archives: III. blood and thunder.

I. II. III. IV. V.

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A great beast heaved himself upon a great hill, red stains marking his path a good distance behind.

He fell to the ground, losing a fight with a violent, hacking cough. Blood sprayed from the back of his skull unto the idyllic landscape, staining it black. Bone shards littered the surroundings and, nearby, a raven hoard cackled. Nevermore laughed at the mere sight of them—if the sound escaping his throat could be considered laughter. It was nothing but the sound of nails raking a chalkboard or an innocent child’s shriek. More unnerving shatters were heard as he shifted, as broken ribs poked from his chest and as fragments of his spine dotted his back. A great King was he no more.

To his left, a stag approached. He was proud, though not cocky, and handsome, though not arrogant. He approached this beast with a staggering animosity within his eyes—blue. They were not incredibly beautiful, nor were they not, nor did they glow or have any special qualities aside from the ring of grey surrounding his pupil; they simply were. If anything, they were a violent blue, like a sky dodging a passing storm. This, however, was a storm that could not be evaded in any way.

These blue eyes rested upon his sire’s slashed, littered body. They hid within the depths of his skull for several tense seconds until he continued to move, treading lightly upon the earth, knowing that it was forever stained with the sin of a murderer. He watched, patiently, as his father shifted once more, a crackling sound following before he managed to stare up at his son. His own eyes were unseen—blue, black, red, gray, silver. No one had ever known, save for the Black Hand. And now she was dead, withered away with a wound between her eyes and her heart with this monster.

“I heard you,” said the younger stag, brusquely. Nevermore’s expression formed—twisted and warped--in to what could only be described as a grin. Cuts marked the bridges of his skull as the stitches pulled at bone. He released a soft chuckle and watched his son pace before him.

“She finally did it. I didn’t think she’d actually do it,” he said in a whisper, flicking one lone ear. He uttered a small moan upon speaking, waiting until his sudden pain had passed before looking up again. His grin was now a small, vague smile—it seemed to upset the hart before him, who made an indescribable noise, almost soundless, before tightening his jaws. He uttered not one more word nor sound; on the contrary, he was completely mute, the only evidence of his disturbance the flashing of his blue eyes.

“Pandemonium.” Nevermore spoke the name proudly. Fire…

He twitched weakly as his son came closer still, the smell of blood now completely evident within his nostrils. It smelled of a rotted, flamed animal and burning flesh—the scent Azalea had left behind, though the touch of roses was gone now…

“I…” the beast paused, almost warily, still looking up at the magpie stag. The hinges upon his skull creaked, and the strings attaching them together groaned under the dying weight.

“..H-h-h…”

Hacking up blood again, his child stopped, morbidly polite, waiting for him to finish. This fit was longer than the last, and a remaining rib split, jutting out against his abdomen. It almost looked like a dove, so purely white against a sea of black…or like a sword…he groaned in soft agony.

“I…H-h-h…I didn’t always want to see you in so much pain…”

The young stag released a gentle snort as his father gasped once more, his breathing like the pounding of a two stags colliding... “I’ve been fooled, then…”

“I’m…H-h…h-h-h-h…ah, I’m sorry, Vipin…” The great beast released a sigh and he relaxed, shrugging his shoulders as Vipin stared. “I don’t belong here…h-h…h-h!..H-h-h-h…I wondered what a normal life would be like, h-h-h…s-so many times, you have no idea…Azalea eased the pain, but slightly…h-h-h-h-h…there were times when I felt like I could belong. H-h…somehow…just maybe…if I gave something…h-h…worthwhile.”

The King paused, a great, staggering breath shaking his body.

“I’m so glad you and your sister h-h-h-h…haven’t…h-h…lived up to what was expected.”

He grimaced and tensed as more breaking noises sounded, near his spine and neck now. A torrent of blood sprayed from his open throat, and Vipin sidestepped the froth with a flourish. Nevermore was silent for a long span of heartbeats, simply breathing in his ragged fashion, before he clicked his jaws together. “We…h-h-h-h-h…knew what we were doing. We knew…h-h…that with us being together…only Hell…h-h-h…could come from us. It was…h-h-h…what everyone else expected as well. H-h…”

The cuts in his breathing sounded like knives slicing his throat.

“I didn’t want a daughter…h-h-h…because I didn’t want another Azalea. With…h-h…a daughter…that was the only thing possible. Once again, though…h-h…” he chuckled soberly, ignoring the immense pain in his chest as he did so. “…Aspen proved me wrong. H-h-h-h…she is beautiful, yes, but her heart is good. She is not Azalea, and for this I am…h-h-h-h-h-h…sorry.”

Vipin stared icy blue daggers at his father, quite silent. The wiry, ropey scar along his jaw line seemed to move like a snake, poised to strike.

