บท 163: Waking Dream
Being a good person. Its hard. It isn't cool. But its worth it. I should know. I have a front seat in the Virtual Asshole Experience with the privilege of lifetime admission. The most irritating part of the VAE is that I don't get a say in when the wild ride starts. The show could begin running when I'm sleeping for instance. Sometimes clips begin to play when I'm in the middle of doing something totally unrelated.
Or like now, when I'm on a hospital bed with most of my skeleton fractured and one less eye than I was born with. The doctors probably doped me to my remaining eyeball to keep the pain at bay. And given a choice between the VAE and screaming my lungs out in pain, I would take the VAE any day of the week. At least with the Experience, I know what's coming. Its the dream that my mind plays on loop where there's zero provision for interaction on my part.
Or as the more academically inclined would call it, ancestor memory. Yeah, I know big words as well. Despite appearances, I'm not a moron. I just act like one. So that I can be the direct opposite of him. I'm trying you know. Trying really hard to redeem his memory. Just doing my best together with everyone. I feel my body drift away along with my staccato thoughts, through the stream of time, being pulled along by the Experience. Here we go.
Again.
.....
The sound of a gong resounds throughout the execution square and a pair of shackled figures are dragged out of the dungeons and presented before Prince Enma and the Sacred Executioner. The militiamen shove the prisoners to the ground hard, sending the pair sprawling into the dirt. The Sacred Executioner strides forward and eagerly kicks one of the figures, a broad shouldered man, forcing the prisoner to roll on to his back. Dirt mats the prisoner's blond, curly hair and his once well kept mustache is badly fraying from neglect. Wounds mar the man's body, evidence of rough treatment at the hands of Enma's guards.
Despite the man's wounds, he glares at the Sacred Executioner defiantly, heedless of the consequences.
"Blackguard." the prisoner says spitting out a wad of phlegm that lands on the Sacred Executioner's boot, "Come to gloat?"
The Sacred Executioner wordlessly stomps hard on the prisoner and proceeds to use the prisoner's face as a floor mat for the boot.
"Defiant as always Sir Castiel." the Sacred Executioner drones in a singularly unimpressed voice, "I warned you when we last met that you would not be able to run."
"I will give my life to protect Milad-" Castiel protests but is quickly cut short by the Sacred Executioner's boot grinding into his face.
"No one cares. Both of you are dead anyway." the Sacred Executioner replies disinterestedly, "The other prisoner, she is the one we have been looking for?"
Enma smiles deferentially and gives a slavish bow as he answers, "Yes. Princess Anri underestimated our loyalty to the True Emperor. She slithered into my kingdom with her compatriots, and quickly began trying to incite my people into revolt. It failed, naturally."
"Naturally." the Executioner confirms and turns to regard the second prisoner. A slim woman is on her knees, dressed in a dusty red gown with a small sack tied loosely around her head, obscuring her appearance and making it impossible to tell her age. Her clothes are in surprisingly good condition given her circumstances, dirty but otherwise well-kept. Neither does the woman display any of the wounding suffered by Castiel. She kneels with her back straight, a stark contrast to the exhaustion that rolls off Castiel's body.
"Why have you hidden her face?" the Sacred Executioner asks. However no response is forthcoming from Enma, who silently stares at Anri in contemplation.
The Sacred Executioner cuffs Enma's head in annoyance and snaps, "Stop ogling the prisoner and answer me. Why is her face hidden?"
"Uh, apologies." Enma mumbles, "It was done on the advise of my captain. Guards that had been in contact with Anri would begin to act strangely and well, attracted to her? The sack over her head counters whatever effect she has on them to some degree."
"Did you look at her Enma?" the Sacred Executioner quizzes.
Enma blushes and turns away from the Executioner while performing a fake cough to cover his embarrassment. He then hurriedly signals a nearby militiaman to bring some refreshment.
"She is attractive." Enma sputters, "Beautiful on the inside and outside. Uh, would you like a drink Sacred Executioner? Some wine perhaps?"
"Never mind." the Sacred Executioner answers resignedly, "Let's just get this over with quickly before the Princess escapes again."
The young militiaman jogs over with a goblet of wine in each hand, presenting them to the Prince. Before Enma can offer one of the goblets to the Executioner, the black clad man gives a curt shake of his head, turning down the drink. The Sacred Executioner instead raises his double handed sword high and begins to make a circuit of the execution square, kicking off the well established ritual once more. The crowd gives a halfhearted cheer under the watchful eyes of the Executioner's assistants.
