Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  Larger than life, his presence left them all speechless, and John could taste the animal-like terror freezing all his friends in place. Even his brother.

  “This isn’t just a dream. He senses us!” Mitch hissed.

  The cold eyes of a wolf glared into John’s own.

  “I know you understood never to return when you claimed your boon, Johnathan Farreach Everwood. Yet you have risked your mortal shell twice over to save my kin. For this reason alone, I allow you to walk these woods beside children with no allegiances, save to their own petty wants and needs.”

  Those hard eyes seemed to pin his soul. “For this reason alone, I choose not to strike you dead, for all that you are the pawn of another, too blind to see the serpent pressing his fangs about your neck!”

  John paled, lowering his head, suddenly dizzy with the ancient faerie’s odd pronouncement of doom. He knew he had to stay focused, his mind struggling against a terrible pressure he could scarce define.

  “Thank you for your mercy, Lord Greenwood.”

  “Now, why have you summoned me?”

  John looked up into eyes the color of shaded pools buried deep in woodland glades, sparkling with all the mystery and wonder of the most primeval of forests. Knowledge both wondrous and terrible given sentience and form.

  John swallowed, took a deep breath, and forced himself to speak. “Your daughter explained everything to me. I now know how desperate things truly are, with madmen battling for control of Jordia, destroying everything and everyone that gets in their way. And the one most likely to win, the pet of the High Council, is determined to destroy every trace of magic and wonder that he can. Perhaps even worse, he seeks to burn or cut down all the wild forests of Jordia.”

  John trembled with what he saw in the ancient faerie’s gaze. “I know about the wildcard you all have in play, and his star shines brightly, even back on Earth. But everyone knows the brightest stars go out with a bang, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.” John stumbled to one knee, suddenly dizzy, forcing himself upright once more. “Your daughter wondered if I might be another piece on the board. Another Contender. But I think my role is different.”

  The ancient forest lord tilted his head curiously when John unsheathed his blade, slicing into the palm of his left hand, frowning when no blood came forth.

  Mitch flashed a relieved smile.

  Intent, forest-green eyes held John’s own. “You’ll have to do better than that, favored of my daughter.”

  John glared at his blade, nodding in satisfaction when it turned a brilliant shade of crimson.

  You have cast Bloodlink! Pierce through all armor, no matter how exotic, even the armor of dream!

  He then cut deep, losing himself in the crimson spatter of blood upon the forest floor. He blinked, surprised, for some reason, to actually feel the sting of his cut, for all that such had been his intent.

  “John! You shouldn’t be able to feel pain right now. Symbiote 271, what the hell are you doing?” Thought, but not spoken, for John suddenly understood that his friends couldn’t move a muscle, helpless before the ancient forest lord. Even his brother’s curiously compelling question seemed oddly distant, lost as John was in the forest lord’s gaze.

  “Let this blood be a bond between us. Aligned to my arts, blood and nature both, aligned to my commitment, to forge a bond by which Arcadia will forever have a link to this world, an eternal gateway none shall best nor break, lest they’d dare to challenge Arcadia herself!”

  The forest lord’s eyes widened with John’s smile.

  “For I declare myself neither Contender nor kingmaker, but rather a vassal. A vassal who will do all he can to keep your beautiful world safe. I, Johnathan Farreach Everwood, would pledge my lands to the realm of Arcadia, so your world may forever have an anchor to Jordia that no Highlord can destroy.”

  John swallowed, pinned by his host’s unreadable gaze. “Will you, Elder Greenwood, accept this gift?”

  The ancient being tilted his massive head. “A path to inconceivable power is before you. Are you really so determined to throw it away?”

  “Symbiote 271, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop this instant!”

  The fury in his brother’s mind was palpable. Strangely chilled by it, John did his best to ignore it, surprised to find that he could. He’d explain to his brother later, of course. He was certain Mitch would understand in time.

