Akanor: Tales From Necro Box Set Read online

  “Unification…let me tell you what it means, my dear artists. It means you will be literally unified with your fans. They will eat your proteins and your sugars after you’ve been processed and purified by centrifugation, your elements fed to our cornfields in desperate search of nutrients. Thus…you will be unified! All the protein bars you eat are the remnants of some criminal or convict processed in this very same disintegrator!”

  Mr. Perth chuckled, possessed by an evil spell he himself had created. He spread his arms long and wide as if he had achieved something important. Robert was amazed to find himself smiling. The fate of his predecessors reassured him he had been on the right path. Someone would eventually find a way to defeat this circus. He was sure of it. It was only a matter of time. If he had made one woman shine the violet color, then it meant other citizens could be “inspired” as well. Hopefully Markle would awaken…and make things right once and for all.

  I’m going to die, and yet I have this peaceful sensation inside. Why?

  In his mind’s eye, Robert could see his dead soul rekindle. It wasn’t dead after all! It was rising from staleness into a fragile dance. It moved with certainty, slowly, passionately. His soul unfurled and filled the void in his existence.

  He was no longer empty.

  In stillness, he had found the vastness of true freedom.

  “You have been condemned,” said Mr. Perth. “You will die, your names will be forgotten, your faces soon to be an Old Memory. Do you have any last words? Will you accept your fate without struggle? Answer me!” The silence seemed to be annoying Mr. Perth.

  “Answer me, whatever gods damn you!”

  Bill’s voice rang out, softly at first, then louder:

  “Out of the night that covers me,

  Black as the pit from pole to pole,

  I thank whatever gods may be,

  For my unconquerable soul.”

  “Why do you artists always fail to suffer on the day of your condemnation? You people are always reciting shit on the day you die!” Mr. Perth cried out.

  Bill was chanting his own definition of victory. Robert’s smile broadened as he understood his predecessors had died with honor.

  “In the fell clutches of circumstance

  I have not winced or cried aloud.

  Under the bludgeoning of chance

  My head is bloody, but unbowed.”

  “I said stop it! Whatever gods damn you!” yelled Mr. Perth with vehemence.

  “Beyond this place of wrath and tears

  Looms but the Horror of the shade,

  And yet the menace of the years

  Finds and shall find me unafraid.”

  “Damn you idiots, you damned artists who find every moment significant, even in your death! How ridiculous!” bellowed out Mr. Perth, trying to quench the flames igniting Bill’s soul. But it was impossible.

  The Screenwriter was aglow.

  “It matters not how straight the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate,

  I am the captain of my soul,” hummed Bill. He had been reciting the Invictus poem, written by William Earnest Henley.

  The Old Memory was alive once again.

  “Yes, society might have forgotten to read the pristine beauty of poetry or feel the strength of words charged with significance. But words of freedom will linger in the minds of free men who will always strive to do what is right,” said the Screenwriter as he smiled internally.

  Mr. Perth was clearly agitated, deranged at seeing his subjects at ease in spite of the imminent peril they faced.

  Robert felt complete. He was certain Bill was feeling the same cleansing sensation. At last the words “truth shall set you free” made sense to Robert.

  “Die!” yelled Mr. Perth. The bridge of blue energy manifested itself and the door slid open. Mr. Perth left without another word, his shadow chasing after him.

  The room turned from complete blackness to a bleaching white. Robert exhaled his last breath.

  I am…happy, was Robert’s last thought. The words darted out of his mind in a wave of peace and righteousness. The thought echoed in the room, lingering for over a second to drift away into nothingness.

  “…captain of my soul…” lingered Bill’s last words.

  The disintegrator gained might, and the light shone ever brighter.

  —THE END—

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  — Yours truly,

  P. A. Wunderlich.