Into The Darkness

Welcome to Your Execution

As he approached the wall, he heard gravel crunching beneath the feet of guards, and he pulled up the hood of his cloak; it would be more entertaining this way.

When he was little more than an arm’s length from the wall, he stopped. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. He stood there, drawing each breath slower and deeper than the last: inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling and so on. His heart hammered within his chest; he grasped the hilt of his sword, looking intently at the wall. With a swift jerk, he drew the sword, swinging it up as if to cleave the wall in two; without slowing, he swung it back down, sheathing the blade with a soft click.

Deep gashes appeared across the wall, intersecting near the top. Rey squinted as light flooded through; he could hear guards shouting and cursing from the other side. The cut section rumbled as it tilted slowly inward, rumbling louder it gained momentum, drowning out the voices of the guards. The ground shuddered when the stone slammed into it, and the shouts from the inside of the wall redoubled as Rey hopped onto the thick piece of fallen stone. He walked through the gap, a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

As he passed through the wall, blades swung at his ankles from both sides. He stomped on them, and a sound like breaking glass filled the air as they shattered. He swung his sword once, twice, lopping off the outstretched arms of the guards. Their screams fell upon his ears like the voices of singing angels; electricity shot up through his back, and beneath his hood, his face contorted with a disgusting ecstasy.

He heard a click and a bang from the roof, and his expression fell as he saw a bullet fly towards him with no more speed than a baseball. He swung his sword down as it reached him, splitting it down the middle. The shrapnel hit the stone wall behind him, passing through it with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

The guards gathered around the fallen slab, weapons at the ready; some held swords, some held guns, some held lances, and others held nothing at all. He surveyed them with a tactical eye, sizing them up one by one. Almost all of them wore white Prism uniforms with black numbers embroidered on their caps: the Numbers, the nameless foot soldiers of the Prism.

There was one exception; a pale young man wearing a numberless cap and the standard black jacket of Prism officers stepped forward, pointing a pair of silver handguns at Rey. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he opened his mouth.

“Intruder,” his voice quavered as he spoke, and he licked his lips before continuing, “this island and is the property of the Prism. Lay down your weapon, place your hands on your head, and lie on the ground. If you struggle, I cannot guarantee your life.”

Rey did not put down his weapon, nor did he lay on the ground; a smile crept across his face, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing aloud. It was such a bad joke, it would be insulting were it not so ludicrous. The smile slid from his face.

The Knight spoke again with greater resolve. As he did, the Numbers lifted their blades, guns and fists as one, all prepared to attack. “If you surrender, you may be spared.”

Rey’s smile returned, a cold sneer that would’ve sent chills through the bone. When he spoke, his voice was as slick and refined as oil. “I wish I could say the same.”

A blazing red aura surrounded him, spreading through the air like a flame through paper until he looked like the burning wick of a candle. The Knight fired the first shots, and the other gunmen followed suit, pouring out slug after slug, filling the air with a roar of semi-automatic gunfire.

As the bullets reached his burning aura, they melted, falling at his feet as metal rain drops. After the first few shots, Rey closed his eyes, tapping his sword impatiently against his right shoulder.

The ring of the last round sounded, and silence lingered in its wake, punctuated by the soft thumps of his tapping. He opened his eyes, relishing the awestruck expressions of the guards. He slid his sword into its sheath before bowing deeply. Then, he spoke, his voice booming in the dregs of silence.

“Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen! I welcome you to the last night of your lives! No love, or sorrow, or anger you have felt previously can match the sensation that I will share with you tonight. For tonight, I will show you what truly matters in this life; tonight, you will see a feat beyond your collective imaginations; tonight, the only sensation you will know is terror. Welcome, one and all. Welcome to your execution.”

As he finished speaking, he jumped down from his stage, landing beside one of the now one-armed guards. With a howl, the amputated man swung at Rey with his good arm. Rey caught it with a lazy toss of the wrist, and the man let out a shriek of pain as his remaining hand turned to dust before his eyes. He screamed as the effects spread through his arm, reducing it to a pile of ash. He screamed as it moved past his shoulder, disintegrating half of his torso. He screamed until he was no more than a pile of black cinders on the ground, until he was nothing at all.

Shrieks and curses filled the air as Rey swept through the guards. Some tried to fight while most tried to flee. However, all met the same fate. With just a touch, Rey reduced Number after Number to nothing.