I laughed, and the severed head floated before my eyes. It was making funny faces at me; so amusing.
"I would work one arm at a time," I chuckled and was mimicked by Anthony, "I'd peel the skin off of your dominant arm. After I cut it off, of course."
"You cut it off!" The severed head spun circles around mine and laughed at high speeds. Sanguine liquid flew around like a sprinkler, dotting the walls red.
"Then I'd throw it on a skillet, let it crackle and sizzle. While I did that I would start exfoliating the muscular systems, starting with the deltoid and working my way down… the supraspinatus, the subscapularis; working my way deeper and then falling down the arm, towards the fingers. I'd cut each and every one and lay them out, adding them to the skillet as I worked."
"Work!" Anthony chattered in tandem with the decapitated member. It was strange, I couldn't' discern the facial features of the head.
Don't forget to use the bones. The voice in my head whispered.
"Oh, yeah, and I'd break the bones down into chips, and lodge them into you in various spots. I'd stick them into superficial veins, constricting blood flow and ultimately suffocating your body. Blood loss and deoxygenation would make you weak, and you'd start to lose consciousness."
Inflicted self-cannibalism.
"Hahaha," I laughed as the voice in my head fed me ideas. The severed appendage started flipping forward, rotating at high speeds while brains spilled forth, sloshing on the table we sat at, "Once the meat was roasted – well done, of course, I'm not an animal," I sniggered again, "I'd cut it up into little pieces and force feed it to you; rubbing your throat as necessary to elicit the appropriate reflexive response."
"Hopefully he'd still be alive by then,"
"Then I'd do the same to your eye,"
"Gouge it out and chew it up, making a fine jelly paste with my spittle,"
"When I'm at the edge of my consciousness…"
"…Spit it back into your mouth…"
"Watch you vomit your own blood,"
"Your own life…"
Who spoke, and when, became muddled as each voice - that of the head, Anthony, my own, and the creature who speaks to me subconsciously – prattled on in unison. We spoke our fears, our lusts, our primal desires and sins; we spoke comfortably and in the strictest of confidence. Anthony and I were inseparable.
"Scream…"
"As the sun goes down?"
"Scream!"
"As the rain turns red?"
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"SCREAM!"
"The tears flow from the little boy's eyes as I peel the palpebra back."
"I break his jaw and jam my fist down his throat."
"Tear the flesh segregating his esophagus and trachea. Flood his lungs with sanguine perfection. Punch a hole through your neck from the inside out and watch a thin trail of gore slither down your torso like a worm. Break your teeth and-"
"What the fuck is wrong with you two…?" My vision refocused at the interruption. The disembodied head vanished entirely, along with the respective mess it made in the small room of the lodge that night. I looked to my left to see Anthony rocking in his chair with a grin on his face – or, rather, a half of one; we had yet to fully heal the extensive scarring to his body. He held a book in one hand, a pathological study of cardiovascular diseases, and held his free hand around the back side of his head.
The person at the threshold of the door, holding a lantern, was a little woman by the name of Carrie. She was a thin brunette with a miniscule stature, and wore a disgusted grimace directed at me, "What is it?" I inquired.
She shuddered with a sigh and pointed an index finger at me, "It's time, let's go." Her finger fell into a fist and was replaced by the thumb she threw over her shoulder.
I sighed and rose from my seat, directing my attention towards Anthony and saying, "I'll be back in a few minutes."
He glanced up at me from under his hood and muttered, "Don't forget where you left off." He was uncomfortable around our companions, though, with good reason I suppose. Our cumulative infatuation with such unsavory topics tended to alienate other, more "normal" people.
-----
Carrie trotted down the twilight hall just ahead of me. We were on the ground floor of an infrequently visited lodge at the border between what was once the domain of King Arkell and the independent nation of Hendaria; both nations assimilated by the then "one true king" Aurthur "The Indomitable."
The place was virtually empty, save for my companions and the innkeeper, and every groan of the old structure could be heard reverberating throughout the night. Our footsteps thundered down the hallway as we rounded another corner, and Carrie said, far beneath me, "You really shouldn't be encouraging that behavior in him."
"Maybe he's encouraging me?" I said, only half in jest.
"The boy is broken enough as it is," Carrie rounded on me and waved a finger under my nose. She practically had to extend her arm all the way to reach my chin, "I don't know what you two were doing before this, but if it weren't for me that kid would be just as big a monster as you." Hearing that from other people always perturbed me.
