This was more than just human devil's friction and a domineering angel. This was doomsday horror from skin-crawling revelations and insane zealots possessing the previously powerless residents of the overworld.
"The Holy Father will smite the devil! We will cleanse all the sin from this place!" Julius felt even more sick, and he cringed at what he could only assume was some supernatural casting of the voice, reverberating down to the bloody-gut filled town square.
But the people chosen to do the job didn't seem up to it— Julius saw them with rusty swords and tarnished chain mail; they formed a half circle around the priest, yet all of them looking nervously into the darkest corners of the marketplace.
"Righteousness?" Julius was slightly set apart from the others; his hand gripping the tattered leather spine of his own book—tightly but unconsciously.
The one he felt pulse in his hand with a subtle warmth.
The low-lit environment boasted nothing but that illumination except for the strange word. Artoria standing beside him with an otherwise blank face; yet, when her green-ringed eyes trained on the spiraling chaos, it was clear she was perceiving more than she let on. "What's with the long face?" Julius asked, not impressed.
"Twelve days and no matter what, the whole kingdom is lost." He waved his hand at the dilapidated buildings, signs of a once-thriving empire now reduced to rubble. The suggestively poor inhabitants shuffle through the garbage-strewn paths, and even the barely-there children—nude-colored with no vibrancy to their form and sunken cheeks—are seen playing apathetically in the soot.
"Twelve days. Either way, we have at least one full day until night hits. We might as well get the lay of the kingdom."
"Julius," she said softly, and he didn't know if the dust motes in the sunlight even acknowledged it.
"Does she really think this kingdom's going to fall? In twelve days?" He peered deep within her eyes, the green fire of them still so bright, still so alive, even as the stones fell around them.
"She does. And...I think she's correct." That was an awful thing to say. A death sentence from his mouth, seasoned with ember and ashes. But even as he tried to argue against it, the truth made him swallow the lie. He pointed to the castle behind him.
"That castle over there—whitewashed. Can you believe that? It eats while people are starving. Did you see their eyes? Their hollowed sockets? Did you smell?"
We were in a dead alley—and nothing flexible enough could blow away the smell of death and decay. There was a crying baby, a peeping infant.
Julius recoiled like someone had coldcocked him. "Those kids... those clothes..." He stopped short. I pictured them—little skeletal bodies in rags.
Artoria gritted her teeth, her fingers automatically tightening around the hilt of Excalibur.
"Then we give them a choice. Safety. A chance to get off this hellhole." He didn't blink at her newfound ferocity as he replied, "Twelve days. We'll traverse the kingdom and give the choice to those who would leave and then..." he whispered, breath hitching with a volatile tone,
"we defy fate."
-
The smell of stale wine and a stupid cause pervaded the throne room. The king—no, king was a misnomer—this man was an emperor, a rotund, no, morbidly obese man sat upon his throne, wheezing due to his inability to breathe. His raspy inhales infiltrated an otherwise empty space.
He was sweaty, his hair unkempt as it stuck to his glistening brow.
The silks and velvets draping his form were tacky, too, although extended to accommodate the excess—like some peacock who could not fan its feathers because of layers of fat underneath.
The only thing fanning good taste seemed to be his eyes—chilling and calculating—as they explored what seemed to be a court of frightened women dancing for his pleasure. "Dance, whores!" he cackled.
The woman's heart sank with the blatant sadism.
Even the gaurds with weapons lining the edges—bored, disgusted, armed—failed to soften this man's authority. These woman's weren't as underfed as the people that Julius saw when they entered the kingdom, holding themselves propped up, trying to be nice to get the game with anyone who would give it to them.
A tall, gaunt silhouette sliced through the lingering haze. "My liege, news has come! There are arrivals and we must welcome them in!" The man remained unheard.
The king was too engaged with the continuing revelers—his tongue slipped between his lips, curling in such a way that turned the woman's stomach.
"An arrival, my liege. A most…interesting woman." The man then reached into the frayed fabric of his robe.
The lit room projected a magic orb relative to his tattered clothing. A sphere came to be. He turned it on and it projected an image of Julius and Artoria walking. The king's eyes bulged and his lips curved into a carnal smile.
"Yes," he breathed—like rocks grinding against one another. "A welcome in it shall be."
-
Artoria felt it under her skin. Goosebumps. She quickly scanned the area with her bright green irises, attempting to discover the cause of her discomfort, the new weight added to her existence as a secret partner in crime.
"Everything okay, Artoria?" Julius questioned, noticing her even more fidgety state, his worry mounting. "You seem weird."
"It... felt like someone was watching me," Artoria said all of a sudden. Her hand trembled as she leaned closer to Julius, whispering, "Watched me in a creepy way." Julius narrowed his eyes at her.
What was up with her voice? Why was she so paranoid all of a sudden? He scanned the room quickly; nothing was out of the ordinary.
This wasn't the outer districts—this was a wealthy part of town—this mansion, this family—all wealthy, entitled people. But the longer he stared at Artoria with concern, he felt it—what she'd been feeling—slithering down the back of his neck.
"We're being watched," he said, glancing at the windows that looked down on the street. they were only trying to get closer to the castle to assess how entrenched the royal familys was in corruption, but apparently, this angered them.
"I guess they see us now," Julius said. "Finally. I guess all the excess blubber of these nobles is something to gawk at."
He pointed to the fat asses waddling down the street, red and glowing like they owned everything. "They get fat and fat while their people starve to death."
He shot a look at some dirty pedestrian peons hanging out on the corner, stepping aside for the aristocrats, which was all too easy since they looked down and away from the commoners.
"And they have fucking slaves. The assholes."
"Be careful," Artoria remarked, gesturing with her sword hand still on the hilt. "We're in the lion's den."
Author here - So this fanfic is literally trash. It's a little fanfic idea I had. Don't expect anything. Just practicing with some new writing things including making everything SHIT. I know there's errors in grammar. "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down."