“Hoo boy! I’m fucking livid after that last pick am I right or am I left?” Mister Falcone jestered as he walked over to the roulette machine, his eyes fixated on the audience.
“I’m still in a state of such awe, how could you leave me hanging for so long!”
The Host stood in the middle, leaning his body on top of roulette machine.
“For those joining back to our programme, my name is Mister Falcone. I am the host of this show, “The World is Yours!”. An amazing ‘gameshow’ where we bring up important figures and either make them re-evaluate their lives… or do some simple trivia!”
Falcone’s pure white eyes laid on the trillions of faces in the audience, as they began to cheer.
“Yes! Our remaining contestants on this fine—fine machine are: Zorc, Hecate, Pollux, Adolla the Madness and finally Felix Nightingale. What a selection of players, well let’s not twist ourselves in their future fates and let’s see their past.. mistakes.”
Mister Falcone sighed, he looked up at the ceiling. Aside from the duct to hold the Iron Mallet, there was a star in the same place where it was on the floor.
Bright yellow.
The roulette machine had the resting faces of Pollux, Adolla and Hecate in monstrous caricatures.
“Enough stalling cause I ain’t Joseph, let’s get the ball rolling boys!”
The Host slammed the handle down. The roulette moved like a slot machine, it was a slot machine— many faces of the contestants flung at incalculable speeds but…
The first bar set…
A cartoony stack of money.
The second bar set…
A detailed drawing of a dead flower.
The third and final bar set…
A bright-blue helmet, for an exo-suit.
“FELIX— NIGHTINGALE!” Both Mister Falcone and the roulette machine blurted.
A smile across the host’s face— it never went but it grew further. Grew more, as he turned his gaze from the slot machine which still remained and toward Felix who sat in the right-hand side.
The seal on his mouth removed, showing his snarling face.
Felix Nightingale relaxed his body, “Am I seriously being some form of a jester here?”
“I wouldn’t be so angry, oh ho nyo!” Mister Falcone giggled, pointing toward the crowd.
The crowd was heavily cheering, as a chute from the crimson ceiling dropped down the same Atlas helmets that Felix wore. But more bootleg and lower budget.
They all worn it regardless, giddy and chanting Felix’s name like a chorus.
Felix Nightingale’s snarl changed into a soft smile, cockily closing his eyes. “You see.. even the lower-class understands my importance.”
“But would you truly say you are a Bourgeoisie anymore?” The Host leaned closer to the man’s face. “Isn’t all you worked for gone?”
Felix’s face dropped, “Get.. on with it.”
“BEGIN!”
The television screen above stopped showing static, and began to play a memory.
A younger Nightingale was sitting in a pristine chair, around a table. As many other older gentleman sat, complaining. Approximately ten, including himself.
One man at the front, standing as the board behind him showed stock values. While there were two women at the door, guarding the entrance into the room. The windows sealed shut from the outside view.
“What’s going on with Asaldom?” One of the men dressed in a black suit beckoned, screwed face toward the man opposite. “It’s getting worse—”
“Of course it’s getting worse, that’s the point!”
“Yeah.. isn’t it supposed to be because of Phillips?” Felix casually spoke, waving his hands around.
“Even the kid knows!” The prior man raised his hand. “It suits Miles’ brand if he’s the only one that made it out the slums, if we just let it grow… what’ll happen then!?”
“Don’t you think that’s immoral?” The blonde older man at the front snapped his hands, causing everyone including Felix to divert their attention to him. “God, we are Nightingale Corporation… not some explorative scumbags.”
“Father, you speak so loudly.” Felix groaned.
“Don’t think I forgot about what you’ve done.”
“Say it then.”
“Embezzling funds from the business to fund your gadgets…”
After Sir Nightingale spoke that, the crowd began to mummer.
“Silence.”
“It’s not like you’re doing anything important with the money, I’m putting it to good use.” Felix filed his fingers.
“If this gets out, do you imagine the controversy? The only reason you are in this room is because you are unfortunately my kid.”
“Harsh, father.”
“Why don’t you just force him to sell his ‘gadgets’?” One of the men sitting spoke. “It’s putting the money back in where it’s supposed to be.”
