Monster Age: A Fantasy Epic

by GR Griffin

  This tried the Emperor’s patience. His head whipped over, silver irises locking onto Rickard immediately. “Well?”

  The suddenness made Rickard almost drop his board in shock. He fumbled around the edges, seizing it and bringing it half over his face. “A squad was dispatched to A. Town this morning…” He paused to take a breath, drawing for time that he did not have. “How–however, they were not successful in detaining the doctor or her skeleton associates. Reported that they got side-tracked by several issues in neighbouring towns. Since then, all three of them have mysteriously disappeared.”

  The Emperor took his hands from the rests and placed the palms down on his lap just above his knees. “My own men are feeding me lies now? Is this some kind of joke?” he said harshly as he hunched forward, preparing to stand. “For centuries, the Monster Military has served as the strongest fighting force in the Empire.” Pushing down with his hands, he rose from the wooden throne. He did not stop until he had fully straightened out, towering over them. “And yet, these last couple of days, I’ve seen nothing but incompetence.”

  The sprinkling of water stopped as the gardeners paused in their work, distracted by their ruler. Even movements as simple as standing up caught their attention. When the lion got in this state, he became unpredictable. There was no telling what was going to happen next.

  Rickard went to speak, “My lord, I…” A quiet hand raise from Zeus shushed him in an instant.

  “Have you grown lazy since my father died?” Emperor Zeus switched from Rickard to Leigh. On the surface, he appeared controlled, but the anger boiled away deep inside. “Do you think me as soft and stupid?”

  General Leigh unhurriedly shook his head, taking it slow to avoid igniting his old wounds. He said calmly, “Absolutely not, my lord.” Master Scribe Rickard, on the other hand, was shaking his head so fast that it looked like it was spinning in place.

  “Then why are you finding my tasks difficult all of a sudden,” Zeus enquired, “and invent tales to try and excuse your failings?”

  Leigh and Rickard struggled to make eye contact with their ruler. They could not tell whether that question was aimed at the troops who failed or at themselves. Perhaps a strange combination of both. Maybe they were failing him by simply being in his presence.

  Zeus pointed at the ground. “This kind of behaviour is unacceptable, and I will not tolerate it. I need my men to be disciplined, whipped into shape, now more than ever.” He pondered a moment. “And how about we use that term more literally?”

  Scribe Rickard jerked his head up a little. “Whipping?” Sweat trickled down his white fur. “My lord, you can’t possibly be considering… flagellation…” That last word did not want to leave his lungs, getting snagged in his throat.

  “That is exactly what I am proposing, Scribe. A little public punishment will motivate the troops into working harder.” A dark thought crossed his mind. “And perhaps, if applied to the citizen population, could get me some answers.”

  “But such a barbaric punishment has never been remotely considered in the Outerworld ever. Your father would never allow such a heinous practise—”

  “I’m not my father! He’s dead!” Zeus snapped back. The rat scribe stepped back, his breath halted. “I am your emperor, and as your emperor, you will never speak back to me.” His silver glare bore deep into Rickard’s. “Do I make myself clear, to both of you?”

  Rickard was shaking again, unable to tear himself away. The way Zeus was staring at him…

  Those eyes. The look that was in them, the expressions portrayed, none of which he had ever seen before. Was that the look the late Juhi warned him about all those years ago?

  “Clear as crystal, your excellency,” Rickard conceited. His clipboard pressed against his chest.

  Leigh paused, hesitated, and then responded, “The troops will understand, Emperor Zeus.”

  “That’s better,” Zeus said. His mood not lifting in the slightest. “Round up those who are underperforming and have them sent to the courtyard. Get to it.”

  Rickard and Leigh both turned to leave; the former scribbled shakily in his clipboard. The words were coming out a smattered chicken-scratch that only he himself could decipher.

