Dark Sanity

The Thrill to Kill

Flint was taken back to the platform on the opposite side of the city. The guards surrounded him, not taking their eyes off him for a second. Once the door sealed, the platform descended to an area in Soalace known only to Flint as the abyss. He gazed at the tall beings encased in armor, snarling at them.

Confused and livid, he wondered to himself, how could the tribunal not have any part in this madness? Although living beings were apparently inside these giant armor suits, they were certainly not human. Yes, he thought, they were as vicious and fiendish as the slimy monsters dwelling in the dark chasm that was filled with lava. Flint desperately wanted to escape, feeling that he’d have a stroke if he didn’t leave.

The platform finally stopped. When the door unsealed, Flint stooped and rolled between two of the armored beings. He quickly rose back to his feet and broke into a run through the dim passage ahead. He heard the same deafening metallic sounds reverberate from the titanium cadre, but he didn’t stagger or clamp his ears. Turning at a corner, he ran through another passage. He dashed past two guards and evaded their hands.

Flint heard their stomps. He knew they weren’t far from him, so he didn’t stop running, hoping to reach the bridges where the steamships hovered. He didn’t even know how to operate them; though, he’d be willing to click any button and attempt to pilot one if he could just find his way to them. Reaching a door, he slammed his hand on a panel embedded in the wall. Though it fizzed due to his unnatural strength, the door opened. Upon stepping into the dim chamber, Flint found himself inside a dungeon.

He simply stopped, feeling lifeless. He might as well have been deaf because the metallic noises behind him didn’t make him flinch. Instead he embraced the stomping and reverberations, knowing he wouldn’t be seeing the sun too soon. There’d be no escaping—not today. Flint didn’t bother turning around while the guards drew closer to him. He stood still, giving up. When they reached him, one of them pounded the back of his head. Flint groaned, his vision diminishing, and dropped to the concrete floor. That was the last thing he remembered.

Several hours later, Flint could hear sounds again. What he heard seemed to be someone or something humming. Then it became clearer—bullets and explosions. He slowly opened his eyes, finding himself in the same ruined area where he’d been running with Browder. The only difference was that he couldn’t find him. Flint was surrounded by corpses. He shrieked, backing away from the lifeless people who were once his comrades. The sight of them made him vomit. He lurched, coughing violently. Yes, he was the martyr—he’d always been the martyr, and his comrades had followed him to their deaths.

He gazed skyward, spotting the massive starship suspended amid the clouds, still blasting the land apart. Flint looked eastward and noticed that the structure where Hamarah was supposed to be in was still standing. He quickly ran toward it, hoping to find his beloved soul mate. As he drew closer, he saw multiple enemies dressed in black-red military uniforms; they were shooting at rebels with superior firepower.

Flint stared at their guns, frightened at what he saw. The military no longer had machine guns. Instead they had dreadful firearms known as dimensional cannons: weapons capable of drawing power from other dimensions. When the violet, laser-looking beams touched the rebels, they instantly disintegrated. Though they may have felt a pinch before their demise, they didn’t have time to scream. This wasn’t a war; it was an unstoppable annihilation.

The beams continued to be fired, one missing Flint by a hair. He gasped, continuing to run. He threw himself into a trench and felt safer, sprinting through the narrow dirt-filled path. The building stood just a few yards away. Scaling the trench, he had a feeling of hope. He then charged toward the structure, excited to see his beloved Hamarah again. At that precise moment, a dimensional missile launched from the starship, blowing the building apart. Flint stared at the exploding structure, feeling his heart sink.

“Hamarah!” he cried out at the top of his lungs.

Flint awoke in a cell, tears in his eyes, screaming. He knew the dream he had was also a memory. And of all the memories he could regain, it had to be the one when he’d witnessed his lover’s death. He cried in his cell, no longer having the urge to breathe. His mind was beginning to crack. There was only so much he could handle. Age caught up to him, and now he waited for death to take him.

“Hey,” called out a man opposite Flint. “It ain’t so bad in here, lad.”

Flint looked up, seeing a middle-aged man locked in a similar cell inside the dungeon. He was oddly smiling, showing he barely had any teeth. He had a long crooked nose, wrinkled skin, and a feeble body with several scars.

“I don’t care about this place,” said Flint, trying not to cry. “I just dreamt of a memory that I never wanted to remember.”

“Ya don’t say?” said the scrawny man, gnawing at his lip. “Ain’t no memory so bad that we’ve gotta git rid of it. There’s always sumthin’ worth rememberin’ if ya ask me, lad. Say, the name’s Dale.”

“Flint Cross,” he said. “Or is it Ethan?”

