Castle Colossus

Stalking down the stone path rapidly, I take a moment to gather my spiraling thoughts and emotions. They shouldn’t cloud my judgment and force my hand. Justice should alone. 

Hood up, weapons tucked. I hear faintly in the mess of thoughts in my head. 

My thoughts swirl around once again. Feelings of anger not so foreign to my history flood them, pushing what control I did have, down until it almost doesn’t exist.

With my cloak flapping in the wind, pants hugging every curve, and knee high leather boots concealing a knife or two; I look like a shadow gliding down the path.

I poise my eyes on the old enormous castle ahead. The castle looks like a mansion, with its towers like fingers reaching toward the clouds. It makes the small town nearby, which the castle dwellers now wrongfully disown, dull in comparison. I don't remember much about the town, but I remember enough. 

“Colossus.” I spit out.

The name a very certain king had fought and given his life for. He’d towered over every knight and warrior that ever stood before him, earning him the title of ‘King Colossus’. He was admired, loved and yet feared by his people. Making him the greatest ruler to date. 

They had built a castle after his name's sake. And it had been passed down time and time again.

And here I am, fearlessly challenging it with my glare. I’ve collected many scars and traumas to be here now. Daring to face the imposter behind its iron doors sitting on the throne.

I jump into a longer stride, then a full sprint. Now or never. Let’s be done with it.

I draw closer to the large entry gates of the wall surrounding the massive castle, then slip a small poison-tipped blade from its sheath under my cloak. The two guards outside the gate saw me long ago and had laughed, posing me as no threat, even though they hadn’t recognized me from afar. Now that I’m close, they do however, the whites of their eyes glimmering in the sun. But it’s too late for them. 

They charge me. 

I lunge and roll past them, throwing the blade, and end in a crouch. It meets its mark in the stouter man’s chest. He freezes, slowly looks down, then meets my smirk before dropping dead without a word. They’re foolish for wearing such little armor. I lock eyes with the smaller one. He only drops his sword and raises his hands in surrender. I nod in the direction of the stone path and watch as he doesn't hesitate to partake of my mercy. He runs as fast as he can down it, trying to not trip over the beveled stone.

He doesn't look back. Coward.

I rise, collect my blade, and turn back towards the iron gates.

Having already quietly taken out the guards on the other side by way of a longbow, I make my way to the wall. Then scale it carefully and drop to the ground. No one is in sight. I grin. Perfect.

I take my time and make my way toward the main entrance. I then fling the large embellished doors open, letting myself in. Maids and noblemen in fancy attire, as well as golden clad advisors freeze and stare with their mouths gaping open. The guards, upon seeing me, part the way, shaking with fear. They wouldn’t dare a snide look at me let alone lift their swords. I hadn't anticipated accomplishing this with such ease.

I walk straight up the stairs, passing walls lined with canvases and tapestries, and floors lined with ornate carpet. I keep my eyes forward, my knowledge of the layout I memorized of the castle coming into the forefront of my mind. I take a left and watch as people scatter away from me, certainly aware of my tactical skill. I don’t bother to acknowledge them. I’m here for someone else. Finally making it to the heavy crimson oak doors of the throne room, I pause to square my shoulders before flinging them open just as I had done the front doors. He doesn’t even know I’m here. 

Everyone turns to see who has the audacity to be so indecent. They gawk as I take a few steps forward. There are people from the small town here. The town of the people that built this castle long ago. Their clothes are in tatters on their bodies. They’re likely gambling their lives to save their families. Not having known that the cruel old man on the throne in front of them came from the same town. From a wealthy and corrupt family within the impoverished town.

A weeping father and his son kneeling on the ground in front of the familiar throne jump up and scamper into a corner upon seeing me. There are four people in line to my left also waiting to engage with the old false idol on the throne. They cower and slink back into the shadows as if I’m going to tear the skin and hair from their scalps.

I make my way to the bottom of the dozen stairs leading to the throne, then meet the surprised eyes of the ‘king’. He grins, bearing a few rotten teeth.

“Aleia.” He lets out reluctantly, with a haggled cough.

“Dolion.” I answer with an obviously prudent sneer. His hospitality is redundant.

The old man stands and waves for a servant to straighten the worn, ancestral crown on his hairless skull. They do so and he makes a show of fanning his heavy purple robe out around him like wings before slowly descending the stairs. Once he’s standing on the last stair, he reaches a white knuckled hand out to grip my chin. I wrinkle my nose as he’s lucky I allow him to touch me at all.

“You’ve grown. And filled out, as well, child.” He says, ignoring my grimace and still firmly gripping my chin, his hand shaking with age.

You don’t know me.

My mind is racing.

“Save the flattering remarks for your whores.” I spit out, ripping my chin out of his grip in defiance.

He lowers his frail hand and retorts, “Such vile words from such a comely young woman. And such a temper.” He reaches for a long strand of brown hair that has fallen out of the braid tucked away in my cloak. “Your mother would be so di-“

Before he’s given a chance to finish his statement, I’ve raised my forearm and knocked the old man stumbling backwards. Grabbing him by the throat, I keep him from collapsing to the floor. His knights in their untouched suits of shining armor flinching, unsure of testing their luck with me.

“Don’t.” I choke the whisper out mere inches from his face, hand grazing a gnarled but sharp dagger at my thigh. He lets out a shaky breath, eyes wide. 

I stare into his dark aged eyes. “You do not speak of my mother. You have no right. I know your secrets, all of them.”

He begins to shake but his eyes stare through mine in defiance. Evidence that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t speak.

I inch my face even closer to his, now nose to nose. His breath is tainted with the stench of onion and something more fetid. It’s almost comparable to rotten flesh. “You burned your way to this throne. Your corrupt soul torched your way to the top. You have no regard for family. Not when you watched as your brother, the King himself, and my mother lay ablaze in their own bed, screaming in torment in the black of night. Begging for mercy and grace they deserved far more than you. But at the hand of a higher power, a child made it out. A little girl.”

Grabbing the arm at his throat for balance, he speaks. “You can’t bring back the dead, dear. Only the fond memories.” He chokes out.

“You’re right.” I laugh. “But I can avenge them.” I show him my best smile while releasing my grip. Arms flailing as he falls backwards, I rip the gnarled dagger from its sheath at my thigh with a pride I have never known. 

And I slit his throat.