The Shadow-- Heretic

Death to the heretics!

       The Shadow-- Heretic

“And the wolf shall lay down with the lamb.” Isaiah 11:6
       There was once a great valley that rested isolated from the corruptions of the world. Those who lived in it named it Otium, for peace and leisure. There were majestic fields of green, trees, and marvelous winding streams that would meander into a great lake that was home to brightly colored schools of fish and plants. 
       Otium was home to a great number of peaceful lambs, lead by three shepherds. The shepherds’ names were Peace, Faith, and Hope. They lead the lambs into a peaceful and easy life. The lambs’ days consisted of lazily grazing on hills of green and singing and dancing. They were carefree. Lazy. Idle, even. A great flame of corruption swept through the rest of the country, but Otium remained untouched. The people believed that they were immune to the chaos. That is, until the wolf came.
       The wolf came with an army of rats. He had been driven out of his home because of fool’s pride. The wolf and his followers were looking for a place to sleep when Otium caught their eyes, and it was then the wolf licked his lips and said, “My men, we have not found a sanctuary�"this valley will be where we build our dynasty.” 
       The lambs’ idleness made them fat and weak. They could do naught when the wolf and his rats stormed their home. The shepherds tried to keep order, but in the end, the wolf murdered Peace and took Hope hostage. Faith fled the people, leaving them with despair. The wolf built a harem, and took the lambs as slaves. Everyday, the wolf would pick a lamb, and force it to complete a task. If the lamb could not complete the task to satisfactory perfection, the wolf would kill it and feed its carcass to the rats. He forced the lambs to forge him a den for him and his men, to slave away so they could live in leisure. If any lamb would rise up, the wolf would eat it alive in front of everyone. This was a warning. THIS is what happens when you disobey.
       One hundred years later, the harem remained, and a new wolf laid down the law…
      * * *
       Lord Fachtna sat in his throne, drooling over his meal. He ate three heaping meals a day, and consumed large desserts between each meal. On one day, for breakfast he may enjoy a meal of eggs and bacon with fine ale. Perhaps he’d enjoy some spiced rolls as a snack afterwards. For lunch, he would eat lamb chops with ale and bread. For dinner, he would have a meal of fine meats, cheeses, nuts, fruits, red wine, delicious cakes and pastries. His eating habits certainly showed�"he was a very large man, short and fat. A glutton, his love for food matched only by his love for grisly, sadistic violence. His laws were ambiguous, and purposely so. Laws were practically invented as they went along, made to incriminate various people for one purpose�"Fachtna’s game.
       Under Fachtna’s rule, anybody who committed any crime who was above the age of nine was imprisoned. Those who were imprisoned were kept so indefinitely… unless they won a pardon. Pardons could be won by playing Fachtna’s game, a game that involved pitting prisoners against animals and other prisoners. Petty theft usually involved fighting a dog. If you survived the dog you had to kill another man and then you were set free. Greater offenses basically meant death because those involved fighting the lions. One man actually killed a lion once. But he was so happy he forgot about the other one and was mauled. Lord Fachtna also got other people for his game by acquiring slaves from other cities. Otium was rich in resources. Fachtna didn't give a damn about gold or silver. What he wanted was slaves, food, and entertainment. He would get those things any way possible. 
       Fachtna didn't care about his people. He did not care about prospering. He most certainly did not care about leaving behind a god damn legacy. He cared only for himself, and pleasures of the flesh. It may not have been this way if his twin brother, Damien, had been first-born. Damien was the polar opposite of Lord Davek Fachtna. He was sensitive and caring, smart and intelligent. However it is all for naught for Davek was first-born, therefore inheriting the throne left by their father who had established the harem. Damien tried his best to change Davek, risking his own life by speaking out against him, but Davek only smiles sickly and beats him aside. He would killed any other man ten times over; however, he spared Damien. 
       Fachtna ate ravenously, chewing and gulping with matched urgency to that of a starving, dying dog. He grunted and moaned while he ate, chuckling as he panned through his memories for amusing times. He was midway through his meal when a soldier barged in through the doors. Fachtna stopped, gaping at him in shock. Perhaps one of the strictest rules ever imposed was that never, EVER would anybody interrupt his meal for anything other than the most dire and important reason.
       “WHAT?!” he roared, scraps of meat flying from his mouth.
       “I have dire news, sir… a group of heretics has massed outside of the castle. Sir… they are demanding freedom. They are all armed.” 
       “HERETICS?” he shouted. “God d****t!” He was enraged. His meal, the most divine part of the day, interrupted by heretics? Heretic was the name he gave to those who went against his will. Heresy was the largest offense anybody could commit in the eyes of Lord Fachtna. Heretics were strung up on stakes and fed to lions from the legs up. Fachtna detested the heretics. Rather, he feared them. The hope that had been dead for so long could easily be revived by some foolish heretic who promises change and rebellion. If hope was re-ignited and the people tried to revolt, then his empire could easily fall. No, Fachtna had to ensure that such a thing NEVER happened. In order to remain control, he had to make his people fear his very presence, because with fear, there is no hope. Fear was the wolf that he continually fed to eat away at people’s hopes so that they never tried anything. If the wolf was killed, hope would come back. He must keep Fear the Wolf strong and healthy.
       Fachtna followed the soldier out to the ramparts where dozens of archers stood, preparing to heed their master’s command. He looked below�"there were a hundred or so heretics, more than he had ever seen speak up at once. It was a small percentage of the population, but nonetheless in unnerved him. 
       “May I have your attention, Davek Fachtna?” The leader shouted, his people behind him, brandishing swords and knives. 
