(№7.1)

At last, we enter the interesting parts of the book. Enjoy ;)

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He had just seen his brother dying, inches away from his feet, eyes wide awake and alerted by the ubiquitous danger they had placed themselves, by pursuing man's urges for folly and harsh stupidity. Died, due to the battle of death they had waged and he was the one who duly tended to pay the price, above everyone, regarding they had all perished, all but one drowned in the coldness of death.

The only person, thing, companion, his brother, who was the only one to truly love him, bound by laws disregarding and overseeing their so different origins, how not a trickle of red blood in these veins were even somewhat related, were not about the same. Bound rather by laws of honour and morality only humankind could think to restrict unto itself, that anyway would have never lived long to be procured over both their manhood. 

He stumbled over his own fiddling, trembling feet, shivering, as he was assaulted by thought and morals, as with his nose first he connected with the dust-dry dead grass he was all surrounded with, grey blades cutting his skin, lecherous for the few droplets they could absorb and scented with the stench of decay and simple waste, as wavering and fragile as paper-thin fabric not even the poorest souls of their kingdom had clothed themselves with, honouring the highest good of their society. The grass as dead as his brother now was.

He let out a shaky, composing breath, coughing with a rasping throat because he had inhaled his own spit, every sparkle, every blaze of pain his body poked his mind with provokingly, annoying him for he was uncomfortable, not yet acquainted with agony or hurt, unfamiliar with such feverish anguish, with pain to such intensity he wanted to cry until all the water in his body had been replaced by tears, a deeper core struck and mutilated of his, warped, morphed and perverted until he couldn't wrap his mind around how it was before. A rock the size of a small pig stuck deeply in his throat had successfully doused all screams to sobs, and attempts to vomit to dry coughs, for his stomach was upset, convulsing and turning around restlessly, as if he was poisoned by evil flux or chronic disease. And still should the futile curse spread to different areas. The boy grabbed fistfuls of the grass in the tattering, soul-crushing agony that seemed to find no means to a quick end. His knees were sore from stumbling many times, probably red and swollen, thanks to the impatient roots and bushes so wicked and minuscule, so easily overlooked they were lurking in the safety of the soil-penumbra, an excellent selection of teachers, imparting on him the absolute wisdom that he knew nothing at all.

He wiped his eyes clean, allowing him to spare a fleeting second in his scheme to flee the beacon of peril and hazard, what once used to be his home, a kneeling and waiting kingdom. No tears would sprout when his aching soul only wanted to release the burden and crumple down and merge with the soil to have the guilt go away, these vivid flashes of intermediate revival of events happening that night, traumatic and unforgettable, breaking. Shattering. Pathetic and wimpy, what a begging despicable bundle of a true monster he was.

He rose, dusting up his impeccable costume not with a tear threatening its positions to pristine perfection, despite a few green and brown smudges, he had gotten himself when so carelessly trading through a dark forest where he could not see a hand in front of his eyes.

The field around him was open and vast, nothing around him but steps and blades of dead, scorched grass, sizzling in the morning breeze, nature foul and lazy in this twilight state of night and day, lamentably dying and spoiling to waste ever so slowly, but who was he to judge any place for his wondrous forest that had died and collapsed by his gutless, not thought through actions.

He hadn't paid the price of death, but to watch and sit out the destruction of everything dear to him, where dignity and glory should make his spine straight, as he pridefully would be doomed with his subjects, standing near even if he wasn't for his to be imperiously punished, instead he ran for a coward and what one he was, complaining about stinging knees and inadequately brushed wardrobe, as well as the hospitable landscape around.

He was born a prince after all, but one no more, for there was nothing to rule over, his subjects and confided citizens dead by his dark and terrible sins, redeeming would be of no practical use since everyone was long gone, a place where he couldn't follow them, where he was prohibited to follow, even though he'd prefer to melt away like beeswax amidst this dull meadow, if only this meant the memories would stop to haunt him. The wish to have his brother fall and matter of factly succeeding had worn him out quickly. Tears would sink into his skin that wasn't cold nor specifically pallid, unlike his now.

