Chosen one? Ha. Chosen twenty, chosen twenty-one, chosen twenty-two. How many completely incompetent creatures must we summon until the Red Death consumes us all? One hundred? How many resources must we spend on these strangers until we destroy ourselves? A question no one seems to ask is: What if we summon something worse than the Red Death?
Commentary from Elder Archimedes in his tome, "Do We Need a Savior?"
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Five years to kill the King of Terror.
A somewhat arbitrary timeframe for an impossible task. It sounded nice on paper, probably. It reminded Gwyn of the inevitable question in an interview—Where do you see yourself in five years? But instead of an interviewer bullshitting a job applicant, it was a promise to murder someone so threatening they bestowed them the title, "King of Terror."
As some sick humor to cope with her incomprehensible task, she thought of all the ways they would execute her in five years.
Head on a pike. Strung from the rafters. Crushed by a giant boulder.
She smiled to herself.
Indiana Jones style.
She laughed, but not because she thought this was funny, but because the situation was almost too ridiculous for words.
Ooo, maybe I could be eaten by a dragon. That would be cool.
Finding humor in a humorless situation was Gwyn's specialty. Maybe walking off that floating platform and painlessly dying wasn't the cruel offer Gwyn suspected it was.
As if to add salt to the wound the Head Whisperer then followed up with:
"You know, now that I think about it... if you kill the King of Terror, they might overlook the fact you also have to solve the Red Death problem!"
For some reason Gwyn didn't find this comforting.
"Glass half full... uh... situation. You know?"
If looks could kill.
She stepped on the emerald gem beside the Head Whisperer.
Ren then casually addressed Gwyn again as the tendrils wrapped around them.
"You know these big gem things are called 'Coffins'! Isn't that fun?"
Gwyn just stared blankly at him. No words fit this situation. They teleported, and Gwyn wasn't affected in the slightest.
"Well, like… the color of the gem, and then coffin. So like. That one right there." He pointed to the green gem. "That one is emerald, so… it would be called an emerald coff—"
"I get it."
The morose Chosen One looked at Ren's face, his stupid, old, wrinkled face. But he seemed so… calm, or at least somewhat reserved when they first met. By the minute, he seemed to become more unstable, or perhaps it was chaotic, as if this was all a big joke to him. There was no way this was the same person from before.
Five years to kill the King of Terror.
The thought she tried to compartmentalize and joke about suddenly became a harrowing reality.
She walked alongside the Head Whisperer. He mumbled incoherently to himself and started smacking his lips as if he were chewing gum.
Five years to kill the King of Terror.
The Head Whisperer interrupted her wallowing.
"You know, your room has a soft bed as well!" He smacked his lips. "Did I mention that yet?"
"No… You haven't."
She ground her teeth. The anxiety now bubbled over. The Head Whisperer just kept smacking his lips. Over and over. It was driving Gwyn to insanity. Her irritation erupted.
"Can you stop that?!"
He smacked his lips again.
"Stop what?"
"That!" Gwyn threw up her hands. "Do you have any idea how I feel right now?"
He raised a hand to his face, stroking his chin.
"I imagine not very good."
Gwyn huffed.
"What did you say earlier? That I'm the twenty-fifth Chosen One and a single Chosen One is summoned every one hundred years. Do I have that right?"
He appeared to be welling up with emotion. He wiped a tear from his eye.
"I didn't think anyone listened to me anymore."
Gwyn wanted to scream. Her voice was loud and unsteady.
"How do you expect me to do anything? It has been twenty-five hundred years!"
This is such bullshit.
The Head Whisperer tried to look sympathetic.
"I know you're upset, but once you see your toilet, you are going to be amazed!"
"I don't give a shit about your fucking toilet!"
"The power of the porcelain bowl will seduce you. Trust me."
Gwyn huffed so loud it wouldn't be unreasonable to think a draft had blown it's way through the Gilded Towers.
Without another word, she turned the other direction and walked away from the Head Whisperer before she did something she might regret.
The Head Whisperer didn't seem to mind, however. He continuously babbled to himself as if Gwyn was still there. He hobbled off down the corridor, forgetting where he was or what he was doing.
After she was alone, Gwyn let out a deep breath.
Someone will help me, I know it.
She rounded a corner and slowly approached a hooded figure.
"Excuse me, I was wondering—"
They turned, and their blank expression quickly became a sneer.
"You're the new Chosen One?"
The hooded elf laughed hysterically in her face, but no joke was uttered.
"Oh…"
Gwyn backed away, bumping into a group of hooded elves she hadn't seen before.
A nasally voice shouted in surprise.
"Holy shit… the new Chosen One!"
"Ew, she's fucking hideous."
"Yeah… I mean… not that ugly."
Gwyn could see the tall figure lick his lips, as if she were some plaything.
She laughed nervously.
"My bad… I'll be going…"
A walk became a slightly faster walk, not a jog, but it looked as though she had somewhere to be. Gwyn then tried to rationalize the situation.