"I don't need you chastising me," I swatted her hand away from my face, evoking a rumbling growl, "You're wrong." He was already beyond hope; was already so before I had met him. All I could do now was provide him with a better life.
"You're twisting his head, he's just a kid!" She whispered fiercely as to keep our conversation private; though anyone who deigned to eavesdrop would have no difficulty doing so, here, "He doesn't deserve to live a life like yours. He's innocent… at least he should be. I don't care if he is the strongest person alive, that doesn't mean he has to live on the battlefield."
"Shut up," I scolded, taking lead and continuing down the abysmal hall, beyond the lantern's light. The truth was that there was some merit to her words. Had Anthony been anyone else, had he been born a different person, I would have done all in my power to prevent him from becoming the creature he was fated to be. Alas, this was not the case; ignorant and youthful people such as Carrie failed to see this.
"He wanted this for himself, not I." I ended. I laid my hand upon the doorknob, visible only by the reflected glint of lantern light on the brass handle, and opened the door.
-----
I have noticed, over the course of my many visits to many worlds, that time repeats itself in no uncertain manner. Oddly enough, it also appears as though I am born into ages where great changes are dawning in these times. Is it my Fate, perhaps, to act in a pivotal role for these changes? Or am I an instrument in the preservation of the ways of old? Perhaps I am merely an unimportant observer? I have played all sides of the field, always in self-interest and always as the proxy of Nature's Wrath.
Without fail, each time I am born again into a new world, a new realm, there is invariably a great calamity or cataclysm of some manifestation about to befall that timeline. Whether immediately, or centuries away, the world I am born into will, before I depart to my next destination, either fend off these dramatic changes or succumb to them. However, just as there is a procurator for the proliferation of calamity, there are those of power who rise to combat this force of nature. These people or creatures I have come to dub "The Heroes of Legend" in sardonic homage to a title granted my companions and I in an era long past.
Whether or not these rare individuals could, or should, be considered "Heroes" or not is a philosophical question I have never been able to answer. They vary greatly in personality and goals, but are drawn together into the nebulous cacophony by some twist of destiny to unite against the calamity. The one thing I can say for certain is that these people typically profess unearthly power. The strongest mages, the most skillful fighters, the most intellectual strategists and worldly sages; they are collective beings of power and charisma drawn together to champion one side or another of a historically pivotal conflict.
The source of calamity ranges quite dramatically: bloodthirsty tyrants, misguided scientists developing Magitechnology for nefarious purposes, monsters of immense power obliterating humanity – anything you can think of that has the power to change the face of the world.
More often than not I find myself retracted to the individuals that contest this calamity. The Heroes of Legend are typically the only people capable of aiding me in my fight against the Shadow; a being whom I cannot possibly hope to best alone. Obviously I do this in self-interest, often times my goals do not directly align with theirs. I "befriend" these souls ultimately for my own personal liberation.
It is a rare occurrence for me to have access to my full mana capacity prior to the resolution of the conflict in any given world. Frequently I am only able to enlist the aid of my companions after they have proven themselves capable belligerents. As such, worlds like Rafee and people like Anthony are queer occurrences that seemingly defy the annals of Fate. They are treasured by me as they typically indicate a greater span of time for me to exercise my ability and shape the worlds as I see fit.
Nevertheless I found myself in the company of the Heroes of Legend, once again, facing off against the source of calamity in that world of my own volition. Fate… Hah, the concept is derisory. I don't believe in such things…
-----
I pushed open to door into the well-lit foyer of the lodge. Seated at a large up-turned spool, likely used on a farm for twine, were my comrades-in-arms of this particular time. Each one was a competent warrior worth a legion alone - as should have been expected in a world so plethoric with mana.
To the left was Erica, a veritable behemoth of a woman. She was a bulky elf woman who, like me, avowed a considerable affinity for Earth magic and close-quarters combat. She was also extremely confrontational; I can't say I particularly cared for her boorish behavior. Evidently she sought to test her mettle against Aurthur and his horde, a crusade she had been executing alone up until recently.
Sitting next to her was Langley, a deceptively old man with a propensity for mischief. He could have easily passed for a man in his mid-thirties, somehow managing to maintain a youthful façade well into his eighties. He specialized in stealth, professing a queer ability in which he could refract light using Wind and Light magic around target areas. Effectively he could make himself and others "disappear" from all perceptions, including mana perception, as he was quite adept at seals.