His shoulders shook again, struck by disdain and shame, eating him up and having his skin crawl with nothing he knew now to do.

Blue eyes watching him afar scornfully, disappointedly, as he indulged in this spell of self-pity and remorse, plunging him in darkness that knew not to retreat until his last breath drawn.

He kept only running, straight towards the warm, rising sun, for his flesh was freezing and the onset horizon promised much more hope than this site of lostness and death, the light so revealing and liberating, a place of warmth and ever-full hope, where he would choose how to proceed. To determine a place where burning sin would leave him, where perhaps some sort of retribution welcomed him, forgiving.

The gutting crush of desiccated parched plants breaking and shattering his heart ongoing, as his brother had died and the forest and all its wonders alongside all of them, whilst he watched them waste atwain, ashamed to have him as definite cause to consequence to name.

He remembered, as he dashed, being violently shaken by the impact of his footsteps on the concrete-barren wasteland, this awful long day on horseback, being jolted in the saddle hour for hour and regretful minute for minute over onerous terrain, over raisins and spiteful bushes, through glittering sun and softly falling leaves an entire symphony in harmony not disturbed even when them, the strangers intruded without clearance. The forest had sung to its guests in effulgent, kind tones and he had ruined it all, with his ambiguous, self-righteous attitude and conniving voice, mocking his boding-well brother with all his ironic questions concernedly asking over and over again, where the beast to slain was headed, unbeknownst it was right there all along, readied with a blade so sharp, stabbing someone would feel like a shaky breath of air and a false grin of treachery, the desire to kill so deeply to be finally king unbested.

There was nothing else than remained, but only the scenery, the friendly wood morphing to something entirely else, as nightfall pitched and the inconclusive curtains of eerie suspicion and danger were raised, as if all the goodness encountered was sealed away, in order to surrender to its true face beneath.

"Right here", he had said, mounting off his horse and patiently waiting to have his brother and cavalcade follow suit, brow tinged with certainty and concealed zeal, behind flagged the holy tree of their Goddess, the one variant to interrupt and bereave the affair of one clear winner, disturbing the result unpredictably, although there was one survived who yet could not claim the title, for being damaged in worser ways than death abides to provide. The others though stood still in the saddle, belonging only to one's orders (specifically whom indemnified for the sacrifices made) and still indecisive when to react, when to accost, when to intervene.

He could see it in his eyes, in the eyes of the bigger brother once filled with love and fervent valour, compassion yielded, now harshly glinting in the same spirit possessed with nothing more on the mind than the lust for warm brotherly blood running down in swallows and gallows, found in droplets and splatters on the thus crowned winner, neither was to survive such inflictions, contrariness to their particular heritage.

And destroyed should all be, when they brought upon the wrath of an offended Goddess.

He didn't even know why he wanted to kill his brother in the first place; A lot of things escaping his mouth and done by his hands that passed day seemed rather inconclusive and atypical for him, but higher powers were not to judge, especially in the children who were not completely, fully humane, so he happily complied, guided by envious hands all rather too eager delving in his present misery, the universe correcting a missed path and itself, the puzzle pieces shoved and placed where they must, no matter the others to be sacrificed. 

In all truth and all conception of lies: He knew exactly after all, why he chose that day the lethal fate of his brother. 

But he was only a mindless child after all, yet he considered himself rather educated and smart enough to make the same choices of fundamental being his brother would do, ensuring to have many experiences undergone when he would be King, a condemned thread of paths he anyway was never to reach. In reality, he had been naïve and fatuous and haughty, deserving of everything that had happened to him.

How dare he think his brother would normally stand in his path to become a ruler, if this was his biggest wish, how could he be so foolish to sense his destiny to monarchy be futile?

Both had panted hard, when a short sword clattered against the long one, him almost being knocked out by the sheer force his brother inherited, solely for being older, quickly found wise footing to pace, and hit back. More vicious and desperate with each clash, the drove of the group clustered around in awe and forbidden fascination alike, watching mentor and mentee battle completely out of unprecedented start.

