The Kingdom of Ends: Chapter 1

When to the end the tale was brought, rose in the sage's mind the thought; now who throughout this earth will go, and tell it forth that all may know? -Valmiki

"You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away”. I always liked that song. Mama used to sing to me every morning before school. I like to think that was the only reason she got up in the morning. I remember the words like yesterday but mama’s voice is now fading. All I hear now is the weakness, like she knew it was coming. I think she wanted to tell me but knew I wasn’t strong enough. I was her baby and she let me figure it out on my own. Well, I am not a child anymore. I’m not afraid of the dark. I can walk there now and go to those dark places. It’s where I live, and maybe… maybe I think I can see her again if I just wait. Maybe I can see everybody who knew me, the real me. But it hurts. It hurts me to remember and yet I don’t want to forget. It’s like the universe wants to save me from the nightmares, but I’m cursed with only a dream.

Again, the fog lifts from my thoughts, and the edge of my eyes sting. They sink to the back of my head as would a certain primordial predator, ironic given my watery grave. I could hold my breath for a while, and for a while, I won’t bother to struggle. I don’t need too much for my next feat and frankly it feels good to let go.

Now it was enough, and the heavy shackles stretched then snapped with only a flex of my strength. Just as the bubbles began to settle I rose to the surface like a grand submersible. When my lips emerged to meet the paper thin pocket under the ceiling, in one boiling breath I destroyed the glass with only my knuckle propelled. The surging waterfall carried me to the center of the dense concrete floor. The water that was left in my cavity sought to drown me still but the halo of a spotlight blinded my starving eyes. I tensed just as I heaved, ready to pounce, scanning to see if I would finally meet my maker. The warehouse lit up with each row of advancing lamps revealing a valley of almost certain death. Oh brilliant, I get to recite the jungle law to these heathens. I have no objection to death and am not shy for the chance of it, but I will not go quietly under its wing. It has never been my way to bleakly accept fate, the Greeks would say it is the source of my suffering. And yet, I am a man who enjoys tugging at the threads of fate. 

Flinging lackeys and trailing goons is a favorite of mine. It’s a reminder of simpler days, days that were undoubtedly black and white. Days we all spent rushing rooftops and patrolling streetways. I wish there was still contrast, something that was different. It was the same shit world but it was never too heavy, and when it was, we were always there resting in contempt. We are unprofitable servants; we have done what was our duty to do. But both my eyes and hands are muddied with blood and deceit. The moans of my enemies were never as loud and piercing. Nowadays they’re petrified cause they know I’ll kill them. The feeling I get before I end the last one is less relieving than you would guess. At one point I kept track, but that must have been ages ago. After you bathe in a tub of blood, all other color seems dull. Everything turns…. white, in comparison. 

With each lump of stone I chip, my scale goes numb from the pile. I slide into frenzy even after their hearts stop. No matter how terrible the enemy I face, my last challenge is always me. Seems I’ve already lost that war. I’m unsure as to when I passed exactly. I worry I may be dead just to avoid the pain, I assuredly cuff any instinct and snuff the thought. 

The current skirmish is fought for supremacy. A sovereign maiden stands in my way. Her secret desire to no one is to stand by my side. Her craving for power and passion for danger will be her downfall, but not before she screws me in tow. Before my plan is fully realized, my resources need culminating, and I am staring my first priority in her mangled beady eyes. The Red Queen has the cultists and acolytes I need to add volume to my wrought empire. The insane are unpredictable but devoted, I require their loyalty. But her love borders atop a hatred. She won’t give them to me but I am not a servant that asks. The steel bodies crumple under my boot, in spite to the lead I’m carrying. The darkness round me is drowned out by the golden glint beneath her gum. Her skin is torched from bronze and her hair from brass, yet her voice is rugged like an iron. The time has come, to feed her the sterling spoon.

She’s always cross with me. Once I crack my broken knuckles a spark ignites in her belly. As much as I want to dance with Lady Payne, I can’t afford to make a failing step. Treading on her toes would be fatal on my part. It may not look it, but she packs each cell with strength and conviction. Yet I’ve brought claws of my own.  I conduct my plan with the utmost risk before I needlessly fail. Her fists pummel my stomach till there’s no more ribs to break. When our chests meet and we wrestle in the red, I go for her throat. My grip tightens and we lock necks like mated vipers. I won’t be able to pierce her thick hide, so I must snatch her very breath away. I’m content to fall alongside her. The music stops and our waltz is interrupted for a tizzy. 

For my Lady, the difference between love and war is thin at best. Both pain and pleasure stimulate her skin, same for everyone but she embraces it maniacally. Only she knows I can’t love her, let alone myself. Where time cannot be perceived and morality is unknown; the only thing felt is the tender burning in your heart or the knife in your spine. The worst part is you learn to love the pain cause it’s the only thing that’s real. Just about the only thing I can control is the depth of my blade.

The Lady understands very little when it comes to swiping her paws or swinging her hips. Empty bottles say she fell from the sky. Like an angel of death, ever since she’s run through lovers like a blood rag. The tiger inside is gnawing itself from its own unspeakable appetite. I can imagine her caging herself in, complicating both sex and death, the grandest acts one can commit to. In that respect, I understand what she’s going through. The Lady weeps with dismay at the heel of my abuse; for a woman who feels so wholly her emotions she spends a lot of her time confused.