At the far end of the table, studying a map by lantern light and rearranging wooden chess pieces affixed with multi-colored flags around in formations, was Hundir. He was a relatively mundane man with inconspicuous features save for the thick-lens glasses he wore. Behind only Anthony and I, however, he sported the highest maximum mana capacity of the group. He was also a decorated mercenary, and his battle expertise was second only to my own; his strategy, though, far transcended mine. He used rune-laced knives in conjunction with his mastery of Water magic; flowing through the battlefield like rapids and draining blood and plasma alike out of his foes' tissue.
Our esteemed leader, however, was the woman behind me. Carrie, the miniscule brunette with an androgynous body type, did not boast any special abilities and her magical proficiency was lackluster at best. However, through some sheer force of primordial magnetism, she was the sole reason for all of our attendance there that night. She was a likable enough person, and was able to argue her way into almost any disposition with any person; including myself.
"Did you take the scenic route?" Erica japed. Langley sniggered but was shot down when Carrie stepped in front of me and glared at him.
She looked up at me and nodded at a stool next to her chair. I took the seat and folded my arms on the "table," resting my head and idly studying Hundir's positioning. Carrie put her lamp out and took the chair next to me, flicking my forehead, "Sit up," I obeyed, without hesitation. With Carrie it was simply easier follow orders than to protest; she was fearless, "Hundir, are you ready?"
"Mhmm," He muttered, pushing the map into the center of the makeshift table. It was a topographical plat with innumerable scribbles and scratches all around it. Hundir was a very methodical and calculated individual, accustomed to the art of war, "It hasn't changed all that much from my initial proposition," He pointed at the castle representing the lodge, "to be honest with Langley, Anthony and Zien the probability of success without incident is laughably high."
"We can't count on those two freaks for shit, Hundir." Erica spat. The elf loathed the boy and I, for reasons I can only postulate as emasculation.
"Erica, that's enough, let him finish." Carrie snapped her fingers and waved the brute down.
"Why should I?!" She slammed her fist down on the spool, knocking it off balance and toppling several chess pieces. Hundir immediately set to rearranging them without protest, "Those two can't stay focused for more than two minutes before muttering to one another about corpses and blood and shit," I rolled my eyes as she tossed a thick finger at my face, "he'll probably just wander off in the middle of the fight like he did in Nubelheim!"
"Better than showing up to battle so wasted I can't walk straight." I retorted.
Erica stood up and seethed, followed by Carrie, who yelled "Enough!" I yawned, rolling my shoulders, "Remember what we are here for: we all have family, friends and countrymen enslaved in Aurthur's camp. We're the last vanguard between him and the rest of the continent; we can't afford to tear apart our offense now." Erica grumbled, crossed her tree-trunk arms and sat back down.
"Can I finish?" Hundir inquired. Langley laughed and was promptly struck over the head by Erica. Carrie sighed and nodded, "Zien and Anthony cross the plains, unsealed so as to throw off any lookout's mana perception," He pushed two knights with a red and green banner away from the castle straight through the valley towards a massive cluster of various tokens, "We flank from the hills and wait for the palisade to go down," He moved a bishop with a yellow flag up into the elevation from the east.
He then segregated the red flagged knight and the green one, moving the green flagged knight further east towards the bishop. The forces split to engage the red knight and the green knight, "Once you bring down the wall, Zien, rendezvous with Anthony," Hundir punched a hole in the tokens and moved the green knight back towards the red one, "make sure to wreak some havoc long the was as not to arouse too much suspicion,"
Hundir then advanced the yellow bishop in through the gap in the wall of tokens, and moved the green knight back towards the red one, shuffling numerous forces to follow suit, "Under the cover of Langley's shroud we'll break in and rescue. With you two tearing things apart up front I have absolutely no doubt they will send everything they got at you," He glanced up at me after shoving almost every piece in front of the knights, "You can handle it, right?" I nodded unenthusiastically.
Erica snorted and tossed her head aside, "Should be me out there…" She mumbled.
"Okay," Hundir clasped his hands and wrung them, "I doubt Aurthur would miss a fight like that, so he'll probably step out to face you guys sooner or later. Either way make sure he falls, even if you have to breach the camp to do so; we gotta make sure his dynasty ends here."
"Right, well it's literally six against ten thousand but somehow I have high hopes for this operation…" Hundir chuckled.