      Fachtna muttered, “Where the hell did they get weapons?”
       “Mr. Fachtna,” the man said. “My name is Randall Allers. I have a wife and a daughter. I had a son. A son you killed with your games! What exactly is your goal, Fachtna? Why are you terrorizing us? We can’t sleep in our own homes out of fear and misery. What kind of leader does that to his own people?!”  
       “A leader who doesn't give a s**t!” Fachtna bellowed over the ramparts.
       "Well you know what? We don't have to take it anymore!" The man turned and faced his people. "We don't have to stand for this degradation anymore! We are an innocent people! We have a right to live free from fear, free from the seeds of corruption this man sows! We must stand up! Stand up and take back this land that we were entitled to have!" Cheers from the crowd. The man turns back to Fachtna. He looks up and bellows, "We are no longer afraid of you! If you do not grant us freedom, we will--"
       "Shoot them down," Fachtna ordered the archers.
       There was a moment of shock and hesitation. "But sir," the captain protested. "There's hundreds of them down there, that's genno--"
       "I DO NOT, GIVE, A SINGLE S**T HOW MANY THERE ARE! THEY'RE HERETICS! FILTHY GOD DAMN HERETICS! THEY'RE DEAD TO US!"
       "But sir..."
       Fachtna grabbed the captain by his pauldrons. "If you do not issue that order, I will toss you over the edge and you can join the filthy heretics. Understood?"
       "Yes sir..." He turned to his confused men. He bit is left stress-fully. He had a wife and kids. Would they ever look at him the same way if he did this? He cleared his throat. "Gentlemen... I--"
       "STOP!" came a shout. Everybody turned to the source. A tall broad-shouldered man was sprinting towards them from the far side of the ramparts.
       "Damien?" Fachtna gaped.
       "You can't do this!" he shouted. "Those are people down there, your people!"
       "And you dare defy me, Damien?" Fachtna challenged. 
       "Damn straight I do!" he yelled. "I will not stand by idly while you commit genocide to maintain this harem that is an abomination to mankind!" He leaned in close, his face close against Fachtna's. "Call off the attack! We can find another way to deal with this!"
       "Another way, eh? You always were an idealist, Damien. Goddamn naive. When will you learn?"
       "When will I learn?" he growled. "When will YOU learn?! You can't control people with fear! You have to guide them with respect, with wisdom! They will never follow you if you continue to control them like this!"
       "I've done well so far, haven't I?" 
       "Done well? DONE BLOODY GODDAMN WELL?! LOOK AT THEM DOWN THERE! YOU HAVE A MINI ARMY PREPARED TO REVOLT AGAINST YOU AND YOU SAY YOU'VE DONE PRETTY WELL?!"
       "WHAT DO YOU KNOW, HUH? ARE YOU KING?"
       "The only reason you're king is because you're firstborn! I should be leading these people, you corrupt b*****d! You have no humanity!"
       "You can't keep people in line through peace and love!" Fachtna bellowed. "You have to lay down the law, so they never defy you, and when they do, you make it a bloodbath to set an example for everyone else! It's a cycle, Damien, I thought I told you that! You lay down the law. People are too scared to do anything. Then a man opens his fat mouth, starts to give people hope. So you know what you do? YOU KILL THE B*****D, GUT HIM AND HANG HIM BY HIS ENTRAILS FOR ALL TO SEE! Then people lose hope, they're in even more despair than ever! It's the only way to keep them in line!"
       With a swift, sudden movement, Damien seized Fachtna by the back of the head and shoved it so it was facing over the wall of the rampart.
       "What the HELL are you doing?!" he howled.
       "LOOK! OPEN YOUR EYES FOOL! LOOK AT THOSE PEOPLE DOWN THERE! DO THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE IN LINE TO YOU?!" He released Fachtna. He stumbled backwards, dazed. He glared at Damien with hate. "Do it!" he shouted at the archers. "Shoot them down!"
       "No! Don't lose your humanity for this mockery of a man!"
       Fachtna grabbed Damien and lifted him in the air. "I am TIRED of listening to your s**t, your foolish ideals, your philosophies, your dimwitted notions!"
       "And I'm tired of your corruption you twisted b*****d! Let these people go!"
       "You'd side with the heretics over me?" he asked.
       "I'd side with anyone over you," Damien spat through gritted teeth. "I'm done living in your shadow!"
       Fachtna sighed. "Yes, yes you are done living in it. Because now you're going to die in it."
       Damien's eyes widened. "What-" 
       "Join your heretic friends in hell, foolish brother!" Fachtna screamed as he lifted his brother high in the air...
      ...and shoved him over the rampart. He fell with his face contorted in rage, mouthing, "You god damn fool..."
       Damien fell, landing directly next to the man leading the heretics, his mouth open, spewing a geyser of blood. Fachtna smiled in triumph.
       "Sir!" the captain cried. "He was your brother!"
       "I don't care," he replied. "I've let his insolence go on for far too long."
       "But sir..."
       "Enough! Now order your men to attack!"
       "But--"
       "Do it! Unless you want to join foolish Damien, that is?"
       "I won't do it!"
       "So be it." he grabbed the captain and tossed him over. "You! You're next in charge. Don't test me boy."
       "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" he asked timidly.
       "Yes, now do it already!"
       He nodded. "Men, arm your bows!"
       "But sir--"
       "No buts! It's his will!" One by one, the archers armed their bows. They looked at the new captain uncertainly. 
       "Take aim!" Hesitantly, they did so. He looked at Fachtna one final time. He nodded, grinning madly. Closing his eyes, the man ordered, "FIRE AT WILL!"
       It was at that moment a torrent of arrows rained down on the citizens of Otium, showering them in swift death. Hearts were pierced, eyes were split, craniums shot, some choking on the flow of their own blood. One by one the heretics fell, massing atop each other, a mountain of bodies forming over a sea of blood. Screams erupted from everywhere. Agonized cries and anguished squeals as innocent men and women fell, stricken down by the wolf. 
       It was only short time before they all lay dead. A single tear fell from the son, and then a heavy rain fell. The sky sobbed with howling winds and pounded its fists with bright cracks of lighting. Most of the archers turned away, and those who didn't looked down at what they did in horror.
       But Fachtna didn't. 
      
