Half of a King

I am Khaides Ilrex. Slayer of deities. Bane of empires. Spawn of the high demon Surakiel. The Thronekiller. Death itself could not prevail against me. Any mortal who would attempt to do the same is a fool.

I have no equal.

I am king in the vast land of Eilhun. I stand under my flag. It is a vibrant crimson, adorned with the fanged face of our patron god Uktiin. I have a throne, but I do not sit upon it often. To rule all, I must conquer all first. I cannot do that while resting on some glorified chair. I do not care for it. I have many other, less superficial treasures that I can put to use.

These treasures are the abilities of other kings and queens I have stolen with my touch. I stole their colonies next. After I claimed Xinzhong, I could transform my body into any weapon of my choice. After I claimed Seohung, I could turn any man into stone with my eyes. After I claimed Ilion, I could comprehend and speak any language with my tongue. Taeju opted to let me in without resistance after my messengers told them of the havoc I wreaked upon those who denied me.

The high demon Surakiel objected to being called a treasure, so I refer to him as a guest instead. At the age of twenty, I sacrificed my heart as a vessel to him to rid my domain of a plague. In the process, he broke all of my bones, sucked the soul out of me, stuffed my soul back in, and sewed all my bones together again. I emerged from the temple unscathed, but to say it was a painful experience would be an understatement. To this day, Surakiel claims it was an accident, but he is a demon so I do not believe him. We do not hate each other, but we are not particularly fond of each other either. It is a partnership built on mere tolerance. I am still grateful for it.

I would have nothing if he abandoned me.

Death cannot prevail against me, but abandonment has bound me all my life. It is the only thing that frightens me. Death leaves wounds. Wounds can be mended. Wounds, once healed, leave no trace. Abandonment, however, scars. Scars are beyond healing. Scars stay with you forever.

I conceal mine under a black veil. They carve themselves into the left side of my face. They are the reason my father, the former king, disappeared after I was born. They are why my mother left me to die in a cave in a futile, shallow effort to earn his affection once more.

The only mortal I can think of who didn't flinch and look away every time I lifted my veil was the soft-hearted old monk who raised me for fifteen years when nobody else wanted to. And he was blind.

When the sun fell and the moon rose, he would tell me ancient Eilhunite tales to help me rest. His limbs may have been frail, but his voice to me seemed mightier than the gods themselves. And though the night was bitter, he always left me with sweet dreams.

"A long, long time ago, Surakiel, evil incarnate, laid waste to his wise half-brother Uktiin's realm. The pantheon tried to restrain the foul venomous demon with all its power. They fought for eons and eons, but all it did was delay the destruction. Uktiin proposed an alternative. They would create another beast, a high angel, the embodiment of good, and send it to slay Surakiel. Her name was Asudem. Where Surakiel was hideous, she was beautiful. Where he was cruel, she was compassionate. He was dark as the underworld. She was radiant as the morning. She was his opposite. And his equal."

"Did Asudem defeat him?" I asked. The old monk laughed heartily.

"Oh, she could have. Without question. But Asudem understood something that Uktiin did not. Surakiel may have been evil, but that evil was necessary to keep the cosmos in a balance. If she slew him, she would only bring about greater corruption." My brow furrowed.

"Then what did she do?"

"She did her battle with her lips. She addressed him with gentle, soothing words. She praised his strength and pride, but she did not stoop to simply stroking his ego. She chided him for his brutish rage and lack of conscience. They came to an agreement. Surakiel would not attack the entire realm anymore. He would only punish the unjust. Asudem would reward the righteous."

"Some epic tale," I snapped, scowling at the monk. "I expected a duel, not a conversation."

"Then they got married," the monk continued, ignoring me. My eyes widened. I almost retched.

"They what?"

"I'm joking. They went on to be very close companions. So close, in fact, that when Asudem passed away, Surakiel still kept his end of the bargain. And Uktiin learned that sometimes, a few kind words can do more in a minute than brutish rage can in centuries."

"That's an idiotic moral," I spat. "I will leave this wretched cave and I will show you just how much brutish rage can accomplish, foolish old man. I will slay the king and claim his throne."

"You would slay your own father, Khaides? Your kin, your flesh, and blood, to claim a lifeless, empty throne?" the monk asked gravely. My eyes narrowed.

"Without remorse. And I will claim many more thrones after it," I seethed. "I will be the greatest conqueror this world has ever seen. I will put my filthy mother to shame. Shame that will torment her for the rest of their lives as she has tormented me." I clasped the monk's warm, wrinkled hands in mine and brushed my thumbs over his knuckles. My voice grew more solemn.

"And when I am king, you will not rot in this putrid hole any longer. You will share my palace with me. You will have any of my servants to wait on you. You will have whatever you desire. I will repay you."

The monk sighed.

"I do not want you to repay me, Khaides." He smiled softly at me. "I only want you to have a companion of your own. To know that you are deserving of company, deserving of love, even if your parents did not provide it for you."

The monk always woke up earlier than me to make breakfast. I open my eyes when I smelled the savory food cooking over the bright, crackling fire. We would sit together and eat spicy, roasted vegetables with hot tea. Admire the scenery as the moon fell and the sun rose.

One morning, I woke up to the sound of my stomach growling. A burnt, ashy pile of deadwood left over from yesterday's dinner greeted me instead of lively flames. I fell to my knees by the side of the man's bed. I clasped his wrinkled hands in mine and brushed my thumbs over his knuckles. They'd become cold. And after I cremated him, I did not grieve, did not weep, because my heart became cold with them.

He did not abandon me out of his own volition, but he abandoned me nonetheless. But he did not leave me with nothing. He left me with a hunger. A hunger that stayed with me forever, long after I left the wretched cave.

When I was eighteen, I masqueraded as a warrior in my cursed father's palace. Protected him from his rivals. Earned his trust. Poisoned his drink. Then when he fell ill, I smothered him in his sleep. I claimed his throne. Then I claimed many more after it. I had my mother thrown into a dungeon and left her to starve to death in it as she left me. I became the greatest conqueror Eilhun had ever known. I became king. I had a palace. I had servants. I could have whatever I desired, but the hunger continued to gnaw at me from the inside out, because I had no one to share it with except for the demon stirring under my heart.

A demon, perhaps, not unlike me. All brutish rage, laying waste to my kin. I am foul and venomous. I am destructive. I am hideous. I am cruel. I am dark as the underworld.

I can fill my stomach with all the riches in the world and I'll still be hungry. My throne is empty and lifeless. I am still rotting in a putrid hole, a wretched cave. One of my own making. And it is only now, standing under a red banner, beneath Uktiin's fangs, under my veil, that I begin to grieve. To weep.

I am Khaides Ilrex. Slayer of deities. Bane of empires. Spawn of the high demon Surakiel. The Thronekiller.

I have no equal, but I have no opposite. No one to balance my psyche. No one to quell the corruption growing within me. No one who can look at the left side of my face without flinching. No one who will love me. No companion. No company.

I am half of a king.