The Legend Of Black Eyes 193 Is It Madness? Or Is It Monstrous Determination

"Supreme Leader," Fitzel Flugel burst into the room with a wide smile. He was wearing a black suit with a red cravat. He was a tall man with blond hair. His black dreamy eyes made him look like someone who's always in a good mood. They looked troubled nonetheless, as Flugel's smile didn't reflect on his eyes.

"I didn't know you'd visit," he went on. "I would have prepared a feast that befits your status."

"I thought I told you to stay clear of the business in Merinsk," Stalwart said, fidgeting with his ring.

"Bodrick approached us," the man said. His smile had vanished. When Stalwart skipped the formalities, it usually meant bad news. "You also left strict orders to lend him a hand if he came asking for help."

"I didn't say you could get personally involved in the matter, did I?" Stalwart asked then rested his steely eyes on Lord Flugel. There was no anger in his voice, or disappointment. It was the voice of that who reads a paper to a blind man, monotonous, devoid of all emotions.

"I heard the branch in Merinsk was communing with demons," Lord Flugel said. "I knew you never approved of this practice."

 "So you thought you could do my job for me?" Stalwart asked.

"You had other, urgent matters to take care of, Supreme Leader," Flugel said. His voice shook the more he spoke. "I didn't want to bother you with unfounded theories."

"Do you know why I asked you to help Bodrick in the first place?" Stalwart asked.

"I never question your wisdom, Supreme Leader," Flugel said.

"I've given those demons to Bodrick," Stalwart said then rose from his chair. "I made sure he met the right person for the job. I'd given him a jewel in which he could imprison more demons. I had even made sure no one from Merinsk got in his way.

"All I asked is that you give him a couple of decoys to play a certain part in a bigger plan. Thanks to your involvement, you've altered the course of the future. You may have thought you were saving your precious leaders.h.i.+p role, but all you did was ruin my plans, Lord Flugel."

"I did as you asked, Supreme Leader. I only gave Bodrick the two men he asked for," Flugel said. His voice broke every other word. He had to clutch his fists to keep them from shaking. He couldn't believe Stalwart found out. He wouldn't believe it. He's made sure no one knew of this entire story.

"I didn't ask you to go spying on me," Stalwart said. "I didn't ask you to ruin my plans. And I most certainly didn't ask you to try and find out who leads the branch in Merinsk."

Flugel's heart jumped to his throat.

"You think you've kept your middle name a secret," Stalwart went on, his voice raising in volume and intensity. "You may even think that you've infiltrated my operation in Sosalk with impunity, but you didn't bet on me figuring out your ingenious plan."

"Supreme Leader, I…" Flugel began but Stalwart held him from the back of his head and smashed it against the dining table.

"When I give instructions," Stalwart said. "I expect them to be followed to the letter."

"Supreme Leader…" Flugel raised his b.l.o.o.d.y head to look at Stalwart, his eyes pleading. "I wasn't spying on you. I was merely looking out for your interests. I heard the branch in Merinsk was planning something –"

"Blah, blah, blah," Stalwart interrupted. He put his hand around Horst's throat then lifted him up. "How about we test this theory of yours," he said. "Let me see inside you, and if you're telling the truth, I'll leave you unharmed. If not… well… you know what happens."  

"P-p-please, Supreme Leader…" Flugel begged.

"Fitzel Horst Flugel," Stalwart said in a steely hiss. "I never thought you'd be so stupid to use your middle name. I mean, you were barely in the picture. I wouldn't have noticed if you didn't use your cursed middle name.

"You could have used anything, like, Zedd Darkstar for example. That's also an inconspicuous name, don't you agree?"

"Supreme Leader…" Horst whispered.

His legs flailed as Stalwart held him up a little higher off the ground. Stalwart released his grip then, but Horst remained floating, choking. Stalwart rubbed his hands together then clapped once. The resulting sound wave traveled across the room, breaking china, gla.s.s, and every other fragile piece of furniture.

Horst's eyes wavered, and his heart started pounding against his eardrums. Stalwart's floated in front of him in an ethereal form, while his physical body remained on the ground, hands clasped. The ghost, or apparition,– Horst couldn't be bothered naming it at that moment – glided toward him. He saw Stalwart extend his phantom hand and insert it inside his head. He felt a cold, steely sensation run all over his spine.

Then pain kicked in. It felt as though thousands of sharp needles stung him underneath his skin. They started gnawing on his flesh then, but he didn't bleed. His muscles didn't even get damaged, but he felt the pain all along. The deeper the needles got, the less in command Horst felt. He could fell the pain, but he couldn't even move his body.

n.o.body could survive Stalwart's probing. When he gets into someone's soul, Theolonius Stalwart always leaves it scarred. Horst had indeed ignored his leader's orders. He had a feeling that Stalwart wanted to replace him. He needed to know before it was too late.

If Stalwart wanted you dead, the only option left was to hide.

Horst knew that business in Rolar hadn't been so great ever since he a.s.sumed leaders.h.i.+p. Not everybody respected the outcast. Once Stalwart was gone, he had to fend for himself to avoid being replaced.

