Hilock stared at himself in the mirror. Not to describe himself, that would be insane. Instead, he was working up the confidence to perform. He muttered to himself, adjusted his mask and clothes, and watched his chest move up and down. He glanced over his shoulder before taking his place in the middle of the room. Standing in a beam of light casting down from a small window.
The stage was set.
An illusion of himself appeared in the Afferium marketplace. Larger than life, he stood in the fountain. The women washing their clothes collectively groaned. He raised his arms as if he was embracing applause and cleared his throat once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am back! I’m sorry that my last speech was tack. I’ve taken the moments to collect my thoughts. Now I’ve got even more deliberate visceral taunts.”
“Oh, bugger off, you buffoon,” one of the women said.
Hilock took another breath.
“Bugger off I simply cannot. Not while our lives are a frivolous thought. You see, it’s not by luck that your children don’t feed. We’re simply stuck from carrying their greed. It’s exponential in growth and seeded by crosses, while we all bemoan and remain sorry for losses.”
For the first time they seemed to be listening. Some stragglers came in closer.
Hilock held out his hands. Images of crosses, gold and crowns formed in them and floated around him. The images were outlined in a white and gold haze.
“An army is forming to lead you to slaughter. They kill all your sons and fuck all your daughters. These speakers speak to those who need listen, but ask why they only speak to the rich men. There’s a curse on this world and it feeds on our souls, Your autonomy was sold but a generation ago. They praise only hard work and faith. Step out of line, and they show you their wraith. Who builds walls between people they care for? Only a king with something to fear of.”
The images collided into each other, and exploded in a ball of light. The familiar ritual fire, from the ritual of judgment. It pulsed with life and crackled like a wet log on a fire.
“What are we to do then?” A man asked from the crowd.
Hilock turned his face toward the man, and his mask smiled.
“Ask yourself but a simple question: who survives the ritual inspection?” The image of Hilock turned into ash as the orb of fire pulsed brighter and boomed louder. “Ask…questions…”
He released the market illusion and found himself wrapped in the beam’s warmth once more. He fist-pumped the air. “Yes!” he muttered. He looked over toward the dark corner of the room. “They are beginning to listen. Not to a god, but to brethren. The facade of your power is fading, like the glimmer of coals they’re straining.”
He walked closer to the corner. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the bishop strapped to the chair and gagged. But the captive was still calm. It irritated him how their ego wouldn’t allow them to show proper fear.
“Would you…like a sneak peek of your empire collapsing?”
Still no response of any kind.
“Allow me…”
Hilock created an image through an oval of light in front of them. Through it they saw the citizens of Afferium gathering together with weapons. Dragons swooped on top of the walls, drawing the guard’s fire. A battering ram made from tied together logs attacked the gates.
“Unfortunately for you, these gates are not rubies. I’m sure you regret ever giving up boobies.”
Images of the castle set on fire appeared, walls crumbling to the ground. The throne was broken to pieces. Pikes adorned with the heads of all Afferium leaders surrounded the outside. Citizens danced, and Hilock was shown making out with a woman and grabbing her ass.
“Nice, right?” He nodded to the bishop before turning back to his image.
The woman got down on her knees and pulled his robe up. Before his meat could be revealed, the door crashed in. In the midst of dust and splinters stood Hunter.
“That’s enough of that, son” Hunter said, holding his gun to Hilock’s head.
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“Ah brave soldier, you couldn’t be colder. Of idiocy and genius your former. Follow my legacy, then you’ll be warmer.”
Hunter shot to the side of his head.
“Not much for riddles. Just get on the ground before I have to kill you.”
The bishop had a smug look on his face, even through his gag.
Hilock stuck out his tongue at the bishop and then turned to Hunter.
“Okay, lawman. I surrender. Take me in but do be tender.” He held his hands over his head.
As Hunter removed a rope from his belt and approached him, a loud bang sounded and a flash of light appeared between them. When his eyes readjusted he saw the Inquisitor standing before him.
“Leave this one to me,” she said. “It’s taken you entirely too long.”
“Sunrise over mountains,” he said.
“Don’t you dare suspect me!”
He aimed his gun at her.
“Sunrise…over…mountains.”
She smirked.
