Fungal Halo

There is always a Dark Monarch. There is always a Princess in Gold. There is always a Hero and always a conflict between light and shadow.

In defeat, in victory, in death—whatever the outcome—the cycle begins again with the coming of a new age.

But this cycle is different.

The knight drags her sword behind her as she ascends the stairway up to the throne room.

Her muscles ache with the exhaustion of a long journey that now comes mercifully to its end.

Dangling at her chest is the Amulet with the power to seal the Demon Queen away forever.

The Hero bursts through a wall, mere masonry no match for his might. Civilians inside scream briefly, but when he shouts “The eyes of justice gaze upon you!” they recognize their savior.

So does the Villainess terrorizing them.

“You!” she yells in disbelief.

“Yes! Me!”

“At last, you arrive in my lair,” the Dark Lady of Nightmares drawls with a confident air of menace.

She rises from the Throne of Thorns, her seat of power overgrown with wild vines bearing threatening spikes which somehow never pierce her smooth, perfect skin.

Once upon a time, there was a group of stalwart, incorruptible heroes who ventured forth on a quest to save a kingdom from ruin. Monsters had overrun the land, and these were capable warriors with the power to dispatch them.

But they needed someone who could keep them alive.

You never could quite destroy me, no matter how you tried. Your greatest hero could diminish me, certainly, but never destroy.

So you shackled and chained me in the deepest, darkest dungeon you could find, and you called it victory.

You never did understand my nature.

The Chosen One’s blade finds its way home at last, buried to the hilt in my chest.

I look up from the wound into brilliant blue eyes, where I find triumph and questioning, “Did I do it? Is it over?”

I smile in reassurance. It’s over. This whole charade is over at last.

The Dark Lady of Nightmares glided silently through the night’s cool air, her body magically transformed into her giant bat form perfectly suited for stealth. As she approached the City of Light, she swept her eyes over it, scanning for the tower where the princess slept.

Over the ages they tell my story in hushed whispers decorated with breathless warnings like lovely jewels. They say I am evil. They say I am deadly. They say that to look into my eyes is to be lost. They say I steal fair maidens and teach them sin. They say such sweet things.

“We are not so different, you and I,” the Dark Sorceress declares as I confront her at last in her great tower.

I grip my sword and grit my teeth. “You’re a cold-blooded killer who consorts with demons and whose idea of freedom is born of chaos and destruction.”