▬▬▬ a beauty, found in death

"If thou must kill me, rejoice in thine place."

THEN, HE SAW AN UNSPEAKABLY SAD SMILE.

Mykerinos, a man of war, a brave warrior, and had good judgment. He lifted the iron weapon on his hand and beheld the fair maiden in front of him.

As his eyes looked into her face—at that beautiful face that had enchanted so many—he saw nothing. Nor tears, nor the trembling of her lips, nor fear beneath the skin of her face.

In a weak voice, he said, "Almost there."

And whenever they looked at each other, their eyes would fill with the growing darkness of a deathly gloom.

She knew the end was coming then, and thus she stepped backward closer onto the edge of the steps without the least resistance. He, too, stepped forward, right in front of her. In the corner of her eyes, she peered down the soaring stepped pyramid and saw what the humble guest could not: death.

At that quiet, melancholic, and swirling with shadows of the night, he threw the spear onto her. And only for a second, he heard a groan . . . Then saw her blood welled on her mouth and some spittle flew from her lips.

She looked down, as did he, and it was then that she sighted a long and sharp spear poking out through her heart.

The royal highness moaned, choking up her lungs. Her royal blood mocked her whole being, bright and red, smearing against her brittle skin. It ripped through her back, tore her through flesh, and snapped clean through her bones.

The princess, the priced priestess, glanced back at her humble guest and tried to say something he never caught. Her body shuddered as she suffered. She swayed, and almost falling over the stairs. Behind her was the rampaging chaos-a place of death without escape.

The man stumbled two or three steps backward. The divine beauty of a maiden, swathed in the blood-red glow of her vibrant ichor, staggering strongly among the path of horror . . .

It was at that very moment that the princess lost her balance and she tumbled head over heels into the steps, her dark cloak billowing about her until the blackness swallowed her up. Mykerinos heard her hit one thread of the stairs, the other, and then with a loud but dull noise, she fell onto the solid rocks at the bottom.

" . . . Rejoice in thine place."

As so, he recalled her words.

Entirely unaware of the rising tides that brought the wind to smell like hell, she implored her dying message to him, undistracted by the unforgiving nothingness to greet her . . .

And then silence.

Mykerinos stared up into the sky, which was steadily becoming lighter. All at once, he began to sigh as he never had, deep and furious. Odd, he must be in relief, for it was now finished. His heart must rejoice, just as the noble priestess's last request. Yet he could not. He was a fighter, the blood of a warrior coursed deep inside, but a pacifist by heart. He might be a brutal warrior and his actions were considered questionable, yet his loyalty was in his country and people, even if it would mean to murder, steal, and destroy. He did what he ought to do, to the thought of annihilating a blessed country for the benefit of his own country.

And on that very moment, he began to realize what the Her Highness meant . . .

How these corrupt beliefs could rule the mindset of society? How could he see it all so clearly now? Why had it been so hidden before?

Falling off on his knees, his soul collapsed. Mykerinos clenched his jaw, even hearing it cracked. His eyes looked tired, hooded, and an unexplainable shadow was cast on his face. Her heart must be saturated with wickedness, and her soul could never, ever be saved . . . And so unto him. The sin of his soul weighed the same as her.

Nevertheless, it was finished now. The royal members of the nation of Kálíkhaan were gone.

He had done it, and the only he had to do was carry the burden of this war, the path of disappointment and guilt. He had to go on, to continue the mission.

This war must cease now; the civilians had lost their masters, killing more lives would be futile and a waste.

He stood up eventually, then paced down the high and wide steps of the truncated pyramid. Although faintly, Mykerinos could visualize the splatters of blood that were left on the stucco surface.

A few moments later, Mykerinos was led to the bottom of the monumental structure. He found her body. And all of the corpses he had seen—those who mourned and anguish-filled faces of deaths—hers was different, for her face seemed like found peace.

She hath feared not death.

She had fallen still now, bones and flesh contorted, writhed carelessly. The spear was still being impaled between her chests as her precious blood was glistening on the eerie expression of her face.