“Waves on shores…”
He fired a shot through her head, and she fell to the ground. Blood flowed out of her and ran toward Hilock.
“Are you insane? You insufferable tumor. She gave you the code, and still you shoot her? For this you’ll burn, I have no doubt. Late to learn, to take the out.”
He aimed at Hilock once more and shook his head.
“All right, I confess. The white lady was a jest. But still I ponder, how you knew? What gave away my brilliant ruse?”
“If that really were her, she wouldn’t have answered. She’d just shock me and take you in herself.”
“Pity that of my ignorance. I should have done my due diligence.”
Hunter pulled Hilock’s arm down and began tying him.
A young man appeared at the door.
“Hunter? Is that you Hunter?” the young man said. “Help me Hunter, I’m in so, so deep…I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”
He dropped the ropes and stared at the young man.
“Tavos? Tavos I…” He walked toward him.
“Why? Why did you…” Blood poured from Tavos’s chest. He fell to his knees and grabbed at the wound. The blood ran over his fingers and onto the ground. “I trusted you…”
“Tavos…I’m sorry.” Hunter held his body. “I was just…”
The body decayed ten years’ time in his hands—into a dried-up corpse. The corpse turned to ash and blew away.
He gritted his teeth and turned around, firing shot after shot from his gun while screaming.
But the room was empty.
He screamed as the gun clicked.
**********
Hilock wandered through a sewer with his captive. Dragging the chair behind him. He “accidentally” dropped him into the sewer water now and then as they traveled through.
“Forgive my loose grip. So much bread in your hips.”
He made several turns before finding a round door to enter through. He dragged the bishop to the corner of the room and removed his gag. His screams couldn’t reach anyone now. Inside the large chamber were stacks of books and pages on tables and chairs. All was kept above the wet ground.
He removed his mask, revealing another black cloth mask beneath it. He placed the first mask on a bust of the king that faced the bishop. The red mask had streaks of black, and the appeal of a demon. He moved toward a table and looked through some pages he had out.
“Think you’re the first?” the bishop said. “You twit. Do you have any idea how many revolutions we’ve squashed hmm? I shit less often.” He seemed to grow angry when Hilock continued looking through his pages. “Hey! Do you hear me, peasant?”
Hilock turned around holding a page with a drawing on it. He walked towards the bishop pointing his finger at the image. The image was an orb in the center with black hands from above, and white hands from below reaching for it. Set within a mountainous backdrop.
“Do you see what I see? Do you feel what I feel? How can this be if the truth is not real? I’ve pondered and schemed and danced with delight. I’ve wondered how pristine is an obsidian night. Do you understand yet, you ripe little muppet, I’m quite aware, that the king is a puppet. Let’s grab the scissors and see what they bring. I’d like to know who’s pulling those strings.” He pulled a pair of scissors from behind him.
The bishop sweated. “You’ll burn for eternity for killing a man of the faith.”
“If what you preach is true, you’d have no fear. To your gods, I bring you near. You’ve seen my home, and lived your purpose. Now only death, can bring us closer.” He stabbed the scissors into the bishop’s stomach.
The bishop grunted and tried to remain with his pride as he stared into his killer’s mask. “As you slip away I have one gift. Listen to me sing this sweet-ass riff.” Hilock grabbed a lute and played a solemn tune that transformed into an upbeat tone.
I used to sing folk songs, for romps in the hay
Let’s get after it shall we?
Oh baby you're looking mighty fine
Ass so big can see your panty line
If she has another drink, for sure she’ll be mine
Oh baby your looking mighty fine
I brought her back to mama’s shack
We danced all night, we hit the sack
She put me down, onto my back
Put me in the place you yak
Oh baby your looking mighty fine
I’m all warmed up, and it’s time to go
And I spend the time, to take off her clothes
But when that final garment drops
My sweet old baby gotta cock
Normally i wouldn’t find, a reason to stop on a dime
But damn it all, her’s is bigger than mine
And she says my ass is fine
Oh baby, she says
You’re feeling mighty fine
He played a lute solo and powerslid across the floor for one final note. With his arm in the air, he awaited his applause. But when he looked up, all he could see was the bishop’s slumped over body.
He took the bishop's hands and clapped them together. “Thank you! Thank you! I’ll be here all week!”