Devil Ash Deceit (Devil Ash Saga)

by Olson, Mitchell

  Phoenix arrived at the private courtyard after the sun had fully dissipated. Although he’d gotten used to training with his new team there, he couldn’t help but think of the old days, when he was a young boy going to spar with the Prince. Just like old times, Darko had arrived first and was already sitting in the grass meditating. As Phoenix marched nearer, the Prince surprised him by suddenly leaping up to his feet.

  “I thought you wouldn’t come,” Darko said.

  “I invited you,” Phoenix replied. “It would be rude of me to not show up to the meeting I arranged.”

  “So then,” Darko said, reaching for the hilt of his sword strapped to his back. “What do you want to talk about?” The Prince pulled out the big blade Infernos, holding the sword at his side.

  Phoenix was not without his own sword, which he pulled from its sheath. He held his katana at the ready in a defensive stance. “I’m worried about you,” he said.

  Darko leapt forward swinging his massive sword. Phoenix jumped aside, missing the blade completely. Darko was prepared for that however and didn’t miss a beat as he swung his blade to the side. Phoenix was forced to block with his own sword, but wasn’t prepared for the power of the Prince. His katana shook violently and his footing slipped. He jumped away, knowing that if he stayed locked in a struggle for power he would likely lose.

  “Worried? About me?” Darko asked. “How so?” The Prince continued his assault, swinging down again on Phoenix. The two traded blows evenly, but Phoenix knew the Prince was holding back. He knew Darko would want this to last as long as possible.

  “I fear you may have been driven to madness by what happened that day,” Phoenix said while deflecting a blow.

  “That day?” Darko repeated, sounding clueless. “I’m afraid I don’t know what day you’re talking about!” Instead of coming at him with another sword swipe, Darko dropped low and knocked Phoenix’s legs out from under him. The man rolled along the ground fleeing from Darko’s sword jabs.

  Phoenix stopped rolling away from Darko and swung his legs, knocking the Prince to the ground as well. “You know what day I’m talking about,” Phoenix said as he jumped to his feet. “You were so young and it was such a tragedy, but I really think it messed you up more than anyone cares to admit.”

  “Me? Messed up?” Darko sat on the ground and had a good laugh. “No Phoenix, I’m the only person who really understands this world we live in.” Darko jumped to his feet as well, leaning on his giant sword for support. “I figured it all out on that day. What it takes to survive here, and what gets us all killed. It was an eye-opening experience, to say the least!”

  “What kind of world will you create for us devils when you take the throne?” Phoenix asked, breathing heavily. “Why did Goddard bring the human boy here?”

  “Who knows?” The Prince replied casually with a smirk. “I don’t really care about the throne, or that pathetic human boy. All I care about is getting stronger, strong enough to slay any opponent!”

  “You’ll have to forgive me for speaking so casually, but those don’t sound like the words of a leader,” said Phoenix. “Do you really think that’s what your mother had in mind for you when she spoke her last words? When she was murdered right before your young eyes?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Prince Darko’s Dirge

  Thirty-eight years ago.

  Inside the castle basement, seated outside the door to the barracks, napped a Royal Guard soldier. The young man had just pulled double patrol shifts back to back overnight, and having to spend the last few hours seated comfortably in a dim basement wasn’t exactly helping to keep him awake. His head dropped as he slipped into a deep slumber.

  A small shadow flickered on the stone wall as a child crept forward. Slowly the boy advanced on his prey, the sleeping soldier. In the boy’s hand was a small bottle filled with sand. The boy crept until he was right next to the napping guard. He carefully removed the cork stopper from the bottle, holding it up to the soldier.

  The boy remembered his grandpa’s words when he gave him the bottle as a present for his 8th birthday: “This isn’t any ordinary sand! It’s Sharp Sand, found only in the stone valleys of the West. There are entire pits of this stuff out there that we’re working on removing. It’s dangerous work too, because if you fall into one you don’t only sink and drown… you get sliced to tiny bits too!”