       In fact, he smiled.

* * *

 There was once a great valley, where peaceful lambs lived. But one day an evil wolf came and enslaved the lambs. He did terrible things, but the worst thing he did was impregnating his slave wife with the fruit of his loins and giving birth to an even viler creature. Wolfish like his father, but worse, with no pride, no reason. His father felt great pride in what he did. He did it not just for himself, but for his men and people. But the wolf cub didn't care about his people. The wolf cub was selfish, caring only for himself. When he took over his father's kingdom, he did so spitefully, caring neither about the past nor the future of the kingdom-- only his own solitary game.
       His father was no saint, he did terrible things. But the most terrible thing he did was not done to his people, nor was it giving birth to the vile wolf-cub; the most terrible thing he did was when he impregnated his slave wife, his second son, Damien, was not first born.
      * * *
       He came from the desert.
       Nobody knew from where he came originally, but only that he came out of the desert. He was clad in all black, a long dark cloak with a large hood that covered nearly all of his physical features. He was tall, incredibly so at over seven feet. He brought with him an air of unnaturality, a feeling that this man had a dark past and would commit murder at a single glance, but yet he was pure enough not to. Most people disregarded him-- the city of Otium was quite isolated, not many knew of him. But some did. Yes, some knew of the lonely deity know only as The Shadow.
       The tales were quite ambiguous. They told of a man dressed in black who traveled the country. His purpose was unclear-- he didn't seem to have any reason or rhyme. He kept mainly to himself, which only added to the mystery. In some tales, he is a villain, a child of Satan. But in many, he is depicted as a supernatural vigilante. Some referred to him as the Black Wind, blowing from town to town, killing those who he sees as a menace to society. True enough, those who he kills are never missed. They were the scum and filth of humanity. And yet  others no better than he still found some way to judge him, label him as an outlaw. But the tales never showed his personality, only his actions. Nobody knows who (or what) he is. The Shadow preferred it that way. He didn't want groups of people following him about, asking for favors. Therefore, he kept a figure of fear, became a bogey man so to speak.
       He strode into a bar. He walked slowly, in no hurry. He was a patient man. He received a number of strange stares from other people in the bar. They had never seen such an outlandish figure. Whispers began, rumors swirled. The Shadow did not care. He was thirsty, having come out of a large desert. He sat down across the bartender. "Water," was all he said. His voice was quiet, carrying no weight. A whisper, almost, but with the volume of a normal spoken word. The bartender nodded, wary, and placed a mug in front of him. The Shadow lifted it, drinking slowly. 
       "Are you from around here?" the bartender asked timidly. Others leaned in closely to listen.
       "Obviously not."
       "From where did you come then, out-lander?"
       "The desert."
       "The desert? What business did you have there?"
       "None that concerns you."
       The bartender frowned. People were normally social. It was the only source of news they got. Fachtna wouldn't let them leave, so they were kept isolated from the world. Everyone got excited when a newcomer arrived. But something was odd about this man...
       Suddenly three guards burst through the doors. The Shadow did not turn around.
       "Where is he?" one of the guards asked.
       "Of who do you speak?" the bartender asked.
       "Franklin Godfrey."
       At that moment a man stood up and bolted, heading for the doors.One of the guards grabbed him by his face and shoved him to the ground. "DAMN YOU!" he shouted, spitting at the soldier's feet. The soldier grimaced and kicked the man across the face. He grunted in much pain.
       "What do you want from me?" he growled. "I've done nothing wrong!"
       "Lord Fachtna disagrees, Godfrey," the soldier replies.
       "Lord Fachtna?! He doesn't have enough sense to tell the time of day! Leave me be!"
       "Godfrey, is there something you'd like to tell us?"
       "Piss off, b*****s! Scum! Filth! I know nothing!"
       "Once again, Godfrey, Lord Fachtna disagrees. We know what you are. Confess and death may come swift and merciful."
       "Eat s**t, puppets of the devil! I spit at your feet!"
       The soldiers exchanged glances. "Wrong answer, Godfrey." They kicked him, three feet connected with his side with brute force. A rib cracked. Godfrey howled in pain.
       "We know you're working with the heretics! Tell us who is involved and we may let you live!"
       "You're the heretics, filthy mongrels! I'll not speak to you!" He tries to get up, but one of the soldiers grabs his face and knocks him to the ground with a devastating backhand. 
       "Where are the other heretics?! Tell us, now!"
       "Eat... S**t..."
       "Stupid fool." They began to kick him, over and over. The others in the bar stared in shock.
       Suddenly a great shadow loomed over the soldiers. They stopped the beating, perplexed. "Who the hell are you?" one of the soldiers asked.
       The Shadow cocked his head at him. A shiver went down his spine, and his head fell. 
       "Martin? Hey, Martin, you okay?"
       Martin shakily reached for his sword and unsheathed it. He turned to his brother, shaking... and with a flash, impaled him with his sword! He looked down, gasping in pain, blood welling around the wound and falling to the ground. He fell to the side, dead. 
       "Martin!" the other soldier cried, unsheathing his own blade. "What the hell are you doing?!"
       "I-I can't h-help it," he stuttered shakily. "He's in m-my head!"
       "Who? Who is you crazy b*****d?!"
       "I'M NOT CRAZY!" he shouted, swinging his blade wildly at the other soldier. It pierced him through the eye, the tip of the blade coming out of the back of his head. Blood pooled around him, soaking the heels of Martin's shoes.
       "I AM NOT CRAZY!" he roared, swinging his blade madly about. "I'M NOT! I'M NOT CRAZY, IT'S HIM! HE'S IN MY HEAD MAKE HIM GET OUT!"
       "Who?" the bartender asked shakily. "Who's in your head?"
       "GAHHH! SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" he shouted. Suddenly he dropped the sword and pulled out a long knife. "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" he cried as he lifted the knife to his throat. "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII--" his cries were cut short as he plunged the blade into the meat of his neck and slashed across, cutting it open. The crimson life-flood spurted out of his open neck like a geyser, which he feebly attempted to stop with his hands while he fell to his knees choking and gurgling, eyes wide. He fell to the ground, bleeding out quickly. He spasmed, and was still.
       The bar sat in silence. No one dared open his mouth. It was impossible, and yet they all thought it-- that man clad in black made that soldier kill the others and commit suicide. They didn't know how, but they were certain it must be true.