It was fair game that anybody who feels strong enough can kill the leader and a.s.sume leaders.h.i.+p. He could keep the competing families at bay, but there was no fighting back against Stalwart. The mad wizard wanted to offer leaders.h.i.+p to someone who wasn't afraid to cross some impossible lines. The day Horst was asked to help Bodrick, he knew something was up.

"Supreme Leader," Horst said, grunting. "I only wanted to help."

"Hush now child," Stalwart said. His voice boomed across the room. "Help me by showing me this Darkstar. I want to see how much he's grown. If you survive this, I'll give you a gift of power. Cheer up, you may have a chance to compete in the Holi Wars."

That was no empty promise, Horst knew it. If only he could give Stalwart had asked. He would have told him everything about this Darkstar without probing. He wasn't sure he had what it took to get out of it unscathed. The theory was that anybody could actually survive a probing. The problem was that in order for Horst to survive it, he would have to look into Stalwart's soul.

n.o.body ever retained their sanity after this. Stalwart was too wicked, too crazy. That was why they called him the mad wizard. Everybody wanted to know what goes on in his mind, but n.o.body could survive the experience.  This made his legend even more formidable.

"So," Stalwart's voice shook inside Horst's body. "Will you let me see him? Or do I have to force it out of you?"

"I'll… I'll let… you…" Horst answered with great difficulty.

"Splendid," the mad wizard replied. "Don't you fight back now, or it'll hurt more than it's supposed to."

Horst felt Stalwart's energy invade him. It felt like a cold, venomous liquid had been poured into his veins. Images flashed past his eyes next. There was a sea of dead monsters next to piles of human bodies. He saw two young men fighting side by side against a horde of quadrupeds with spikes instead of fur. He felt the man's anguish as he was nearing his limit. He felt his will to survive, to go back and fulfill his goal.

He saw a beautiful maiden smile at him. Then he felt his heart fill with despair. More images flashed past Horst then. He saw the same men standing side by side, standing up to some big shadow. The shadow spoke some angry words, but Horst couldn't understand them, for they were spoken in a foreign language.

He saw the beautiful maiden once more. Her previously immaculate skin was now replaced by wrinkles. Her face had shrunk to the image of an old lady at death's doorstep. Yet she smiled, and with every smile, he felt that despair again.

He saw the old friend he recognized as his blood brother. He smiled, happy to see an old friend, but the friend came with news that didn't please him. So they started arguing, screaming inaudible words.

Horst felt sad, anguished, but above all, he felt helpless. With helplessness came despair. With the growing despair, Horst started feeling angry. He knew he could see that smile again, he just wasn't strong enough.

The mood quickly changed, and Horst was now in a green meadow, filled with flowers of all sizes and colors. He was standing before a grave stone. Her name had been kept secret, for her own protection. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could no longer remember how her laughter sounded, but he remembered it made him happy. He tried remembering, but every time he did, he only saw a distant shadow whose features were blurred.

She was gone, and he couldn't accept it. Her tomb stone crumbled. The flowers and gra.s.s turned to ash. Ash scattered with the wind, and the world turned dark. Then he realized, to his utmost despair, that he couldn't remember what she looked like. He realized that he no longer remembered her voice, or her smell, or how her fingers felt against his face. He clutched his hair and tore it. He screamed, yet no sound came out.

Then the images came back. He was in some kind of laboratory now. He felt his determination growing stronger. He had to find a way to get her back, get back at them. A long worm like creature, perhaps ten feet long, lay on a marble table. He was dissecting it, taking notes of every twitch in its muscles. The lab was filled with monster heads in jars, vertebrae, and strange organs that looked out of this world.

He understood that in order to bring her back, he'd need to become stronger. In order to become stronger, he needed to understand more, experiment more. Monsters and animal carca.s.ses weren't enough. So he switched to experimentations on sentient beings, and that's when everything made sense.

Sentient beings fought to survive, to be on top of the food chain. It was the law of nature, survival of the fittest. He couldn't allow such a gentle spirit to live in such a world. If she were to ever come back and brighten his days, he'd need to build a perfect world for her.

He couldn't wait two more centuries, and perhaps hope for the best. No amount of portraits, clothes that she used to own, or even parts of her body that he kept with him, could bring her voice back, her laughter, her smell. He had to bring her back and he had to do it correctly. I could wait, but he wouldn't wait and hope. He'd wait and plan very carefully.

More images flew past then he was back at the lab. He was older now. He could feel it. He had more experience in dissecting the living. He was no longer interested in understanding basic anatomy. He was after something grander… something that could have a bigger impact on the upcoming Wars. He was busy dissecting a weak looking young man when his friend burst in.

They had a heated argument. Then the friend left. At first, he felt abandoned, sad, lonely. He closed himself off the world and kept on experimenting. The more he experimented, the more he understood how nature worked. It was ruthless, pragmatic. Only the strong remained, while the weak got filtered out.

He understood that in order to beat nature at its own game, he needed to become its architect. He couldn't bring her back to a world where the weak got slaughtered. He was going to build a new world for her. He was going to make it better, peaceful. He didn't care if the others hated him for it, they'd understand once he rebuilt the world.

He'd become the G.o.d they always hoped for, and she'd sit beside him as G.o.dess, ruler of all that is beautiful.