  “It will… it will be…” Rickard attempted to say. “I’ll… I’ll…”

  Leigh took a few long strides across the garden path before he realised that he walked alone. He glanced to his side, finding the scribe absent. Rickard was stuck in place before the Emperor. His pen pushed deep into the paper, forming a dent in the soft wood.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Zeus.

  The pen nib scraped down the page, leaving a clear black mark. “No…” Rickard whispered as both pen and board hung limp at his sides.

  “Then what are you waiting—”

  In a move that surprised everyone, including himself, Rickard interrupted his superior. “No,” he said louder as he turned back around. “I’m sorry, but… no…” He could not believe what he was saying. “I can’t do this anymore… I won’t do it…”

  Zeus looked down upon his shaking scribe and found himself wondering whether he really heard what he had just heard.

  He frowned and inhaled slowly. “Say that again,” he hissed.

  Rickard lowered his head and swallowed a mouthful of sour air. “I said… I won’t do it…”

  General Leigh half-heartedly raised his arm, a part of him wanting to grab the scribe and drag him away before he could dig himself deeper than he already had. By now, every gardener had abandoned their duty, instead opting to watch the spectacle. Nobody could see this ending well.

  Zeus’s colossal size eclipsed that of Rickard’s; the intensity of his piercing gaze alone bore enough weight to crush the skinny white rat. More cold sweat broke on Rickard’s forehead as his ruler lifted a massive paw and set it down gently on his shoulder, sending a shiver run down his spine. The fingers rubbed at the muscles as if massaging them, yet the tips probed like needles.

  Neither said a word for the longest time before Zeus whispered, “One more time.”

  “I won’t—”

  In an instant, Zeus grabbed Rickard by the throat.

  Effortlessly, he dragged the shrieking Rickard over to the Obelisk and slammed his back against the weathered stone. He dropped his pen and board. Nothing but pained grunts escaped his seized throat.

  Somewhere, a watering can hit the ground, spilling precious, infused water. The tiger general gasped.

  “What sort of game are you playing at?” Zeus demanded to know. Rickard grasped pathetically at his iron grip. “You spent years following my father’s orders without question and now you have the gall to question mine?” He pulled the scribe away only to slam him back. “You better have a good reason.”

  The fingers at Rickard’s throat loosened just enough for him to draw breath. “You said it yourself: you’re not your father.” He cried, staring upwards. “And you know what? You haven’t been yourself for a long time either.”

  It was at this moment when Zeus realised something. A flash emerged from his encounter with Barb, and remembered how both her and his deceased dad talked about him. “It’s… difficult to explain,” she said. “It’s like… it’s like you’re not Zeus sometimes. There’s something ugly inside you, something that’s been eating away at you for as long as I can remember, consuming you, turning you into something nasty.”

  Zeus lifted Rickard off the ground, scraping his back up the pillar face. His legs kicked helplessly; his body pulled against his skull, piling pressure on the delicate insides.

  “You talked to my father behind my back, didn’t you,” Zeus said.

  “Yes, I did.” Rickard’s answer came with no hesitancy. “We talked. He warned me, about you. He was afraid of what would happen after you inherited the throne. At first, I didn’t believe him. I tried so hard to see past that, to see the good in you. I tried for so long to deny the things that he said… but the more you act, the more I see the bad side of y
ou, the more I see how right he was.

  “You act like you’re doing everything for us, but you don’t want to set us free – that was never your intention since the civil war – you just want revenge of humanity. That’s why you’re obsessed about killing the human child, about discovering the secret within the Obelisk, so you can use it to inflict pain upon the humans, all while you fail to see the pain you leave in your wake. Now you’re the emperor, and it’s only gotten worse. Just because you have the power to do things your way doesn’t give you the excuse to do whatever.

  “The troops, your subjects, your allies: they’re all scared of you; and everyone else still hate you for the choice you made two hundred years ago – such things are not so easily forgotten in this world. You make the soldiers work until their bodies are ready to collapse, and don’t think I didn’t find out what you did to dear Barb and her parents – they were my friends too! And now you’re rewarding the soldiers’ hard work – your citizens’ hard work – by cracking out the whips on them.

