The Prophecy of the Demon King

There was a prophecy that was revealed to me by my father, the King, at the age of twelve. It read as follows:

Run as you may, fear will trap you where you stand

The demon king will slay you in a castle filled with burning sand

And though your kin will watch and scream; they may not interfere

The demon king will find you frozen, muscles bound by fear

It was only the second prophecy of its kind, the first having been directed to my father, who was the first king of these lands. It had been theorized amongst the townspeople that my father's prophecy would continue with his son, though I did not believe them until we sat in the highest spire in the castle, sitting on the carpet, and I heard those words. I should have been brave, and spat at the prophecy.

"Ha! Demon King? I'll wring him with my bare hands and whisper the prophecy to him as he falls into death at my feet! No prophecy controls me, I am the prince to the throne. Son of Goaly the Great! Heir to the richest lands for miles! Death will take me only when I give her permission. Bah!"

Instead, I said nothing. I looked up at my father's eyes once he was done reading it, and looked for some sign that he was joking. There was none. His eyes grew heavy with the realization of who he had raised. A boy who took the promise of his death with silence, and teary eyes. I imagine he was disappointed that day, although I was too scared to ask. He held the written prophecy out to me, expecting me to take it. I did not, in hopes that I would be able to forget, but I never did. The words engrained themselves deeper than my own name. I would sooner forget how to breathe than any single syllable of that terrible omen I received that day. Despite this fact, I rehearsed it in my head, over and over, for hours on end, every night until ten years later.

I had in some ways fulfilled a prophecy already by the age of 22. The one my father's eyes told me, which is that I would disappoint him. I fulfilled it every day by refusing to partake in his courtly ceremonies, or train with a sword. I imagined the prophecy may forget me if it had enough pity, but fate is not that kind. Instead, it took my signs of weakness with open arms, and laughed in my face. Despite my pathetic rolling over on my belly, and sticking my head in the sand, I could feel the prophecy moving closer and closer. In my dreams, the footsteps of the demon king pounded the Earth with the rhythm of my heart, and the strength of a meteor.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

He did not walk on land, he simply marched directly through my veins, on his way to my heart. I could hear his footsteps in my ears every second of every day until we finally met. Only then did the pounding of my heart become loud enough that I could drown him out.

Despaired at the weakness of his son, my father took me one night, under the guise of darkness, and when my mother was heavy dreaming, to a local witch who had performed many miracles in our time. Broken bones, repaired relationships, and collapsing crops all were fixed with just a few words and spasm of her fingers. Yet, my father asked her for something impossible - to protect me from the Demon King.

She told my father to return in a month, and when we did, we found her potions scattered around her room, and papers littered the floor detailing the exact temperature to boil bat's eyes, and the correct emotion to feel while whisking your cauldron.

She sat me in a circle in the middle of her room, and covered me in red dust, spitting her incantations at me. I floated off the ground, and with a final yell of her coarse voice, I felt something odd; quite odd. Suddenly, I could see myself in the room from above, as though I were having an out of body experience. I swam towards my body, and rejoined my consciousness just in time to hear her explain that the spell had gone awry. The potion had done its best to protect me, but the prophecy and the Demon King were too strong. The best it could do was to make sure that I would not feel pain when I was killed. At the moment the Demon King was to slay me, the ritual had given me the service of allowing me to leave my own body, and save myself the pain of experiencing death.

My father was furious, but eventually realized that she had done her best. Perhaps on a stronger man. He would have thought to himself.

We left the shack, and the months passed. People began to hear rumors that the undead forces were mobile. I supposed my time had come. At even the mention of the Demon King, my soul would leave my body. I became so anxiety ridden leading up to our meeting, that once I stubbed my toe on a table, and my soul somersaulted out, and I watched myself hop around in pain, foot in hand for a solid five minutes, before I was able to return. It seemed the curse was protecting me from every kind of pain.

