#mokoto

 It was true… blood spilt faster, from those who were afraid. Many times had Mokoto looked into the eyes of a traitor; many times had he delivered their punishment himself. He always enjoyed it, and he always felt empowered by it. He relished in the knowledge that he was ridding the world of someone who did not belong here. He relished in the sight of their blood, the smell of their fear, the sound of their jagged breaths… … Usually. Not now, though. Now… he just felt angry. Angry that it wasn’t just the humans that were killing his people. It wasn’t humans down here, in his prison under Meitona Palace. This place was for those traitors who were too wrong to be allowed in the world. Even now, when the world was at war, struggling to survive, these people were too treacherous to fight for the Gaiamira. Mokoto could not allow them to fight for the New World. They would poison it. So he tortured them, and he killed them… for crimes so awful they were no longer permitted to live. Treason, of the most horrific form. Murderers, and predators… helpers of the humans. They were helping the humans win this war… and that was unforgivable.

“Please…” A wounded man whispered before him. His face was coated in his own blood. His chest was bare, his body ripped open. His wounds ran so deep there would soon be no blood left to spill. Mokoto could see the veins pulsing within him; some parts of him didn’t even have skin anymore. Mokoto would skin him alive; and open his stomach and tear him apart from the inside. It was all he deserved. It was better than he deserved. “I… I never… did this.” The man spoke. “I… shot mine. They didn’t suffer. Please…”

“They knew they were dying.” Mokoto uttered. “You don’t think that was suffering enough? I promise you, they thought of their children.” He flinched in disgust, thinking about what this man had done. He was a serial killer, who targeted pregnant women. At first, just pregnant Hiveakan women, but then he moved onto Outsiders as well. Mokoto had asked him why, and he had explained it was because the Outsiders were beginning to put their children in the Hives – much more than before. Because the Hives were better protected, and safer. This man was an Outsider extremist; he didn’t want Hiveakans to be in the world… so he killed them before they were born. Quickly, he said. Without suffering, he said… but what mother would not suffer, knowing she was dying and her child along with her? Knowing she had failed to protect them, when it was her duty… to fail was to suffer. Mokoto didn’t care for it to happen in his world. Those who deserved to suffer were the likes of this traitor. And Mokoto was here to ensure that he would.

           He listened to the man scream, as he dove his claws into his chest. His skin ripped under Mokoto’s fingers, his muscles shredded apart like paper. There was no depth to this man; he had a small build. Thin, useless muscles, and softened skin. Not as soft as human skin. Even Outsiders had thicker skin than humans; even this man’s flesh was harder to break than a human’s… but it broke all the same, under Mokoto’s Footprints. It made a noise as it ripped; his blood squelched and splashed, as Mokoto released it from its veins. He drenched his hand in the man’s blood, watching as the warm, purple liquid ran down his arm. It ran quickly, because the man was afraid. His breaths were fast, and short. He couldn’t fight. He was tied up, helpless. Like a child in the womb, completely reliant on somebody else to save him. Nobody would save him. Nobody would want to. Mokoto couldn’t even feel the Goddess of Death here. She didn’t want this soul.

           The man’s eyes were wide; his body was shaking. He stared up at Mokoto in desperation… but he’d stopped pleading. Finally. He’d realised he deserved no mercy. Or at least, he’d realised he wouldn’t get it. “A Hiveakan died today, protecting a school of Outsiders.” Mokoto spoke, with venom in his voice. He couldn’t help but think of Aourat, and what would have happened to him, had this man been around when he was in his mother’s womb. The lives that would have been lost… “Would you have killed him? And with him, the children that he saved. I have enough humans trying to kill my people. I don’t need you as well. You can understand that, can’t you? You understand… how I am struggling to see the difference between you and them?”

“S-Sire –”

“If you wish to act like a human, you will be treated like one. They are shown no mercy, just as you showed your victims no mercy. Or the Gaiamira, when you denied them the chance to welcome a life into the world. What you did was not just a crime against me, it was a crime against them. Only Lanka may decide when a soul is taken…” Mokoto smirked, as cruelly as any mortal could. He took great pleasure in speaking the words. He took great pleasure, in telling this… mistake of the world, “I do not feel her here. She does not want your soul.”

           He saw tears, in the man’s eyes. The words hurt him, and broke him… but of course, he was reluctant to believe them. So he shut his eyes, and spoke through his jagged breaths.

“She… she is here. She will… come, for me. I… killed them, in a peaceful way. They… had to be killed.”

“No, she’s not.” Mokoto said. “She appears to me all the time, but she isn’t here now. She has abandoned you, because you betrayed her. And she will show you no mercy. And nor will the God of war. They will take you to the Dark Realm, and there you will rot.”

“No…”

           Mokoto moved his eyes, to the boy at his side. Tomakoto. He was worn, from a training session with Mokoto and Lanka. But training hadn’t quenched Mokoto’s thirst. He needed blood. He needed to feel it upon his skin, he needed to watch the life leave a traitor’s eyes… His Footprints craved it. So he’d come here, and he’d brought Tomakoto with him. Because Tomakoto needed to see this. He needed to know how a king should deal with those who betrayed him. He had graduated at the age of nine, but he hadn’t yet taken a life. Now… was the time to change that. “Go on.” Mokoto spoke, gesturing towards the captive man. “Kill him.”