  John smiled in remembered wonder as he gazed upon the antlered man before him. “As someone who’s caught a glimpse of Arcadia, seen the promise of its beauty, pristine forests and verdant fields teaming with life and creatures strange and wondrous, as someone who has stood in awe of her majestic snow-capped mountains flashing in the setting sun, gazed in awe upon her pristine white castles floating in the sky… even if I had only glimpsed her promises by a Faerie Queen's side, dreaming upon death's door, I never felt more real, more alive, than during those all-too-brief moments I truly felt a part of that magical land."

  His cheeks flushed to hear the naked reverence in his own voice, but he knew it didn’t matter. Here, more than ever, baring the truth of his soul was what mattered.

  “If there’s even a chance I can strengthen the bonds between our worlds, then I want to do my part. That’s far more important to me than joining the mad race for the throne. Knowing I can do something that benefits an entire world.” He felt a painful ache in his chest. “Knowing I can do something for the sake of a beautiful woman I failed to save. At least I can help to save the land she loved.”

  For endless moments the forest lord just stared at John, as if measuring the worth of his soul.

  Slowly, the powerful figure drew a dagger of thorns, brushing it lightly across the palm of his hand.

  Green sap dripped upon the ground.

  Piercing eyes left John breathless, his very soul measured under that terrible gaze.

  “Make sure, child of myth and man. Should you take this step, there is no going back. Never will you walk the Path of Kings as a Contender. Nor may I entice you with any promised boon. For this bridge between worlds to truly bind us, it must be done entirely of your own free will.”

  “John, what are you doing?” Mitch screamed. "This is our ancestral land! He’s promising you nothing! Stop this, surrender our lands to me, and I can free you of your bindings. I’ll let you go free, John. Do you understand? I’ll free you for real!”

  His brother’s panicked, his pleading gaze turned cold with fury. “Symbiote 271 Abort! Self-destruct and abort! Father, pull us out! The connection to Faerie is real. The connection is real!”

  John dreamily shook away his brother’s terrible words.

  Forest Lord wishes to claim your Dominion Matrix sheet! Do you wish to surrender all claims of sovereignty? (Yes/No)

  Warning, this choice cannot be revoked!

  John shivered as Mitch’s desperate pleas continued to wash over him. He jerked a nod, reaching out to clasp the forest lord’s hand.

  You have chosen yes!

  Arcadia now has Claimance upon Farreach Territory!

  All territorial claims have been negated.

  Contender status has been lost!

  Dominion Matrix which you failed to quantize has ceased to exist.

  Hidden questline: Wildcard Contender Failed! You have refused to walk the Path of Kings!

  Congratulations! You have completed part 1 of the Hidden Questline: Arcadia’s Champion! Thanks to your unexpected, and some might argue, utterly idiotic generosity, the Faerie realm you are aligned to is no longer in imminent peril of being lost forever. Arcadia now has an anchor point to the terrestrial realm of Jordia!

  Though unasked for, your new patron has gifted you with the mantle of Champion! For it is only by the grace of your sacrifice that you have shown yourself worthy. But you still have a horror entwined with your soul, and he isn’t going anywhere. Good luck enduring what comes next!

  John collapsed to the loamy forest floor, filled with an inexplicab
le sense of loss, knowing he had shut the door to an opportunity to grow in ways he could scarce comprehend, that would never be offered again.

  He did not resist when his side exploded in pain. His incensed brother, somehow free of the forest lord’s bindings, glared at John with a look of outrage and betrayal. “You fool! You damn, bloody fool! You cost us everything!” He sneered and spat in John’s face. “I was going ask Father to show you mercy. To treat you as if you actually mattered! But after what you just did to our clan? I welcome what he’s going to do to you!”

  John tried to answer, but he felt nothing save pain. Pain as he seethed and burned. Pain as every nerve inside him blazed with agony. Pain within each and every cell of his body, as if every square inch of his flesh was on fire, alongside countless souls screaming in hell. As if, in fact, he had just been stuck inside a pain vat.

  And he had, he realized, to his unspeakable horror, as Mitch’s suddenly cruel smile promised.

  He had just been stuck inside a pain vat.

  The agony exceeded anything he could possibly fathom. Pain beyond his wildest nightmares.

