#ardus

This space that Ardus was spoiling.

It was not made for beauty nor care, it was made for destruction. It could see that the space was beautiful but he felt nothing for it. When it stepped on thick moss it turned dark and flat under its footing. Its sword was heavy but a known weight and it slid through bone and armor as easily as it did meat and wing.

This place was habituated, by knights of their own caliber, their armor little more than chitinous scale, their wings the same as the insects that they were so careful not to harm. Indeed they did have an extra set of spindly limbs that they used for another sword, but they were no match for Ardus. They were fast but it was faster. They could fly but it could hear wear they were coming from. They were agile but it never tired. None of them had even dented its armor.

So it was free to explore the manor, making its way up the spiraling staircase and towards its prize.

The highest room in the highest tower, where trees had grown up and through the flooring, pushing it up and away from the stairs, making Ardus ascend up to it in a desire more for efficiency than anything else. Upon the floor there was red sand and the pits of a thousand fruits, all surrounding the white throne in the center, where the King of Swords sat and watched, his ever loyal angel hovering over his left shoulder. His blue tunic and purple cape were bleached by the many days under the sun as he'd watched his plants grow and his skin was a deep leathery tan.

Ardus stepped forward, hand over its heart as if to pledge some level of respect to the ancient king. But it was here to kill the man and take his withered heart back to its master and the King knew this.

"So, he doesn't bother to face me himself?" the King asked, tilting his head and looking Ardus over. "Sends one of his little toys to finish me off?"

There were no sins to be seen, no evil to be judged. A sword on its own had no malice in it, regardless of how much blood it had gotten drunk on. A furnace had no appetite, regardless of how much it was fed. It was a tool, nothing more, and it did as its master bade.

A hint of fear surged through it as the pupils split and tendrils of vines came out to grab it, reaching around its limbs and pulling taught, making it straight. It writhed, tried to pull free. Nude before something so much stronger than it, that was nothing new, but it was something that tore at it still. It had the shame of a shovel and yet it still had a hint of humility within that fleshy pink thing.

"You poor thing," the angel said, the vines in its eyes caressing it, touching it so tenderly, sliding between muscle and tendon and bone, opening its chest and looking more closely. "What were you, once upon a time?"

It didn't know. Part of it did, of course, but there were years and walls and so much in between now and then, there was no way to recall if those memories were its own or someone else's. When it did remember it forced aside for memories only ever caused pain, either in the flesh or in the mind.

"Who did this to you?"

Even if it wished to it could not say its masters name, nor her title. The angel already knew who had sent it, who wanted them dead, they didn't need to ask. It was a simple continuation of thought.

One of the vines touched its heart and it writhed. It was white hot, pure clean energy striking it, trying to seep in, to pour through the black and change it into itself, to fix it. Ardus had no need nor desire to be fixed. It was better to be like this than to delude itself into enjoying the weakness it had before she'd raised it. The white hurt, ash in its mouth, and it struggled, clawed, tore itself free. It grabbed onto a few of the vines and tugged, pulling the eyed wings closer.

It reached out for its sword and called it into being, in this space, parallel to the world, it could summon its own strength, its own power, and it sliced through the wing, sawing it off in jagged motions.

The scream was delayed as the world around it shattered, hairline fractures before the real world poured in like molten honey. It pushed out, kicking against the wings with its pointed

Sabatons. clutching and tearing at the remaining sinews between the wing and the body.

A few quick leaps and it was back to the roof in again, the angel at the stairwell, ready for it, the king's sword in hand, at the ready.

"You are but a mortal," the angel hissed, "behave like one!"

But it was not so it did not. It pushed forward, pressing its sword up and against and when the angel brought its sword down, attempting to meet it, it allowed its broken leg to crumple beneath it, so that it would fall out of the angel's range. It swung upward, deflecting the blade and kicked off, getting further, getting closer.

There was no way to escape the angel's gaze. They knew it was coming from so many angles. It couldn't surprise it in movement, only in what it was. It drew close, slicing outward, cutting at each limb that tried to stop it, drawing blood a few times, removing a couple fingers, unleashing bellows. It was buffeted with wings, and scratched at by nails.

It knew how to take down men and all manner of beasts, knew to pull the hearts free of the nastiest of foes to keep them from healing and fighting again, but on an angel, it had no knowledge of where the heart would be. Its master had entrusted it to be able to deal with the foes assigned it though, so it had no reason to doubt its ability in destroying it.

It shoved its sword deep into the angel's chest as it shrieked, the sound deafening to most, and twisted before pulling the blade free. Its blood gushed out, far too thin, and settled into the grooves of Ardus' armor. They were still moving, still fighting against it, and when they grabbed its shoulder and started to squeeze, buckling the metal, it knew it had no time to reach in and search for their heart.

It dragged the sword up, meaning to cut through its wrist and free itself, but it went over, struck the angel's pyramid of faces, and pierced the shining, almost metal of it. The head gushed, the eyes on it all opening at once as the mouths turned into terrible scowls.

