The Fallile King

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It’s pretty. But fuck I am tired of looking at that damn sky. Every night the sky thinks it’s the main character in this abysmal world. In reality, it's the villain, and everyone is too stupid to see it.

My fingers tighten on the glass of whiskey in my hand as my eyes narrow on that god-forsaken sky. The people below cheer and clap like the seals they are. What a bunch of idiots. I wanna shout at them and tell that the truth. But will they listen? No. They wanna believe in their savior. The Fallile. They came from the sky a hundred years ago to grace us with their gifts. We should have killed them when they arrived. But we were blindsided by their pointed ears and illusions. They smoked screened us into believing that we needed them to survive. The reality is they need us. They are parasites. Bloodsuckers.

Fooling the easy-minded into believing that the gods are pleased when the sky is kissed with purple. They are just a bunch of fake gods for fake leaders. And they want me dead because I know the truth. Every full moon, when they select two so-called chosen, they are not gifted any powers or destined to venture out on a mission given to them by the gods. No, they are used as food and drained of blood until they die. That's why they only select those between the ages of 16-28. Young and fresh.

I take a swig of my whiskey, it burns the back of my throat, and my eyes flutter with pleasure. I stare down at the crowd gathering below me. They push and shove, trying to claw their way to the stage where “King” Sugere will announce the chosen two. He will crown them with red flowers and then whisk them away to their death.

“So, what’s the plan again?”

I turn away from the crowd to face Devon. His blonde hair is buzzed at the sides, giving him a mohawk. It’s a new look. Not sure I like it. His blue eyes are outlined in black, making his skin appear paler than usual. I recruited him a year ago, just after his sister was chosen. He took the wrong turn going home and saw his sister being dragged into a black van with blood dripping from her neck and a Fallile licking his lips. He tried telling the world, but I found him before death did. It didn’t take much convincing for him to join the Solis.

The Solis is an organization that I started about five years ago. It’s a rebellion of sorts. We steal from the Fallile and give it back to the people of Spes Perit. Your modern-day Robin Hood but with guns and crossbows; instead of Robin Hood, it's Sol Offertor. It’s not the name I was born with, but the name I chose.

I down the last of my whisky before I answer. The burn travels down my throat, leaving a trail of pleasure. “As soon as the chosen are crowned, I will release the trap door. The chosen will drop into the sewers, where I have Lui and Stace knock them out and bring them here. And we are the distraction.”

He huffs out a laugh as his eyes take in the stage behind me. I see anger brewing within them. My hand comes down on his shoulder, and he directs his attention to me. “I know you're angry, but don’t let that affect you.”

His eyes close as he takes a deep breath. “I know it’s just. I couldn’t save her.”

I drop my hand and turn back to the crowd below. “I know, which is why we are saving them.”

His adam’s apple bobs in thought as his eyes glaze over the cheering crowd. A black van pulls up behind the stage, and the crowd explodes in cheers. I stare down at the van as the door swings open, and a Fallile guard steps out. He is dressed in all black with two silver guns strapped in holsters. He moves to the back door and opens it. A red pointed boot steps out of the dark interior. My teeth grind as King Sugere appears. He is dressed in his usual dark red suit. The color seems to be the very blood he drinks. His white hair is down, reaching past his shoulders in a shiny curtain, and atop his head is a bronze crown with rubies inlaid. Even his pointed ears are decorated with small red gems. The crowd goes silent as they bow their heads to the pretender.

He walks out on stage, a smug grin on his poisonous lips. His arms raise, and the crowd slowly stands. His lips peel back in a smile showing his elongated canines. He steps towards the “holy water,” where the names appear. In reality, a screen will randomly show two names just below the water bowl. His foot hits a small button on the stage, and fires shot up around the bowl. The crowd gasps while my eyes roll at the sight of such foolery.

Surgere leans forward to gaze into the bowl. He looks up at the waiting crowd. When he speaks, the crowd stills as if he needs perfect silence. “Todays chosen are Volare Liber and Karave Aduc.”

The crowd erupts in cheers and prayers while a young man and woman are pushed to the stage. The young man is dressed in rags. His face is stained with ash, and his hair is grayed from most likely working in the mines—a nobody. But the girl, she is somebody. Her red hair is pulled up and decorated with white pearls. Her skin is soft and draped in white satin. Her parents must be beaming that their daughter was chosen. She, however, doesn’t look too happy. Her eyes dart to everyone in the crowd as she tries to take in what's happening.

Sugere’s voice booms over the crowd, and I nudge Devon to be prepared. I grab the crossbow from my back and notch an arrow into place. “Congratulations. You are chosen. You will do a great many things for the great city of Spes Perit.” His hands dance around the air as he casts an illusion of red flowers growing on the heads of the two chosen. The flowers bloom and curl upon their heads, and the simple illusion hypnotizes the crowd. The chosen then move to the front of the stage for final applause from the idiotic gathering.

They step into the trap door. I double-tap the ring on my pointer finger, singling Lui and Stace to drop the trap. Within seconds the trap door opens, and the chosen are swallowed by the darkness of the sewers. And just as fast as they open, they close just the same. Screams of fear and shock sprinkle through the crowd, and I smile when I hear my name whispered. I release my arrow, and it flies through the illusion of the fake King finding its mark in the knee of the Fallile guard. He goes down, yawling in pain as his hand moves to his gun. If only it was the real King. Devon and I jump on the ledge and descend into the screaming crowd.

Let the mayhem begin.