-----
Aurthur The Indomitable was a beast of a man; a creature more deserving of the title "monster" than even I. He was a killer of the fourth class, but what separated him from the ilk of that breed was his inhuman command of instinct. Always at the front of the fray, with elegant long sword in hand, Aurthur possessed strength matched only by his cruelty and brutality.
He was quite fond of torturing people in the presence of their families, a game he liked to play called "roulette." He would round up entire communities and hand out lottery tickets to the men. The women he would have stripped and violated in a public display to rile up the populace. A handful of the men would be called forth, and the others slaughtered in the most gruesome of manners; their blood drained and doused over the survivors. Aurthur would then arm the surviving men and force them to combat one another for the "privilege" of surviving. If any resisted, and most would, they would simply become fodder like the others.
The man who survived the roulette would then be given the opportunity to join Aurthur's legions, along with a woman of his choice, or was free to walk. The women would be subjugated to slavery and passed about as camp whores. Regardless of the outcome, every single soul who ever faced the man would be destroyed physically and psychologically.
Erica was one such woman. She might consider herself "lucky" for facilitating her own escape, but I saw the toll it wrecked on her. It was because of her recount of the atrocities committed by the hand of The Indomitable that I decided to contest the creature. I had ignored his presence for too long, considering him nothing more than another wretched human when, in fact, he was the source of the world's calamity.
My sympathy for the woman was trumped by my spite for the man; it was my hatred for this embodiment of human cruelty which drove my fists to act.
-----
"You ready for tomorrow?" I asked Anthony when I returned to the room later that night. He was still up, thumbing through another book; a stack before him. He had removed his robe and sat in his smallclothes, barring his frail, scarred body. He had grown into such a fine young man.
"Of course," He attempted a grin, "I get to go all out, right?"
"Yeah…" I perished the thought. He had not tested his limits since the battle with The Shadow a few years past. I could still smell the charred flesh, could still hear the crackling skin.
"I'm glad," He said, disconnected, "For everything."
"What do you mean?" I made small talk as I removed my tunic and rolled into my bed.
"Everything you've done for me, bro," He cocked his head over his shoulder and stared at me with gentle blue eyes, "I'm grateful. The others won't even look at me, but you…" He chuckled, "Heh, you treat me like real family. Even with all these messed up thoughts you can still look at me, still laugh with me. That means something."
"You are family, kid." I muttered, "Why all the sentiment?"
He paused, staring up into the dark rafters where the light did not reach, "No reason…"
"Liar."
He let out a forced laugh, "I… I've heard the stories. About this guy. Can we really handle him?"
"Anthony," I started, rolling over onto my back. I stretched my hand out in front of me, reaching to the ceiling, "I've taken down 'gods,'" I clenched my fist, "and with your help we destroyed The Shadow. You said it best, 'we could have the whole world wrapped around our fingers.'"
"I'm afraid…"
"So am I," I replied honestly, "But just remember it's that Fear which drives us, makes us strong. Ours is an existence cursed to the subjugation of an incorporeal lord whose thrall we cannot escape. Yet it is precisely because of that thrall we are here today. Anthony, we cannot die by some petty demon's hand."
"I'm afraid…" He repeated, "of everything."
-----
The battle was pitifully one-sided. Everything proceeded precisely as Hundir had planned. Anthony and I decimated the horde in a matter of minutes. The vast armies of Aurthur The Indomitable fell like flies engulfed in the fiery inferno of hell. Never before had such a destructive force challenged the horde, but quite honestly it felt like child's play.
It was foggy, that morning, but Anthony's flames made quick work of the overcast. In the end it was a pleasantly cool autumn morning, the sun shone down upon the numerous corpses with a loving gaze, glinting off of the rare spots of un-charred armor and weapons. The breeze was uncomfortable, however, as wind whipped through the areas seared by Anthony in currents of arid gusts. It's a wonder we didn't start a tornado with all of the pressure differentials.
When the demon himself appeared before us we faced the closest thing to a challenge we ever would, that day, though even his might fell short of anything particularly impressive. The true events of that day came, not with, but at the end of the conflict.
-----
I pinned Aurthur, an extremely tall man with raven black hair like my own and innumerable battle scars defiling his body, and was about to plunge my diamond katar into his skull when Anthony shouted from behind me, "Wait!"
I turned to face the boy, who had just finished turning the enemy camp into a scene almost mirroring Heidolon and his home town; the others had long since escaped with the prisoners and we were left to clean up, "What is it?" I could feel the demon's labored breathing beneath my weight; he was too exhausted to struggle.