Enma downs one of the goblets with a single gulp and returns the second goblet to the young militiaman. The Prince then walks over to the Executioner's side with the militiaman in tow.
"I am not thirsty Enma." the Sacred Executioner says as he completes his circuit around the square. Right on cue, the assistants march towards the kneeling woman and begin dragging her to the center of the pit. A tiny, but growing murmur of discontent drifts through the assembled crowd as Anri is held in place by the assistants to facilitate her beheading. The Sacred Executioner gives one of his signature warning glares, but this time, the crowd refuses to be cowed. The murmurs continue unabated, forming a cloud of discontent that hovers over the surroundings.
"How do you do it?" Enma whispers to the Executioner, "How can you behead Anri without hesitation? Don't you feel in your heart that what we're doing is wrong? Even the crowd can sense it."
"Careful Prince. That talk skirts dangerously close to treason." the Executioner replies, "And the feeling you are currently experiencing comes from your crotch, not your heart."
"But still," Enma protests in a hushed voice, "everyone who has met Anri is affected by the same feeling. Everyone, Sacred Executioner. Guards, townsfolk, even my own court. Don't tell me you that you are not affected as well."
The Sacred Executioner turns and gives the Prince a hard look before emitting a long sigh, "I am asexual. All Blackguards are. So no, we do not remotely sense whatever you have been talking about."
As Enma makes several uncomprehending sounds at this piece of information, the Executioner scans the surroundings in bewilderment.
"Where is the third one?" the Sacred Executioner asks, "There should be a third prisoner."
"What third prisoner?" the Prince replies, "There's just these two."
The Executioner waives his hand in exasperation, "Anri had another accomplice. A serving boy. Never mind, we can search for him later once the Princess is dead." Just as the Executioner is about to return his attention to the kneeling Princess, a loud cry tears through the pregnant atmosphere.
"Now!" Castiel shouts and with a twist of his wrists, the shackles meant to secure him fall away. The militiamen in the background deliver a war cry and charge forward with their weapons raised, not at Castiel, but at the pair of Blackguards holding Anri fast. In response, the Blackguards release their grip on the Princess and bring their swords up to guard against the sudden, unexpected attack.
"Betrayal." the Sacred Executioner hisses as his assistants slash furiously at Enma's militiamen. Their savage two handed blades cleave through the militia in short order, staining the ground red. Its no contest, but the distraction gives Castiel the opportunity to get Anri to her feet and toss her into the crowd. The crowd surges and gathers around the Princess protectively, hustling her away from the fighting. More militiamen jump into the pit and assemble into formation on Castiel's side, staring down the Blackguards. A random guard hands a spear over to the knight who grasps the weapon with relish.
Confronted by such overwhelming odds, the pair of Blackguards share a look before giving each other a solemn nod. They then turn to the Sacred Executioner, awaiting his direction.
"I will allow it." the Executioner says, "Unleash the power granted by the True Emperor. Remind them that every Blackguard is an army unto himself."
The bodies of the pair of Blackguards quiver like jelly and a greasy scent begins to permeate the air as they secrete a thick, viscous ooze that pools at their feet. The puddle of ooze grows and grows, swirling and churning with bubbles popping across its surface. Black clad arms begin form from the seething ooze as yet another pair of Blackguards pull themselves out of the impromptu spawning puddle. The new pair of Blackguards emerge fully grown and armed, steam rising from their bodies. Literally fresh from the proverbial oven. As the fresh Blackguards draw their weapons, the spawning pool continues to bubble and vague shapes begin to form once again underneath its surface.
A harsh jeering laugh comes from the Sacred Executioner, "We are without number. There will always be enough of us to destroy any threat to the True Emperor."
"Just as there will always be enough of us to protect the Princess no matter what you do!" a young man's voice shouts from behind the Executioner.
The Sacred Executioner turns and takes in the sight before him. Prince Enma stands with his hands raised, spilled wine staining his extravagant robes while his mouth is caught in the middle of a silent scream. Behind Enma is the militiaman who had brought the wine, holding a knife to the Prince's throat.
"So that's where you have been hiding, serving boy."
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