The Failed Two

The door opened. 

Violent tremors shook the castle as loud grunts and yells echoed throughout the castle's walls. A sombre, dark figure treads the ground aimlessly, approaching that distant noise. At the end of the hallway, an onyx knight sat and watched him with a dumbfounded posture as she shifted uncomfortably.

Slowly, he approached. His gaze was directionless and cast only towards the ground. After progressing most of the way, he finally turned to acknowledge the seated figure, who quickly avoided his gaze. She awkwardly struggled to reject his single-armed presence for a moment until she could no longer resist. 

"So... that's how it went. I'm sorry, Machia."

Machia looked her up and down. Not a shred of emotion adorned his face despite the horrendous wound that secularised his arm from him. Despite the raging clash in the ensuing room, no clever, calculated act betrayed his miserable visage. 

"No you're not. It seems she knew what kind of person I was since the beginning. I guess she was the one person I couldn't deceive."

A lingering silence continued throughout the hallway. Helena's figure was thick with anticipation as she suffered from Machia's daunting presence as he towered over her.

'Danger'

Eventually, Machia sat down, leaning back against the opposing wall before Helena. The relief that coated her figure was short-lived.

"So let me guess, you formed an agreement with the King. In return for allowing him a chance to strike at the Emperor, you will be permitted to permanently return to your family after assisting against the fiend."

As Helena heard Machia speak, she gradually lowered her head guiltily. Despite his careless, despondent posture, Machia's words clearly pressured Helena immensely. 

"So you already know that much-"

"I'm not done. Regardless of who wins, you instead intend to kill off the victor. That is why you sit here... waiting. That's also why you look so fearful. That is why you refuse to even look at me, isn't it?

As Machia's stare intensified and his words grew colder, Helena failed to respond, opting instead for a fearful silence.

"The reason you didn't assist me on the battlefield today, as instructed, is it because you thought I'd die Helena?" 

Helena finally responded by shaking her head, eager to dispel Machia's insinuation. "It's, it's not like that."

"Is that so?. Well alright, regardless I have a proposition for you. But, understand your welcome to refuse."

Helena nervously raised her head. Guilt radiated from her figure. Finally, she looked towards Machia's white pupils. As eerie as they appeared, that flicker of madness, just this once, it also conveyed a sense of overwhelming calm.

"Will you join me?"

"Huh"

With a look of both confusion and condemnation, Helena eyed Machia. His calm, forthright posture soon revealed the truth to her. 

"Wait! You, Machia, you intend to do the same."

Machia sent her a knowing gaze as he raised himself to his feet. The distant sounds of desperate clashing ended, signalling the start of an inevitable new conflict. With insurmountable confidence, Machia placed his hands on the door Helena had been guarding. 

"Helena, I'll take that as a yes. I look forward to working together once again."

Helena raised to her feet. Holding out a hand towards Machia. "Wait, it doesn't have to be you. Let me do it for you, this time I can help you."

"No, it must be me. Besides, I have nothing left to lose. But you do, go see them while you still have the chance."

With a gentle declaration, Machia opened the door as he entered the real throne room, leaving Helena in the hallway alone. 

################

Dark shadows covered the throne room. A gruff cackle could be heard from the rear of the room. A cracked, unstable throne opened into Machia's view. Seated precariously on that throne, a deranged, muttering, burley old man could be seen. Grinning insatiably to himself, the man failed to notice Machia's presence entirely as he examined his hands meticulously. 

Nonchalantly, he looked towards the corpses lying face down across the room. Many robed figures lay still, arranged at random. Most notably, a limbless purple figure was still twitching as it was cruelly raised and then slammed into the ground. The figures' clothes were dishevelled, and purple fabric lay scattered across the room. 

"Congratulations Father."

The King's eyes widened as he turned to Machia, still scant of breath. 

"What? Machia when did you get here. You could have helped out, you know?"

With a sigh, Machia dismissed himself from the King's accusatory gaze.

"I was busy, remember? With subduing Amelia, as you should know."

The King blinked distrustfully. After muttering to himself for a moment, he stared back at Machia with a hint of fear. 

"Ah, right, of course. I'm really sorry, I assume you were successful."

"No, can't you tell? I failed. She escaped with Perses."

The King stared in disbelief. Only then did he notice Machia's pale, bloodied state, not to mention his missing arm.

"You FOOL, how could you have failed? You must have done it on purpose, disobedient rat. How DARE YOU conspire against me your only family!"

"Calm yourself Father."