  The small boy poured the sharp sand down the soldier’s armor all around his neck. He smiled wickedly, remembering what his grandpa said would happen if someone got a small amount on them: “It itches like you’ve gone mad!” When all the sand was poured into the soldier’s armor, the boy ran back down the hall and hid behind a suit of armor standing next to the wall.

  It didn’t take long before the soldier started scratching. Not fully awake yet, the man just scratched away at his neck. The subtle little movements he made while he scratched only made the sand fall deeper down his backside. When he tried scratching his back through his armor but couldn’t reach, the young man shot awake.

  Realizing his back itched terribly and he could do nothing to stop it, he jumped up from his chair. This only made the sand spread further, and suddenly his entire body itched. Almost every inch of his body was covered in armor, and no relief came from all of his desperate shaking and scratching and rubbing.

  The pain intensified from all the movement, and the man could take no more. He screamed for help as he started ripping off his armor. The little boy stood watching in secret, giggling to himself quietly. The desperate screams of the man finally attracted the attention of Commander Archen, who came charging out of the barracks door ready for action.

  Upon seeing his subordinate rolling around on the ground, crying and screaming while frantically trying to remove his armor, Archen had to stop and think for a second. When the poor man at last pulled his body armor up over his head, he was in for a nasty surprise. Some of the sharp sand spread to his face and hair, making the man cry out in pain for it to stop.

  The little boy was cracking up now and couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. His volume betrayed his hiding spot to the Commander, who shouted at the top of his lungs: “Prince Darko! You naughty little bastard!”

  The young Prince ran off cackling like an immature brat, which by all accounts he totally was. At only eight years old, Darko already had a reputation around the castle as a nuisance. He climbed the stairs up to the main level of the castle, running joyously down the halls towards the cafeteria. If a servant got in his way and happened to be carrying something, such as papers, he would jump up and knock them to the floor. If maids were mopping, he would walk right through the area and spit as he went.

  The people showed just enough frustration for Darko to find funny, but would never scold him. He was the Royal Prince, after all. No one had the right to yell at him. There was one person however that always sought to teach the Prince valuable life lessons, no matter what the methods may be. It was that person Darko was running from and avoiding this morning.

  Darko made his way around to the castle lobby. This was one of his favorite spots in the entire castle because on display there was a ‘really cool thing!’ as Darko would say. He directed his attention to the tall pedestal next to the staircase. The top of the pedestal was shaped like a giant fist clenching a weapon. The blade that was stuck in its grasp was a very large sword, but somehow still managed to look small in that giant hand.

  The word INFERNOS was etched into the pedestal, and Darko remembered stories about the man who previously owned the sword. His grandpa Wilhelm used to tell him such wonderful tales about the great hero Aster and his giant sword Infernos. Being a child, Darko just had to pick it up and play with it. Finding no one else in the lobby at the moment, the mischievous little Prince stood on his tippy toes to grab the sword.

  His small hands wrapped around the base of the hilt, but he was not tall enough to lift it out. He struggled to rise any higher, but could stretch no further. His next idea was to jump. He di
d, and felt the hilt rise a little from the fist sculpture. He hopped up and down, pushing the blade up little by little. When it finally popped out it tipped right over, nearly falling on top of the Prince and cutting him in two.

  Before that could happen, someone caught the blade. Prince Darko recognized the lucky lady who had just saved him. He was quite familiar with her loving voice and gentle touch.

  “Stupid boy!” the woman cried as she open-palm swatted the boy across the back of his head. “You could have killed yourself!”

  Darko stood trembling, the way he always did when his mother punished him. Shakti Satan, Darko’s mother and wife of Al Satan, put Infernos back in its pedestal. The young Queen turned to her son and continued scolding him.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked, grabbing him by his ear so he couldn’t run off like he usually did before a scolding.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Darko whined. “Why do you have to be so mean to me?”

