Imperfect Murder

TW: Mild gore

Write about a backstabbing (literal or metaphorical) gone wrong.

From within his sleeves, Val retrieved his weapon, a metal cylinder that, at a press of a button, ejected a knife so sharp it would slice wood cleanly. He took his place at the Voice’s side, dressed in a three-piece suit meant to be exhibited for only formal occasions. 

“What do you suppose the king will announce next?” the Voice spoke under their breath, quiet enough that only Val could hear.

Val looked at the Voice. 

“You–”

“You’re staring. I understand that I’m stunning, but it’s impolite.”

Val was even more confused. The Voice was a human above humans, their gift from God elevating them from normal mortal status and making them partially heavenly. They weren’t supposed to talk, much less joke. He forced his eyes back to the stage below them. 

This made his job slightly trickier, but still manageable. When he signed up for the job, he assumed they were just a vessel. Incapable of speech or thought outside of their gift.

“Most people are surprised. I keep telling the king he should let me have some friends, but he insists we need to keep my image untarnished by mortal wants.” They continued, their voice barely above a murmur, “Most politicians do the hand kissing thing, make a big show about meeting me. But you’re different, aren’t you?”

Val clutched his weapon tighter, knowing it was hidden in his palm, but resisting the urge to check nonetheless. “If I say I disagree, would you believe me?”

They let out a breathy chuckle. “No. You haven’t got that sliminess about you that the others have. Just oozing to get the king’s favor.”

Val was most certainly not oozing for the king’s favor. In fact, once he completed his mission he would probably be the king’s most hated enemy. If either of them were alive after this. 

“Shut up, it’s starting.” Their robes shuffled.

Val hadn’t said anything, but it was indeed starting. The crowd’s conversations trickled away, leaving in its place a hush that sat heavily in the air. A spotlight blinked on, its presence announced by a large thunk that echoed throughout the concert hall. Val resisted the urge to sigh right as a voice from offstage boomed.

“Some…are born great. Some…achieve greatness. And some…have greatness thrust upon them.” The spotlight thunked off and when it came back on, the king stood there, fifteen layers of useless fabric and furs that made him look like a bloated berry. 

Even from where Val stood, his sweat was visible. It disgusted him, the waste and pomp in which every royal gathering seemed to be draped. And so he waited and waited until the moment the spotlight swished to the Voice, illuminating them in their bleached splendor. 

In the darkness of the concert hall their robes simply looked gray, but when the light shone on them, it was almost difficult to look directly at them. At the same time, Val took the moment to familiarize himself with their face. It was pale and full, clean shaven. Their gift had turned their iris a frosty blue and their pupils a chilling white. Though they looked young, their hair was a salt and pepper blend, braided and wrapped around their head like a wreath. That was really all Val needed to know. He lunged, wrapping his arm around the Voice’s throat and pressing the cylinder to the side of their neck. A collective gasp came from the crowd, several people jumping up from their seats and others clambering for the exits. 

“Make any move against me and your precious Voice dies!” Val shouted. He glared at the king, who stared back with shock and anger warring on his face. The anger won. 

He raised his palms, playing innocence. “What could you possibly want with our God-given gift? Why must you terrorists attack that which is most dear to us when we have done nothing wrong?”

Val felt his anger simmering and he yelled, “Nothing wrong? Everything you do is wrong! You enslave or push aside entire villages full of people to steal their resources and keep them for yourself! Or you sell their livelihoods for profit while the residents there never get to see a fraction of the spoils. Everywhere your army goes they pillage and rape as they wish, never thinking that these people are are more than mud crusting their boots. The–”

“I’m going to stop you there, young man. Everything I do, every order I make, it’s for the greater good of this kingdom. The Voice has told me as much, and are you one to argue against the Voice of God?”

Val saw the way the king’s eyes flickered back and forth between him and somewhere else, likely guards that were making their way to him now. Val had to end this. 

“If your Voice has already told you so, then you won’t mind giving them up!” He pressed the button, but a body crushed into him and the knife merely scratched the Voice’s shoulder and skittered away. Val fought with the guard on top of him, scratching and punching whatever he could. The guard was suddenly yanked away and the Voice stood above him, pressing their pristine robes to the cut on their collarbone. 

“Get up.”

Val didn’t actually expect to get out of this alive, so this was a surprise. Maybe he could kill the Voice and still get away, but that would be pushing his luck. A gunshot rang out and the king yelped. Most of the guards ran to help while a few stayed, uncertainly milling. Val could only imagine what they were thinking. God was merciful and His chosen must be too, unbound by human burdens like vengeance and retribution. But why else would the Voice help the very person who tried to kill them? It didn’t make sense to Val either. 

He got up slowly, unsure if he was about to get attacked by the Voice, the guards, or both. Though he hadn’t succeeded in assassinating the Voice, he’d managed to buy time for the gunman that would kill the king. 

“You four,” The Voice addressed the guards left. “will step aside for me and this young man. I have had a revelation.” Their voice carried an undertone that commanded authority.

The guards looked at each other. All but one lowered their swords. The last one glanced at his friends, and realizing he was alone in his decision, hesitantly sheathed his blade.

“Thank you, my fellow citizens.” It was quite the compliment, suggesting a normal person was of equal value as one of God’s blessed. “Now,” they said, and punched the hesitant one in the face. 

Going along with this spontaneous action, Val hit the other two, stealing the sword of one and messily burying it in the other’s stomach. Grabbing his backup, a pig sticker hidden in his boot, he dispatched the last one standing. 

He wanted to ask what the Voice’s plan was, but there was no time, as they gestured for him to follow and took off down one corridor. Val followed and they soon found themselves outside, the night air crisp.

“Where can we hide?” the Voice asked hurriedly, already glancing up and down the alleyway. 

“Uhhhhm, follow me.” Val ran out to the street and headed in the opposite direction of the commotion from further up the street. With luck, it was a bar fight, but chances were…

“Hey! He’s taken the Voice!”

It was the cavalry.

Val’s heart leapt in his throat as he and the Voice tore through the streets, searching for a place they could disappear into. 

“Here!” He grabbed the Voice’s hand and they ducked into the small allyway between Val’s favorite bakery and the scroll shop next to it. The soldiers stormed past, two stopping to peer into the shadows where they hid. Luckily, Val had shoved the Voice into one of the rubbish bins and his own clothes were dark enough to blend in. It was only after they left that Val started breathing again.

He waited for the Voice to struggle to their feet before walking away at a brisk pace. They came up behind him, muttering curses.

“These infernal robes–rip ‘em off if I were wearing anything underneath.” They grunted as they stepped on the hem, not for the first time, and had to hop awkwardly to keep their balance. 

Eventually they reached the country roads, the stars brighter away from the main city. The entire time Val had been wondering what he was supposed to do with the Voice. It would be safest to kill them, and he still had his backup weapon. 

He stopped in the middle of the road, about to turn around and strike when something cold as ice cut into his back. Val stiffened, fell on his side as his blood pumped out of the wound. The Voice appeared in his sight. Crouched. Reaching out, they pushed him onto his back.

“I’m sorry.” They stabbed him again with his own blade, and started whispering, “God forgive my actions, my thoughts, my sins…” 

Val just felt cold, detached. He was so cold and his blood was so hot, bubbling out of his body and streaming onto the dirt under him. One of his lungs must have been punctured because the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, spilled out and mixed with the rest of his life down on the packed earth. He choked, trying to breathe the freezing air. 

The Voice covered Val’s eyes. “May God accept your lacking soul into the forever afterlife. Pass swiftly.”

I didn't get a chance to submit this last week, so it's here.