The King looked behind him in disbelief as if to share it with someone. But there was no one there. 

"...Well, father, you're not entirely wrong."

The King turned slowly back to Machia. This time, his stare withheld a different, more focused gleam. His eyes extinguished themselves of fear as they meticulously scanned Machia's figure.

"What did you say, Machia. What did you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that... you took too long Father. Your efforts to claim the throne, I'm afraid they have already gone to waste."

"..."

With a cruel yet tense stare, the King prepared to unleash a storm of words. His face grew beet red. Every time he opened his mouth, he prepared to release an onslaught of yells, he paused and then repeated this motion over and over. The King soon turned perpetually silent as his old, sickly face twisted further in rage.

"Back then I hated that man too."

Machia sent a telling gaze towards the Emperor's desecrated figure. The King showed no notice of his words but maintained his silent, rageful demeanour.

"The moment that fool strutted in that fateful day, I knew. I could tell he was pathetic. He was nothing compared to the strong, stoic figure I was used to. I thought to myself, if only Father, my Father, was in charge, the people of the Empire would undoubtedly live better lives. When he sat on that throne, your throne, back then, I was filled with hatred.

Condemned into silence, the King watched Machia with cautious spite. That deranged fear in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. The ambition that boiled inside the old man smouldered any reservations as his face lit up with challenge.

"Charisma, courage and cunning. You don't know how grateful I was to receive these things from you dad. It deeply saddens me, that you turned out to be... such a disappointment."

Machia was flung into the air. Standing straight with both hands interlocked and focused on Machia, the King yelled with hatred. 

"YOU DARE BETRAY ME AFTER I'VE MADE IT THIS FAR. BASTARD CHILD!"

Machia cast a validated, pitiful gaze down at the man, completely appalled. Ignoring the situation, he continued to speak as he was raised higher.

"Why act like a fool Father? You can't defeat the entity on its way here without my help anyway. What's the point of ruling if that thing destroys everything?"

As Machia spoke, rubble flung itself towards him. But, it was no ordinary rubble. Its shiny metallic gleam informed Machia of its true identity. The King's ace, in all likelihood it was what he had used on Perses.

Two shadow-like whips sprung from behind Machia and effortlessly swatted away the stones as hands rose from the ground and pulverised them.

"You're the one that taught me never to win through force what can be won through deception. And, yet, now you challenge me? Disregarding the consequences. You even thought a few rocks could defeat me. It doesn't even qualify as preparation. Disappointing."

With a frown, Machia raised his hand. Shadows sprung from behind the King and painfully lodged themselves into his calves. With a grunt, the King fell to his knees. Despite those grievous wounds, he still did not release his hold on Machia.

"You had Perses in the very palm of your hands. We both did. Yet, that malicious, manipulative way of doing things, it changed us. Do you realise it now, Father? We've both already lost everything. All that we care about is gone, smothered by our own malice."

"LOST, LOSTTTT! I HAVEN'T LOST I'AM THE EMPEROR NOW, MEE! EVERYTHING MY TEACHER HAS, IT'S ALL MINE NOW!"

With an astounding yell, the King threw Machia towards the ground with a burning, insatiable will. Acknowledging his fiery words, Machia allowed himself to be thrown to the ground. As he connected with the floor, it burst apart as his strengthened body eviscerated the stone and dirt below him. Impressively the King continued to dig a human-sized crater through the stone and dirt with Machia's figure. 

But beyond his notice, a slow, serpent-like shadow slithered across the floor behind him. Gradually it coiled its way up his leg. Thirty long years flooded the King's mind. It caused him to smile innocently for the first time in so long. Oblivious to the shadow that slithered up his body, he remembered it all at once.

He remembered arriving at the kingdom alongside mere children and a single retainer, a disciple of his very own. These children, his citizens, his future, they knew nothing of the Empire nor the Emperor's hidden motivations. What they did know would soon be forgotten. He had filled them with aspirations and promises thirty years ago, and he had delivered on those promises. Many of those had inevitably passed from disease, fiends or otherwise, and he was left to protect their children. 

Even now, he'd never forgotten them. Ten years later, he was handed over the sleeping Blessed. Ten years after that, during the process of moving them into the sanctuary, Machia had awoken.

This marked the beginning. That novel sensation of Machia's arrival it had brought him hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could really do it, become the Emperor. Be the teacher that he never had for Machia. Hostage to his own delusions, the coiled shadow slowly wrapped itself around him. And then, it pierced his heart.