  “Because no one else will!” Shakti said. With her long, fiery red hair, Shakti was the spittin’ image of her future daughter, albeit a more mature and ladylike version. “Since you insist on running around causing trouble, I have to be rough on you for the sake of everyone who lives and works in this castle! You’re a terrible burden on everyone, you know?”

  Darko began to launch into a tantrum, stomping his feet and turning red in the face. Before Shakti could do anything to contain the situation, Commander Archen appeared. Seeing Prince Darko, the Commander shouted “Darko! Stay right there! You’re in big trouble!”

  The little Prince tried running, but his mother’s grip on his ear was too tight. Archen approached and informed the Queen of her son’s latest prank. That man ended up scratching a lot of his skin off and had to be knocked unconscious while a team of maids work to scrub off all of the sharp sand. Upon hearing this, Shakti bent the Prince over her knee and started delivering furious spankings.

  Shakti was the daughter of Nobles, and had a very strict upbringing. Seeing her son run rampant around the castle every day causing trouble was a terrible disgrace, but she was doing the best she could. After all, she was practically raising the child on her own. Her husband was no help.

  Unfortunately for everyone, King Al Satan was the little Prince’s idol. Ever since the day Darko realized what it meant to be a Prince, he decided he’d become exactly like his dad. The trouble with that idea was that the King was a lazy, disgusting, flabby type of person. Darko was attracted to his lifestyle of always getting his way and never having to lift a finger for anything. He fantasized about the day he would be the King, and what he would make his men do to amuse him.

  After a painful round of punishment spankings from his mom, the little Prince’s little bottom was beet red. Tears streamed down the Prince’s face as he cried for it to stop. Finally his mom set him down on his feet and pressed her forehead against his.

  “Shhhh,” she cooed. “No more crying. A little Prince should be strong,” she said planting a kiss on his forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated over and over, sobbing.

  “If you want to play with swords, all you had to do is ask,” Shakti said, smiling.

  * * * *

  Later that day, Shakti arranged for Darko to be given a lesson in swordplay. The teacher was a man by the name of Sepultura, a rising star among the Royal Guard. Sepultura really wanted to be made the new Commander of the Royal Guard, so he did pretty much anything the King or Queen asked for. On this day, he was especially happy that the Queen had essentially given him permission to beat up on the Prince.

  And that’s exactly what happened. Sepultura gave Darko a wooden practice sword and evaluated his ‘skills’. The Prince held the sword all wrong and swung it like a stick. He looked pathetic, even for a child. When Darko moved in to strike at his teacher, Sepultura easily evaded and smacked the Prince across his back with the wooden blade.

  Darko started crying and threw down his sword. “I quit!” he screamed. “I hate it!” He started to throw another tantrum, and his mom rushed in to comfort him.

  “Dummy!” she yelled, cracking him in the back of his head. “Pick your sword back up and keep going!”

  “I don’t wanna!” Darko cried. “Daddy never has to fight! Why should I? I wanna be just like daddy!”

  Shakti slapped Darko lightly across his face. The Prince was stunned, his tears momentarily stopping. Then the pain kicked in and the dam broke. The Prince wailed in pain, crying like a newborn baby. Shakti pulled her son in close for an embrace.

  “Shhhh,” she cooed. “You’re my little Prince, but you have a responsibility to get strong.”

  “Why?”

  “Prince’s should be strong,” she said, pulling away and looking into her son’s eyes. “Strong enough to protect…” her hands instinctively found their way down to her rounded belly, gently caressing and caring for the new life forming there.

  After being excused from the lesson for the rest of the day, Prince Darko headed out into the Castle Courtyard. Sometimes the nobles would gather in the yard to chat about current events. They would often bring their children to socialize as well, and Darko was well known to all the young Nobles. His reputation for being a nuisance to adults was legendary; but among the children, he was known as a bully. He charged up to a group of children gathered to look at a boy’s toy sword. Darko pushed his way past several smaller children and approached the boy.