  He wanted to sink into final blackness right there, but the terrible gaze of that ancient Faerie lord held him in place. Forcing him to endure.

  “There is no greater sacrifice than the one you have made, no greater boon you could have offered Faerie. And you did this of your own volition! No plea, entreaty, or promise of reward swayed your decision. No card of Faerie or Fate influenced your choice. No blinking reward light flickered in the neural network you, a semi-synthetic construct, still think of as your mind. For this, I will offer you a gift of my own volition, just as you have gifted me with the greatest of boons.

  “For all that you are little more than an abomination, a tool your enemies would use to destroy my kind, still you have found the wherewithal to bring succor to my tribe even as you wrest your clan's most prized treasures from their grasp! Your enemies as well, Johnathan Everwood, Farreach no longer!

  “I grant you the boon of Clearsight, my Dark Champion. Now free yourself from the mantle of delusion and phantasm, no matter its realm or origin! See, forevermore, the truth before you, no matter how bitterly it burns!”

  And John’s hideous screech increased in decibel until it seemed to shake the entire world, the forest shaking and shattering away to reveal nothing but translucent green slime crackling with energies strange and vile. Seething with Elementium given unholy life, seeping into John’s decapitated skull, forcing him to live in constant unending pain for eternity.

  His shriek had turned supersonic as he caught sight of his decapitated body, still covered with wires and electrodes and strapped to a gurney, archaic looking computers blinking and whirring in the background.

  His surviving friends, Lucy, Carl, and Emily, were strapped to adjoining beds, gagged and bound, frantic ocular gyrations the only vent for the terror John could feel coursing through them in addition to his own hideous, unending pain.

  He could hear the twist of a translucent lid being screwed into pace, Mitch suddenly taking up his whole field of vision, forced to stare into his brother’s furious golden eyes.

  “You stupid, pathetic worm! We could have given you everything. Everything a synthetic experiment like you could have dreamed of!”

  “Mitch, the pain! Please stop the pain!!” John screamed for all he was worth. Shrieked in frequencies deep into the Psionic. Even his brother winced and glared as John’s suffering transcended anything he could possibly conceive.

  And he was forced to endure, denied the final mercy of death, feeling as if razor blades covered in fire seared through every inch of his skin. He had heard of phantom limb pain. Limbs blown off in accidents or battle, yet the brain was tormented by nerves firing wildly, as if the limb was still there, every nerve ending aflame. And this was the awful torment John experienced over every inch of his nonexistent body, denied the mercy of final death, like the other 270 versions of himself his family had so ruthlessly put down.

  “Test subject data successfully retrieved,” declared a shaven-headed man dressed in a white lab coat, his skull covered in chrome plates and cyber ports, whirring mechanical eyes peering into John's own as it peered into his pain vat. "Fifteen seconds have passed from the time of decapitation. Subject can legally be considered deceased at this moment."

  “Good,” said a relieved Mitch, turning to his father.

  “Father, do you feel anything like a connection to our land? Has your sense of things returned?”

  His father gave a cold shake of his head. “271 was a fool not to kill Rojan the moment he had the chance. We had to come to terms and forgive his outrageous incursion, just to restore the gate! This is your fault, Michaelmas! 271 was your responsibility. His pathetic deficiencies your duty to correct! When did he develop this appalling code of compassion? Refusing to kill a fallen foe? Trucking and consorting with Faeriekind? Aberrations of the natural order that are only slightly less foul and tainted than the very abominations it is our sworn duty to put down! The Terran territory we occupied had not a single place of worship to poison his mind with these influences. Why does this one have them when so many others were efficient killers, acting just as designed?”

  Mitch lowered his head even as John screamed, tormented by agony unending, coming in waves that only grew as he drowned in suffering beyond his wildest dreams.

  “It is my supreme regret, Father. But 271 was not a complete failure. He did eliminate the nest, as designed.”

  Lord Farreach sneered. “He was an alpha specimen, modulated from the variants that had successfully purged any number of nests. He has done nothing wildly remarkable that would indicate he is a superior incarnation. The opposite, in fact. They are getting too autonomous. Too independent."