       The Shadow looked at Godfrey. "Are you well?"
       "Um... I've been better," he said.
       "Walk with me."
       The man rose shakily to his feet, clutching his side. The two stepped outside, and started to walk.
       "Who are you?" Godfrey asked.
       "I am who I am. I come from far away. I've heard rumors of this place. That it is unholy. Tell me what it is that goes on here."
       He looked away. "It is forbidden... I cannot tell you."
       "The soldier called you a heretic in there. Explain to me what he meant."
       "A heretic is one who goes against the will of Lord Fachtna. A renegade. He... he kills any who opposes him, through savage means."
       "So the rumors of his game are true then." It was not a question. "So tell me... by definition, are you a heretic?"
       Hesitance, then "... no. Not anymore."
       "And what caused you to renounce your ways?"
       "A group of us went up to Fachtna's castle in protest. I stayed behind to rally the second group. But..." he tells the Shadow of the massacre at the castle wall. "That was a week ago..."
       The Shadow nodded. "And this Fachtna... he lives in the castle, no?"
       "Yes, of course. Why?"
       "The reason I've come. I have business with him."
       "You mean...?" his eyes lit up.
       "I am a drifter. I hear things. When I hear of rumors such as this, I investigate, and if needed, I bring order. It is who I am. If you would lead me to this castle..."
      * * *
       It was supper time. Lord Fachtna sat in his room, feasting on a meal of nuts and cheeses with spiced wine. 
       "Call me a fool," he grunted, taking a massive bite out of a hunk of cheese. "Foolish brother."
       He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that Damien had sided with the heretics. His own brother. "Father taught us better than that," he mumbled. "He'd be ashamed of you, Damien!" He laughed. "Who's alive now b***h? Huh? I AM! I'M ALIVE AND YOU'RE DEAD YOU FILTHY HERETIC! I'LL TEACH PEOPLE TO DEFY ME! I'LL THROW THE WHOLE CITY OVER THE RAMPARTS!"
       He chuckled drunkenly, taking a swig from his wine. Then he began to sing a drunken tune.
       "O'er ramparts I watch ye fall,
       That's the end of your worthless drawl,
       Now I can have a ball,
       Humpty Dumpty fell over the wall,
       Now I can stand tall,
       Cuz I control them all,
       Watch them moan and crawl,
       Oooh I'm the greatest king that anybody ever saw!"
       He took another bite of his cheese and shoved some crushed nuts in his mouth and washed it down with more wine. "It's great to be King, Damien. No, I may not be THE King, maybe I'm just some worthless land lord, but hey, I can do whatever I want. That's what it really was, wasn't it brother? You were jealous!  You wanted to have all that I had, yes you did. And you tried to take it from me. You were behind the heretic attack, weren't you? WEREN'T YOU?!" He loses his anger and flips the dish of nuts onto the ground. It shatters, scattering food all over the floor. He looks in front of him. There's a mirror. He looks at it. There was something odd. Suddenly, instead of his reflection, Damien appeared, staring coldly at Fachtna. He gasps.
       "Stop it," he moans. "Stop it!"
       "You killed me,"  Damien whispered. "You killed me you dirty cheap. I was your brother."
       "No," Fachtna laughs, smiling sickly, pointing his finger at the mirror. "No, you brought it on your self! I gave you the world, and in return you BETRAYED ME!"
       "Did I brother? I don't recall killing you..."
       "No, no no no you! You were a heretic! You chose death!"
       "No, you chose it for me. You murdered me Davek!"
       "SHUT UP! YOU AREN'T REAL! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
       "Murderer, murderer, Davek is a murderer! I'm going to tell Daddy!"
       "Noo!" he whined, dropping to his knees. "Please. Don't tell Daddy! I beg you!"
       Damien stuck his tongue out. "You can't stop me!"
       "DAMIEN! I'LL KILL YOU!"
       "You already have," he giggled. Blood started to poor down his chin. 
       "No, Damien!"
       Suddenly Damien vanished, replaced by his father.
       "Father," he moaned.
       "What have you done,  Davek?"
       "Noo, Father! Please, I wasn't myself! You have to believe me!"
       "You killed your brother, Davek. My son."
       "Father, I'm sorry!"
       "You killed my son. I am very disappointed in you."
       "Father, please, don't be disappointed! Father!"
       His father disappeared. Suddenly hundreds of figures filled the room. A lot of them had arrows sticking out of their bodies, some looked as if they were torn apart by wild animals. They all started whispering.
       "Murderer..."
       "Heretic..."
       "You killed usss...."
       "Why did you do this??"
       "No!" Fachtna shouted. "No, I didn't!"
       "Why, Davek? Why did you do it?"
       "I had a wife and kids!"
       "Stop it!" he cried, covering his ears. "Lalalalala I can't hear you!"
       The ghosts closed in, glaring at him.
       "No! Stop it! Stop staring at me!"
       It started as a chant. "Murderer, murderer, murderer, murderer,"
       "Stop it!"
       "Murderer, murderer, murderer, murderer,"
       "I SAID STOP!"
       "MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!"
       "WHY DID YOU MURDER US FACTHNA?!"
       "YOU'RE A MURDERER!"
       "STOP STARING AT MEEE!" he screamed, slamming his head into the mirror. It shattered, and the ghosts vanished. He breathed heavily.
       "O'er ramparts I watch ye fall," he whispered. "Now I can have a ball..." 
      * * *
       "Hey! Hey you!"
       A tall figure was approaching slowly. It was against the law for somebody to be so close to the castle. Surely he knew that?
       "Hey! You are not authorized to be here! Leave, now!"
       The figure did not stop. Instead he came closer and closer. The two guards looked at each other. "Who is he?"
       "I don't know. Probably just some stupid citizen."
       The figure came and stopped feet short of the castle gate. The guards stared at him perplexedly. They had never seen such an outlandish man!
       "Who goes there?" One of them asks.
       "I am who I am."
       They exchanged glances. "What business do you have here? You are not permitted to be on castle grounds, peasant!"
       "I have come for Lord Fachtna. Let me in and harm shall not befall any of you. Resist, and well..."
       One guard burst out laughing. "You? You're a single man! What hope do you have?"
       ". . . Is this the path you choose. . .?"
       "Get out of here, you drunken fool. Be glad we show some mercy." He shakes his head. "What a loon," he says to the other guard. "Bloody. . . loon. . . " Suddenly he jumped off of the castle, falling in front of the figure.
       "What the--?!" the other guard cried, covering his mouth. "Phillip!"
       "Open the gate," he commanded. The guard nodded slowly and walked over to the lever and began to crank the gate open. The figure slipped under as soon as there was enough room. Then he glanced at him. He screamed and jumped off the wall to his death as well.
       "Fachtna," he whispered. "I've come for you."

