The Rise and Fall of the Demon King

Klingon Hamlet

Once every thousand years the Demon King reigns supreme. He kills the sun with one swing of his darkblade and the shadows eat up the land.

Night falls blacker than nature should allow and the stars cannot penetrate the murk. Ice cold winds course across the world’s flesh as the Demon King grows in strength.

A castle made of sinew and bone bursts through the thick crust of the earth. It rises higher than the tallest human towers and stands over all the King’s prey.


A throne garbed in the remains of a thousand screaming children grows from the bloodiest stump on the tower. The King leans into it with a satisfied sigh and grins with his metal teeth. His eyes would glow red had they not been removed by the blades of mighty men millennia ago. Now eyeless he still sees the scurrying ants far below, their fear quite palpable and palatable. He says,


For far too long I slept
Among the shadows that kept
My eternal hate alive
Until today I arrive
To slay all who oppose me
Until finally, the world sees
That it belongs to me.
The world belongs to me.


At first the torches burn bright from below, sweeping and keeping the darkness at bay. But soon enough the ice-creatures emerge from their long forgotten cocoons in the crevices and caves of this land. White and silver, spiked and sharp, the unliving beasts descend with monstrous speed upon the fire-bearing villagers. Bitter cold protrusions penetrate the throngs of witless people and turn the sturdiest heart to mush. Blood and organs spray the night sky as soon, they are quelled and massacred. The final cry pierces the black world and the Demon King watches and smiles. He licks his lips and says,


They cling to light like it’s God’s fire.
They merely feed my heart’s desire.
Too soon they fall before my spawn.
Where have all the warriors gone?


With a resigned quiver of his darkblade, he turns the nation into a gigantic field of ash. The ice-wind picks up. The dead drift away.


The King twists and turns to scowl down upon the next city lying in wait.



Already it has launched a mass of flaming arrows aimed squarely for his beating heart. For a moment he ponders allowing them through his dense veil of subdominion magick. To peel back the curtains of blood-drenched iron and feel the wasp-stings of a thousand arrowheads punching through his chest. Feel the acid-and-lava nausea of their path through his heart and out again. Then he remembers as he always does that he was never a True Human; that human weapons would not hurt him; that it would be an exercise in futility.

So he raises one hand and in response, a thousand arrows freeze, a thousand knights rise up into the air. The men kick and flail about like fish hooked on bait. Then with an invisible noose around their necks he hangs them, just as the arrows rain down upon the women and children. Screams echo up to the King’s delight, truncated by thunks and crunching bone.

Dead women and children litter the earth, and soon, the choked husbands and fathers crash down upon them, their mouths wide open in mortal horror.

weiming

I read it. I liked some aspects of the writing. The poetry bits seem to verge on limerick for me.

"...A throne garbed in the remains of a thousand screaming children..."

Garbed means "clothed" and doesn't seem to fit.

"unliving" doesn't mean what you seem to think it does, and is not interchangeable with "undead", contrary to what some comic books and video games might have us believe.

"...With a resigned quiver of his darkblade..."

You might reconsider this verb.

A lot of this seems a bit over the top. I get the feeling you may just be writing to write, but you might tone it down a bit and perhaps try to introduce more depth.

pickarooney

I loved the opening lines. From then on, it's solid if not fantastic. Some of the imagery is very well-written, but not a lot happens.
The poetry is, sadly, really sub-par and really detracts from the image of the fearsome Demon King you've worked hard to build up.

MrBill

I don't know what you two are on about. This tale of doom and destruction is nothing less than excellent. Always slagging everybody's stories. You guy's aren't too hot.

weiming

>MrBill; Quite the contrary. If I had a low opinion of King Hamlet's work, I wouldn't have read every single word, and then taken the time to think about it carefully before writing a response. If I really didn't like it, I might have stopped part way through, or just not bothered to comment on the work when I was finished reading, like the other 139 people who viewed this thread have apparently done. I think giving any response after viewing someone's work is a cut above reading it and then saying "I have absolutely no comment". Although this thread is not a forum for such a discussion, I'd still like to ask: What do you think?

pickarooney

Weiming summed it up rather well, although he did misspell Klingon Hamlet's name, even on the second rewrite. I would also prefer if he had used a carriage return to separate out the last sentence and I believe the 139 figure actually tallies multiple views by the same user.

weiming

I've been reading too much Hamlet, J/K that was a mistake my apologies to >Klingon Hamlet.

And I did use a carriage return, in addition to counting the poster's views of the page, the board scripting also removes all spaces and indents from the text box if the page is loaded as in refreshing or editing. Which has brought me no end of grief.

PurpleBee

I find it comical that this repuslive behemoth would spontaneously break out into neatly structured poetry, midway through annihilating everyone capable of hearing it.

weiming

He's a behemoth with feelings, that's what the whole bit with the arrows shooting at his exposed heart is about. In truth, the destruction of all things holy and good (rending apart children, etc.) is just a cry for attention.

The psychopathic desire to destroy everything and put the world asunder is really just a reflection of estrangement from the world and society, the behemoth's actions then are a cry for help (hate me, kill me, despise me but care about me, make me a part of your reality).

Really the fantasy is not one of destruction, but one of being the center of attention, of being revered as all powerful, if not loved and so on and so on.

Benhonan

I'd agree with some of the sentiments here. There's definitely a great theme, maybe leaving out the poetry would be a good call all the same. I'm like the suspense created by the title, does this mean there's going to be a sequel?