The wooden top boasted a pulley and rope, so as to get the water from within the wells depths. The words Healing Well were etched strongly into the worn-out bark.

Chu took hold of the rope, ready to tie his silver bucket to its end. He peered into the dark abyss as he fumbled with the rope, wondering at how deep it tunneled into the earth.

“See, Mother!” he scoffed. “I was right! It is real, and not some childish fairytale!”

Just as he was about to lower the bucket into the well, an angry booming voice called up from inside the well.

“Hey, kid! What do you think you’re doing at my well?!”

“Hello, there!” Chu hollered back, giggling at the echo of his voice. “My name is Chu Lee Fu! May I get some magical water from your well, please?”

“NO! Now leave my well, at once!”

“Please, sir!” Chu begged. “The province of Xenth is dying! My mother is dying! I promised to save her!”

“Not every story has to have a happy ending kid! People are meant to die when their time comes. Now, be gone! Before I unleash my wrath on you!”

“No! I am not leaving until I get the magical healing water! I need to prove to her I was right about the Healing Well! I need to become a hero!”

And he plopped himself down on the grass, whistling an upbeat tune as he played with the strands of tall grass.

“Don’t you know who I am, boy?”

“Nope! Not a clue!” Chu laughed.

“My name is Dragon Child! I am the king of the Weeping Forest and guardian of the Healing Well! Anyone who has tried to steal my magical water has failed and paid the price! I am an all-powerful spirit! What makes you think you can come here demanding for my water, puny runt?!”

“I’m not afraid of you! Now come out, Dragon Child, and let me fight you! I’m a brave warrior of the Xenth people, and I will not lose!”

“Brave warrior, huh?” scoffed Dragon Child. “In your dreams, kid!”

“You’re not coming our ’cause you’re afraid of me! Dragon?! More like Chicken! Ba-cuck! Ba-cuck!”

Chu bent his arms, protruding his neck to immitate a chicken.

“You dare scorn me?! That’s it! I’ve had enough of your insolence!”

Boom! A massive scarlet cloud of smoke exploded from the well, like lava errupting from a volcano.The blast was so powerful, it sent nearby trees crashing and falling to the ground in a wide circle around the well, creating a clearing of chaos in the middle of the Weeping Forest.

Perched on the edge of the stone well, like an eagle ready to devour its prey, a young man smirked arrogantly at Chu. He was very handsome, with bright red eyes and soft midnight hair that seemed to float around him, as if suspended in water. He was no ordinary man though, for he had bright red scales decorating his body and face. A long tail lay curled amongst the grass at the base of the well, and two massive black wings spanned across his back. His figure cast a demonic shadow over the forest floor, as the sun slowly set in the distance, painting the sky in fiery red and orange. Chu stood eagerly, meeting Dragon Child’s eyes confidently.

“How about this: let’s have a battle, and if you manage to beat me, which I highly doubt, I will give you the entire Healing Well, so you can save Xenth and your poor mummy!” He said, mockingly.

“Deal!” Chu replied instantly, drawing out his father’s sword.

“You don’t want to hear what happens if you lose?”

“Nope! ’Cause I know I won’t lose!”

“Alright, then! Let us begin!”

Dragon Child stood, positioning himself into a fighting stance, claws ready.

Dragon Child and Chu Lee Fu fought even after the sun fell asleep behind the horizon and the moon reigned the sky. Chu was agile, having a slender lean build and quick strong legs. He managed to dodge Dragon Child’s attacks, and landed a few of his own. However, with each of Chu’s blows, Dragon Child’s skin instantly healed his wounds, as if by magic. As the battle drew on, Chu found himself gasping for breath, exhaustion slowing his body’s movements, pain pumping in his limbs like his blood. But, Dragon Child did not slow down, showing no signs of weakness, continuously attacking with the same feroscity as the very beginning.

Chu tumbled, landing hard on the ground, weak from fatigue. Dragon Child advanced, kicking Chu’s gasping bloody body with his clawed foot. He pressed the tip of his index finger’s claw to Chu’s skinny neck, watching the pulse of Chu’s artery, pressing just enough for a trickle of blood to drip onto Chu’s ripped shirt and exposed chest.

“Any last words, foolish dreamer?” Dragon Child smirked, dark silhouette towering over Chu, red eyes afire.

“Mother...I’m sorry...I couldn’t save you...” Chu gasped, whispering the words through dying breaths.

Chu closed his weary eyes, tears slowly flowing down his cheeks. He waited patiently for the fatal blow that would end his life, accepting that he was indeed a fool, chasing after a hopeless dream of being a hero. He desperately wished he had listened to his mother’s warning. Oh, how he wanted to be by her bedside now, treating her like a queen and showing how much he loved her! Now he could never see her again, never hold her close in an embrace, never maker her proud of her own son...he had failed.