* * *

"And the wolf shall lay down with the lamb." Isaiah 11:16
      
      
      
      In his room, Fachtna shivered. He had a terrible foreboding sense that a storm was coming. A great one at that. 
      * * *
       The wind blew gently in the blooming night. On the horizon sank a blood-red sunset, the sky dying to give reign to the darkness of the night.
       He was in a courtyard. It was of great size, filled with columns and statues. The statues depicted grisly images; one statue was of a wolf devouring a man. Another was a man with a great spear. He held it high in the air. A man's decapitated head was lodged at the end of it. The statue stood proudly, with one foot planted on the back of his enemy. In one corner a magnificent lion sat holding the head of a lamb in its teeth. The great detail of the statues stunned him. These were nearly life-like; why would anybody spend so much time crafting such reprehensible pieces of work? 
       In the middle of the courtyard stood a marvelous fountain, in the middle of which stood the biggest and most detailed statue-- a wolf, sitting in a throne, head up high in pride. The statue appeared nearly flawless! The Shadow leaned closer to appreciate its beauty when suddenly a cry came from a corridor far to the end of the courtyard.
       "Hey! You! How the hell did you get in here?!"
       Suddenly the shadow was surrounded on all sides by soldiers wielding swords, spears, and axes. "Come with us!" the captain shouted.
       "I will not," the Shadow replied.
       "Come peacefully and we may let you live! You have no right to be here!"
       "Captain!" called another soldier. "Look! He killed two of the castle guards!"
       "If you will all stand down, you leave today with your lives," the Shadow said softly. "My quarrel is not with you-- it is with your Lord."
       "What business have you with him?"
       ". . . I have come to kill him."
       The captain laughed, and then spat in the Shadow's face. "You bloody fool. You come here, unarmed, kill two of our men, demand the presence of Lord Fachtna, and threaten to kill us if we get in your way? What are you playing at, madman?"
       "I do," he said, "and I do. But I play no games. If you attack me, intending to make me out a liar, not only will the blood of your veins be shed, but I will slaughter every single one of you savages in this castle and sail out on a sea of blood. Have you no family to care for? Will you make me kill tonight?"
       The captain shivered. "You bear not even a dagger! Surely you ask not of me to kill an unarmed man? Even I have higher morals than that. Come with us and we'll give you a chance to fight proudly to the death!"
       "I will not." the Shadow shook his head. "Move aside."
       "I will not."
       "If you do not move aside I will have your head."
       "You shall not pass."
       The Shadow raised his head, his eyes peering into the captains from underneath his hood. His eyes flashed. Suddenly his head was filled with the past sins of the captain. He had killed many times before, relished in it! The Shadow glanced around, peering into the eyes of everyone. The fiends! They all deserved to die as much as Fachtna! He turned around and faced the captain. The sun was sinking quickly-- the shadow of the great wolf shadow fell just behind where the captain stood.
       "So be it, wicked one," the Shadow breathed. And suddenly from the ground behind the captain, where the wolf's shadow lay, rose a magnificent beast. Before the eyes of the guards, a giant wolf appeared from the shadows, looming over the captain.
       "What the--" he gasped, turning around. His eyes widened in fear as the wolf opened its jaws wide, "No!" he shouted. "Nooo-"
       The jaws snapped down hard. With a single jerk of its head, the wolf ripped the captain's head clean off. He fell to the ground, his headless body spasming violently. 
       "I can take the brute!" a cocky soldier roared, charging at the wolf. It struck at him with an outstretched claw, slicing the soldier in three. 
       The other soldiers screamed, and most of them ran, heading towards the corridors from which they came. The Shadow snapped his fingers and suddenly the other statues' shadows erupted to life as well, blocking their paths. The soldiers stopped and stared at him in horror.
       "I warned you once. I warned you twice. I warned you thrice. And yet you still took me for a liar. Well now I have to keep my word." He raised his hands in the air. "None of you shall leave this place alive tonight. Why, you ask? Because I'm a monster? No. I am not a monster. But your lord is. And you chose to follow that monster. You killed innocent people for his will!"
       "We were just following orders!" one of them cried. He ran up to the Shadow, dropping to his knees in front of him. "Sincerely, we were just following orders! He made us do it! What were we supposed to do?!"
       The Shadow looked upon the man with no mercy. "You should have said no," he seethed, grabbing the man's head. "All of  you! You could have said no! You could have sided with the heretics! What chance could Fachtna have stood? He is but one man! But instead, what  did you do? You committed genocide. You killed them. Pitted them against each other in grisly games. You carried out a monster's will. You sided with the devil for your own safety."