Only proud moonlight illuminated the fight, silver and ghostly alighted the imaginary as if to prepare taking one with itself when the killing slash had been performed. It would be a short and bitter fight nonetheless, for when the older brother drew blood, the younger one kicked him with back first colliding to that wretched tree their downfall, wrestling the sword out of his grip and rapidly flicking a chunk of the bark away, inches away from these gaping, piercingly blue eyes staring him down shockingly, detained by regret. These sweet voices murmuring to seek to end it, have a taste of it as well, when the broken edge of the tree spurted and coughed out black liquor in a gush, eyes risen in shock regarding what he had done and the world gleamed high and soaring to reflect the unforgivable act of violating a holy token signifying a deity, apt with a terrifying amount of power, much like this. The pair of eyes that locked with his spoke volumes of his colourful, apocalyptic punishment, that was to take place, when the older brother quickly flicked the short sword out of his brother's minute hands, turning around and began to cut more and more down of the tree frantically breathing and shuddering ingrained with fear, despite his noble gesture to commit the  worser crime himself, more black and black blood smearing their two faces and raining to their feet, dead tracking all, when the very earth began to scream in agony and Earth collapsed to its knees, the horses neighing in the background, faintly dropping of their appalled riders.

His body had burned and quickened in the conscious act of being busted asunder, when there She appeared in all her length, the Goddess gigantic and so inhumane precious, She almost seemed ugly and alien. A thought of this kind would have been enough to have him pulverised to chunky ashes, how he felt on the inside right now, after all of the atrocity had happened, insides ripped and shred emotionally, numb, her pricking gaze mustering the omnium gathering of a group facing her plain in regret.

Her sharp features proved vengeful and hungering for suffering, tears and blood and gore which fed her, all too happily and unceremonial enforcing it unto the poor cavalleria bound by more differences than parity, except owed camaraderie straddled away only to gingerly due to being willfully entrapped in a scheme grander than themselves without consent.

Her reluctance in destroying her own kingdom hadn't seem much comprehensible, when it was obvious nowadays, how dooming her own would mean less power, but the prince was ignorant like this, narcissistic, taught the way bigots on the throne were to assault and reign, only utilising "me" and "I" in big speeches and hours, where real interest and worry was put in his head, how to better care for inferior people, only his best interest at hands and in mind though, shielded for the farce gaining more resonation. His gentle nature in core would be eradicated by the viciousness of humans, fading over time with more and more occurring unpleasantness and the dullness evoked by aristocratic life, with power floating the measure of big rivers and the privilege when to wage war and when to have peace or refer a truce, both controlled by the quality of his meals and own personal problems troubling the essential.

He would have been the worst of the emperors and kings, as he had been bred spoiled and constantly satisfied; His status so regal, because the blood in his arteries was even from heavenly descent, not enough to repudiate his monarchal influence, yet good enough to specialise and remark him for his appeasing exquisiteness, conferring to him the perks of not being quite human, as well as the flaws of being partly one, inbreed with something stronger.

She, in her widely played demeanour, seemingly to the bone offended, had their companions and his brother tied up to compel themselves to cut and flare their own skin open in never ending torture, until gathering a pile high as the measure of a foot, his brother resisting, for his blood was equally tainted by other influence but a weakling still in comparison to a divine and perennial Goddess; While the others contently pried their skin open and carefully folded their skin to the instructed length, he had to skin his beloved and most dear horses, sedated by invisible magic turning them to tender kittens, even against the prowess imposed by mighty, wiry black horses roaming the territory like living monsters, which bled red just as they did, their infuriated neighing quickly changing to hurt and anguish still echoed in his ears, pinching and raining down on him as his own skin would have been peeled away by his brothers tremulous hand. The look of the broken blue eyes staring down in disdain and woe, diffused with tears and never fracturing sorrow and horror piercing through him, defeated and demolished.

She had killed and abolished every entire livable thing, blowing out the candles and the volition to keep going, to fight for survival, plucked and retrieved it as simple as one might find a four-leaved clover on the ground and picking it up with no remorse or no bad thoughts regarding how the plant would die infusing you with stolen luck. She took the special essence of the forest and eradicated it all to dust and bones as it must be, regarding the act of betrayed fratricide.