Dragon Child mercilessly punctured Chu’s throat with his sharp claw, reaching down to Chu’s human heart. He drew the organ out of Chu’s lifeless body, watching it pulse in his palm. He blew, a directed tendril of scarlet flame, lighting Chu’s heart with bright everlasting fire. He tore through Chu’s chest, placing the burning heart right where it used to be.

Chu’s body was covered in a blanket of blinding crimson light brighter than a fallen star, as his wounds healed and his body transformed. When the light faded away, in Chu’s place a young dragon lay asleep.

Dragon Child approached the youthful dragon, knudging it’s snout with the edge of his claw.

“Wake up, kid.”

At his command, the little dragon opened its eyes, staring up at him cluelessly, gazing around the clearing with a lost confused expression.

“Who are you?” the little dragon asked, high pitched voice laced with crackling.

“My name is Dragon Child, little dragon! I am your master who has created you from fire and blood, and you are to serve me forever! That was the deal if you lost our battle.”

The little dragon was still confused, but he looked up at his master’s devilish eyes and sinister grin. He was afraid. In a shaky voice he spoke:

“Yes master.”

We are a family of nihilists, anarchists; provocateurs’ of a forseen transcendent apocolypse one might say. And not because we enjoy breaking Mans’ laws and are psychopathic entrepreneurs. Quite the opposite. We’ve come to appreciate the nature of reality here in Hell, on this Earth; as a cruel monopoly. A game limiting human potential for sport and for profit.

None of us in our family are ignorant by any means. Recognizing ignorance as bliss and happiness in suffering. In our family ignorance is punishable by public execution, especially when its preached with genius by the wolves dressed in sheeps skin. There can be no tolerance of those enguaged in the manipulation of the simple minded for mere carnal pleasures.

We are a covet sect who create occult libraries of our collective observations . Practicioners of guerrilla warfare who wear our Goat Cloaks wisely. We are everything that anyone who is not one of us fears.

The children procreated to carry on the tragic lives enjoying the suffering are marked for murder. We will kidnap these children at will and feed them to our children. The idea of life born to live for lies because ‘you can’ and ‘it feels good’ is your undoing.

All breeders, the whore woman genetically predisposed to birth the progeny of genocide: These woman randomly disappear to be returned torn to pieces. Their dismembered bodies displayed in ways that symbolize the encroaching apocalypse.

And the men, who bow from birth and assume a depraved sense of entitlement; a birthright to inflict their will upon the whole of humanity. For no other reason than to secure a life of carnality. Below canines who’ve been domesticated to not piss on the floor. Why perpetuating a materialistic doctrine clearly destroying what inviolable blessings Mother Nature bestows to us all, Her children; for one more fucking paycheck? For more creature comforts? Why is this lie so easily embodied?

“Be good little boys and girls, ok? One day all this shit will be yours! These materials, these objects of desire; can all be yours!” Without a second thought, just as an obedient dog seeks his bone, but so much worse.

For this, you must be house broken.

You so called men, who we refer to as Devil Pigs; we kidnap you at will. We learn from you and your perverted minds the most. Your minds are ritualistically brought through ever increasing psychological ordeals. Using coveted neurochemical means we disarticulate you. And we take no prisoners, mind you. And the essence of any knowledge, however unfortunate; forever grows in the hidden libraries we keep.

The land that I lived upon was a holy land; Rome was the city of powerful Senators who ruled their people with great dignity. Only a few weeks ago, Julius Caesar fell lifeless to the capitol building floor at the hand of his best friend, Decius Brutus. All entities know of this dastardly crime, but our country could not be more segregated. Some believed that the death of Caesar was unnecessary; however, I had acknowledged that Brutus would do anything to improve the life of all citizens of Rome, for the greater good of Rome consumed all of his waking days. Us followers of Brutus were severely outnumbered by those who had been brainwashed by the dastardly Marc Antony, who believed that Caesar was not ambitious in his motives and successfully manipulated the majority of citizens against us. Today would hopefully prove to be the end of the controversy. ​The divided citizens of Rome stood scattered among the field upon the outskirts of the capitol building as the pyre is set ablaze. Whilst staring into the oxidation of dalbergia melanoxylon wood into the air as our leader burns upon the stake in an extreme act of martyrdom, just as he murdered his best friend for the benefit of all of us on that blessed day during the Ides of March, I realize that not all heroes lay out their destiny with perfect actions. Brutus was a man who had murdered a seemingly perfect hero, but he disposed of him for he could see that deep within the all-powerful Julius Caesar was the heart of a tyrant. ​No one could have halted this utter destruction of mayhem throughout the land. If Caesar were alive, the great Brutus would not have to fall, but the citizens would live under the tyrannical reign of their own decorated war hero. After the joyous day of Caesar’s termination from our society, Brutus promised that if his death would settle the divided nation, then death he shall receive. He could have traditionally fallen onto his sword, but he wanted to make sure that all knew of his death, so that we may be at peace and restore our divided nation. As I raise my head to see the glorious man, the spark turned into a raging flame. Now, his body began to burn. ​There was no expression in eyes, rather they were calm and calculated as all of his strategic notions were. There was no outcry of pain, for his lips seemed to be sewn shut. I could stop this terror, but I choose not to; even as the screams of petrified citizens fill the brutally frigid air around us, I remain frozen within my position. I tear my vision away from the man who our principles are founded on, and a single white flower that begins to burn within the flames comes within my focus. I would be jubilant in the ignorance to how the demise and destruction of my world will be once Antony’s minions take over, but analytical conceptualization is the greatest strength of my organism. I shall be the one to lead now that the esteemed Brutus is nothing more than ashes.