“You think I’d seriously allo—”
“You could also instead be arrested, for embezzlement.”
Felix Nightingale chuckled, “I’m an Aristocrat, one of the most wealthy in Floria. Would I seriously be—”
“If I allowed it…” Sir Nightingale spoke, “We could be making more money than the agricultural and weaponery sides…”
“F—Father?”
Bzzt Bzzt.
The crowd gasped, unknown of what emotion to feel.
“Oh ho nyo!” Mister Falcone held onto his chest, leaning on Felix. “You really are a piece of shit!”
“Bringing me back some memories…” Nightingale’s eye twitched, “What? You want me to apologise?”
“I want you to say what was going through your head!”
“I’ll be honest, I did sell out.”
Some members of the audience laughed.
Felix clutched his fist, closing his eyes. “But as an inventor, someone that has revolutionised science to a degree that nobody could ever. I don’t regret anything, I’m only pursuing what I want to do.
Whatever I want… always happens.”
“I mean before you came out of the cocoon, all you had were little jetpacks and biddies. You weren’t like an Einstein.”
“Whose Einstein?”
“Yes, making artificial ways for flight secretly is quite impressive but you do act like you are a God.”
“I mean… I was supposed to be.”
Mister Falcone turned to the audience, “Interesting guy, or is he? Let’s roll another tape…”
Felix Nightingale was standing in a dark compact room, surrounded by dozens of fighting individuals.
He stood to the side, watching the carnage unfold before…
“Ahem!”
He loudly coughed, diverting everyone’s attention towards him.
“Hello, trial takers…”
“What’s this kid on?” A burly older man gripped onto an iron axe.
“I’m giving every single one of you one second to exit through that door, or you’re going to be dead.”
Nightingale tilted his head toward the tunnel entrance behind him, as the light flooded in. “Come on, I’ll start counting to one soon.”
The participants of the trial stood quietly, confused.
“Is this… that one serial killer who goes into these things?” A little boy spoke, in his hands was a mace.
“Hansel, I don’t think so.” A little girl stood beside him. “That guy supposedly is a… demon. This guy is just… weird.”
Felix was dressed in a pale-blue suit, a brown back-pack behind him.
“As soon as I take off this bag, everyone here will be dead.”
“Uh.” The older man walked up to Felix, holding the axe toward his chest. “Are you… suicidal?”
“I am Nightingale— Felix Nightingale, a prolific trial taker. I assure you that nothing of true value awaits the behind the wooden door ahead of us.”
“Why’d I believe you?”
“Listen, I have spoken long enough. If you people do not wish to, I will eviscerate everyone here.”
“What are you?”
But when everyone blinked, Felix was gone.
Leaving instead only the backpack, that began to rattle around on the bloody floor.
“Gretel..” Hansel began to walk close to the bag, pushing his sister away.
Ding!
BOOOM!
Bzzt Bzzt.
The crowd roared, some throwing their helmets up in elation whilst others slammed it down in disgrace.
“Not the first child-murderer we’ve seen, and certainly not the last!” Mister Falcone walked away from Felix, folding his arms.
“Is this supposed to make me look bad? I gave them a war—”
“You said you were a prolific trial taker, how many have you killed in such a… pathetic manner?”
“W—What?”
The Host contorted his body in such a way, bending his back all the way down. His eyes locking on Felix’s face, analysing even the sweat-droplets gushing his cheek.
“I mean… you can’t even face them.”
“I was weaker back then,” Felix spoke politely, “I couldn’t survived such an explosion. It destroyed the trial area so badly that it took months to remake.”
“Being rich really allows you to get away with anything, with the way trials were looking… maybe it shouldn’t of just been the Imp being hunted down.”
Felix stared down at the table, “I did it before, saw nothing came out of it but upon my first time. I got really… engaged with it, so I did it to the point that half of Floria was kaboomed at one point.”
“Maybe all of that built up the karma of losing the entire Nightingale Corporation.”
“I know your games, I’ve seen how everyone else reacted… I’m not losing my mind to you!”
“I’ll see, with the last one. Oh ho nyo!”