Surely all the elves can't be—
A voice full of disdain interrupted her positive thinking.
"I thought we were done summoning the uggos."
An elf regarded a cohort who shook their head.
"Do you mean ugly?" They chuckled. "Guess not. What an utter waste of resources."
Gwyn frowned.
Nope. All of my optimism has just been shot dead in the street.
Laughter and mocking insults were suddenly all around her. Her fast walk, which was supposed to be casual and not draw attention, became a sprint, the least casual thing one could do in these marble hallways.
Her robe flapped behind her, and Gwyn then realized that if she had a robe, she had a hood. She lifted the fabric over her head, staring at the floor so as not to be recognized.
Bang.
She slammed into a pillar that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
"Fucking ow."
She rubbed her skull and sighed.
"Great, now I probably have a concussion."
She looked up from the ground, and the pillar wasn't even connected to anything. The ceiling shifted like the eye of a storm. Gwyn's heart began to race.
What the…
She diverted her gaze and looked back to where the hooded elves were just behind her. But a wall was there now.
That can't be. I just ran from there.
She turned her gaze forward, and the pillar was gone. What was there instead were cathedral-like stained glass windows that shone a vibrant and colorful stream of sunlight, bathing the entire area in a menagerie of warm colors.
She stood and carefully approached the windows, pressing her face to the surface—a garden through a orange filter. Groups of hooded elves all chatted throughout the area. It was obvious that Gwyn wasn't on Earth now. Pink-leaved trees and grass that shifted colors as people walked through it seemed natural on this planet.
She lifted her face from the glass, and several statues—which had not been there before— lined the opposite wall.
This place is…
She didn't finish the thought.
Cautiously, she approached the first marble statue. It was depicting a hooded figure. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Their face was long, and they had very sharp cheekbones. The statue gave a thousand-yard stare. An orb the size of a large ball sat in their palm.
The plaque below read, "Darkbeyond."
She lifted her head and moved to the next statue. A bearded, barrel-chested man wore bulky armor littered with skulls. The man's hair was curly and soft-looking, even in the statue's carving. Their gaze was kind and forgiving despite the menacing armor. Gwyn read the name of the plaque aloud.
"Kindread."
The sound of bricks smashing caused her head to turn, and a hallway was now where the stained-glass windows were. She turned back, and the statues were gone too. She was standing about three centimeters from a golden-bricked wall.
"Well, this place is certainly… weird," she said nervously to herself.
She turned back, being wary of any pillars suddenly materializing, and the hallway remained, but doors as large as a house stood at the end of it. She approached them. Artwork depicted a woman with red hair conjuring untamable fire that seemed to be consuming the ornate carvings on the wooden surface. She pushed the doors open, and they creaked with age.
"Oh my god…"
As a librarian, well… former librarian. Seeing shelves packed full of books made her mouth water.
Although she did not know it, Gwyn was in the Great Library of the Gilded Towers. The bookshelves encompassed the entire room and reached the stars. She had no idea how to retrieve half the books that seemed to be miles away.
She looked around, and she was the only one here.
What a waste!
She giggled giddily.
I think I'll just stay here for the rest of my life.
A concerned expression suddenly manifested.
Which may not be that long.
Approaching the nearest bookshelf, she grabbed the first book she saw. With great effort, she tried to pull it out, but it was firmly stuck in place. She used the shelf as leverage to get a singular tome from the confines.
Snap!
It popped out of the shelf and she nearly fell backwards. She guided her hand across the surface; its cover was fragile and delicate. She opened the pages. The words were foreign, but legible. She could read it aloud.
"Twenty quarter rations, hence through to Riverside via DeMeteor escort, to Kosmairian settlement. Sylvian oversight—Is this a trade manifest?"
Gwyn frowned at the book and slammed it shut.
"How boring."
"What do ye think yer doing?"
A thunderous voice erupted out of nowhere. It sounded like it belonged to a giant.
Gwyn, startled, fumbled the book in her hands, trying not to drop it. She somewhat juggled it for a moment but failed, and it thudded on the floor, echoing throughout the library.
"Annnnnd ye dropped one of my tomes?!"
Gwyn looked around the monolithic library but still saw no person whose voice that noise belonged to. Gwyn choked on her words.
"I… I… I—"
"Aye, aye, aye," The voice said mockingly. "With all those 'I's, ye'd think ye could see how fucking stupid ye are!"
The voice was growing closer, and it was filled with anger. Gwyn didn't know what to do. She started running toward the exit.
A flash from Gwyn's periphery, and her momentum ceased as the doors slammed before her. She banged her hands on the surface, but it was ultimately pointless.
Today wasn't a good day. Believe it or not, today would probably make the top five in the worst days of her life.
A hissing noise invaded her senses as long serpents coiled up her body.
A fun fact about Gwyn is she didn't hate snakes, but having them crawl on her body made her reconsider the fact.
The serpents rattled their tails and stared at her with dark red eyes. She was frozen in fear.
In her final moments, she thought of her father, who was now all alone, and she pleaded for her life.