The Fallen Kings [M]

[Gilgamesh]

Gilgamesh’s eyes fluttered awake as the splintery, wooden floor of his cage rumbled beneath his body. His body attempted to sit up but the roof of the cage was much smaller than the King would have liked. His hands chained to the floor like some sort of caged animal available for show. Gilgamesh’s face contorted in confusion and anger as he wondered what was going on. Where was he? Why was he bound in a cage? More of these questions flooded his mind with no available answers.

A burning pain seared across Gilgamesh’s wrist, a scar slowly began to materialize, almost marking his first death of many in this godless world. Gilgamesh’s hands jolted back, yanking upon the rusty chains that somehow had the strength to hold. His cage was led by what seemed to be a carriage with a single silhouette holding the reins. The horses however, were a pitch black color and had almost no meat upon their bones. Their blood red eyes, matched their blood-matted fur. The figure turned his head, at the sound of the jingling chains.

His soft, silky voice spoke, “You’re awake...Good. I need to see if you can fight.” His elvish ears and charcoal skin provided a contrast backdrop to his red eyes. His shaggy hair hung just above his eyes and his goatee comically curled up. “You sir, put me in a good mood. Finding an unconscious prime out in the middle of a street? Now that’s rare.” His lips curled into a cheeky grin and his eyes darted back into the road.

“Free me now insect. Your bastardized blood cannot contain me.” Gilgamesh screamed at the devil spawn. The bastard flicked his wrist and the iron chain around Gilgamesh’s wrists retracted more into the cage, forcing the King’s face to the floor and his wrists twisted in an almost comical position.

The bastard went on, “It seems this one has a cheeky tongue. My name is Murmur and you will work for me. Welcome to your personal hell that you will never be able to escape from.” The creature whispered while stifling a sadistic laughter, “Not even in death.” His slender fingers traced upon the side of his pants, softly grabbing a hold of something inside of his suit. “Good. We’re here.”

The strong smell of sulfur and iron forced its way up the Fallen King’s nose. The world around him became almost like a small village, very quaint other than the the constant fire and suffering. Gilgamesh eyes scowled at the mongrel for parading him around as if he were some caged circus animal. The cart came to a grinding halt and the King’s body crashed against the wooden bars of his prison. Murmur stepped down from his seat and walked over to Gilgamesh. His hand raised up and softly grabbed the King by the chin, examining his eyes and other facial features.

“If I’m lucky you’ll make me a profit. So do good. Or else.” Two larger goblin-like creatures came and picked up Gilgamesh in his cage. Gilgamesh comically flipped on his side, unable to get back up like a turned over turtle. He couldn’t do anything, he was helpless.
“Where are you taking me you mutts? I will end you!” the Fallen King screamed. However, the goblins were unphased by the empty threats that this declawed cat hissed. The pair were bringing him to the largest building of the town, a small, run-down colosseum. It was almost laughable that they would dare enslave him and bring him to this shit-hole of all places. He would not fight for their entertainment, he would rather burn in hell than be made a fool of in front of these abominations.

The goblins came to a stop and opened the door to his tiny prison. “Yes! Release me you animals.” But Gilgamesh’s satisfaction was short lived as the two threw the cage into a bigger cell. The wooden cage cracked into little shards, sending splinters and wooden shards into Gilgamesh’s skin. The shackles around his wrists release themselves and disappear into the air, leaving the Fallen King in a cell full of slaves and deserters. “Pathetic,” the King murmured to himself as he pulled out the wooden shards from his leg. Blood slowly trickled down as he removed the shank-like objects from his body and tossed it outside the cage. The idea of one of the mongrels stabbing him with it in his sleep almost seemed plausible.

The stench was horrible from these mongrels. The group reeked of sweat and blood and seem to not have cleaned themselves for quite some time. The dirt clung to their faces like the way the insects clung to their fragile life. Gilgamesh walked over and sat in the corner away from the insects, with a heavy feeling of dread in his chest. His heart felt as if it was dragging on the floor and his ribcage almost too tight for his lungs.

Was this what he is going to become? Was he really a slave, only to be used for the fights and carnage? His brow furrowed and he grit his teeth. How could the original and only King be now forced to fight for the common people’s entertainment. How pathetic. He had to find a way out, or at least get out of this colosseum. If he couldn’t escape he would earn his freedom, especially if that means he would have to slaughter all of the mutts who were in this room.

A wicked smirk curled across his face and the other slaves stared in confusion and fear as the new prime eyed all of them, accessing that they were all worthless beings. It wouldn’t take much effort to slay all of them, all Gilgamesh would need is the time...and the audience.

4016 words total, 15984 left to go