“Heck, ya can be anythin’ ya want down here. I sumtimes call maself Peter Pan. Only thing is, I can’t fly. Not anymore, anyways. See, I need sum fairy dust ta git me goin’—then I’m tha real deal.”

Flint gawked at the rugged man. After everything that had happened to him, just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, he was stuck in a dungeon with a deranged man. Flint rubbed his forehead, trying not to scream. He then closed his eyelids, wiping dried glop from the corners of his eyes. Opening them again, he took a deep breath and observed his cell. It was the cleanest prison he’d ever seen in his life, but it might as well have been the filthiest one considering how vicious the beings in this kingdom were.

“Lovely place ain’t it?” said Dale.

“Yeah,” sulked Flint. “Feels just like home.”

“Ya read my mind, lad!” said Dale excitedly. “But if ya ask me, I think it’s better than ma home. See, where I come from, everythin’ look like shit.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” replied Dale. “Hmm, I was on da surface fer how long? Thirty?—nah, ’bout forty-five years. Yeap, I remember now. Forty-five years of shit. Earth ain’t ever gonna recover. I promise ya that.”

“Why?”

“Why?” said Dale, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll tell ya why: ’cus the sun blew it ta hell. Ah, I used ta hear all this aboriginal bullshit ‘round Queensland. And that’s just it, lad—bullshit! A big load of horse shit. Ain’t ya ever wonderin’ why it’s been so goddamn hot up there? It was ‘cus of tha freakin’ sun ’n its flares. That damned us all, lad.”

Flint thought, maybe this man wasn’t so crazy after all. Though, if he wasn’t insane, he was surely heading that way. Dale kept talking; in fact, he talked for hours. He just wouldn’t be quiet. Though, could Flint blame him? Insane or not, he figured Dale must have been the only human here for years—maybe longer. Who knows how many more were out there? He had a terrible feeling that only a handful of people remained living on Earth, if any.

Dale eventually stopped talking and fell asleep. This was a relief for Flint. He took this short-lived time to appreciate the silence. He leaned against the wall, breathing calmly. After a few minutes of silence, a door opened. One of the guard’s came in with a tray of food. This time there was no stomping or loud sounds. When the guard showed himself, he looked similar to the ruler of Soalace. Grimacing at Flint, he slid the tray of food into the cell and quickly rose back to his feet.

“I’m going to enjoy eating you,” said the warden, sniggering. “Until then, enjoy your last meal.”

The warden laughed again while he walked away, shutting the door behind him.

Flint hadn’t eaten since his journey through the desolate Outlands. He brought the tray over, staring at the food. It looked like pudding with worms wiggling inside. He almost barfed when he smelled it, but he was starving and desperately needed to eat something. Grabbing the food, he gobbled it down. Strangely, it tasted good. Whether this was because he’d been hungry, he didn’t know. More importantly, he felt relieved not to be hungry.

After an hour, a door opened. The stomping of an armored being entering the dungeon woke Dale up. The warden appeared by Flint’s cell, along with Gunthrel who was in his shiny armored suit.

“What do you want?” scowled Flint.

“It’s time for your trial,” said the warden.

Gunthrel opened the jail cell, grabbed Flint, and heaved him toward another door inside the dungeon.

“Fight hard, Ethan,” said Dale.

Flint was amused when his inmate called him Ethan. It was the first time someone had called him by his real name. Gunthrel pushed him through a dim tunnel that led to a rear door. Flint didn’t retaliate; he was ready to face whatever trial Pardashan created for him. When he approached the door at the end of the passage, he could hear loud screams. Though, they didn’t sound like people being tortured. Upon reaching the door, Gunthrel opened it, and the distorted voices turned into cheers.

Gunthrel stepped into the gargantuan chamber that resembled a coliseum. It was rather bright to Flint when he entered the arena. Lava lamps were nestled into the wired ceiling and glittery walls. He gazed at the audience, seeing at least ten thousand people seated. And at the very top, directly in front of him, sat Pardashan who wore a wicked smile. The screams of the crowd was deafening to Flint, but he was gradually adjusting to the noisy kingdom. Fortunately for him, the audience calmed down when Pardashan rose from his golden throne.

“Another relic has entered our magnificent city,” said Pardashan. “Whether or not it will be my dinner tonight depends on how smart it is.” The pale-skinned crowd cheered at what their leader said. He continued, “The first round, which may also be the final round, will be this relic battling against six brutal lurkens. Let the games begin!”

“Uh, what exactly do I need to do?” asked Flint.

Gunthrel opened a compartment in his arm and removed Flint’s rifle. He handed it to him without a word and then left the chamber. Just then, another door unsealed across the arena and in came four of the slimy fiends that Flint had been running from in the molten chasm.

“Lurkens, huh?” said Flint. “I guess they’re not yowies after all.”