  “I was dreading the day Juhi died, knowing that I had lost a good friend and would have to answer to you. I wish things would have changed by then, but I guess that was wishful thinking. I cannot be party to this any longer.”

  If that little speech had any soul shifting impact on the ruler, he displayed it by narrowing his gaze and deepening his frown.

  “You mean to tell me you had no desire to be the master scribe in the first place? That all your obedience was merely a ruse? You think you’re too good for this position?” Zeus gritted his teeth, tightened his grip then relinquished it. Scribe Rickard slid seven feet to the ground, his legs buckling beneath him and crashing on his side. “Fine by me.”

  Unapologetically, the Emperor glowered at him; knuckles protruding through clenched fists. With the light on his back, his silver irises pierced the shade on his front. He hissed deep, dark words through inseparable teeth: “Get out. Remove your ugly face from my sight, from my fortress, right now.” The demeaned scribe slowly rose, clutching his hurt elbow. A stern finger stabbed between his eyes. “Never come back!”

  Rickard stood his ground for a moment. Such a sad creature.

  He said with a small, weak voice, “I’ve never met any of the humans who took your family away, but… I’m willing to bet you sound just like them, right now.”

  Like an injured lamb, Rickard stumbled away from the pillar and limped across the garden, alone. All eyes in the vicinity watched as he made his dishonourable exit through the wide gate to the north, never to be seen in Castle Highkeep ever again.

  With Rickard gone, all gazes locked onto the emperor once more. He had his fair share of temper tantrums in the past, yet none of them could believe he had just done that. Master Scribe Rickard, the master of manuscripts in Highkeep Enclave for years, throw away like a piece of trash in two minutes.

  The general, appalled by what he just witnessed, went to make a speedy exit.

  “General Leigh,” Zeus barked. The anger still festering. “Come here.”

  Feeling his core temperature rise, Leigh stepped gingerly toward his emperor, stopping six feet away. He rubbed his own neck, massaging the old scars, and also anticipating the Emperor’s own fingers wrapped around it.

  Through his anger, Emperor Zeus found a moment of sombreness. “Listen… forget about the whipping. Give the troops a good talking to, maybe a little drill or some light sparring to get them more active.”

  Leigh felt his body slacken, easing the pressure off his old war wounds. “Yes, sir.” He turned on his heels to leave. “They’ll be relieved to hear that.”

  “And get me the Advisor.”

  In that very same instant, General Leigh halted as every muscle painfully tensed up again. Why did he have to say that? “My deepest apologies, my lord,” he reluctantly started, “but I have one final piece of news – from the Royal Advisor themself – which I was told to postpone before informing you.”

  The great emperor snarled, failing to suppress the rage that he had just gotten his grasp on. “Don’t you dare…? What is it? Just spit it out.”

  Leigh clasped his tiger laws together. “I’m afraid to inform you that two hours ago the Advisor… left the castle.”

  “What? He’s gone?” Zeus replied with an outburst. “Two hours ago?” They had just been talking after breakfast that morning. The Advisor said nothing about leaving Castle Highkeep.

  “The Advisor approached me and said that they were taking a leave of absence from Highkeep Enclave. Why, he did not say – nor did they say where they were going.”

  “And you just let them go? By themselves without an escort?” Zeus looked away, struggling to contain himself. Thumb and index finger clinched the bridge of his snout. He waved for the general to leave. “Just… get back to work before I make a scene.”

  With no argument there, General Leigh made his exit across the gravel paths, walking as fast and withholding his dignity as much as his worn body would allow.

  Zeus looked around and saw the eyes of his gardeners watching him. Their prejudices and judgements bearing on him. Calling him a jerk. A freak. A slave driver. They were probably thinking how he could be so hard on those doing all the work while he sat around, staring at a giant pillar all day.