“Sire?” Tomakoto looked at his father. He seemed stunned, and confused. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting Mokoto to let him do it. He thought he was just here to watch, and he’d watched intently. Without flinching, without startle… He’d seemed to enjoy watching. The sight of a traitor being slain seemed to please him. He hadn’t expected to be more than a spectator, though. But… it was time. Tomakoto understood that. He believed it, because he believed in his father’s judgement. King Mokoto wouldn’t have ordered it if it wasn’t right, and Tomakoto knew it would be a betrayal to refuse. So… He had to. Tomakoto held Mokoto’s gaze, and Mokoto stared him down, not speaking a word… Then obediently, Tomakoto nodded his head. “Yes, Sire.”

           Mokoto watched as the boy approached the man. Tomakoto looked at him for a moment first, weighing up his victim. He had Footprints in his soul, but he’d never had to use them. Not as much as they could be used. They were still small, and unsure… but they were just as strong as any Hiveakan’s. Just as strong as Mokoto’s, if Tomakoto allowed them to be. Mokoto could feel them within him, he could feel them rising to the surface of Tomakoto’s soul… Then he saw them come out.

           Tomakoto dove his claws into the wound on the man’s abdomen, and he yanked his hands down. The blood flew out as Tomakoto pulled open the man’s stomach, leaving his organs exposed to the world. Mokoto thought that perhaps Tomakoto would just let him bleed to death; the screams and the smell of fear in the air were surely enough to satisfy the fresh, unused Footprints of a young boy. But… they weren’t. Evidently, they weren’t. Because Tomakoto didn’t stop there. He grabbed the man’s intestines, and he squeezed them in his hands. He didn’t pull them or rip them; he didn’t do anything that would put a quick end to the man’s life. He just squeezed them, and he stared at the man’s twisting face as he became silenced in pain. He put his hand inside the man’s bleeding body, and he pulled out his heart. He held the organs up to him, to show him. The man wasn’t looking, though. His eyes were shut in pain, his breaths small and weak as the life drained from him. He had only seconds left. Only seconds left to see.

“Open your eyes.” Tomakoto ordered. The man didn’t… and it seemed to anger Tomakoto. Because he squeezed his heart, and he said it again, with much more ferocity than before. “Open them!” Tomakoto barked. “Now!”

           The man did… Mokoto wasn’t sure why. He must have known he would only see something terrible; something that would traumatise him in his last seconds of life. So Mokoto couldn’t think why the man would open his eyes… unless the strength of Tomakoto’s Footprints had made him. Perhaps the man’s fear of disobeying them was greater than his fear of seeing… and what a beautiful thing that was. For the child to have such power, with such young, small Footprints… It left Mokoto speechless, in amazement, and in wonder… and it filled him with pride.

           He watched as tears spilt from the man’s eyes. He spent his last few breaths staring in horror at his own organs before him; his own bloodied intestines, his own beating heart… and then he died. In a terrible, terrible way. A way he deserved. A way… even worse than what Mokoto had planned. Mokoto wouldn’t have shown him the organs; he would have just torn them apart and watched the man bleed and listened to him scream. He would have been feral, and thirsty, and excited. Tomakoto, though… he’d had more control than that. He’d been more patient than that. He’d denied himself the tearing of tissue and the spilling of blood; he’d set aside his own desire to cause pain and a sudden death… to satisfy a much deeper, much darker desire. The desire to traumatise, and horrify. To send a traitor to the Dark Realm in eternal restlessness, eternal fear, eternal horror. Tomakoto hadn’t just wanted to hurt; he’d wanted to scar. And that was… incredible. How had the child become like this…? He truly was blessed by the God of War. He was a gift from the Gaiamira, the greatest gift they could ever give. And they had given him to Lakuna and Mokoto… he felt so honoured by that.

           Tomakoto looked at Mokoto, after it was over. After the man had stopped breathing, and the frantic heart in Tomakoto’s palm had stopped beating. He looked at Mokoto in wonder, and with nerves upon his face. No callousness, no coldness, no ferocity… just timid wonder. He was wondering if he had performed well enough. Wondering if he was good enough. He lived his life seeking his father’s approval… just as Mokoto had with his own. Despite what horrific things Tomakoto did… he was still just a child, at the mercy of someone who would always be stronger.

“Was that okay, Sire…?” Tomakoto asked, humbly and timidly. As if he hadn’t just gutted a man with his own claws.

“Yes.” Mokoto grinned. He laughed, charmed by the look on Tomakoto’s face. He was still so young… and yet he was a monster. A wonderful, young monster. “Very good, Toma.” Mokoto approached his son, and put a proud hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “You can do that again, with the next one.”

“I hope there won’t be a next one.” Tomakoto frowned. “I don’t want people like that in the world.”

“Nor do I.” Mokoto smirked. “In the New World, there won’t be. You can help me with that.”

“Yes, Sire.”