The gnomes were reduced to ashes, the mushrooms and divergent fungi soon following to crumple and sink back into the barren earth; For one couldn't live without the existence of the other. The rivers and refreshing streams deflagrated by one purposeful hand gesture to a hot and puffy steam of glittering plasma, hurting the trees to have their leaves go brown and dry up, branches sadly sinking and hanging down as murmuring condolences at a funeral during the eulogy, first in green armour, then in brown, crumbled and then only naked at all. The wood screamed and cried out, all emerald, phenomenal chimericalness gone, because of his ill-coming greed.

She hurt herself and her reigns of power equally to watch him shamble to his knees, bitter, sweet revenge as pungent as ice pressed directly onto skin, this way deeper, as a cell of ice had been bridled around his heart, yet crime requited penalty, as cause does consequence.

Her nymphs, the angels' attempt to get away from their maiden's path of stark strife, hiding in inconspicuous clouds and balls of fog, which was no use, as the wind who obediently abides for the sky is a gutless void, a curriculum of nothing and nothing steady to have at least somewhat a self-consciousness: Their wings were clean cut and force fed to them by the merciless fist of their omnipresent Goddess now merciless, their coughing and begging to stop never ceasing, until they had all asphyxiated on their annexed magic, their iridescent fairy dust could only be synthesised by them and only them, even allowing humans the possibility of transformation after consummation when curating a pure heart and light intentions, but which would also bring them death even for their immortal souls, conscious to pristine chastity.

The Goddess almost seemed unfazed, ignorant, uncaring after the first grounds of hesitation, to make an example for future descendants that gods, thanks to their natural high positions, would always stay over humans and even their partial-blooded children, no matter what, no thing mattering or outshining deeds done by a God's hand. Their closely inner working with the universe itself has bestowed that freedom and mutual sanctioning, since every demand needs to be obliged, every primal instinct played out, irrelevantly how inclined and eager they would be, for it doesn't matter: Such power required unsolicited obedience.

Blood trickled now down the streams and bird song was replaced by the aching and groaning of the deadly living, his subjects who'd never leave this place of horrors and terrors amounted as status to embody their grave, displayed in agony and dread, cruel what was taken of them by the Goddess, thanks to their beloved prince.

Her all-shattering dooming voice proclaimed the punishment for his companions direly and without the delicacy of decency offered, but he couldn't hear her, nothing at all, beyond this entrancing veil that contained him in a perpetual net, worse than to witness would be to constantly remember. The screams of the plants, animals, flora and fauna captivated his whole spectrum of interest, knowing he had failed, he had convicted the starved and innocent to a state worse than death. A punishment crafted to his imperious standards and only his honour, due to the Goddess knowing, he was able to hear their agonised voices faltering below a heap of scathe and suffer twice as much.

Their goddess was so beautiful you sentenced yourself with once glance to impulsively put your teeth into her delicate, majestic form, but risk the becoming of a pig then: She stood seven feet tall, high as a deferential oak, hair curly but curls all braided into a crown, the reminding strands lightly moving and being tolled around by her hand gestures and utter divinity. Eyes wholly black beads with no pupil, snakes slithering out of her ears, their bifurcated tongue feeding but truth and biting the fingers off of those who did not. Skin like bittersweet chocolate, nails elegantly appearing to be long tips of fern, yet as sharp as the claws of the predators who were reprieved by her devastating actions; No god ruled over them and the one creature who does, wouldn't care until personal offence.

With all the thicket sprawling life gone, fading to a convoy, a curriculum of brown to grey gnarly trees, stripped of all their green coats down to the pauperised core and looking now more like motionless corpses, the trunk their spine, the twigs the rigid skeletal limbs, the only one motor gifting movement would soon only be the passing bodiless winds, which even would shudder in discomfort and disdain at briefly tracing the site of total despair, avoiding these lands all together, a still tomb at last. The area was void and flat, a plateau of beguiling woe and condolences, moonlight now pervading white and milky, the hue of corpses' eyes.