"Bind him…" Anthony lowered his hood and stared at the creature with apathy.
"What…?" I started.
"Bind him!" The black mage shouted, directing his vehemence towards my insubordination. I really wish I had not, but I could not bring myself to defy the boy – not even for his own good. I dismounted Aurthur, and with shackles of stone and soil brought forth from the dead earth, tied his hands behind his back and clasped his legs. Anthony stepped past me and kicked the man in the ribs violently. I almost could not believe my senses, but I perceived the flows of physical attunement bolstering the muscles of his leg.
"Table." Anthony stated blandly; there was no emotional intonation in his voice. It was as though he were a different person…
"Huh?" Was all I could muster, supremely confounded.
"Erect a table; I want him on a platter!" He cast a hand before my face; uncanny confidence and certainty in his countenance and behavior. He was not the quiet, frightened child I knew any longer.
I obeyed, regardless. That child, that boy who could touch me without risking a painful response, was my brother. I would bring the world to him if he so requested; that being for which I derived a reason for existence. I sent the flows of Earth through the ground via my feet, amassing various clusters of rock from abroad and raising them in a sarcophagus-shaped stone pillar with a Terra Khara Columna spell. I then lifted The Indomitable onto the slab and fused his shackles to the slab, binding him spread-eagle. A part of me knew what was to come.
"What the fuck do you punks want?" Aurthur spat feebly after I finished spreading him. The boy stepped over and threw an empowered right fist into the man's jaw at an angle, dislocating it and knocking several teeth out, eliciting a wail and a stream of blood from the being's mouth.
"Good, do you still have some steel on you?" Anthony inquired, his voice unwavering as he held an open hand towards me expectantly.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. Give me a knife."
"Wait, what?!" Aurthur cried incoherently, attempting to struggle but failing miserably. He was drained of mana, his body was wreaked, and yet he still found the energy to resist.
"Knife." Anthony reiterated bobbing his hand to emphasize the request, ignoring the man bounding on the slab like a fish out of water. I grunted with apprehension, but, again, submitted. I fished around the superficial fascia of my thighs for some of the steel I absorbed from an unlucky soldier's breastplate and formed a glob of liquid steel in my palm. It took the shape of a double-edged carving knife, extremely sharp with a gently curved blade; not to dissimilar to a tanning knife.
Anthony swiped it from my grasp with haste, a glint of evil in his foggy blue eyes, before turning around to face the panting Aurthur. I wanted to turn away, I wanted to deny what I was about to witness, but I could not. It was because of me, because of my twisted mentality, that this child had been permitted to become the perverted monstrosity I saw before me. It was because of my enabling that he had transcended his own Fear – nay, even assimilated it – and used it to propel him forward into the void of insanity.
I watched. It was my responsibility…
The boy heated my blade with flows of fire, painting the steel red hot with energy. He grinned maliciously, denying the inhibitive scars on his face the ecstasy of a full expression. Flames enveloped the man, scorching his clothing and searing his armor. Aurthur screamed in agony as his flesh began to tinge, and then the flames disappeared, "I can't burn your nerves off, now can I?"
"FUCK YOU!" The brave man protested with a broken jaw.
Anthony took the knife around the edges of the man's armor, slicing through the bindings which survived the previous conflagration. He proceeded to remove the plate, faulds, gauntlets, boots and clothing until at last the protestant man with the scars was laid bare. Anthony rebuffed his flows of Fire into the knife, enkindling it with a vehement mana even I shuddered at.
"I'll kill you, I'll kill you!" Aurthur gurgled. Anthony chortled and brought the flat of the blade to the man's inner thigh, searing it superficially in various spots. The man wailed and tears streamed down his face, melding with the blood around his cheeks, nose and jaw. His muscles flexed so violently I feared his veins might rupture if the vibrant purple lines running the breadth of his body were any indication.
Anthony ceased his action and directed his attention to the man's head, groping his body as he proceeded to the eyes. Aurthur stared at the boy with eyes so wide, so horrified, that I could not help but feel empathy for the creature; the demon I refused to call human. Gingerly, Anthony brought the knife to the man's left eye, gouging inward so slowly that I could actually see the cornea receding from the intense heat of the blade, bubbling like a pool of boiling water.