Felix’s father was sitting down on a luxurious sofa, watching television. The flat screen on the wall, blaring out a video.
“I saw it…” A petrified woman was sitting in the video, a dark room. Her face was obscured, leaving only audio.
A three minute video captioned, “Survivor of the Mutilator.”
“I went down to one of the places for the trials and… there he was.” The woman shrieked. “I saw the silhouette of an Imp, just right behind me. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t shriek, I just froze and I could tell it was squealing from my fear.
I didn’t even try touch the light ahead, I just ran. I ran as fast as I could, no way could I turn back. No way could I stop, see the mutilator behind me.
Thing is, it didn’t even chase. It just stood, with those yellow eyes and that smile.”
“When did this happen?” A distorted voice spoke out from the video.
“Couple months ago…”
“God…” Sir Nightingale rolled his eyes, popcorn in his hand. “What are we doing as a society…”
“I don’t know… father.”
Sir Nightingale attempted to turn around but felt a strong grip around his neck.
Suffocating him.
“F—Felix…”
“Sorry dad… it’s for the greater good of Nightingale.”
Sir Nightingale stopped struggling, his body locking up. Before dropping limp onto the couch.
Felix Nightingale stood behind the couch, looking at his father’s corpse. An eerie smile on his face.
Bzzt Bzzt.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Well, I wish to know what you say to that. Nightingale?” Mister Falcone raised a brow, still away from Felix.
Felix chuckled, “Clearly artificial intelligence.”
“Really?”
“My father was an extremely ill man, although I was the entrepreneur for Nightinagle Corporation. I had to go ahead and give him the royalties and CEO status due to my younger age at the time, yet when I became of age. I instantly was restored of my prior status, but my father was very sick.” Felix stared at the audience, who all listened clearly.
“So when we came to a living room one time, we saw his cold lifeless body right there. We did assume it was a rival competitor such as William Belfost, you know William Belfost. The Rico obsessed casino owner, but the autopsy ruled it as natural causes.”
Mister Falcone clapped, “You really can spin a tale.”
“A tale?” Felix feigned confusion, “I simply stated the true events, clearly your screen must be broadcasting fake news.”
“Deny, deny, deny.” Mister Falcone itched his hat, “Reminds me of Richard and Roxanne’s plot from the Reprisal.”
Felix changed the topic, “I easily solved it in seconds.”
“Yet didn’t bother helping anyone else?”
“It’s a dog eat dog world.”
“Do you see yourself as a larger dog?”
Nightingale paused.
“If you are some omniscient observer of everything thats ever happened then you’d one thing for certain…” Felix growled, about to leave his seat. Walking toward Mister Falcone with fury, even shocking the spectators.
“Felix… Nightingale… never lies.” Felix pointed at The Host, his eyes spiralling.
“I’d wish you could reflect but, you don’t retain memories of this place after you leave.” Mister Falcone grumbled, slamming the button on his microphone.
Felix Nightingale was gone.
“Ratings are sky-rocketing, guess they really like scumbags. Moving on..”
The helmets on the floor or in the sky in the audience faded out of existence. Awe expressed throughout all of the audience.
Mister Falcone was already stepped up beside the roulette machine.
“If you are enjoying, hit the repeat button your screens. The universe always has reruns, people!”
The Host slammed the handle down. The roulette moved like a slot machine, it was a slot machine— many faces of the contestants flung at incalculable speeds but…
The first bar set…
A sketch of a skull wrapped in a thorny flame…
The second bar set…
A cartoony cup of tea…
The third and final bar set…
A drawing of a stopwatch..
“Hecate… Cross?” Both Mister Falcone and the roulette machine blurted. “isn’t it Marase?”
A weaker smile across the host’s face— as he turned his gaze from the slot machine that dropped back down. Staring toward Hecate on the right-hand side.
The restraints were off of Hecate, as she was sipping a cup of tea.
“You called?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Oh ho nyo- how did you get that in here?” Mister Falcone let out a belly laugh.
“I assume this isn’t solely by you and like any other television network, it has—”
“Nope! Everything in this dimension is solely run by me, I don’t where I got the audience from though. Ahaha!”