One night, after weeks of the first mention of the Demon King, I found my house ablaze, and after swimming back into my body, I was able to narrowly escape to our front yard. Once I crossed the threshold of the front door, a big burly arm grabbed me by the neck, and lifted me off the ground. He brought me face to face with his toothy grin, his red face gashed and torn, and his horns ablaze with fire.

I have heard that you are scared of me, no? He said. Your death will not be quick.

My heart pounded in my chest, and it took all of my effort to stay in my body.

"Where is my father?" I asked, tears streaming out of my eyes.

He turned me away from his face so that I could see my parents' mangled bodies lying on the ground.

"He didn't seem very confident in his son. I distinctly remember him pleading for your life. I told him that usually when I kill Kings, their sons are there at least screaming while I do it. Your father died with the comfort that his son was sound asleep. I think that's pitiful, don't you?" He said.

I yelled and tried to punch him, and missed dearly. He didn't even do me the courtesy of laughing. It seemed he really did pity me.

"Were you not trained at all? You look like a string bean. But if your plan was to give me an easy fight, then I'll gladly take it." He set me down, and handed me a sword. I held it with shaky hands.

He struck once, and the sword went clattering out of my hands, narrowly missing my face. He slashed the ground around me as I scuttled backwards on my back away from him.

Could I have won if I had trained? I thought. Perhaps he really isn't that strong. Sure, he's big, but not that big. And his strike didn't kill me instantly like I thought it would.

He raised his sword again, and my 'protection' did its job. My soul left my body. I watched as his sword came down on me. At least it will be painless, I thought, but it was interrupted by something tugging on my leg. I looked down and it was my own arm! I felt it pull my soul back into my body, and I narrowly rolled out of the way of the strike.

The fates' prophecies always come true, isn't that right? So why am I not frozen still? And where is the burning sand?

I ran towards my sword, and parried the Demon King's attack as it came down on me. I ran towards the door of the castle, going back into the fire. Staircases were collapsing around me. I felt my soul detach just enough that I couldn't feel the fire, and I pushed through a burning doorway to a room that was made of stone. I looked at the ground, and saw that, although it was filled with smoke, it was not on fire. Maybe there was a way around the prophecy. The Demon King will slay you in a castle filled with burning sand. Very well then, Demon King. Come towards me.

The demon king will find you frozen, muscles bound by fear

The Demon King burst through the door, raging.

"The prophecy said you would stay still, rat. Stop running! The fates are never wrong." He peaked his head through the door, and smiled when he saw me. He approached slowly.

"Your knees are clattering, did you know? You must be the most pathetic person I've ever killed. Your father would be so disappointed."

Just as the prophecy said, I felt my body freeze with fear. He lunged at me, sword swinging in a wide arc towards my torso. I was up against the wall, shaking in his presence. Instinctively, I held my sword straight out, and let my body go rigid with fear. When I opened my eyes, I was watching myself bleed from my stomach, his sword deep impaled. I exhaled. Then, I saw blood drip to the ground from the Demon King's chest. My arms had stayed frozen against the weight of his body, still outstretched with the sword. I had stabbed him directly in his heart, and the incantation had worked; I did not feel a thing. For a second I watched as we both fell to the ground. Then, I began to swim. I reached out and touched my own hand, and felt myself begin to merge again. I felt the incantation trying to protect me, to stop me from feeling pain. I pushed all the way until my soul was whole once again with my body. I was burning with pain, and I could feel the heat of the castle around me, but I didn't mind. I let myself feel the fire lashing at my body, and my fear of dying, and the disappointment of my father. I felt every emotion hit me all at once, for the first time in years. And then I felt a new one, that I had never felt before. I felt proud of myself. Proud that when it mattered, I had taken a stand. I had gone frozen, yes, but I was standing. And the Demon King now lay dead at my feet. I smiled, and let out a brief chuckle that turned into a cackle. It reverberated throughout the castle as I bled, and I collapsed to the ground, face to face with the Demon King.

"You weren't so tough, after all." I said with a dry laugh, and then closed my eyes for the last time.