       "We were weak," the man sobbed, struggling against the Shadow's grasp. "We knew it was wrong, but we were weak! Please, have mercy on us, oh great one!"
       "Yes, you were weak. And that is why you will have to die." He dug his nails into the man's head, and then started pulling. The man screamed, in an extremity of agony. But the Shadow felt no pity. He saw what these men had done. It was only just that they die as painfully and brutally as those they had butchered. With one last tug, the man's head became loose, spine still attached, hanging limply. He tossed the head aside, and looked up. "Tonight you will all pay for your sins! Pray for forgiveness in your darkest hour!"
       Suddenly all around the shadows erupted into life, becoming wolves, lions, bears, demons of unimaginable design. They leaped on the hapless soldiers, ripping out gristle, chewing limbs off, decimating them. They screamed in agony, a death-bed chorus of misery and pain. Blood of all shades and reds splashed in all directions, spattering the walls and the grass. Cruel, you may say? Not in the least bit. They were dying the exact same way as their people did. Ironic would be a better word.
      * * *
       Screaming. He could hear it. Everywhere. Screams as his men were devoured by the terrible storm of which he foresaw. Fachtna's heart hammered in his chest. What would he do? These  events were never foreseen as even remotely possible, therefore there was only one entrance, and one exit-- the front gate. And if the storm had come from the front gate, where could he escape to?
       Fachtna paced his room in a panic. "Hell-fire!" he cursed. He could not escape, no. But maybe he could hide? Yes, but where? Where would he hide? The dungeons were too broad and open, as was the game arena. So where?
       "You brought this on yourself, Fachtna," his father said, floating in the air. "Just lay down and embrace your end."
       "I will not!" he roared. He thought harder. Then it came to him-- yes, it would be the perfect place to hide. Messy, yes, but safe.
       He ran.
      * * *
       The Shadow snapped his fingers, and his beasts disappated into the air. Then he walked around, checking the corpses of the soldiers. He walked by a group of them, most of which were headless. But there was one laying under another, shaking. He walked over to it and looked down. A pair of shaking eyes stared back. He raised his foot and stomped on the survivor's head, crushing his skull into fragments. Then he looked at the door ahead that lead to the corridor. There were going to be more guards, but more importantly, there would be Fachtna. He ventured forward, grabbing a spear from a fallen enemy. 
       The corridor led into a large room with benches and tables, probably a banquet hall. It was quite plain-- the only thing worth noting was a gigantic chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. . . from which hung a soldier, a noose wrapped tightly around his neck. A sign was pinned to his chest; it read in bold letters H-E-R-E-T-I-C. The Shadow snorted in disgust. If only he had come sooner, he could have ended this abomination before it got so out of hand. 
       He went into the next room. Nothing odd, but he saw a flight of stairs leading down to what appeared to be a dungeon. The Shadow descended the stairs. He actually had to stop and do a double take. His mood darkened even more. He had seen terrible, unthinkable things in the past, but this...  this took it to a new level that he wasn't aware was possible.
       There were cells. Everywhere. Small, tight, confined... and crammed with people laying in pools of their own wastes. Some dead, some living. Some not even knowing if they were dead or not. He used his sight to view their past lives; all of them were innocent. All of them. The one that caught his eye the most was a young man, probably no older than sixteen. His father was killed by Fachtna's men, so he spoke out. They killed his little sister as an example and imprisoned him. He'd been here for a year, surviving by drinking his own piss and living off of the meager bread chunks they served the prisoners once a day. He actually made a friend in the cell. His name was Randall. Randall died a month ago. But his body was still in the cell, and the boy was crammed against it because there was no room to move. He had a blank look in his eyes, a look of death. This boy had died inside long ago, and he would be dead soon if not released. He saw similar stories all around, so many that for once in his life he had to stop. He didn't want to know anymore, it was too much. "Why the hell did I not come sooner?" he spat at himself, deeply guilty.
       A group of guards appeared from the far corner of the room. "Hey! You! What are you doing here?!"