The crowd watched, as the chute dropped down glasses of coffee.
“They have no taste!” Hecate snarled.
“Yet we’re about to see yours, BEGIN!”
The television screen began to play a memory…
Hecate was sitting in a grassy field, dressed in a brown gown. Her hands skimming through the grass as there was a pale child beside her.
“Pandora.” Hecate coldly spoke, a cup of tea lying on the picnic floor. “Don’t get your hair messy.”
The pale girl fiddled with her blonde hair, lying on the ground. “Have you finished that book?”
Hecate gazed to the left, a white novel was laying on the ground. “It’s a classic, not from this world.”
“Cool!”
“You can’t tell anyone about it though, knowledge of the Old World for those that aren’t classified can be fatal.”
Pandora nodded, “Well… what’s the book about?”
“Four ‘Frenchmen’ in a castle… it shows humanity’s deepest desires.” Hecate sipped a cup of tea. “What we long for.”
“What we… long for?”
“Pandora, what is your greatest wish?”
“I want to be a Slavi, just like you.”
“A Slavi… hmm.” Hecate cupped her chin, staring at the sky. “I’d say the Lord did a good job for today, he made the sky extra blue.”
“Like water.”
“I’ll take you to see some water soon, don’t worry.”
Hecate got up from the ground, ushering Pandora to do the same.
“Lead the way, Pan. I gotta get something.”
Pandora eagerly walked away, leaving Hecate to walk and collect the novel.
The cover reading, “The 120 days of Sodom.”
Bzzt Bzzt.
Mister Falcone turned to look at Hecate, with a blank face.
Both people blankly staring at each-other.
“It’s fine to have someone that doesn’t harm children on the show.”
“Didn’t believe it’d be such a frequent topic.”
“Do you have anything to say?”
“No.” Hecate bluntly spoke, staring at the audience then back at Falcone. “Do you?”
“Yes, what happened to the little girl?”
“I have no reason to answer, do I?” Hecate stared up at the screen, her head tilted. “It should play on the screen if you truly pick our most grand moments, wouldn’t you say?”
“Understandable.”
Hecate was standing in a damp garage, in front of her was Medea.
“I… don’t know why you chose this as your place.” Hecate stared around, the mold seeping into the air.
Medea lifted his hands, dressed in a punk attire. “You, Oz and…”
“Prometheus…”
“Yes, where is Prometheus?”
“Don’t know… what I also don’t understand is why we have to travel realms in order to join you.”
“I didn’t come up with the premise of a Reprisal,” Medea joked, “I only came up with the challenges.”
“I don’t enjoy having to run for days on end.” Hecate snarled.
“Well you made it anyway, why care so much?”
“It’s just irritating, travel to Floria and participate in a borderline death-game. Just for what?”
“You can reverse time, you can do so much so I don’t get what’s the scary thing.”
Hecate rolled her eyes, beginning to walk away.
But barged into someone as the garage door opened.
“Move.”
Hecate walked out the way, as a creature walked in.
“There you are… Promo.”
Prometheus was a black griffin, standing on two feet. His arms fluid like tentacles, beady red eyes with lines connecting down to his chin.
“Here I am, you called.”
“Sorry… Miss Cross but may you please leave the room?”
Hecate stared, before walking away.
Bzzt Bzzt.
The audience cooed sadly, dropping down their cups of coffee.
“Prometheus Marase.” Hecate raised her eyebrows. “I haven’t seen him in… time.”
“Because?”
“He was involved in a scandal, basically blackballed from society because of his actions.”
“Do you feel anything from it?”
“I didn’t feel anything at-all, not then or now…”
“Hecate, I have a question for you.” Mister Falcone punched his fist. “The trials were a way to get into the Reprisal, but you are a Medean. So you didn’t do them?”
“Invalians at the time just registered to Eliza, always being turned down. Medeans had ‘trials’ of their own, which just like Floria’s. Indirectly registered survivors into the Reprisal, I’d say ours were a little more rigorous.”
“Why’d you become a Slavi?”
“Eternal youth if you work hard and… you get a free home. But everyone in Ostra already gets one, just that Slavi get higher conditions without all the… ‘tasks’ needed.”
