The Beginning Of An End
Death comes to all, eventually. And how pitifully the mighty fall when tossed from their thrones. Meeting the same dirt in which their subjects once groveled. When kingly soul fled its fleshy vessel, it curled away and vaporized the same as any other.
They did not pass to the chorus of violins strung in sorrow. Nor to the weeping of angels. If a heaven or hell existed neither quivered at the lost life. It was in silence that they drifted through the veil that not even He in all his glory could crawl back from.
Gone, vanquished, deceased, there would be no more opening of realms. No fabric those ghostly fingers could grip and tear asunder. For by now He was and would forever remain well and truly dead.
A smile flickered over Amadan’s lips. Like the bulb of a dying flashlight, unable to decide if it could remain alight. When he passed a hand across his face it left a crimson smear in its wake. Loose in his grip, the knife wept red tears that rolled languidly down the blade.
Inflated with the atavistic glee of one who has conquered, he paid no mind to the blood as he shifted. Pooling out from her, it was sucked with greed into the carpet. She had pitched forward when she fell and lay prone, one cheek pressed to the fibers covering the floor. Prodding her with a stained boot elicited no response. Eyes gone glassy stared at the wall they could no longer see.
How easy. Humans were such fragile things.