  The bench lay before him, the seat that carried him since he was a boy. “You think I’m lazy?” he loudly accused. “I’ll show you!” Then, all of a sudden in an unexpected turn of events, he whipped his head back, drew a deep breath and roared at the bench, exploding it into splinters with a beam of white energy.

  The deafening boom sent the gardeners packing, picking up their tools and running out the field of flowers.

  When the dust cleared, the two things left from Earth were all that stood: the emperor and the Obelisk. The bench was nothing more than a passing memory; hundreds of years of careful preservation and maintenance, gone in an instant.

  Destroying things was so much easier that building them. His entire existence revolved around destruction, not just of a materialistic nature, but also lives. Land destroyed. Jobs ruined. Lives lost and broken.

  He was six years old again, lying at the bottom of the abandoned quarry. Hurt, starving, alone. Every breath felt like his last.

  Emperor Zeus made an effort to calm his breathing. In slowly. Out slowly.

  In slowly. Out slowly.

  On the ground lay the discarded clipboard and pen.

  He murmured to himself, “Why did I do that to him? What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t have done that.” He punched the pillar. “I shouldn’t have done that…

  “… But why don’t I feel bad about it?”

  * * *

  The rivers of Bob flowed true yet calm, as flat as the untouched water in a puddle. The boat sailed down the stream, crafted to hold a crew of thirty, and yet only held three. The lone rower at the front and the two passengers sat across from him.

  Asgore leaned back. “Rather nice, don’t you think?” he said, enjoying the relaxing sensation of rocking across easy waters.

  Toriel sat straight, hands on knees, the fingers on the right hand tapped against the cap. “I will relax once I know that Fleck and all the others are safe.”

  The horrible feeling that they may never see them again dawned on Asgore and Toriel a long time ago. Toriel may never share another bad joke with Sans over the phone. Asgore had spent so much time training with Undyne that she became the daughter he never had. Papyrus was so clueless about many things, and Toriel so loved to teach; she could not ask for a better student. Even with the barrier destroyed and no more reason to research an escape, Alphys still held the former king’s attention over a nice cup of tea and a few chocolate digestives.

  Then there was Fleck, the child who brought light back into their lives when they thought they would never see the sun again.

  Asgore thought back to when they first met. He finished tending to the flowers, turned around, took one look at the human and reeled back with surprise. A human.
The final soul. He could finally shatter the barrier and enact vengeance upon the surface.

  He reeled back with surprise upon laying eyes on Fleck. However, it was not because they were human why the mighty King of the Underground reacted like that.

  When he first saw that child standing in the throne room, he almost mistook them for another.

  Every time he looked at Fleck, he always glimpsed that child.

  The first human child.

  Chara.

  Fleck kind of looked like Chara, didn’t they?

  Whenever he looked at their adopted child, all he saw was the one who both he and his wife adopted another lifetime ago. The one he loved like his own. The one who became best friends with his son. The one who shone like a beacon of hope in the sunless Underground. The one who grew sick. The one who perished.

  The one who took his family away.

  The one he failed.

  “You still have the map from Bob, yes?” Toriel asked.

  Asgore nodded as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The map from the Embassy of Bob to Castle Highkeep took a solid ten seconds for the founder of Bob to create, and for good reason. The ‘map’ was literally the word ‘Embassy of Bob’ at the bottom with an arrow above it pointing to ‘Castle Highkeep’, all in blue ink.

  “It’s pretty self-explanatory,” said Asgore as he looked through the canopy beyond at the silhouette of the castle off in the distance. “Just head straight that way.”

  “Indeed.” Toriel examined the inner workings of the vessel. So finely and delicately crafted. “It was so generous of the boatman to offer us passage. Thank you so much.”

  The boatman, a frog sporting a twirled moustache, turned from the oar and flashed a seductive smile. “Of course,” he said jovially. “I could not leave such a lovely, beautiful person stranded on the wayside. The pleasure is all mine.”

  Asgore grinned at his ex-wife. “Still pulling the charms, I see,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve still got it even after all these years.”