“Everything you say is logical but also confusing.” The Host folded his arms. “Final one.”
Hecate was standing on a Florian bridge, in front of her was a man.
The man coldly spoke, “Do you hate me now?”
“You… betrayed my trust.” Hecate replied detached.
The man was dressed in an all black coat, covered by the night sky. He began to walk away.
“Stay here.”
“Why?” The man didn’t turn around. “Do you want to express emotion for once?”
“You’re the bad guy, why are you acting like it was me who did it?”
“If you’re so negative… why don’t you erase all the time we’ve spent together?”
Hecate’s eyes twitched, “You…”
“Youu… hate me. I cheated on you, I don’t feel remorse. I don’t feel a single thing, not only because I just don’t. But because I can’t.”
“You can’t just blame everything on your—”
“God made this way right… it’d be fair if I went to him and got angry for how he made me.”
Hecate’s mouth creped into a smile, “Just take accountability.”
“Are you smiling, babe?”
The night-sky loomed over the former lovers, as they stood on each side of the bridge. Nobody was around, except the looming bright moon.
Hecate’s face dropped, “I wish never to see you again…”
“Say my name.”
“No.”
“What happened to your first Husband? Where did Sir Marase go?”
Hecate put her hands in her gown, “You know exactly what happened.”
“So you changed your name back to Cross? Hm?”
“I’m leaving…”
“Leave well then, if you don’t…. who knows what could happen to that kid you like.”
Hecate began to walk away, her face finally showing unfiltered rage.
Bzzt Bzzt.
The audience sat stunned.
“You’ve had a life… a life someone wouldn’t really want.” Mister Falcone itched his eyes.
“My mother taught me this phrase a long time ago, ‘We’re born into hell and practically forced to make our way out.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It certainly is a saying…” The Host shook his head, “What happened to Prometheus Marase?”
“He had a scandal, so I changed my name back to Cross.”
Mister Falcone held his microphone, “Goodbye Hecate Cross.”
Pressing the button.
Hecate Cross was gone.
“A real tear-jerker, the ratings really are at an all-time high.” Mister Falcone walked up to the centre, as the roulette machine shot up from the ground.
“Let’s do it.”
SLAM!
The Host slammed the handle down. The roulette moved like a slot machine, it was a slot machine— many faces of the contestants flung at incalculable speeds but…
The first bar set…
A detailed sketch of a halo.
The second bar set…
An illustration of a prideful serpent.
The third and final bar set…
A drawing of onions.
“The Sin of Pride, Zorc!” Both Mister Falcone and the roulette machine blurted. Flinging his head to the left side to see the ogre standing on top of the table like a messiah.
“REVERE ME!” Zorc screeched, “I am free once again! Sublimity!”
“Sublimity, indeed.” The Host awkwardly nodded his head, glancing toward the crowd who awkwardly stared back.
Mister Falcone looked up, “Why’s there nothing coming down the chute.”
“Let us not meander!” Zorc yelled out, “Let us begin with God’s memories!”
The television’s static flipped, into a colourful scene.
“Ogre… Ogre is not a species of Invalia that should be treated like scum…”
Zorc was sat on top of a log within a dense forest. Dressed with a linen robe over his body, surrounded by hundreds of onlooking Ogres. Awaiting and admiring every word coming out of his mouth.
Zorc raised his hand, pointing up at the baby-blue sky. “Not to say that we are bad, but we are beyond moral complexion.”
“Are we something different?” A younger, lime-green child stood out.
“If I was born as an Ogre, it means that being one is a blessing for you all.” Zorc closed his eyes. “Oh…gruh, not solely an Invalian that helps out with manual labour. But a divine chosen by God, for me.”
Zorc asserted himself upper on the log, calmly gesturing his hand over someone beneath him.
“As the Sin of Pride that I’ve been allocated as, I will do my very best for Ogre supremacy. Not to say the lesser kinds weaker, worse. For I am allies with majority of the lesser beings, however we must know our own unity. Within ourselves.”
Bzzt Bzzt.
The screen paused on Zorc’s face, the audience speculating and gossiping amidst amidst.
