Death of a King

Chapter 44

My eyes snapped opened.

What just happened?

With my head braced at an uncomfortable angle from where I had fallen, I found myself still laying at the door, results of being pushed by Chris.

Did that mean everything I just saw – everything I just went through - was all ... just a dream? A small glimpse into the near future, one last warning from the beast? One last chance to win his stupid game?

No, it couldn't be. The beast never gave warnings, he said so himself. The last time he gave me warning, it was only to benefit himself.

Whatever I just experienced, be it a dream or a vision, it must be a trap.

As if my thoughts were amusing, I heard demonic laugher vibrate inside my head, knocking against the boundaries of my skull and resonating so loud that nothing else could be heard. That laughter grew in pitch, pulsing so loudly that I felt my head rocking with each chuckle the beast gave. He held such extreme power over me, how could this be? How had I come to be his toy and nothing more?

It was then that I understood. I finally knew his identity, who the beast truly was. Not the Devil as I previously believed, or a reincarnation of Rosen. Not even a vision of my own father's cruelty given worldly form.

The beast is what we all face, an end to inevitability, a conclusion undeterred by potential or justice. He is what came in the fall to swat away the light of summer, he is what attacks the old and the sick with age and disease. He is what rides on the back of harbingers and gravediggers, greeting each with the same cold reception I've felt for months.

From the moment I first met him, I should have known. There were so many signs, so many opportunities to learn his name though even having such knowledge wouldn't sway his purpose. It wasn't until this last vision – when I saw the throne sitting between the perishing bodies of Rosen and Dustin as they slowly died only seconds apart – that I finally comprehended the unity of the beast and his role.

He is Death.

Cold blooded, neutral, sadistic Death.

Not the act of death or the process of dying, not the instance in which life leaves a body and the corpse is left to rot. The beast in his skeletal form is Death, an embodiment. A physical form. He is not a person but he is not an idea, he is somewhere in between.

Always in between.

If that's the case, then there is no hope. Death can't be stopped, can't be avoided. Death is absolute in his quest for life, always wanting what he doesn't have. But no matter how many people he takes, no matter how many hearts he devours, he'll never be any closer to his cravings.

He wants what we – humans – have, so he takes from us the one thing blessed upon us but never upon him. His way of compensating for his lack of breath and absence of a pulse.

But none of this answers why he comes to me in dreams, why he's been tormenting me for months with visions of happenings I can't stop. Perhaps his eternal existence has led to gluttonous boredom and I am his only form of entertainment.

Or maybe, just maybe, it is because I am the only one who poses a threat to his campaigns.

I was on my feet before the thought fully formed. If that were true, perhaps there was still time for me to change the outcome of my dream. If there were a chance for me to keep blood from spilling and life from corruption, I have to do everything in my mortal power to do so.

This time I did not passively travel through the crowd, now I shoved my way past Reapers without any concern for whether they noticed me or not. The faster I ran and the harder I elbowed those around me, the slower I actually traveled. There were so many people, so many obstacles. I wouldn't make it in time, there was no way ... but I had to.