(№4.7)

When the violent, reverberating seizures gone to tremors, than to earthquakes would twitch and divulge under the magic born to a crime, furtively reform and warp to shapes forced of the immense pressure, leading all to a most dearest final eclipsing climax,  the universe prepared to tear asunder decreed and final.

The all-mighty father of the powerful beings dawned on the soil mortals walked upon, seemingly just out of the nowhere, coolly scanning the ensemble and scorching surroundings bluntly and tiredly, ancient yet beautiful faces hid beneath a shroud of blooming sweat and creasing ash that gathered to watch the bender of the world fall, collapsing hand in hand.

Standing beside the father's family or rather lurking in the spare space of wretched corners and the shades, lest this presence more would not be revealed until the very grand finale, was watching the very god who orchestrated all this mayhem in the first place, valuably pleased and deviously savouring the mischief his hands must be streaked red for all the deaths on him. He reaped what he sowed and cherished this harvest dearly.

And now he came to watch the real delicious tragedy, the execution of the girl, a last fleeting sacrifice to be made, the last that could be in an enthralling realm.

The father remained calm, but all those with finer senses sensed it would be apocalyptic, her execution, and while she seemed the incarnation of smugness, the girl would not be allowed to exit the mortal realm but with the most excruciating agony at her heels.

The boy stirred wildly against his restraints. He still had a chance, if only he could make them an offer on the bypass unveiling how the ending of all might be warded off still.

The most powerful in the midst of the crowd rose his hand, as a reminder of silence. Not even the wind was bestowed with a power to ruin these silent seconds galvanised with anticipation.

The father looked at the girl, examined how such a pathetic dirty little thing ruined his eternity, his rule, his power, his Empire, simply everything.

His golden eyes locked on hers, human once of unknown quantity, the hue of pent-up clouds right before a tempest. He inched closer, mere power sourcing out of his being than feet of flesh wandering.

The father stopped as close as he dared near a mortal, as if her ability to die might prove to be prone for contagion, his expression completely unreadable, neutral, the edges of his lips curled ever so slightly in revulsion.

An insect she was, aeons placed from posing a real threat, hence the reason her hands remained untied and yet, and yet, it would be a mortal to do the bidding of their undoing

"Is there anything you might add in the pathetic last words for trying apologia of insulting us in such capacity?", he harshly demanded ironically, his tranquil voice resonating through the entire area, shattering her brain to pieces, figuratively speaking, for he impressed but with his mighty volume.

She eyed him for a few seconds, flocks of cinder blowing warmly in her face, crisp and singeing, and too exhausted and done she was with living and the need of finding gesture to perfectly display such, that as small might even be the flick of her fingers, wiping dust creases away from her sullen, sweating skin. Then she did stumble on a way to declare her rage and ire, by spitting him in the face, malice glittering in her eyes, as rumours and hectic shouts grew louder behind and around and above and under them. Hushed voices and their owners angrily looked at the filthy girl, who grinned provocatively, patiently watching the reaction of her opponents, missing already the impossible weight of her boiling blood coursing blissfully in her veins and upon hours of torture, the motion how evermore tracks of pearly tears sinked into her skin. After all, shambles of proof she was still alive. 

Resolutely, he wiped it off his face and nodded curtly. What else to expect of a creature possessing a distant related lineage to dogs and hounds and apes? "Very well then. We shall execute you immediately." The boy on the balcony managed to free himself as everyone kept their eyes on the girl who had the audacity to insult their king and lived. 

Well, yet.

"Father, stop it!"He screamed boldly, everyone shocked at the objection stemming from his own shunned son, turning and nervously shuffling, though he could care less about the affront and protest risen and beamed himself beside her, almost in a heartbeat knocked up and beaten bloody as a pulp by his father's bodyguards, faster moving for the living to even comprehend. The position and line of work was moreover of a joke than of realistic importance, although his father undoubtedly had many foes and enemies, no one dared a fight, as the outcome's result was obvious.

How would you even kill someone who can't be killed?

"Please, father, I beg of you, listen to me!", he cried out, as his father indifferently watched how he was carried out of the scenery, blithely bored and unimpressed of the attempted protest, watching intently a new fire incited devouring a bush close to them. 

"Make her immortal! That's how you're going to reverse the consequences!", he screamed under fistfuls of breaching assault and desperately glared daggers at his father, who seemed to internally wake from deep slumber and gradually blinked at the erect and quaking form of the young god with imploring, beseeching eyes and the debut of a cascade of sobs on his lips.

"Halt", the father quietly exhaled, as the muscular bodyguards stopped peremptorily dead in the tracks like weavers in the lack of spinning thread.

"This was our idea from the very beginning", the boy continued to clarify and intervene in prohibiting the execution of the girl as long as possible, ignoring the heavy stares sent from the girl's part in his shoulders, barely checked in qualms of rage. "We wanted to make you suffer, to shatter your imperium by working against nature. We killed Aloisii, my bride, so instead you had to make the true love of my life immortal, an exchange necessary to uphold the balance hurt". His thoughts were spinning, his heart that wasn't pumping devout blood and yet racing with immeasurable speed and vivacity, failed to see the toothy smile bleed on the jaw of his father as everything slid into motion as it must, the ultimate plan all along.