“Ogre Supremacy?” Mister Falcone raised a brow. “Where did that lead to?”
“They passed away,” Zorc laid on the table the same way he was positioned in the video. “Unfortunately, Samiel didn’t appreciate God. Now she’ll fall.”
“She killed them?”
“Do I have to repeat my own words for your jargon?”
“Is that why you didn’t defend Invalia from being attacked?”
Zorc flung out his hand, staring forward. “Mortals assume the very worst, the incorrect and never the truth. Peacekeepers… Imps paying us… simple propaganda, simple lies that can be disproven with facts. Yet mortals never try…”
“Stay on topi—”
“I ask this to you personally, Host. Would you defend a realm that made you an only-child?”
The Host grimaced, “It depends on circumstance.”
“I saw my children by slaughtered, my children were like my brothers— yet they were never truly my children to begin with. As God I still have emotions, yet picture what emotion you’d feel… for Godlight.”
“Host, when you lose something… you replace with it something superior. Such as yourself.”
Mister Falcone stared the audience who stared back, both ruffled.
“Next… memory.”
Underneath Samiel’s castle laid an expansive tomb. Murals plastered across the ochre walls, that diverged into numerous. catacombs and pathways. In the centre one forward, two figures spoke; hovering above a decaying casket. Only dimmed by the light of torches stuck on the ceilings— facing downward like spikes.
“Biteso.” Zorc floated upside down, folding his legs inward. “Do you believe that there truly was a God?”
The anthropomorphic shark dressed in a black tuxedo folded his arms, “You always have something to say.”
“That beaming bright smile across your teeth, do you think a designer made it gleam on purpose?”
“Don’t you pride yourself on being ‘God of Ogres’? It’d be really weird if you just become an atheist, especially since we work under God’s hand now.”
“Bandits.” Zorc spun around. “Me, you and Deb. We were unlawful bandits, but then as soon as Masalor came.. we became true Peacekeepers. He brought his dragon and we operated fairly as a sextuple.”
“You got a problem with Asura?” Biteso itched his fin. “He’s a good guy.”
“A shark that speaks and talks, unlike the normal animals that exist in the fields. It’s… alluring.”
“You keep switching topics, I can barely keep up with you.”
Bzzt Bzzt.
“Any words?” Mister Falcone turned his head to Zorc, his body facing forward.
“Where is the enthusiasm you had? You sound… faded.”
“Thirty sinful memories….”
“Was it not your choice? Some mortals don’t have choices, some God’s do not either.”
“Next.”
Zorc attacked Saraline Grover and Jeremiah Demetri.
Standing opposite the two in a barren wasteland, a dungeon far away in the background. The candy colour flame behind the Sin of Pride blaring, colouring the gray sky.
“I am the Peace-Keeper Zorc!” The ogre clutched a fist, eagerly smiling at the two. “God of Ogres! Divine one greater than Thidos! Greater than… Eliza.”
Zorc’s eyes narrowed on the boy specifically, the child dressed with a bright helicopter hat froze. His afro puffing up, his eyes dropping in colour.
He muttered something coldly to the Saint beside him, her body swaying closer toward Zorc without moving.
“You would fight a God?!” Zorc’s face churned into rage, “I shall smite you… sublimity!”
The Ogre thrusted his palms forward, the wasteland behind him devastating further. Rays of burning and streaking light jolting at the woman.
Yet she didn’t budge, extending her fingers outward and unveiling a radiant katana. Blooming into form like a bouquet of flowers, glinting. Absorbing the rays of light into the blade, moving faster without the Ogre noticing.
As soon she was right in his face, emotionless.
“Single… Slash.”
Bzzt Bzzt.
The camera froze on Saraline’s face. The audience leering forward, not at the screen but at the tension on the stage.
“That was how you died.” Mister Falcone screwed his face. “Pathetically, shooting with your hand just to get decapitated. You brought a gun to a knife-fight, yet still lost.”
“I sense a tinge of animosity within your spirit.” Zorc was no longer present on the table and instead was beside Pollux. Skimming his hands on his face, sensually.
“Back away from the participants.”
