spinning and sharing

Death of Antarius

In Pilgrimmage on September 21, 2010 at 4:12 am

All of the women he’d ever been with were inside of him.  Not only memories but their voices, faces, thoughts, and emotions.  Phantasms calling out for justice and love.  In between quests he’d deceived them, spent time with them.  Before and after campaigns he had broken their hearts. Antarius the White, Antarius the Silver, greatest warrior of the New Age.  Admired by every man, yearned for by every woman, and feared by scoundrels.  His heroic deeds were too numerous to count, his name as untarnished as Spring.  His body harbored the souls of all he wronged for he had used his heroism wrongly, as some heroes do.

The entrance door was the exit.  They heard each other’s panting breath and knew it as their own.  Escape this place.  Get out. Taste the sun and the wind or the moon or the night or anything but this tomb’s unnatural chill.

Donovan was the first to reach the door.  He touched it and the labyrinth immediately sounded its defeat with a groan.  From somewhere the blue flash was sent out and all six of them turned.  Close your eyes!  Maria screamed, and five of them shut their eyes as the walls giving way to a blue flash that passed through their eyes like a rush of cold blood to the face and jaws. A chilly wind gripped them and then they felt warm.  For Antarius, it was different.

A snowy landscape where there was a small cottage within its walls was a beautiful black haired girl with ivory skin and the bearing of a soldier so regal she was until he’d lain her down to surrender while the cold swirled outside and until the fire in the cottage burned down to the embers.

A desert maiden, dark and tall but with an almost childlike innocence unheard of, left her husband for him and his promise of protection and justice and of hearing her thoughts and opinions and learning who she was.

Every barmaid, servant, kitchen hand, every sapphire and diamond plucked from amongst trash was whispered to.  He would show them all a better life.

The female knight, hair blonde and short like a man, the only one who’d fiercely resisted him.  He’d pursued her as hard as treasure in the cave of a dragon.  His ultimate quest and conquest and when victory was achieved she was just like any other.


They all swelled inside of him as that blue flash pierced his eyes.  They were ghost white with hollow black eyes like the Reaper.  Hundreds of them swirled inside his body, he could see his body was not a fertile paradise but a dead one.  They flew, some with jokined hands, thick white around a dark, leafless tree.  And this is what the blue light gave him in an instant, bloated second and as they expanded within him they threatened to explode.

They found themselves outside.

“Are you Ok?  All of you?” Donovan caught his breath and asked.

They nodded and said yes they were.  One of them said of course not you idiot.

All of them stopped breathing and stared at the Reaper standing across from them, outside of the labyrinth amongst the bright green trees of the glade where it shouldn’t have been the sun wasn’t for it just as a cow shouldn’t be in the kitchen.  Its arms were at its sides, watching them.

Antarius was calm as he walked forward.

“NO!” Maria screamed.

The Reaper spread her cloaked arms and her banshee wail caused them to fall to their knees covering their ears.  Antarius’s eyes widened and then he winched in pain.  Blood, a little, ran down from his mouth and then down his chin.

Behind him, the ghostly form of Eve appeared white with dark eyes.

Goodbye, my love, she said with a smile forever sad.

The Reaper’s face, her scowl, softened as Antarius heard these words and his tears began to fall.  She paused a little, Tyr later thought, before she and Eva flew through him and then vanished.

The Demon Buster clutched his chest as his ribcage and vitals broke from the inside.  He was spared the gruesome result simply because he was the hero of legend and a terribly gruesome demise does not befit that kind of hero.  And so on 270 in May Antarius died before their eyes clutching his heart though it bore no visible wounds.

Outward bound, he spotted a small child’s face in the foremost house window.  The eyes were big, even from far away he her eyes wide staring at him.

“Goodbye, young lady,” Tyr Beckam said softly, and left the town behind him retreating in the mist.


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