Convict Fenix

by Alan Brickett

  Guards stood at columns spaced along the jade walkway, each one in platinum-etched plate armor with the large shield and spears of the Hellican.

  He was admitted into the audience of her radiant self, the Matriarch of the sisters of entropy, the great lady of subsumed flesh, her magnificence, the first daughter and eldest child of the Arch-Emperor. Seven hundred steps brought him up the aisle, head bowed, footsteps slow and even.

  With the time of their lives expected to be nigh on forever, they quite enjoyed their rituals, symbols of authority and acts that took time to show the correct respect.

  He had memorized them all, every last tedious moment of every boring prolonged cultural affectation. As he walked, the hour sounded on the thousand gongs in this area of the palace. He stopped and stood in supplication to the most high Arch-Emperor himself for the count of twenty heartbeats, as was required.

  Then he continued his slow, measured walk up to the next heir to the throne, if the Arch-Emperor ever died.

  At last, he stopped before her. The divan on which she reclined was a velvet of the purest argent, white gold with a luster and shimmer beyond the mere material. Her skin was the color of tiger’s eye, it shimmered in the browns and golds across layers where her toned muscles stretched at the taught outer covering.

  Tawny thighs and well-toned calves in sandals tied with leather from dragons.

  Studded across with diamonds and pearls, the whiteness added to by the folds of satin in the same material as the divan, she wore a cloth providing modesty where it hung from her waist on a platinum chain hooked into a belly ring. Bracelets of platinum and crushed diamond adorned her upper arms, but her lower arms and hands were bare for the rituals.

  Thin chains of collapsed miniature links that took the eyesight and dexterity of young virgins to craft over two hundred years melted down her neck and bosom.

  A strip of satin wrapped around her chest, the bottom linked by the chains, provided lift and support. The material allowed much of her female figure out of the sides and the top, modesty provided only by the rules that kept any eyes from looking at her out of turn. She had argent hair cut short to her scalp, very short in fact, and high.

  The rituals could coat one in the blood of the dead, and that ichor was a pain to keep cleaning out of the bristles and gnarls which her race’s hair formed so quickly.

  Cat eyes complemented the claws on the ends of her fingers. With only one knuckle each, they were shorter than Fenix’s, stubby. She resembled a lynx, a wildcat reclining on the divan, eager and predatory, as were the rest of her kind.

  A downy fur covered the backs of her shoulders and ran down her spine, the last vestige of their species’ origin in the primordial scheme of things.

  He went down to both knees, then placed his palms flat onto the floor and pushed them forward as he brought his body down. All the while, his eyes stared into the jade floor. Myriad patterns beckoned the eye, but he focused on the act at hand. His mission was now bearing fruit and he could not—would not!—fail at this juncture.

  It took a few minutes before she purred, “Sit.”

  He rose to sit back on his ankles, head still bowed, gaze always directed down. The humility came readily to him now, the pretense of servitude. He had learned that it had its place, to lull those around him into a different perception of what he was.

  It had its uses, part of the lesson.

  “Are you my loyal servant, gray man?” she asked, the sound almost animal, with the slight yowl of a land cat behind it.

  These were not a people of baritone voices, he had heard them screech and hiss at each other when annoyed.

  He nodded, making the motion from the hips up. She had not commanded him to speak, so he could only make the exaggerated gesture of affirmation.

  “Kill the guard to your right,” she commanded.

  Fenix knew not to disobey.

  He had learned a lot about these people and their ways, and to infringe would be worse than dying in an attempt to carry out their commands. He stood, head still bowed until he turned away from her exalted presence, and then he looked up.

  To his credit the guard showed no fear and made no move to defend himself, so instilled was their loyalty.

  She had not commanded how he should do it or that he should do it slowly, so Fenix, standing taller than the guards, her race being slightly shorter than his on average, reached out. He grabbed the back of the guard’s head with one hand and brought his other hand up to the chin.

  Still, the guard did not flinch. His own slitted eyes stared back at Fenix’s rounded ones.

  He knew his fate and accepted it without question.

  That was the gulf of difference between them, Fenix could see it at that moment. His place was to learn and grow, while the guard would only ever be chattel, owned and destroyed. He twisted the guard’s head up and to the left, then pushed it down with prodigious strength.

  Their bones were more cartilage than solid, so to break his neck and kill him quickly meant Fenix had to pinch the nerves and jugular vein, then tear them apart.

  The guard fell without a sound, his armor made a crashing noise of metal on stone. Bruising and swelling grew immediately on his neck from the internal hemorrhage. The guard lay there and shuddered for a second or two. Even if he had wanted to scream, he could not.

  The lack of oxygen, the blood flowing out within his own body cavity, and lastly the immense pain of the nerves, pinched and paralyzed him into a silent and excruciating death.

  Fenix returned to the center of the jade flooring, knelt, and prostrated himself to her once more. The guard gave a last start, a jerk that ran down his body, and died beside Fenix.

  “How entertaining you are. I thought you may take his spear and stab him with it, use the weapon. But you are more impressive than that, my slave.” Her voice drew out the words, at the last they sounded as an animalistic purr of satisfaction.

