By Rory Fleming
Genot Erebus discovered the majesty of intimidation. In a skirmish between his people and theirs, he sat on the grassy knoll with his curved knives and dug into his own abdomen. First, his soldiers stopped trying to hack apart the enemy. Then the enemy stopped swinging back at them. The loudest sound on the battlefield, steel clanging against steel, died down. He found his intestines and dangled them between his fingers. The enemy commander, Taurus Bambino, was given word that Erebus decided to inflict harm upon his own body.
Bambino, a very big man, marched down from the officers’ tent to see for himself. His spiny shadow trampled the grass that his feet missed. His armor was jagged so he could run into others and impale them on his own body. Sometimes he would kill his own men. Not today, he decided. If there was something he would never consider, it would be to impale himself. Erebus, he thought, was a stronger man than him.
When he finally came to the oozing enemy commander, he crumpled like a diseased bull. Bambino’s troops reluctantly carried him back to the tent. Erebus smiled (just barely) from his spot on the ground. His own soldiers carried him to their tent.
Peace was patched together, the threat of war staved off for a little longer. Nurses wrapped Erebus’s stomach around with gauzy bandages to push his insides back to where their belonged. His squire lifted him into a horse-drawn carriage with the assistance of four other men.
Genot Erebus himself was quite a large man. A keeling, sick, and desperate man.
For this, Genot Erebus became a hero.
Labels: Rory Fleming