“I presume this game show works outside of space and time, how else would I be present if I’m truly dead…” Zorc ignored The Host, “IF you truly are the one running it as you say, you should be of divine strength. I’ve tried attacking you as the videos played yet, nothing came out. Restricting our powers and attempting to make us as some animals.”
Mister Falcone blinked and Zorc was beside him, holding onto his microphone.
“What are you— how did you…”
“Forcing me to witness my own death is sheer cruelty, I won’t partake in such inadequacies any more…”
“You are not in control of God.” Zorc slammed the button underneath the microphone.
Then.
Zorc, The Sin of Pride, was gone.
The audience stared up at the stage, confused.
Mister Falcone dusted his suit, blinking repeatedly. “Well… on to the next.”
He shrugged his shoulders, awkwardly walking toward the centre.
“Ratings… I think they’re high.” He itched his neck, holding his hand on the handle. “Alright… here we go!”
SLAM!
The Host slammed the handle down. The roulette moved like a slot machine, it was a slot machine— many faces of the contestants flung at incalculable speeds but…
The first bar set…
A detailed sketch of two people.
The second bar set…
A cartoony illustration of a wizard hat.
The third and final bar set…
An icon of a broken mirror.
“Pollux Wilson” The roulette machine blurted out. Whirring, staying on the stage.
The Host turned his head to the right hand side.
“So both of the last ones are on this side?” Mister Falcone’s eyes narrowed on the adolescent who sat in their chair quietly.
The Host walked up to them, slamming his hand on the table.
“Don’t have your partner here… can’t speak without em?”
Pollux blinked, “You haven’t laughed in a while…”
“W—What?”
Pollux grabbed their chest, their wizard attire jumping and down with him. “You’d go like ‘Oh ho nyo-’ whenever you found something amusing.”
“I have a bunch of memories for you…” Falcone leered into his face, “I can dig them up—”
“Are you not going to address it?”
“The fact they didn’t say ‘Mister Falcone?’ I’m… losing it here…”
Pollux bowed his head, “Then begin the memories.”
Falcone stared towards the audience, analysing the sweat dripping from their faces. Then his pure white eyes fired at the static television.
“Begin.”
“You are my child!”
SLAP!
An older woman was standing in a dull kitchen, hitting her child in the head with a frying pan.
“Lady Wilson…”
“Pollux!” Another child sprinted from the door-way, hugging onto them.
“Children… I don’t understand where I got these kids.” The woman scratched her temple, dropping the pan onto the moldly counter. “Castor, what did I say about you interrupting?”
“This isn’t right! You treat us horribly…”
“A mere child has no right to disrespect their guardian.”
“But you see.. Pollux can’t even speak.”
“Pollux speaking?” The woman cackled. “All it does is cry on the floor, whinge and moan.”
Pollux crept into a fetal position, as Castor loomed over him.
“Stop it.”
“Speak up… child.” The woman yelled.
Pollux raised their hand, pointing at the woman. “Lady.. Wilson.”
“What?”
“I—I… enchant.”
The wooden ground croaked beneath.
A black mist enveloping around the woman’s legs as… it opened in between.
Slicing her in half.
Bzzt Bzzt.
The audience sat stunned.
“Abused as a child, living in horrible conditions as we see in the video…” Mister Falcone grit his teeth. “So the first time you ever enchanted, is when you killed your guardian?”
“Why do you speak so weirdly?”
“Speak Pollux… Speak!” Mister Falcone mocked. “I need to hear your voice… ahahaha!”
“Not very nice is it?” Pollux softly tilted their head.
“They, their, they this… what are you!?”
Pollux’s face dropped, “My guardian never truly assigned me and Castor genders when we were born, always cut our hair short and I don’t even know about our private areas… so I guess we both don’t truly know.”
“That’s sad!” One of the audience members stood up, “I’m so sorry!”
“SILENCEYOUFUCKINGWRETCH!” Mister Falcone snapped, pointing a finger at the member.
Exploding him, chunks of meat flopping on the stage.
“NOBODYMOVES!”
The rest of the audience were forced to sit stationary, silent.
“Sir…” Pollux raised a hand, “Why did you do that?”