No water flowing through to support even the most stubborn specimen and even the undead at last, never came here for the memories are too painful to be even reminded in the afterlife.

Do not concern yourself with the dark creatures roaming the Earth at night: After all, there is a place for everyone and they would deem the deep shadows to be theirs, disturbing none and no one, when exactly this wrecked land promised more than enough folds and corners to hide from the sun.

She killed the companions quickly, but attached the minds intact, so they would feel their skins commencing to rot and mould by specifically orchestrated mushrooms, though only reluctantly participating in such blasphemy, originating from the goddess of life.

Their screams were inhuman and shrill, images haunting his eyes and dreams for many ongoing years, the eyes first to decay becoming pearly white marbles, blindly blinking, the outer-world closed to them once and for all. The eyes were the door to the soul, the truest form of perception, were they not? Now shall all picture be taken with caution, for its reality could neither be confirmed nor denied.

His brother had developed a deep, frowning, engraving tremor, thankfully being allowed to turn his back to the unsettling homicide, so it was only the wee capricious prince who'd see the downfall of his kingdom, standing so still as a statue, bereft of all redness in his cheeks and so pallid, one might mistake him for one of the dead trees.

His older brother was bathed in the blood of his loyal horses, hands sloshed a profound red, collar and proud costume now tuned to a crimson canvas, distant pearls of blood coating his face and horses skin under his fingernails, stuck to his chin, appearing as if he had just taken a chunky bite out of them. He had worked rapidly and goal-orientated, faster and more delicate than any human being could; He wanted his horses to be spared from every last blow of pain he could rescue and lift them from, black skin in a messy pile, overtowering his sitting, trembling form. He had refrained from looking at the bloody bodies of the herd altogether, bones and bulking muscles beaming through the night, the crescent moon infuriatingly, animatedly shining lighter, to have all the details as perfectly perceived. And frankly, there were no clouds for challenge, since the Goddess sent them all away. This was indeed the stage of unmounted horrors.

His hot hour of chastise had arrived, feeling nearly incapable of breathing timidly, when she turned to his brother, black eyes focusing on him, fern talons twitching and red lips furiously flinching, as something turned to be the bother now.

"Well, that's conflicting. You're quite gorgeous, with your trieste piercing blue eyes, my goodness... A colour so mesmerising, you could win every woman's heart, even the soul of some men", she told him down from up, frowning, considering this insurmountable obstacle, impending her judging actions, because the punished turned out too pretty to carry on.

"It's really a shame", the maiden mused, hand massaging her dainty chin, seeming really troubled for how no convincing solution to this problem occurred.

His head shot up, anger and teariness exhibited in honest open expressions, regarding her in mute apprehension.

"What will happen to him? What are you going to do to my little brother?", his voice rasped, weakly and hoarsely, weathered and beaten raw, almost silenced forever, stricken by a sheer infinite quantity of grief, but the fierce fire of life and struggle for the ones you love had returned, brimming and unchanged, as not all was lost to him, ever-lasting still for there was not everything forfeit, not everyone down left to rot. He hadn't lost his people or position to the Crown, having no blue blood, even for the momentary moment of temptation where he wanted it dearly to be his, still that left nothing but his brother, faltering in regret and remorse so forlorn alone, which meant he still could be saved and spared, only for the fact his brother forgave him, so quickly and unconditionally, he could have only loved him from every red fibre of his heart.

She pouted her lips, astonished in observing how he could produce actual sounds and not only weeping prettily over corpses he had brutally maimed and killed, ripped apart, coerced by said majesty herself, whilst idly arguing if he was to live or not.

"Then it has been decided thus; I will have you stay this pleasant, for I will find always a decent site looking up at the sky".

Her eyes fell on the little brother by mere accident, having him shrank down, seeing how absolute, whole, deep dark, absorbing all sparseness those eyes were, the complete opposite to his brother's and unfortunately resembling rather his own. Denounced and revealed the form this babbling cretin really should have assumed.

