A dove

And so I told them everything, hoping at a grasp of vitality from their blood soaked hands. Where all my precious jewels were, where my runes lie, every page of every spell I inherited from my family’s long past in the art of sorcery. He spat on my face, ordering some of his thugs to scrap out the treasures I once possessed. I am nothing now. They had taken everything in their bright white band. Everyone knows who they are. Everyone knows the orchestra of death that follows them, and the screams of agony to them is an encore of brutality. Entire nations have been swept by single men possessing power far greater than anyone should. They say their knives cut through even the sharpest of minerals. The blood soaked cloaks they slew their enemies in are tossed up like war banners in the villages and kingdoms they incinerate, and they leave behind such a holochaust of nightmares that many nations declare their name illegal. I cannot weep to their strikes. I know from many friends that they enjoy any sign of weakness. I cannot show them the anger that burns in my eyes and the strength that my fists clench and my teeth grit. They call that a challenge. In my dazed emotionless eyes, I see the grunts retrieve and carry their newfound goods to him. He recites some foreign language, manifesting a small sac from the palm of his hand. The sac grows, allowing enough room for all of my belongings to fit inside. With the snap of his fingers, they gravitate inside of the sac, before it all disappears, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke and a malicious look inside of his eyes. “Thank you for your cooperation, young man.” He says in such a polite voice. He orders one of the thugs to untangle me from sorcerous barbed wires that kept me in my place. The wires fling away from me, ripping apart at my mangled body. My head grows light. “Might we have a walk?” He lets out his hand, helping me get up from my blood soaked floor. I follow him. Not out of fear. Not out of obedience. Not out of curiously. It is all suffering. I don’t want to suffer anymore. He leads me out of my house to a smog filled environment of heart wrenching screams and clashing metal. The amber sky attacked my lungs with burning soot and embers, but he is untouched. He is untouchable. I look aside of me to see his stature; Calm, warm, welcoming. He is the most beautiful sight in a most brutal scene, and in a way is admirable. “Do you see all of this. Isn’t it chaos for you? Your friends, your family. Does this hurt?” I keep myself silent, his eyes staring me down and freezing my lungs. He lets out a sigh, pacing me as his triumphant march quickens. “It’s all so wonderful to me. This is a play, and you are my actors. I set the scene, and you play the parts. How wonderful does that sound? The power to entertain is the most powerful tool of all! Not money, not royalty, all of those are petty and foolish. Imagine the joy you can give to yourself when you can entertain yourself to such a level like this!” He runs across the village well, soaking in the background and laughing hysterically. His hands rise into the sky, as if he is grasping at something invisible. “-You understand, right? You: You are the main actor! This entire thing is for naught if it wasn’t for you! Now, let me teach you a lesson.” He arches his arm back and throws something in my direction. My scarred hand mythically raises itself to catch it, feeling alienated from my motions. It’s a knife; their knife. Carved like a dragon’s head, sharpened to an atomic level. It’s lightweight structure is almost soothing to touch, like the stuffed animals my best friend once owned. It’s only weight was in its power. I feel the intensity of a star in the aura of the blade. I feel nothing but the knife. The knife fuels my body and I become one with the tool of murder. The orange hue of the sky turns into a murky silver, and the ground pools in colors of gray and black. White targets seem to float to me like ghosts. I cannot think, I cannot feel. I slash at these apparitions that think they can duel me. My hand alone slashes at the very heart of the enemy. Cut into two, four, evermore with my blade and nails. I speak nothing. I hear nothing. The ground soaks colors of black and gray and the white disappears. I learn what it is like to wield a weapon. I learn how to fight. Crystallized minerals form around my arms, making me stronger. I feel the herculean might inside of me grow. To what degree have a mastered this blade? I hear nothing but the blade. I see nothing of color, until the sight of the knife uncovers itself in my vision. I taste victory. I feel power. At one point, these movement feel fluid and natural. I am a masterful murderer. I decimate the victims that dare enter my sight. I don’t remember how long I felt this, but it was the greatest feeling of my life. All of it crashed and burned when I heard his voice once more, muffled by laughter and joy of his insightful manner. “Yes, yes! Good! I knew you were the best one. Look at what you have done!” My vision, inked with freckles of color, began to reappear. I heard nothing but the choking of blood from whom I have slain. I collapse onto the ground. The sight was so unholy, so impure. My best friend, lay beside my broken soul. My family, my friends, glitter the ground around me with their blood. I had slain them all. There was no thugs. There were no fires. The sky was a bright blue and the air of fresh blood. The only living thing that stood across from me was him. He did not stutter. He smiled at the sight of my stained accomplishment. “Now, you and me. Luqnik and you! Raise what I have taught you. Face me!” He raised his hand, and collapsed the background that had once been my village and melted it away into a black void. It was alone with me. His movement into a battle position was gracious, and I accepted his challenged with my newfound strength. “-Entertain me.” He spoke softly under his lips, curling a smile of pleasure as he raised his sheathed sword. Luqnik was no longer alone with me. I was alone, against him.