“Oh, how lovely!” cackled the man sitting cross-legged on the boulder. Holding a monocular to one eye, a manic grin was plastered to his face as he watched the opposing troops dressed in silver armor marching forward from the top of the cliff, judging them to be about an hour away.
“If you’re not quiet they’re going to shoot you down before our troops even catch up,” the other man said, knowing full well his words were going to be unheeded regardless of how irritable he sounded.
“Look at all the soldiers marching in a line. A little closer and my blade says ‘it is killing time!’” he sang to himself. Clipping the monocular back onto his side, the albino turned his head to face his companion, his expression suddenly deceivingly innocent. “Do you think they’ll beg for mercy like the last ones? I love when they beg, and the delightful sounds they make as I extract their stomachs. Do you think they’ll make sounds like that?”
Skye managed to keep his stony expression, internalizing the cringe as he watched the lunatic. How had he become a general? Perhaps the mercenary was better off not knowing. But one question he did want answered was what was this unnatural infatuation the man -if he could be called that- had with him?
“I think you need to spend less time playing with your victims and more time doing your job.”
“You’re so little fun, but that’s why I love you, dearest,” he said, rising to his feet, silver hair sweeping around the young face. “And you know full well that we’re ahead of schedule. We can afford leisure time.”
Only because that man, Alden, was such a monster, Skye thought. When he was hired by the Ceapal government to join their ranks, he had expected to confront difficulties having to work with others and follow orders. Never had he expected it to be like this.
“The troops move too slow,” Alden complained, walking past Skye without a glance. “We should discipline them.”
“They have to carry all the necessary provisions and walk on foot. You have a horse, sir.”
“Unicorn,” Alden corrected calmly, beginning the long climb down the side of the cliff to where his horse stood patiently. “Better than any mere horse.”
“Of course,” grumbled Skye, following his general down. The man was simply insane. Worse yet, Alden insisted that Skye sit in front of him on the horse. Turning his back to someone he didn’t trust was never something he had ever done, but in this case he wasn’t given much of a choice.
“Right here,” Alden said with a smile and patted the white horse’s back in front of him.
“Perhaps it would be better if I-”
“Listen to me or so help me I will use your entrails to suffocate those bastards marching towards us!” The threat echoed against the wall and bounced off, fading into the rest of the dry, barren landscape. Biting his tongue, Skye mounted the steed as commanded, but almost fell off again when he felt a gentle nibbling on his ear.
“I’m sure you taste delicious,” Alden crooned, flicking his tongue against the earlobe. “I will taste you someday.”
“You’re a fucking lunatic,” Skye barked, jerking his head away. The laughter that followed seemed to suggest he had only excited the man further, and the hands that began to work their way up his sides to his chest confirmed it. He would have struggled then too, but he could feel the cool metal blade in one hand as they tore open the front of his shirt, his mouth now pressed against the back of Skye’s neck through the curtain of dark hair that hung carelessly untamed.
“You have to stop doing this too me just before I have to leave you,” Alden said with heavy breaths, his fingertips caressing the skin, sticky with sweat.
“That’s your own fault,” replied Skye carefully, and shortly after gave a shallow sigh of relief when the curious hands returned to the reigns.
“You’re very wise, aren’t you? Now come, let’s go spill some glorious blood together.”
The battle was over predictably quickly. Though the troops were nearly evenly matched, there was nothing that could stand in the way of Alden. He sat, still mounted on his horse, next to a pile of corpses. The once white hair of the beast was covered in deep red splotches. Skye slid his sword into his sheath, trying to catch his breath in the restricting armor. He discarded it as soon as he could, having some of the underlings carry it away. When he turned back around, he watched the albino, unable to avert his eyes.
“Where does it hurt?” Alden asked in a whisper as he knelt low over the dying man- one of his own soldiers flaunting the red uniform of the Ceapalian military.
“H-here…” the man managed to say in a gasp, sliding one hand that was splayed out on the ground closer to his side with an enormous gash, bleeding profusely.
“Here?” Alden asked as he slowly slid his dagger halfway into the open wound, evoking only weak screams of agony. “Or here?” he asked again, moving the point further up towards the man’s lungs before sliding it in, inch by inch. “Or did you mean here? Speak clearly, please…”
When it was over, Skye couldn’t shake the cold nauseous feeling that had built up inside his stomach, but uttered his thanks that the soldier had finally found some peace. Death in itself was of little importance to him. It was the end a soldier was expected to meet. Not to be tortured and toyed with by your own commander, though.
“You’re a sick bastard, you know,” he said sourly as Alden approached him, a dagger clenched in one hand, the reigns of his horse in another.
“Such vulgar words. I hope you can be so vulgar in other aspects of life,” he replied. The dry blood on his face cracked as the corners of his mouth curled into a wicked grin. “Come now, I have something I’d like to share with you.”
Returning to their camp with the remaining troops, Skye followed Alden inside his lavish tent. The inside was furnished like the inside of a castle, with a feather mattress, tables, pillows, and more blankets than a single person could ever have need for. Yet Skye slept outside the tent on the ground like a dog. Better that way, he had decided.
With a giggle, Alden held his arms behind his back like a child.
“Which hand is it in?”
“I’m not playing-”
“Which hand?”
“…Left.”
“Here’s your prize,” sang Alden, holding out a canvas bag with a tie around the end. Skye eyed it skeptically before taking it from the albino’s hand.
“What is it?”
“It’s like a gift. You have to open and see.” Opening and seeing were two of the last things Skye wanted to do at the moment, but his hands slowly began to untie the thick knot, dropping t he cord to the floor as it came undone. He then became aware of the familiar reek that seeped out of the bag like an ominous warning. The stench was unmistakable. Bracing himself, Skye grabbed the end of the bag and turned it upside down, the contents tumbling out. Even with the expectation, Skye couldn’t believe exactly what he’d seen. It couldn’t have been. As it rolled to a stop on the floor the color drained from his face. It was impossible. The light blue eyes finally managed to tear themselves away from the object, looking in disbelief, terror, and everything in between at the man who now sat cross-legged and half naked on a makeshift throne covered in gold cloth.
“You look so confused and delectable. Welcome to the new Empire.”
Looking back down at what was unmistakably a head- the king’s head- on the floor, Skye found the more questions he had, the more he didn’t want answers.