"You need comprehend that that proposed our only chance, the sole resort – a perfect crime, violating your laws. Have one of us die to prompt someone to take her place. I was certain you'd forbid our relation, so all we did we committed for love, for the endless affection we possess now has even proven stronger than death already. A crime so vile, a recommencement, as you well see yourself acquainted never comes without a price, so please, I beg of you, let's leave all that behind us. After all we've been through, in fact we must, if we are to be better leaders for the rebirth of the Earth created the second you novate her mundane threads to heavenly ones. We paid the price of hubris, we were tortured for months. We paid already with our blood, but please... Don't take her away from me", at the last bit, his voice broke in, in heartbroken, fearful defeat, dangerous vulnerability, where before only reasonably, calm explaining lay, as his eyes darted to study her face, only hers, for none save her mattered even more...

He sounded human, brimming with emotions of none he was intended to feel. The other gods licked their lips at the taste of this sweet, lamentable speech, escaping the mouth of this lovesick fool lacking to comprehend his feelings weren't even reciprocated anymore from his so called beloved, for only hate, singeing, unending loathing was all she felt at the sight of him.

His father watched his outburst, almost as he already thought of screwing and leaving the universe to suicide. Well, a helped and provoked death by one of his sons.

The ruler with his mighty crown and perpetually domineering appearance took a step in front of his son, eying him closely, yet distantly, eyes trained restlessly on someting aloof in the distance. Cascading, splitting, cackling sounds escaped his lips tenaciously thoroughly. He was laughing, laughing at his pathetic, deceiving son, grating and powerless against the fits of laughter seizing him out of nowhere.

"So, you do love her and chose her above everything, to question me and my entity, your family. Your everything Your strong side, all for a small, little mortal", his voice was still hoarse and roughed on edge, his beguiling smirk sharp on the verge alike the smile of a predator spotting prey or a butchers knife glinting sharply, nearing for the flesh to make an incision, chuckling lowly in his throat. "Curious indeed, how you demand she be made immortal, when all she did to merit this was turning you the likes of a foolish, stupid mortal". The boy felt taken aback, the laugh touching the delicate nerves of his ears in wrongness.

His father's lips pouted, a crease formed on his forehead. In a heartbeat he crossed their distance, harshly grabbing his throat and lifting him three feet as if the act demanded nothing of him.

"Answer me, son, the response to shape the doings of the very future, demanded by your word. You choose fragile, ridiculous, stupid love for such lowly creature over your family, the one who clothed, taught, fed, created you. Made you who you are?" All amusement fled from his voice, only knife-sharp, trembling tension elongated through all bodies attendant.

The importance of the answer, the right answer, prickled through the air, every single soul unmoving waiting for his hasty affirmation and delving apology, hoping he'd appease his father in the end – for his sake this time.

"Yes", he muttered barely under his breath, throat after all punctured, currently strangled, before shaking his head.

"Yes!", he repeated exempt, clearly and audibly to the entire audience, showing, and letting anyone be aware of his passion, of his love, of his affection, of his devotion, for everything dripping wet and thick with consuming, fiery ardour. The girl coughed out loud, almost falling to her knees in bewildered shock.

His father smiled, a grin showing a thousand sharp teeth as much like a moody, conniving shark, sniffing out blood and opting for the kill, a smile speaking solely of malice and apathy.

"Wrong answer", he simpered, before throwing the boy seemingly with the weight of a paper ball against a tree with splintering bark drilling into his back and raining behind in an arch.

The tumult in the sky, the fires on the land, the implicitly non-negligible noises of apocalypse and screams of doom dulled and ceased, the father of all walking a circle with spread arms, features contorted to protray the monster he truly was.

"My dear boy", he purred, void of warmth, of mercy. "Did you really think I missed your abhorrent sense of vendetta the minute you ungrateful little piece of turd were born? Are you so certain I might not have upheld the suicide of the universe following suit for a couple centuries or as long as I fancy? I give you as much: Your fervent ardour to kill your own and figured as much is truly inspiring, for we all were certain not an ounce of intelligence roamed within your mind poisoned by love, albeit the deeds done are neither irreversible nor of any consequence in fact, as is the small absence of the real tutelage how to go through with it. Not to worry though, for I hold no grudge against any of my children as opposed to you. Your frenetic and quite enjoyable journey of unbearable pain was such for nothing and nothing more than your naïve, willful benevolent resolutions to best me in a game whose arbitrator I am respectively".

The boy blanched and felt as if hit with a sledgehammer right across his forehead. The girl swallowed in revolting unison, glancing at her chunky scars, missing toes and the whole appalling panoply of her mutilated body and set a conclusion. She had been made a woman all along without her knowledge. The god chortled brusquely, sweeping their sorrow away with a wave of his hand.