Aurthur screamed so violently and tried not to move, aware that if he did he would only drive the blade further, but failed. He jerked his head back reflexively and the blade slipped loose, but not before the flat could completely decimate the entire eyeball. My eardrums almost ruptured at the wailing, the lamenting anguish, and I covered them; my eyes never once blinking.
Anthony then moved over to the man's right hand, once more fueling the steel knife, and started slicing fingers off; first the pinky, then down the hand all the way to the thumb. The white-hot blade was so intense that flesh gave way like melting butter, cauterizing as he cut, crackling and popping and producing a scent most familiar to me. Aurthur's struggling began to diminish as his strength continued to flee him, alas his screams only worsened; broken only by the rare inhalation or gag.
The boy bobbed the severed digits in his left hand and set them to the side. He repeated his earlier procedure with the man's remaining eye, this time twisting the blade as he drove it so as to hallow out a cavity, pulling the knife out periodically and brushing ash and flesh off. I remember wondering why, in those instances, Aurthur did not drive his face forward so that the knife would puncture his brain. His head was not bound… Surely death would have been a preferable alternative?
Anthony dropped his knife, picked the digits up once more and balled them, using physical attunement to crush the bone and flesh into tight little spheres, his hands dripping with thin streams of humor and grume. He forced the masses of gore into the empty eye sockets and proclaimed with a smile, "He's a fighter, eh Zien?" I could say nothing, though I am certain it was rhetorical regardless, "I'll take a page out of your book and finish it off right. He doesn't have much juice left in him, Heheh."
He was correct; Aurthur was still alive but just barely. He was gurgling, choking on his own saliva and blood, but still trying to manifest cries of agony; trying and failing. Anthony snapped his fingers and a ball of flame appeared before my face. I took a step back and Anthony ordered, "Release him." I did as I was told, and rescinded the shackles back into the stone slab.
Anthony stooped over and picked up, with both of his hands, a fair sized rock. He swept the knife off of the table and kicked the armor at his feet to the side, giving himself space for the finale, "I've been reading a lot about post-death convulsions," He started conversationally, "I guess you see it more often with blunt force trauma to the skull after the brain has been stimulated. I kept most of his nerves in tact; let's see how this plays out, hmm?"
I wanted to stop him, I really did… but I could not. I was afraid; afraid to defy him. Why? Was I fearful for my life? I don't believe so. No, I was afraid to chastise him; afraid to lose his favor and his love. It was a strange confliction of interests…
"Farewell, father…" He brought the stone down with force right onto the man's forehead. His cranium went concave and blood gushed out of his eyes and ears. For a second the body went still and I silently sighed in relief; a child should not see such atrocities…
But then it resumed. I have seen it many times before; it is always a disturbing sight. A body which twitches and groans even after death; it is a natural reaction as the remainder of a body's electrical impulses are erratically dispersed throughout the nervous system; as Anthony said, I have noticed it occurs more frequently with blunt force trauma.
Aurthur's arms flailed, his legs kicked, his torso jumped and his corpse quivered. It was as if he was the meat doll of some sadistic puppeteer, his muscles undulating with violent contortions and reflexes. It proceeded to escalate, even; the body's motions growing more unpredictable and violent. Blood gushed from the eye sockets and the ears like a fountain of rubicund.
It kicked so rigidly, once, that it actually flipped itself off of the slab and rolled about on the ground. Welling deep from within the lungs and larynx were unearthly groans and gurgles; a vexing sound which should never be heard by the living. I covered my mouth as the procession of death climaxed as the body rolled over once more, facing the sky with humor marred face and empty eye sockets. Its tongue hung out the side of its mouth as it released one last sigh, expelling all of the gore saturated oxygen from its lifeless lungs; I wanted to vomit at the scent.
I looked over to Anthony, whose previously gleeful lineament was replaced instead with a vapid disgust, his lips parted ever so slightly. I was without words, without an offering of succor; he chose this for himself, but I was ridden with the guilt of having brought him to this point. Instead, I attempted to divert his attention, recalling something I couldn't be certain I heard of not, "You said… 'father?'"
Anthony wiped his face, which sported smatterings of gore, and looked at me, his expression only lightening marginally, "Just one of hundreds of rape-spawn." He stated matter-of-factly.
"You…"
"Leave it at that." He waved his hand and looked askance.
"But how…?"
"I said leave it at that." He repeated. His voice did not raise, but donned a commanding ordinance.
"O-okay…" I gazed down to the ground, into the black earth between my toes.