He quickly aimed at one of the scuttling fiends and shot it dead in the head. The creature flew back and exploded into a glob of slime. Flint targeted each one, shooting all but one in the head. The last one pounced toward Flint who swiftly rolled to the side, slamming the muzzle of his rifle against its face. Afterwards, he shot the beast in the neck. It screeched in agony, dying a slow, painful death.

The audience was silent, startled that Flint singlehandedly killed six ferocious lurkens. Pardashan grimaced and snapped his fingers at the guards who opened the gates again, allowing twelve lurkens to scuttle out. This time Flint dropped his rifle, swiftly removed bullets from his bandolier—which the citizens of Soalace thought were merely absurd designs on his nineteenth-century clothing—and reloaded his Peacemaker. He then spun it and instantly shot down six of the twelve creatures. Flint cocked his revolver so fast that it looked as if he’d only fired it once. He then pulled out his magnum and blew the others away. He didn’t even have to aim at their heads; a single bullet blasted their chests open, killing them.

Once again, the crowd grew silent. Flint holstered his guns, picked up his rifle, and smiled. He was starting to feel right at home, thinking he could do this all day. Many of the patrons were astonished. Some of them even applauded him; however, this made Pardashan scowl and grumble. He stood up, silencing the cheers.

“What is your name, relic?” asked Pardashan.

“I am Flint Cross,” he said. “And you’ll have to do a lot better than this to roast me as a spit of meat.”

Pardashan clenched his teeth and replied, “Very well. I suppose you won’t mind skipping the next fifty rounds that I had in store for you. Instead we’ll go straight to the last.” He snapped his fingers, signaling the guards to open the gates again. This time they kept the gates open rather than closing them after a short time. “Die well, Flint Cross!”

Countless fiends scuttled into the coliseum. However, not all of them went straight after Flint. Most of them climbed the walls, yearning to feast on the crowd. The citizens of Soalace flinched and gasped in horror. Flint shot those that approached him and then gazed up, realizing that the patrons were in danger.

The audience was no longer cheering. Now they were screaming in terror. Time stopped for Flint as he gazed at the extremely pale people. When they shrieked in dismay, a voice within Flint’s mind told him that this was his chance to escape. Then another voice spoke to him; it was quite different from the one that told him to run. The voice was telling him to help these people. He wondered to himself, was his conscience an enemy or ally?

Flint realized that the people of Soalace were still human beings. They had changed so much after the sun destroyed Earth, but it wasn’t their fault. And though he’d only been in this kingdom for a short time, he’d managed to sense something natural about them—fear. It was natural for any normal being to have fear at a time like this. If he didn’t help these people, then he’d be no different than the wretched lurkens that were ready to infest the city with their slime. He was a human being down to the bone, and no matter what, he’d never reject his humanity—his empathy.

Flint reloaded his guns and started shooting down the creatures. Some of them reached the thick windowpane protecting the crowd. The beasts spewed acid on the glass, dissolving it. The audience ran for their lives. Pardashan and his bodyguards were the only ones who didn’t flee. The guards reached the decayed glass and used their flamethrowers. In the meantime, Flint kept shooting the remaining lurkens scuttling on the ground.

Pardashan was infuriated at what had just happened. He didn’t even care that Flint saved many lives. He sealed the gates and pointed at Flint.

“Seize him!”

“What?” responded Flint, enraged. “I just helped you prevent an infestation of these monsters and you still want me to suffer?”

Despite the fact that he heard Pardashan say him instead of it, he was nevertheless fed up with this insane behavior. He reached for his bullets to reload his guns but realized he’d run out of them. Flint stood firm as an armored man approached. He then slammed his fist into the bulky being, sending him across the coliseum.

Pardashan’s eyes widened when he saw the guard’s armor dent, not to mention seeing him fly back several feet. Another guard approached Flint who grabbed his mechanical hands, flinging him as though he didn’t even have armor on. The other guards noticed Flint’s unnatural strength and warily approached him. Flint was ready to fight them all, even if they tried to burn him with their flamethrowers.

“Enough!” roared Pardashan.

The remaining crowd and guards were just as surprised as Flint who turned around when he heard the ruler of Soalace speak.

“Your kind doesn’t normally have such strength. How is it you possess such might?”

“If you’re not linked to the tribunal,” began Flint, “then perhaps I’ll explain what I know; that is, if you’re willing to treat me like a human being.”

Pardashan squinted at him. “Perhaps I have misjudged you, Flint Cross,” he said. “Yes, I believe you are more valuable alive than dead. Gunthrel will guide you back to my throne room, unless you remember the way.”

“I’m a gunslinger, not a psychic.”

“Of course,” said Pardashan, signaling Gunthrel to escort Flint.