I was always fond of Decius Brutus, for he was diverse from the rest of my peers. Even as a schoolboy he had a nature that no one could explain. He had an unexplainable atmosphere to him when he stated how he wanted to one day save Rome and maybe one day become a martyr. I must not reminisce in these once present memories any longer, for I feel nothing towards them. Forevermore I shall be hardened to all aspects that symbolize our fallen leader. As my daydreams drift away as the waterlilies so often did in the lake by my abode, I cannot be a stone-cold soldier to the world nor can the others. I watch while Cassius and Decius fall to their knees in grief whilst Portia merely watches as the sun sinks over the deadened horizon. There is no hope in these souls. I, for one, can not look away from the ashes that once constructed the body known as Brutus. I cannot seem to fathom that he is deceased, for I feel the presence of those icy blue eyes. And yet a single tear trickles from my piercing grey eyes. The atmosphere is stained with his remembrance. The fire blazes for hours and even into the dead of night, and within the depths of the darkness and the silence around me, I realize that I am unaccompanied by the masses. Within the orange and black strokes of light illuminating my being, the rods within the lining of my retina detect the purest of colors. How can an object be so pure in the midst of a tragedy? The once luscious greenery around the beauteous flower is charred from the blaze, but the blossom is disgracefully intact. Although the survival of this inflorescence is shocking, my mind becomes angered at the fact that while a bud survived, the imperative organism could not. The once rapid oxidation calls me to its dying embers. They glow of the sun with an unmistakable amount of uncontrollable power. I select a narrow stick that would make for an efficient torch if not used for an instrument of violence. The flower should be dead as well! I shall right this wrong within the universe. Brutus thought he was balancing out his actions when in reality he was worth so much more than Caesar. He was a true leader, someone who could lead with the logic of a thousand or more men. Who now will lead our moral compass? How are we so outnumbered when Antony only provokes violence and is unable to utilize logic long enough to prove his own argument? I cannot take it! A plethora of the exquisitely soft petals fall to the charred ground as I wrench the stem from its roots. I bring forth the stem to the crackling fire. The emotions that run throughout my body should be shamed. Never has death of such an unworthy opponent felt so justified. The innocence, along with my hope for humanity, incinerates as each petal is taken by the rapid oxidation.

I walk along these streets of cobblestone that were built when both Caesar and Brutus still walked among us. An extreme cloud of sadness hangs over my head and develops thoughts of my own worthlessness. Who am I to wander throughout these streets? I must return to the bustling center of the city, for maybe I could find rest at my humble abode to ease this depressed state. As I return, my mind wanders to all that is lost. After the announcement of Brutus’ untimely demise, Antony proceeded to return his manipulative ways to once again organize the system of brainwashed beings to destroy us one by one. We hear threats in the streets from his followers that we shall be killed if we continue our loyalty to Brutus’ mindset. I am ready for that day to come; we all our ready for our death. Without Brutus we are lost in a state of grief and resentment. Every single one of us would have taken his place last night. If I could trade his life for mine I would in a heartbeat. I am brought back into my tormented reality by the sound of yelling coming from around the capitol. I begin to run towards the commotion. There is no use for this type of disturbance this late, due to the simple fact that there is nothing in this area except for the capitol and abandoned houses. Ever since Brutus’ death, no Antony supporter dared to enter the cluster of houses that surrounded the capitol. I was the only one who lived in this perimeter, in order to escape the masses and to protect the former house of Brutus. All of my acquaintances under Brutus vowed to live in obscurity until we could devise a plan. Who would be here at such a time? Antony and his loyalists have no usage out of my abode unless...

These heartless hinds! Such pyromaniacs that dare to destroy the last materialistic remembrance of Brutus all because they cannot comprehend the hamartia of Caesar. I let my emotions overtake me. My heartbeat quickens and I cannot breathe; my vision blurs and refocuses, only to blur once more. From the shadows rises the venomous offender himself, Marcus Antony. The halo of fire only illuminates the menacing smirk. The dagger he clutches as his footsteps come closer and closer, ever so closer, gleams within the orange blaze. Antony’s head slowly tilts to the left, his eyes demonic and dull. He has turned into the picture of power that he never wished to acquire. I am paralyzed with utter fear and helplessness and, for the final time, look into his eyes.

I feel myself slipping into the abyss and hear my final words slip from my conscience.

“Et tu, Antony?”