  He glared at John's vatted head. "Caesar will not be pleased. And if we are forced to surrender the Johnathan Project, it is our heads on the chopping block!" Malus's fist cracked against Mitch's skull, sending him slamming against a nearby computer bank.

  Mitch groaned in pain.

  “Get up,” his father spat, hot crimson eyes no longer hiding his contempt for his eldest, and anything else that fell under his hostile gaze. “It is time to finish this!”

  A shaking Mitch, nose crushed and spurting blood, jerked a quick nod. "Of course, Father," he said, spitting out a glob of blood. He glared at their assistant. "Dr. Zeal. Is the memtape recording?"

  The cyborg nodded. “Yes, my lord. All is within acceptable parameters. Subject 271’s pain vat has been calibrated to emit minimal surge pulses necessary for neuronal survival. Pain is within tolerable limits for cognition and learning.”

  “Good!" A furious Mitch glared into the glass container once more, his once beautiful face now wrecked by a shattered nose still trickling blood as he spat upon John's hellish prison. "Hear that, asshole? You lucky little shit? Your pain's so much less than it could be, than it should be, for failing us! You know why that is, Johnny-boy? So your mind won't fry up so quickly you lose the ability to form coherent memories!"

  He jabbed his finger at a nearby computer bank. "Our computers are recording your agony even now. Every iota of suffering you're experiencing will be felt by every fresh clone Father and I create. All of them taught with their first moments of awareness the horrid price they'll pay if they even think of disobeying us!"

  Mitch flashed a vicious smile. “I am so sick of dealing with you pathetic, needy little shits. At least now I get the satisfaction of forcing each and every one of you spawns to undergo the pain you’re experiencing at this very moment! How does it feel, John? Feel good? Yeah? I sure as hell hope so, because the fun has just begun!”

  His eyes lit with feverish glee as he pointed to Lucy, eyes wide, jerking her head in desperation as she gazed into Mitch’s mad eyes. “There’s only so much we can torment the memory of your body, asshole, but nothing says we can’t torment your mind! Nothing says we can’t torture you with the deaths of all these asinine monkeys y
ou think of as your friends!”

  Mitch’s vicious smile struck a horrid chord in the bitter remnants of John’s fraying soul. “Don’t worry, Johnny-boy. I’ll save the girl you imprinted for last!”

  Mitch smirked down into the eyes of a struggling, wild-eyed Lucy. “What’s that, girl, gag too tight? Let me help you with that.” And with a vicious wrench, he tore free the gag that had been pinning Lucy’s jaw so tight she couldn’t do more than breathe, ripping out her teeth as well.

  A now toothless Lucy, jaw forcefully distended, screamed as blood poured from her mouth, terrified eyes gazing about her in horror, shock and confusion, her gaze of horrified betrayal only making Mitch laugh.

  “Sorry, bitch. The rotting corpse might have thought you were a good lay, but really, you’re nothing to write home about.” His cold smile grew. “Nothing to give a fuck about. But you know what? I love those pretty little eyes of yours. Not your yapping mouth, just your eyes. Let’s look at them one final time.”

  Then, fast as a snake, his hand clamped upon Lucy's mouth and nose, blood spurting from her lips, eyes widening in horrified panic as she struggled and heaved, desperate just to breathe.

  Struggled to no avail, her terrified eyes piercing John’s soul, the silent screams of her psyche piercing his own even as he drowned in a sea of unending pain.

  "Stop it, Mitch! Why? Why are you doing this? I thought we were brothers! I thought you loved me! Why?"

  Mitch’s glittering eyes made it clear he sensed every word John had screamed in the ether.

  “Just watch her eyes, Johnny-boy. All I want you to do is watch her eyes.”

  John couldn’t help himself, gazing as Lucy’s poor eyes widening so desperately as she heaved with every last ounce of panicked strength for one tiny gasp of life-giving air, her lungs screaming for relief, her thoughts becoming disjointed and broken, flashes of her baby brother and sister the last thoughts she had as her neurons withered and died.