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388. King Killers
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 14:00:09 +0000 UTCThe king drew his sword. It shone, bright gold, laden with diamonds down the spine. He swung it awkwardly, clearly unused to wielding it, a quality that transferred to the puppets. Ike frowned. If the king was no combat master, why keep his skills in the puppet?
Scintillating gold beams shot from the sword and seared through the air, so hot that the air itself burned with their passing. Ike ducked, barely dodging one of the beams as it closed in on his head. Wisp yelped and turned tiny, as a beam pierced through where her heart had been. Across the room, Mag dropped from the chandelier, only spreading his wings when he was well below the beams’ angle.
I think I figured out why Brightbriar kept his skills. The king didn’t have overwhelming combat experience, as one might expect of a monarch, but equally, as one might expect of a monarch, he had the most expensive gear with all the best empowerments attached. He didn’t know how good generic puppets were at using hyperspecialized gear, or how hard it was to operate the king’s sword, but a detailed puppet definitely could use equipment.
Ike charged at the puppet. The king pointed the sword at him as he closed in, and another barrage of beams shot his way. Ike was forced to fall back, but as he did, he threw his hand out. A tiny black blot flew through the air, twisting through the gaps in the beams and coming out unscathed on the other side. That black blot transformed in midair, and the king got a glimpse of a small woman hurtling toward him before Wisp clasped onto his head with one hand and both feet and hammered into him with all her might. He growled and reached up, yanking her off his face and throwing her aside. Wisp yelped and tumbled, and he turned, pointing the sword at her.
“I don’t think so.”
The king turned back around in time to see the lightning-coated fist before it slammed into his face. He stumbled back, head turned at an unnatural angle. Before he could recover his footing, Ike smashed his face open, then grabbed his sword arm with both hands, put his feet against the puppet’s body, and pulled with his whole self.
“I’ve got you!” Wisp shouted. Two ropes of spider thread gripped onto the arm on either side, and Wisp joined him in yanking on the king’s sword arm.
“I suppose I did plan to marry Rosamund off,” Brightbriar allowed, as the two of them fought the king over control of his arm and sword. “But that was only for easy legitimacy. I wanted a peaceful land in which to continue raising fragments. You see, I hoped that by having several fragments compete, the best one might come forth.”
“Oh, and did it?” Ike asked. The king’s arm cracked. The ball-joint at his shoulder loosened.
“We’re almost there, just a little more!” Wisp said.
Brightbriar spread his hands. “I’ll never know. Accais and Rosamund got along, and you were lost. Your mother… she was a hardheaded one, for certain. Ran away from me, rather than enjoying her sudden elevation and life of luxury. What a fool. All because I was not the lowly man she thought she married… you would think she’d be overjoyed to join the rest of my wives and spend her remaining life in comfort, with all the resources in the world, but no, that wasn’t enough.”
“Is that so?” Ike asked. Brightbriar wasn’t going to admit anything wrong with his side of the relationship—why would he—but even so, it was pretty obvious to Ike what had gone wrong. What woman would happily accept that their husband was actually many people’s husband, and someone famous, to boot, who expected her to suddenly bow and scrape and laud his name despite him taking several wives and treating her as just another accomplishment, another object to be acquired? Put Wisp in that situation, and the husband wouldn’t last very long.
Then again, Brightbriar saw everyone as nothing more than puppets, objects to be toyed with and recreated to his choosing. Why would he treat his wives any different?
“I thought to myself, how interesting. Why not? Let’s see where this one goes. Let’s let this one wander in the world, in the fields and wilds, and see if it goes anywhere. After all, I had several seeds growing already. What was the harm in sowing one into the air and letting it fall where it would?”
The king’s arm snapped. Ike fell backward, thumping to the floor, his body wrapped around the arm. The sword clattered away. Immediately, the king dove for it, but a spiderthread flew forth and wrapped around it. Wisp jerked her hand back, and the sword flew into it. “Haha, guess who’s got it now?”
Ike backed away from the king, watching to see his next attack. Even so, he couldn’t resist replying. “So? Are you embarrassed that the one you threw away is the one who finally succeeded?”
“Not at all. I am so proud of you, son,” Brightbriar said, smiling.
“Hey, how’s that work, by the way?”
Ike and Brightbriar alike turned to look at Wisp. She waggled the king’s gold-and-diamond sword at Brightbriar. “The greater being juice. How’s that end up in Ike’s mom, but also your juice? It’s only one or the other usually for humans, right?”
“Juice?” Brightbriar asked, disgusted.
“What do you mean, usually?” Ike clarified.
Brightbriar harrumphed. “I don’t need to share the particulars of Ike’s conception.”
“Thank gods,” Ike muttered.
“But since you asked, the greater being’s existence is more energy than physical. As long as I infuse the newly-created being with the greater being’s energy, I can imbue the soul with the greater being before the soul fully forms, therefore making the soul a piece of the greater being rather than its own person. It’s that simple,” Brightbriar said.
“Fuck off. I’m my own person,” Ike said. The king hadn’t attacked all this time; he looked slightly lost, without his sword. Ike dashed in and railed him with a dozen rapid blows, beating him into shards. He, Wisp, and Mag, fluttering over after having taken out some of the noble puppets, all turned to face Brightbriar. Ike lifted his sword. “Shall we?”