“I do not expect you to forgive me…h-h…nor do I expect you to pity me. I h-h…h-h-h-h…have never expected either of these from you, and I do not want them. I just…h-h..h-h!” He coughed again now, his huge chest heaving and his single ear twitching, his body leaning heavily against the birch tree. Once more, however, the King calmed, though the convulsions continued. He gave no sign of pain or weariness.

More red liquid pooled around Vipin’s hooves.

“I have never been a father…h-h-h…I never wanted to be a father…h-h…I just wanted to cause my ruin…h-h-h-h…and leave. But…” his gaze drifted to Vipin and then fell to the ground, a ragged chuckle escaping his skull. “I’m so sorry…h-h-h-h…you’ve always deserved a father. Someone…to look up to. H-h-h…not fear. Your mother is dead…h-h…k-killed before your eyes…h-h-h-how have you not gone…c-completely insane, Vipin?” he laughed bleakly, disbelief flooding his voice. “But I suppose…you’ve had Her…and she is all you c-could ask for. H-h-h…you deserve some rest as well…”

With a start, the beast stood, shaking on three legs, his back left hanging limply from his body. Upright, his wounds appeared even more gruesome, twisting and tightening along with every muscle in his body. One of his famed, steely antlers was chipped, and the venom encased within his fangs had leaked out. When compared to his son, something was off…almost like they could’ve been the same at one point in time…

“So…” the Viper murmured, the pain still a violent, punishing sensation within him. The black tongue he possessed, folded in the depths of his skull, fell limply to the ground. A raven cackled overhead.

Quoth the raven, “Nevermore”.

“So I…h-h-h…became too comfortable with Pandemonium. H-h-h…it was nice…to have someone like her. She has a tortured mind..h-h..like me. It wasn’t so lonely with her…h-h-h-h…”

“So you loved her, then? You honestly loved her?” Vipin’s voice was hollow, with a final, cold understanding. Nevermore laughed, and his laughter was as disturbing as his crude breathing. The hinges of his skull creaked and moaned softly as he trembled, fighting to keep standing.

“You know how it feels to love two, Vipin…”

With a colossal sigh, the King stared at the trees above, then to the sky. Several raindrops littered his skull, wetting his matted fur and cleansing his scars. Vipin looked with him, mute once more, ignoring the bitter tears that fell from his eyes and doused his chest. He stepped towards his father and, without warning, buried his neck within his ruined side, and the Viper chuckled with faint humor as his son began to weep. “Don’t cry for me, Vipin…”

Pulling away from the embrace, Nevermore surveyed his child with a satisfied gaze. With great difficulty, he folded one leg inward and bowed deeply, touching his skull to Vipin’s hoof and rising up again, his breathing having become much more weak…his enormous chest surged with the air of four winds…one ear flicked once more and the bone upon his head pulled in to a catastrophic grin. Vipin’s blue eyes blazed like ice.

“And now I must ask one last thing of you…h-h-h-h-h…Vipin,” rasped the King, his vision still wandering aimlessly along the horizon. His son swallowed and nodded, ears pinned back. An untouchable smile crossed his skull.

“Aspen had the honor…h-h-h-h…with your mother.” He bent his head. “Do not leave me to suffer. H-h-h…if you so wish, I am asking you to kill me.”

Black holes fell upon blue irises.

“No—I am asking…h-h-h…h-h…I am asking you to help me. I am asking you to put me out of this world…h-h-h…and out of the lives of others…h-h…and out of your mind.”

Vipin did not flinch or become startled. He did not move—he did not frown—he did not protest—he did not continue crying—and he did not declare himself too proud—but he did close his blue eyes and give a sound of understanding. For, before him, his father was changing. As his breathing slowed, he had begun to shrink and black fur had begun to appear over his body. The tusks upon his skull sank. His antlers warped and curled forward, and the sockets which held his eyes lightened. This continued until he was standing across from Vipin, the wounds still very much present and pouring, and yet he looked back to a mirror.

“You will not become me, Vipin.”

His eyes were of the sky, and beautifully so.

A lone tear fell to the ground. A son bowed in the deepest of respect.

“So be it, King. The Black Era has ended.”

The sound of the two colliding was lightning and thunder—black and white—light and darkness. There was a sound much like a thunderclap as the great Viper fell to the ground, his skull having been torn in two, and blood spraying from his heart. Two pairs of blue eyes glowed, and then one burned out, like a lost flicker of a star. A pair of antlers were stained black, and a voice rasped quietly still.

And Vipin had the fleeting view of a great stag lying dead in a pool of blood, skull shattered in two.

Vipin treaded lightly on his way down the hill.

Happiness is a warm gun.

Bang bang.