“He who seeks kingship is fit to rule not even over worms” - Gloam, king of beggars

Rain pours down heavy and fast upon a black forest. Deep within its depths, within its vast vile undergrowth, past its great ageless trees, ignored by the countless creatures it holds, lay two beasts in a small clearing, dying. One beast had four legs to stand upon, rough fur black as pitch, a mouth filled with fangs sharper than any dagger dripping crimson, venomous spines hidden within its fur, and was taller than any man stood, Canis Cuthach Lupus.

The other beast, the more horrifying one, was a man, clad in black and dark greens and skin as pale as snow, with only his eyes and the skin around them exposed, with sword and bow dropped just out of reach, yet he didn’t try and grab them; in fact, he didn’t try to move at all, even while dying, and with the one who caused it not even a dozen feet away, he just laid there staring up into the raining sky, bleeding and breathing; they both did.

“You are mere filth!” Someone bellowed with a voice deep and rough, but neither man nor woman, neither of the beasts, bothered to look.

The rain mixed with their blood.

“You kill each other! Tear out each other's blood! Beat one another!” scratchy and slow; this must have been the first time they had spoken in a long time.

It hurt to breathe.

“And for what?!” they screamed. Both of them finally looked, and there stood what seemed to be a human, draped in hooded robes that were darker than the soul. The only skin exposed was their light-colored hands—rough, old, and scarred—hands that have toiled long and tortured hard, unable to tell if they were a man's or woman's. Their face was obscured, hooded as it was, but also hidden with a mask—a mask like the bars of a dungeon with nothing behind them, nothing but despair. 

Clothes destroyed, fur unrecognizable

“You don’t protect! You don’t do it for survival! Nor for fun! Not even for the sake of fighting!” Why were they so upset? They hadn’t been a part of this quarrel, and they hadn’t watched the fight for entertainment; they had barely even seen any of it, and it hadn’t even affected them in any way at all, so why did they sound so... disappointed?

Everything was so cold. Why was it so cold?

“You fight each other! Dare I even call what I just witnessed a fight?! You kill each other for the sake of wanting to rule?! To rule over this black forest!?” They stopped for a moment, panting, and while they did, the two beasts eyes widened in shock. How had this thing known? Hundreds of miles from civilization, they battled, neither telling a soul of the fact that both these dying beasts wanted nothing more than to call themselves king of this dark and lonely forest. Catching their breath, they started again.

The pools of their blood were quite large now.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Has even a shadow of a wise thought ever gone through either of your minds before!? You Fools! Imbasiles! Lowest of the low!” They had their head in their hands, and they sounded like they were…are they crying? Rage is what crept up through the two beasts' minds at that sound. They fought each other to rule this forest, to be the one who commands. Who did this filthy peasant think he was to judge their great battle? It didn’t even try to save their lives; these beasts were rulers! That thing was nothing to them!

Coughs of blood

“This Forest needn't a ruler! Nor did it request you filth to be one! The beings of this land have only looked upon you with scorn!” The bloody beasts were done with this things whining; a king shouldn’t need to hear this! And so they started to rise, slowly, painfully, they started to rise to silence this whelp that stood out of line.

Bone cracked and whined.

“Are your egos so fragile and your minds so insecure that when someone stands to point out your flaws and witness your death and failures, you would rather put yourself through more pain just to silence them?” They just stared, unmoving, as they said the words: no longer were their head in hand, no longer did they yell, no longer did they sound sad; their voice was just one of pity and despair.

Now they stood as tall as their destroyed bodies and pride would let them, and they both took a single step towards the masked figure, their emotions wild and mixed.

“You think you can hurt me? I have been broken into a million pieces a million times before, and a million times I’ve reforged myself; you cannot hurt me.” They didn’t care; they were kings, and after this thing died, so would the other fowl beast.

Broken swords and shattered teeth

“You wish to beat me into submission, to beat the cryer, to beat the one who is concerned of you?” This thing knew nothing; who did they think they were? They knew nothing of what they had been through.

“Just as you have done before,” and with those few words, they stopped and stared with eyes opened wide

A crushed eye, a busted lip

“You shun the comfort of an embrace, scorn the bread made from the hearth, willingly forget the smiling face of the mother who loves, and curse the lover who gave you everything and asked for nothing in return.” The falling rain had never been so present to the beasts until now.

A broken hand, a broken paw

“And why do you fiend’s do so? Why do you throw away what many truly wise men crave? Why do you shun what many a beggar cry for? Why do you disdain what many kings dream of?” Old memories surged within them.

The blood didn’t seem to stop.

“I shall open the window of your soul and tell you." They couldn’t bear to hear the next words.

Their wounds grew, and blood flowed more freely.

“Just as a sick child wishes to be strong like his father, just as the runt of a litter wants to lead the pack... just as a prisoner wishes to rule.”

The rain fell harder.

“Your souls immature; you wanted power and respect; when denied, you fought for it; when beaten, you ran.” 

Something other than the clouds over head overcast them.

“You ran as far as your legs would bring you—a realm of darkness, gloom, and danger, a place where they would never find you, a place where you could tell yourself you didn’t need them, a place so lonely you could rule and no one could challenge you.”

They fell to the ground.

“And when someone did challenge you after all of your running, you got desperate, desperate for someone to respect you, so you tried to beat them.”

They bleed

“You are mere filth.”

They bled and they weeped; they weeped for they knew that their words were true.

They bled and bled, they weeped and weeped, and they did so until there were no more tears to weep and no blood to bleed.

The masked figure stood for a moment, saying nothing, doing nothing, just staring at the two dead men.

Then walked away.