"Not to be outraged, you lot. I'll still make her immortal for the savoury, ample gesture of it. Just not the way you want. You'll even be united after the restoring of my Earth I permitted generously".

He lunged out with the whole gigantic wing span of his arms and raised a glowing, glittering, all devouring veil, blinding the lot of them.

"If you want to focus so much on humans, spend your energy on every one of their whims, so be it, son", his father cooed mockingly above all the noise. "Just remember this: Careful what you wish for, because it might resume to become truth..."

The sounds swelled to a terrible climax in consonance with the cold light framing all, making the boy feel as if nails were pressed into his head, catapulting further and deeper, till literal hell broke loose and the commenced cries in long, arithmetic wails telling the forward tale of impossible excruciation somewhere in front of him and even more intolerable, her screams vividly incinerating what was left of his torn, bleeding heart, no matter what stamina he summoned, he could not find her there, as he crawled there blindly, blinded by the light glowing and glowing lighter like a supernova boiling, as the apex was attained and matter of factly surpassed, as his vision went dark and then... that was it.

Nothing.

Oblivion.

Just as he had said it, just as it was promised.

Silence.

________

The question now begs to respond with what occurred to the girl, to the boy, to the mighty kingdom and for the love of God what the hell has a tragic, yet somewhat epic love story to do with the little stories of ours, concerning the Skeleton Crew itself, when there was no mentioning of them in it?

Curious and petulant readers none the wiser, the smart and cunning in me attempts to explain:

Everything, the love story has everything in business with the vile, gruesome nature of this very demonic Crew sailing the sevens seas, their beacon of power, the writing on the wall leaping to their very existence.

Of course not linearly, but applied to seven edges and with the levering of seven seals, one might argue love, forbidden in particular, is a trigger for a great deal of things. What if this story again, like the lot I narrated to you before, did not come to pass as I told you?

What if the girl, the woman and the boy are only metaphors for something else entirely? What if the gods were never gods, specimens of infallible stature and rather a rhetorical target representing all the obstacles threatening to impose and overcome us, symbolising the parents that make us feel small, the teachers who make us feel inferior and the bullies as high as insurmountable walls that mock us with their ways of sublime and refined nature, while we crave this certainty for us. To be loved and accepted by someone.

That blind love still is never a good thing, when the consequences resume to have the world pried open at the very first opportunity? Rebelling against a powerful leader is never successful, for he is always two steps ahead of any shenanigans.

The young always so hopefully try to rebel against the inevitable, against the elders' rules erected not out of restriction, but for the lack of order before, whilst the even elder learnt not to defy rules but choose the exceptions and act according to their laws.

If not even those two were meant to be confined in the other's destiny, why, pray tell, should I connect the periphery with the principal land?

However, we should not ignore the fact - for every piece of a legend is crucial to know in order to understand it - that around that time, an odd ship was spotted around, not long after the horrible incident, at an additionally odd place in between the Mediterranean Sea, where no ship enters sheer out of being astray, with a spun crimson red flag and a quite petechial message sprayed on it, only visible to those experiencing a death wish in the eternal dark before dawn cleared the area, waiting on the beaches and inviting the looming doom to feast on the sleeping bodies of acquainted enemies.

The terrible message read, in much shorter volume, for the language earlier could be contented with alarmingly less and still occupy its full meaning;

Don't pray to a god, if you'll see me,

Get on your feet and start to flee;

I'll hunt you and your people, until all life is bereft,

And only then your skeletons, shall be what is left.

Perhaps the gods grew tired and lost their touch to punishing the living, when other creatures might better be suited to take on that filthy, tiring job.

Ironically though, the woman in her defeat, in ignorance to what she had learned, didn't stop to think twice before she broke apart and doomed, snapped the heart of another and fated him thus to the punishments as such she was to carry.

The demons residing on the ship lovers had sailed once, chasing and forsaking souls for thousands of years now, years of blood, of bodies, of loss, of pain, the toll on their hearts rendering them as cold as stone, like the ice-cold trail of bodies they pile behind.

Fighting off their enemies, conquering for the mere reverb of honour and pride, lost in blood on the battlefield, condemned to travel the seven seas, he, the Captain, thought they were long lost and gone, certain for the fact, forlorn in the prices put on their souls they purposefully paid and longly overstepped, the lot brooding on nothing more than final death.

And revenge, bitter, petty, far-fetched, cultivated for the better part of centuries, saturated vengeance brewed but in their gloomy future.

This ballad is the most ancient and saddest of them all, but to be reborn, you must sacrifice and to quench the painful thirst of revenge, you must tend to your wounds, garner your power and bide on centuries, before striking back when all seems forgiven. To introduce the end, you must confess the truth of the beginning. The Ballad of the Origin began it all, but the perilous event to cause misery and anguish of numerous villages has yet to come. 

And the quarrel yet to be is indeed delicious.