The angel struggled further, more violent than before, no longer trying to beat Ardus but to get away from it. They released its shoulder, wings either weak and unmoving on its back or flapping wildly. Its legs were peddling backwards, the space between head and body growing wider, stretching.

Ardus shoved up harder. They had touched its heart and only one was meant to know that space. The metallic skin cracked and, under pressure, broke, letting more blood spray out from beneath it. The angel grabbed at its head, tried to push Ardus away, but it dodged easily enough.

The throne room and the bed chamber were the only places still opulent within the temple, as they were the only places The Empress still spent her time within, aside from her visits to the womb. It was sure that she went other places, though it had never seen her do so. Never saw the emperor go anywhere either, but he was as able to do as he pleased as Ardus was.

Ardus entered the throne room, much to the delight of the plump young people splashing about in the two pools, one on either side of the pair of thrones. They were always happy to see Ardus and, many times, they had tried to seduce it into joining them in the warm waters. It was only three steps down, made fully of gold, and there were lily pads floating upon it. Those within were all of elegant dark skin, varying from tan to black, though their hair was all braided straw. It did not know if they came before or after it had but it seemed they were never changing.

"Ah, at last," The Empress smiled from her throne, a broad lounge chair of ruby velvet and cascading fabrics in other virtuous shades of red. "I was wondering if you were coming back to me."

It stepped past the pools and to her, kneeling at her feet, head bowed. It reached to the pouch at its side and drew The King of Swords from it, holding it up for her to see.

She practically squealed with excitement, snatching it from Ardus and looking it over. "Oh wonderful, how wonderful! You really are a master. I did well to form you into who you are today, Ardus!"

Ardus looked up at her, face hidden beneath its horned helmet.

Ardus did not have dreams.

The path to the black tower was grown over, as it always was when it returned, and it could not be seen through the deep canopy. It did not need a trail regardless, it had been here so many times, had come to be in the center of the forest, that it did not need directions. It was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.

Its broken leg was bothering it. There was no pain to it but it was the fact that the leg didn't move the way that it wanted it to that was the issue. Walking on it was slow and it listed to the side a bit, wasn't as efficient as it was want to be. The sooner it made it to The Empress the sooner it would be fixed.

So it walked through the underbrush, upsetting the birds and other wild things that had stepped out to peer at it, and made it all the way to the pristine little lake in the middle. It was large enough to be a lake though it settled more like a pond, with the hand placed stones at its edge. There was a bridge, that was made up of branches, too weak to support it and too narrow for it to even think to try, that came from either side of the water and braided into a doorway. The water was smooth and perfect,  mirroring the sky and itself and the trees around it.

It did not look at itself, it's reflection did not match what it believed itself to be.

It set off a myriad of ripples as it stepped over the barricade, trudging forward, its armor weighing it down to nicely sink to the lake's floor. It was fairly shallow and it did not keep Ardus aloft at all, so it was free to move as it pleased. It made it to the doorway in the middle, and looked down into the reflection.

The angel stopped struggling. It went still, mostly.

"You have lost yourself, little one. There's still a shred of you, hold onto it, let it grow."

It crushed the head in its hand.

The body fell to the side soon after, decaying into a miniature garden of its own quickly enough. The sun was shining on it and it allowed lush green grass to sprout from its wings, the eyes into rose bushes, the blood into technicolor flowers. Butterflies and other insects immediately took to it, feeding off the decadence of angel essence.

Ardus stepped over it, stepped towards the king.

He was feeble and old but he was standing now, ivy growing through the hole in his chest where the sword had been resting, spilling down his front like an elaborate boutonniere. There were more vines, like threads, holding him to his throne, stretching and growing and blossoming. It was as if one fed off the other but it was impossible to tell which way it was going.

"You killed them," he said, as if he hadn't just seen it happen. "An angel, my only advisor and friend, and you killed them."

Ardus tilted its head. It did not matter that the king was sad, that there were tears streaming down his face, he would be dead soon enough and Ardus would be done with this mission. It flicked the massive sword, freeing it of some of the angel's blood.

The king picked up his own sword, tugging it free of the plants that had grown over it. He looked it over, then over at Ardus.

"You and I are meant to fight, are we not?" he asked, drawing closer. His sword was at his side though, in his shaking old hand, not at the ready. "That's what she wants. For you to overpower and kill me? Well, I won't have it."

It didn't matter what the king wanted. He would die here. Ardus would not fail.

It did not expect the king to drop to his knee in the space that the angel's head would have been , allowing poppies to sprout around him, clutching his sword before him and bowing his head like he was the knight and Ardus the king.

"I will not fight you. I will not give her that satisfaction. So be done with it, if you please."

Ardus lifted its sword and, with one strike, knocked the king's head from his old body. As with the others his body fragmented, turned to light and shimmer, and then faded away, leaving a long slender card where he'd been.