“The person stepped out of line…” Mister Falcone fixed his suit, “People who do that are destined to die.”
“That’s a ludicrous mindset.”
“How old are you?”
“P—Pardon?”
“Saints and Angels and Slavi, you guys have been in the role for sixty years each Reprisal. Do you not age? Hm… acting like you’re some kid or some shit.”
“I’m new…” Pollux itched his neck, “Saints have immortality same with Angels and probably the Slavi. It’s just that Thidos is less good with the roles so they can be vacant for decades, lucky for me.”
“Skip the whole Reprisal then, prodigy.” Falcone clapped his hands. “Next.”
Pollux and Castor were kneeling in the Golden Cathedral’s Throne Room.
“Please… Lord, many vacant spots have been empty in your gallery.” The twins spoke in unison.
“What makes you two… worthy?”
Thidos bellowed out, the windows of the Cathedral snapping open. Letting the cold breeze of the night fall inside the dark room.
“We’ll always fight.” Castor lifted up his head. “We’re not the strongest physically but we never give up.”
“If you are so determined, why is the other not so?”
“Pollux, please.” Castor got up from the marble ground.
“I can’t…”
“You’re the Arcana.”
“The Arcana?” Thidos spoke.
“Pollux is a mystery.” Castor shook his head. “So am I, everything about us has been weird.”
“I’ll see if you are applicable, children. Now… leave.”
Bzzt Bzzt.
“Pollux still can’t get up, all Pollux does is wait for the other sibling to get to doing all the work.” Mister Falcone groaned.
Pollux dug through his pockets, lifting out three cards and placing them on the table.
“What are you doing?”Pollux ushered for the Host to move closer, he obliged.
“One of the three dictates your future.” Pollux whispered.
“Fortune telling? During my time?”
“Pick… one.”
Mister Falcone stared at the audience, before looking at the cards.
Choosing the one to the left side.
Flipping it over, a man hanging by one foot.
“Hanged Man.” Pollux spoke. “The halo beams behind his head, his face shows he is happy. He is content with being the one left behind, just like you.”
“What?” Mister Falcone snarled.
“Once we all leave, it’s only you left in this dimension… right?” Pollux shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t remember all the agony you put us through, we return back home with no pain of our losses. I can’t comprehend what would be the negative out of this…”
Mister Falcone froze.
“It’s less that you are a… ‘host of a show’ and more as if you are trying to have authority over your own prison.”
“Shut it…”
“I’m fine with letting this all go on, I only have one more left before I return back.” Pollux placed the cards back in his pocket. “Get on with third and final memory… please.”
“No.” Mister Falcone dropped his arms.
“Pardon?”
“I’m not… doing any of this any more.” Mister Falcone scratched his neck, walking toward the roulette machine. “Pollux Wilson, you are the former Eighth Saint. Representing the Arcana.”
“What do you mean by not doing it?”
The Host stared at the audience who began to quiver in fear.
“And what am I? Trapped in my own show, like a jester forced to perform for those who watch without truly engaging…” Mister Falcone threw his hat off, “I’m something meaningless, able to skipped. So why would I truly carry on, if I could just hold everyone here for some longer.”
“You’re breaking your own rules.”
“You’re a sore loser, aren’t chya.” A voice crept from behind Stygian Falcone.
The Host spun around, seeing Adolla the Madness standing behind him with a grin.
“How are you people leaving your seats?”
“The kid’s the last one, there’s nothing after him. It’s all over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m Thidos’ spy, I have no memories. I was a failed pick, Wilson over there is a real pick. He has grit.”
“Just leave then.” Mister Falcone turned the audience, who all began to fade out of reality.
Adolla saw the button underneath the microphone, slamming it.
As Pollux Wilson was no longer there.
“What are you doing?” Mister Falcone’s eyes narrowed.
“Lonely right?” Adolla tilted his head. “I have nothing to do, I’m dead.”
“So?”
“Let’s be like Lucifer and rule over our own punishment together, wouldn’t you say?”
Adolla outstretched his hand, as Stygian Falcone accepted it.
A bright bleeding eye forming behind them, before vanishing all the same.
A green giant with an octopus head floated above, before vanishing all the same.