       His anger flared. He was easy on the other guards. But not these. His fists shook angrily. "You scum!" he roared, flinging the spear at one guard's throat. It pierced all the way through. He gripped the shaft feebly, trying to scream but releasing only gurgles and blood. The other guards turned to him, in shock. Before they could return their gaze to the Shadow, he was upon them. He shoved a fist through one's stomach, using his magic to fill the guard's belly with fire. He ripped intestines out as he pulled his hand out. The guard fell to the ground screaming in agony as he slowly burned from the inside out. He shoved another hand forward, using two of his fingers to gouge out the eyes of a guard with a sword. He grabbed his sword and kicked him down. He dodged an attack to his right and counter attacked with a sharp, heavy blow, lacking one man of his arm. He used his sight to view the sins of a guard in front of him. The guard was a pervert, and occasionally when no one was watching, he raped the prisoners. A bad taste rose in the back of his throat. To compensate, he brought the sword down behind him and swung it forward in an upward arc. The guard saw it, but he couldn't react quick enough; the blade struck in between his legs, shearing his groin. The Shadow twisted it, allowing the man to experience the pain in full, and then continued the upward arc, shearing through his pelvis, cutting him in half vertically all the way up to his sternum, where he twisted the blade and pulled it out, where it struck another guard in the gut, splitting his belly and spilling intestines. He kicked another guard down and shoved the blade down his throat, allowing the man to choke on his own blood and the sword. He ripped it out sideways, cutting the man's head half off.
       There were still seven guards left.
       To each one he gave a violent gory death, showing the fullest extent of his burning fury.
       The prisoners watched. For once in months... they smiled.
      * * *
       Fachtna had to hold his breath so he didn't puke. He had no idea something could smell so bad. But in the back of his mind, he thought to himself-- all the reason more for the storm not to look for him there. Right? Surely the smell would repel him?
       It was a blind shot, but it was all he had...
      * * *
       The Shadow dropped the sword. The deed was done. Then he turned to the prisoners.
       "Who are you?" one of them asked shakily. 
       "I am who I am," he replied. "I have come to save you."
       There were many gasps, and then they started to weep happily. The Shadow snapped his hands, releasing the locks on all of the cells. "Leave this forsaken place," he ordered. "I have killed all of the guards from here to the gate. If you can figure out to open it, you'll be free."
       "Why?" one of them asked. "Why are you helping us now?"
       He sighed. "I apologize for not coming sooner, I did not realize it was so bad. But it matters not; you are free, and soon, Fachtna's head will be mine. Now go!"
       They nodded and left in a mass, the weaker supporting each other, bidding the Shadow thanks. Some of his anger left him; he had given new life to these people. That counted for something at least. As soon as the rest of the prisoners had fled, he followed. He must find the one responsible. He must find Fachtna.
       The castle was deathly silent. He figured the rest of the guards must have fled. He didn't care. All he wanted was Fachtna. Fachtna would pay dearly. He paced the castle, searching room after room. Instead all he found were empty beds and chairs. He grit his teeth; if that b*****d escaped. . .
       Suddenly a foul stench of death and decay filled his nostrils. "What foul--?!" he said and stopped. He ran forward. It was coming from a big room, closed off by an oak door. There was dried blood pooling underneath it. For a second, he did not want to open the door. But he had to. 
       He pushed the door open and revealed hell. Bodies upon bodies laid on top of each other, about a week old. Arrows still stuck in their bodies. Men and women of all ages. Dead. Just thrown on top of each other to rot. No regard to their familes. No regard to anything. Just left. . . No respect. Instantly his anger flared up again, higher this time. "FACHTNA!" he bellowed. "FACHTNA! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
       And then suddenly he heard a yelp from under the piles. It didn't register, and then, "FACHTNA! COME OUT NOW, I KNOW YOU ARE IN HERE! I CAN SMELL YOU, YOU FILTHY B*****D!"
       "Please!" came a muffled cry. "Go away!"
       Outraged, he formed a seal with his hands and cast a spell over the dead bodies. Suddenly invisible shadow strings pulled them upright like puppets, making them appear re-animated. He channeled his magic through them so they spoke simultaneously. "Fachtna!" they moaned. "Why have you killed us?"
       They chanted it over and over again. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" he cried, standing up. He ran towards the door, sobbing. The Shadow let him. He wanted to let Fachtna live his final moments in as much fear as possible. "Run away little boy, I'll find you!" 
       He followed closely behind as Fachtna stumbled over the bodies of his dead guards, grinning viciously. At one point Fachtna actually tripped and fell face first into a pile of dead guards. He screamed shrilly and got back up quickly. He continued to flee.
       "Leave me alone!" he cried. "I've done nothing to you!"
       He said nothing, but only continued his pursuit. It eventually lead them back out into the courtyard. Fachtna gasped in fear as he saw the remains of his dead guardsman. "You fiend!" he cried, towards the open gate. The Shadow used his power to make is slam shut in front of him. He howled and sank to his knees, defeated.