  And it was done, he was now in her service by her own pronouncement.

  The subtle command and acknowledgment would be taken by those listening and made into fact. Fenix was now her servant, and one step closer to his ultimate goal. Even if it took another ten years, he would see this through, he would prove himself.

  **

  To even be in the presence of the Arch-Emperor was a privilege so high most servants committed an honorable suicide afterward, their purpose in life seen by them to be accomplished, and no other possible higher achievement to be had.

  Fenix wasn’t nearly as weak minded as those fools. Besides, he hoped to change over that honor completely this day.

  He knelt with head bowed and palms on the floor in the position of obeisance not thirty feet from the man himself. His back ached from the runnels clawed into it, the blood seeped up into the silk cloth of the shirt he wore.

  The injuries marked the amount of pleasure he had brought the first daughter just an hour earlier, before her audience with her own father. That he had earned the place he now occupied along with her meant it was a small price to pay.

  The Arch-Emperor of the Hellican looked to be less than middle-aged for his race, with a mane of golden hair set off against the tawny colored skin, no wrinkles, and no signs of his actual extreme age.

  All because of the elixir of life distilled from the essence of his subjects by the thousands. He had lived for so long that he now drank of the elixir fortnightly, while his daughter only consumed it every three months.

  Apparently, the effects degraded over time so that more was needed to maintain the proper outcome. Advanced age could not be held off indefinitely, not without some price.

  The concoction of life force and magical extraction sat to the Arch-Emperor’s right on a tall round table set with the single clear crystal goblet. Inside, the silvery liquid, like poured white gold, waited for his Excellency’s pleasure.

  If the Arch-Emperor drank from the cup before Fenix could act, then he would have to leave off and await another time. The potency of the el
ixir was such that for a few hours after imbibing it, the man would be nigh unstoppable. Wounds would heal in seconds, and even usually fatal injury would be of no consequence.

  If Fenix were going to kill the Arch-Emperor, it would have to be soon.

  This room was another of the private audience chambers. Only thirty guards stood silent sentinel by the columns. His daughter sat to his left, angled so they could speak with one another without turning their heads uncomfortably.

  Just past the goblet, on the man’s right, stood four of his personal guards, fearsome monsters bred, created, or manufactured to provide only the most reliable and most potent results.

  Fenix was confident he could defeat any one of them, but all four at once was another obstacle that he hoped would soon resolve itself. A gesture from the first daughter and he rose without lifting his eyes to refill her more benign drink.

  He then settled back down as a good servant should. If he could not accomplish the task today, then he would wait, such was the patience he had learned.

  Apparently, however, events were on his side.

  “Father, I wish to discuss something private with you, if we may?” the first daughter asked softly.

  A searching look was deliberately cast her way by his Eminence, and after a long pause, he acquiesced.

  “Go,” was the only word he said. Three of the bodyguards turned and left through subtle paneling in the walls.

  Then the closest guards also moved out of the room, eight of them, which improved the odds considerably.

  The first daughter raised a manicured eyebrow at her father when the single bodyguard remained, to which he replied, “Brakis stays. He is my seneschal as well as my bodyguard, a useful combination. If you have matters to discuss, then he may need to implement them. So speak up, daughter. We do not have a lot of time.”

  “Yes, father.” She did well at her pretense of respect.

  The lone bodyguard was dressed in a long robe, its gender indeterminate under a swath of bandages that left only dull fingertips showing. Fingertips, not claws—so the being was not of the Hellican race.

  But to be considered a loyal bodyguard, the creature must be necessary in some duty, or perhaps even a Hellican, changed in some way.

  The robes were luxurious, black silk over the bandaged humanoid body and the eyes peering out of the slit allowed in the bandages were cat-like, if a strangely muted red color.

  Then his attention was drawn back to the Arch-Emperor, who had reached for the goblet of elixir, preparing to take a drink. Time slowed, the words being spoken by the first daughter were meaningless.

  He had to act now.

  The time was right, the room as advantageous for him as it was ever going to be. He could not let the man drink the elixir; if he did, the delay would be indeterminate before he had a situation like this again.

  Fenix sprang into action, magical power he had prepared during the time spent on his knees and now flowing through his veins was shaped and harnessed. The first fireball slammed into the goblet and sent the shattered crystal, along with flaming wood and evaporating elixir, expanding with concussive force into the bodyguard behind.

  A strangely fruity smell permeated the room from the superheated elixir, now ruined by fire.

  He was past the first daughter as the rest of the sentence she was speaking croaked out in a gasp. The Arch-Emperor filled his sight as his hand came down, a blade of pure flame sprouting along his forearm and over the wrist.

  At the last moment, what remained of the table struck Fenix in the chest, hard.

  His arm came down short of the Arch-Emperor’s throat and chest. Instead, the long edged tip sliced across his majesty’s sternum, down through the groin, and into the leg.

  Fenix came to a skidding stop with his knees bent, the force of the blow was bruising, and that just from a kicked piece of wood that had shattered against him.