"Ah, you were mentioning this little titch? I guess his punishment consists of being spared by my powers and to be the one who lives or something along these awfully dull lines. Besides, he's not mine to strike down", as she was answering his question, she almost seemed saddened by the prospect of one to to flee from her torture. The She focused her pitiless eyes again on the older brother, as if being reminded of her needed assistance.  "However", she sighed, "This has been rather depressing and monotonous, so I suggest we shall get on with it."

In these last fragrant, flickering seconds, framed by the careless tone of the uncaring goddess, both brothers crossed gazes, his brother's eyes glinting in the dark with undeniable fondness and pride, and hope, shading over everything and no hidden nor burrowed grudge, forgiveness glinting compassionately, when the prince could not pardon himself.

"Run", he mouthed, as her green lightning bolts struck his body, gaspingly and brutally enveloping him.

And then he had run, through the dying, lifeless wood, once thick and protective coat, it was over fruitful land, no king with sanity would want to possess now and use, but for merely bragging, posing at other dinners and attending balls, owning such sullen and sad lands.

It was for the best this stupid small boy would never set a foot on any throne: Kings and queens bred like him knew nothing of the common life, for the commoners mingled only happily and completely rejoiced in glee, poverty and starvation, loss not a matter or a frown on his mind. Every other king, bleeding and killing his way towards the crown was mostly a far better suited monarch, for not being born and fed on a golden platter, with never ceasing water in their goblets and pastries seemingly coming from nowhere.

He would have been jealous and vain, a pain in the ass to everyone keeping up with his tiring charades, peace and war not making much of a difference to him, as everything would be taken care of, provided as per usual, even if that meant no one else owned anything, so long as his tastes were satisfied.

He wouldn't have understood the pointlessness of a curriculum of war, not caring how his men were used as cannon fodder, since there was everywhere a sedentary family with too many children and women having boys then men who idly would send them to die for nothing in battle in exchange for coin and fare. He had no idea of the ending river of humans and the caring, their importance to all the people in their lives, experiencing the loss the same way than losing a limb, but dulling with forthgoing, because the gaps would fill one day, the scars were there, surely, but only when consciously thinking, while deceased members of the crown got their own holidays celebrated and sacrificial rites for honouring and purposely remembering them for being special to be never forgotten for atrocities no one rendered speaking freely.

He would have been a bad king, because he was too trusting, too convinced how everyone around him - not clearly a foe - would dance and seize the opportunity to attain his best interest, even in complimentary, obvious feigning. They are blind to it, so used to getting all the time and strained efforts from all of the world, everything they wish for and possibly ever could.

He would have been atrocious before, because thinking of him invincible, unbeatable, superior, impeccable in every category, having never failed and being never faced by a lesson of defeat. This major, terrifyingly painful fault probably could have proven to be the best lesson he ever received, had he only learned something of it.

And his trust, so generously spent, would get him killed in the end, of course, just how he would be overpowered and killed when holding a position of importance, after a battle waged for a decade now, his people getting slaughtered nevertheless without possibly aiding them in any measure, just as his people were slaughtered this night, him not even twitching a finger only to run away from his fate.

When the sky broke from twilight to dusk and the sun entranced the living world with its magnificence once again, this was only the instance, when he heard the constant clattering and colliding of waves and the brutal Sea of the north expanded over the edge of the world, water tinted in gold and humble colours, illuminated by the breach of morning.

He stopped at the sandy beach, fully worn out from his tedious naughty flight over several nautical miles he had passed by ground, to finally see a figure leaning against the railing of a huge dark ship, that happened to drift from one second to the other on the calm crests of the morning, her hair still red as field poppies even though some crinkles broke the smoothness of her delicate face, forming a smile to have found her solution at last, the stupid twit to solve all her problems, on his own gathering down at her apron strings, staring dumb-foundedly upward.

The black wood of the ship gleamed only repugnantly golden, in aversion of being embraced by the sunlight, when it knew how its Captain and Crew were supposed to lounge in the dark and tend to the shadows.