"Why?" he asked, crying. "Why did you have to slaughter my men? Why are you going to kill me?"

" Davek Fachtna," the Shadow bellowed. "Your crimes against humanity are what brought you here."

"What crimes?" he cried. "Sure, I may not have been the most loving leader, but I did my best! Who the hell are you to judge?"

The Shadow removed his hood. His skin was pale, white as the moon. His hair was long and black, cascading down his shoulders. He looked young-- timeless. Immortal. He peered down at Fachtna with his piercing blue eyes, staring into his wide, scared eyes. And then he saw. He saw who Fachtna really was, and there was even more grime underneath the surface.

FACHTNA!" he bellowed. "THE TIME HAS COME FOR YOU TO ANSWER FOR YOUR SINS!"

"PLEASE NO!"

" YOU CREATED A HAREM AND PLAYED GOD. YOU KILLED, STOLE, RAPED, AND INDULGED IN YOURSELF. YOU CARED FOR NOBODY OTHER THAN YOURSELF, AND YOU MURDERED YOUR OWN BROTHER TO MAINTAIN A SYSTEM OF TERRORISM AND MURDER. YOU RIPPED FAMILIES APART WITH YOUR GAMES."

"THEY WERE JUST HERETICS!"

"NO FACHTNA, YOU ARE THE HERETIC! THE REST OF THE WORLD HAS MOVED ON FROM SUCH BRUTALITY, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CARRIES IT ON! YOU'RE THE HERETIC!"

"Just who the hell are you?" he whimpered, defeated.

"I am love. I am hate. I can be happy or irate. I am neither man, nor God, but it is my role to make the sinners walk a craven plod. I am not a mercenary. I am not an assassin. I am merely order. I bring order to this bleeding world. When my goal is complete all who cry out in pain will say my name, while the evil-hearted will abscond and fear my reign. I am who I am. I am your demise."

He raised his hand, summoning forth the lightning. It struck his hand, filling him with power.

"Please! Forgive me!"

"Sleep now, wicked one." he breathed. He brought his hand down, and with him the wrath of the gods. A wicked heart ceased to beat; however, at that moment thousands of once-stifled hearts began to drum the song of life, and the streets of Otium once again flowed with life, reviving the arteries of one being, a peaceful nation.

It was then the wolf laid down with the lambs.