  The bodyguard Brakis moved closer, crystal spines stuck from among the bandages which oozed no blood from where it was impaled. The first daughter was up and ran for the side wall, not his concern right now; his target was wounded and bleeding, yowling like a cat swung by the tail.

  He had moved quickly and decisively, but he had to continue to press the attack before reinforcements got to the room. Brakis stepped forward, arms outstretched to grab him, so he swung the conjured blade of fire, and the dance began.

  Brakis was unarmed, but still quite dangerous.

  The first time he managed to brush Fenix, he felt the energy of the bodyguard decay his flesh, rotting it instantly.

  If Brakis got a hold of him, he knew there would be little to save him. If a single touch could rot, a grasp would ruin everything within it. Brakis could grab his arm and render everything below the grip useless, the limb rotting away to the bone and falling off, lifeless.

  With an effort of will, Fenix coated his entire body in a shield of seething flame, so the next attempt to be touched by Brakis burned the creature.

  He even heard it gasp in shock at the pain.

  Fenix’s fire was spiritual as well as destructive.

  The Arch-Emperor watched from the floor with malicious enjoyment as his champion, and his daughter’s champion took the fight to the next level.

  Brakis spread his feet, the robe falling backward and shrinking as the crystal shards pushed out and flattened. His body shrank, where the crystal coated over himself the flesh and blood body underneath lost the same amount of mass.

  Amethyst light flowed along newly formed bandages of crystal, a living mummy coated in hard light Brakis went into a fighter's stance, the potent energy stored inside himself putting a magical pressure into the air that would have smothered lesser beings.

  To counteract this Fenix had to release his cloaking, his disguise both physical and mental was discarded. The flame around his body flared for a heartbeat and then settled itself again, orange and yellow coating his muscles, enervating his blood.

  Physically his capabilities multiplied, magically the spiritual and physical destructive potential of the flames skyrocketed.

  Brakis came at him on a sliding flare of amethyst light, and the two champions met in a shaking column of conflicting energies. Where Brakis tried to find a way to part the flames and get his hands on Fenix’s skin and decay him Fenix blasted forces enough to shatter stone at the crystal armor.

  The noise was astounding, enough to echo through the palace, sure to have replaced any alarm sounded in the throne room. Stone shattered under their feet, sending dust spiraling outwards on long contrails.

  An avatar of fire and the avatar of ending faced each other and found neither wanting.

  Fenix pushed all of his frustration at being patient, his time spent as a servant, every emotion that could fuel the destruction into his fire.

  Power surged into his palms where they struck crystal, ringing the armor plates coating Brakis like gongs. The flat planes shifted, spreading the blows, force traveling around Brakis instead of into him. The creature lost nothing in his stride and returned like for like.

  His crystal protected arms and legs slewed through the fire and hit Fenix in the abdomen, upper legs, and arms or anywhere else they would bring a numbing pain.

  He felt them and shrugged them off with supernatural efficiency, the kind of impacts which would reduce standard beings to mush was absorbed and recovered from in split seconds. The amethyst magic caused him no harm, only the force behind them, it was the touch of Brakis that was his greatest weapon.

  Brakis knew this, as well as knowing that Fenix had only been held back from destroying him by the crystal plates of armor.

  The bodyguard of the Arch-Emperor of the Helican Empire was not a pushover.

  Focused, driven, Brakis gathered his willpower and pushed his hands at Fenix, through the fire that scorched and then burned away his flesh, intent on laying his hands on Fenix and ending this fight.

  That was when the distraction Fenix needed came about.

  The
newly arrived guards, who, ironically, helped him more than they executed their reason for existence.

  Spears lanced out at him, and while he avoided most, one penetrated his shield after others had bounced off, piercing his thigh. The energy of his protective flames pushing at Brakis who was the more significant, singular, threat.

  It gave Fenix an unforeseen opportunity.

  No one ever said that combat between champions had to be concluded before the task could be taken up again. There were arenas for ritualized combat that existed for the express reason to keep the combatants focused on each other.

  Not on the objective they truly had.

  The guards had arrived, attacked in unison and interrupted Brakis in the fraction of a heartbeat that gave Fenix the time he needed. Fenix cast off an explosion of heat and fire that drove the guards back, the closest burned to a crisp in the emulsion. The spear, stuck into his thigh, got burned off a foot along the haft before the blade.

  Although Brakis was unmoved and untouched by the fire, he was thrown off balance by the sudden sequence of events. With his hands less than an inch from ending Fenix’s life, he found himself without a target for a moment as Fenix took an action that was not in self-defense.

  Fenix tugged the spear from his flesh, the wound closing behind the blade with supernatural speed. He then spun it around, wove an enchantment into it and threw it at the struggling form of the Arch-Emperor, who the first daughter was trying to get to his feet.

  The spear struck true, right into the head of the man, the exotic metal of the blade and the power of the enchantment he had put in sliced cleanly through any arcane defenses the Arch-Emperor may have had.

  Then it exploded.

  A small explosion, but effective.

  The great majesty of the Hellican Empire had his head removed in a gory display that genuinely told the tale of what went on in such a vaunted mind.

  Fenix savored the moment of success, and he had just that one moment to do so.