He, Mykerinos, had the decency to remove his spear from her.

Her body was not strong enough, thus he pulled out the spear with ease.

As he crouched down, he gently grabbed the fractured bones of her limbs and put them properly in the right place.

Again, he stared at her unflinching face.

And if they had been given one more night, and on that long night, Mykerinos could have told his story as well, not only of hers, the beautiful Her Highness. Knowing that it was impossible, he reached over and took hold of her hand, and with a trembling voice said, "Thine humble guest is thankful for having thee as thine Highness's fellowship."

Yes, even for a short while.

Then he slipped an arm beneath her legs and carried her up. Mykerinos held the lady close to his heart, and he couldn't hear her heartbeats and breathing.

It wasn't that he was remorseful. It wasn't that he was sad. An emotion he couldn't put into words surged within him. He didn't understand why, but he felt such a tightness in his chest, he could hardly stand it.

He watched the roaring flames of the fire, his face was blank and his eyes started to moist unawarely. Mykerinos held his threatening tears. He looked at the woman he was carrying, then swore that he would never forget this sight: her body blossoming with such red blood as she laid quietly on his arms.

Since he was the one who pushed her to death, the image and sound of her death would haunt him every minute of his every day.

The killings went on and on all the way until the twilight glow, at which time Mykerinos and his fellow warriors were told they would gather those lifeless bodies and be disposed of.

Over the past few days, before the war started, they were commanded to dig a deep, wide hole, for the purpose of dumping all the cadavers there and be buried.

On that dreadful place, it was where the royal highness would lay her infinite rest.

They had finished just three days ago, and then the killing, stealing, destroying, and abducting had begun.

Once Mykerinos reached the terrifying pit, he gasped his prayers to the heavens. He couldn't believe it, either, the sight of so many bodies dumped in there. Forced to stand up on the edge of the mass grave, he witnessed his comrades unrepentantly throwing the bodies this way and that into the pit. He breathed deeply, staring down at the corpses, was surprised at how many had been killed since three days ago—sixty or seventy, or even hundreds, men and women, piled onto each other.

It was as if nature shared its sympathy and support and started raining. The rain was so heavy at the first pour as he had trouble opening his eyes under its weight.

Soaking wet in the rain, the other warriors probably wouldn't notice if he cried. Still, Mykerinos didn't want to. He felt that if he cried here, he might lose something critical to his life as a warrior. So he desperately tightened his control over himself.

But the tears came naturally spilling out.

He looked so melancholic, born of the fact that his solitary existence on this remote grave had become a source of unspeakable pain and intense loneliness for him.

Corpses, corpses, corpses . . .

Mountains of dead bodies as far as the eye could see. And not a single one at peace. The carcasses had stiffened, with faces twisted in agony. Did they even hope for death? He was sure none of the living would want to.

The tears coming to his eyes, he then looked up.

It must be something to be considered as magical under his gaze . . .

Thus he saw the beauty of the blue morning, and as the rain became gentle, the sun streaking the sky.

He wondered. He then wondered. And he wondered if her thoughts had been like this in those last moments: of fear and hope and relief.

And again, he wondered, if they, thine Highness and he, would ever meet in the next life . . ? So that he might bow at her feet.

Mykerinos gazed at the woman in his arms for the last time. His sigh was heavy, and his soul was frail.

And then the urge to toss her lifeless body came so quickly that he attempted not to even feel it, let alone hear it . . . And her body tumbled forward, falling onto the many who had fallen before her.

Her Highness, thine priestess . . . So fragile in life, was stoic in death.

Even in her final breaths and final seconds, her finest form was still bewitchingly beautiful against the solid ground that was now rendered crimson. And by dawn, she was nothing but a part of history . . . Her lifeless body greeting the rising sun.

uhm, yeah, in the third's lawl

just a supporting chapter . . . ig?

this is trash, im sorry

h a n d t h e ; r e n d