  “What a pathetic looking sword!” the Prince said to the boy.

  The children backed up a safe distance and whispered to each other, frightened. “It’s Darko!” they said. “Get back!”

  Darko grabbed the child’s toy sword and pretended to inspect it closely. The boy tried to be nice and tell the Prince about how his father had made it for him before dying in the last demon war. Darko ignored him and snapped the thin wooden sword in half on his leg. The boy choked up, unable to comprehend the Prince’s level of cruelty, but Darko was not done yet.

  The Prince tossed one end of the sword onto the grass in front of the boy, and the other end he threw at a nearby Royal Guard who had his back turned. The guard turned around, furious. “It was him!” The Prince said, accusing the now crying boy. That was all the proof the soldier needed, and ran over to detain the problem child. The boy’s mother came rushing in at all the commotion and ended up detained as well.

  Darko sat back and laughed at the entire spectacle. He turned to his peers to see the smiles on their faces, but they were not laughing with him. Everyone stared, wide-eyed and terrified at the Prince’s act of unwarranted nastiness. The kids all turned and fled back to their parents. Two guards led the sobbing boy and his shouting mother out of the Royal Courtyard.

  “Congratulations,” said a voice from behind him. Darko turned to see a boy he knew from the yard.

  “What do you want, Phoenix?” Darko said. He had had run-ins with Phoenix in the past couple of months. The boy always found a way to annoy the Prince.

  “I saw what you did there,” Phoenix said. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

  “I don’t care, it was funny!” The Prince insisted. “I’m the Prince of Hell, I can do whatever I want!”

  “You can,” Phoenix replied. “But should you?”

  “Shut up, Phoenix,” Darko said, and turned to walk away.

  “Oh Darko,” Phoenix called to him. “I was saying congratulations about your new sibling.”

  New sibling? Darko thought to himself as he walked off. What’s he talking about? Across the courtyard, Darko spotted two men chatting. They happened to be standing next to a large raised flowerbed, which would provide the perfect cover for a small child…

  “With any luck the queen will squeeze out another boy!” one of the men said.

  “Wouldn’t it just be great to have a Prince that wasn’t a total brat?” the other man asked.

  “We need a new Prince to replace the rotten one we’ve already got!”

  Darko
listened in on all of this from the bushes. He sat hugging his knees, trying to hold back his tears.

  “I wish Wilhelm would take the throne back from that slob, Al,” the men continued chatting.

  “Did you hear about how he won his wife?”

  “Do tell!”

  “Shakti never wanted to marry Al. Who would? It was her parents that offered her hand in marriage when the King happened to spot her in the courtyard one day. He fell in love at first sight, and her parents were willing to offer their only daughter to get into the Royal family.”

  “That’s a real shame.”

  “A shame that Al’s bloodline won’t end with him!”

  “You can already tell that child is going to end up just like his idiot father.”

  Darko could take no more and leapt out from the bushes. He landed on top of one of the men and started biting his ear. The man screamed, and his companion helped pull the young Prince off. Royal Guards moved in and helped contain the young biting Prince.

  After a lengthy lecture (and another good slap upside his head) from his mother, Darko was sent to bed early with no supper. That night he twisted and turned in bed, stewing in paranoia. That was the first time he ever heard anyone speak ill of his father. He didn’t even know people could talk about the King like that. He fantasized about being King and how he would handle people who spoke about him in such a way. He dreamed about torturing the men violently until they died a very slow and painful death.

  His thoughts turned to his new sibling. His mother confirmed it in her lecture, citing her hesitation to tell him as reasoning behind Darko’s sudden outbursts. When Darko asked if they knew if the baby would be a boy or a girl, Shakti shook her head. She told him there was no way to know until the baby comes in a few months. Staring at his mother, Darko couldn’t help but remember something the men had been saying.