Zyleth
Legacy Name: Zyleth

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Chains
By: Unknown (Previously known as RedRaptor)

He was lead done the hall in chains. The clinking and clanking echoing along, heralding his coming and announcing his passing. Heavy, they weighed him down, ankles shuffling along, hands hanging limp at his sides. Up ahead, he would have a choice. Repent and join the people to his right; the free, the good, the forgiven; the liars. Or believe in himself and tell the truth so that others may learn, may live, and join those on his left; the poor fools who refused to lie to themselves.

They never spoke, they never moved, they never did anything unless spoken too. They were broken. Their limbs were free, no chains confined their wrists. No chains bound their ankles. Just one chain, one chain was all that was needed. At one end was a great ball, at the other was a mask. A solid enclosure with minimal holes to allow a sort of sight, and a sort of breath; it continually pulled them down. The chain from head to ball was short. Just short enough that one could not stand up straight without holding that ball.

It is said they are always praying, praying for the forgiveness and freedom they asked for too late. That is what the people are meant to believe. Are told to believe. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Bowed are not praying, they are ashamed. Ashamed to see what their rulers have become, and what their friends and family have refused to do about it. Those who take a stand, bow at the end.

Finally arriving at the throne room, he was unceremoniously pushed to his knees.

"You are the one they call Zyleth, are you not?" a voice sounded from a raised dais.

"I am," Zyleth replied. He looked up to see the fraud. He sat upon a throne, dressed in the purest of white robes. All around him were his followers, dressed in brown robes and staring. The throne room itself wasn't that extravagant, save for the high ceiling and the stained glass windows. Again, there were liars on the right, and fools on the left.

"Do you know for what you are accused of?"

Lowering his gaze to the floor, he responded in a whisper, "Of love," Even that echoed though.

"Of love?" he laughed, a deep guttural sound. "No...not of love. Of blasphemy,of treason. No man should have the power you seek."

Looking up, Zyleth glared at the so-called king. "Treason? I have done nothing against you. I have not betrayed YOU. I have betrayed your religion, yes. But your religion is NOT MINE!"

"Guards, strip him. Lay him bare before the gods so that he may be judged. Fool, this is not just religion we are speaking of, this is of the base nature of things. We can take the power of death in our hands, but no one should have the power to bring back that which has been taken."

As the guards stripped him of everything but his undergarments, Zyleth could feel the cold air wash over him. He could hear the sudden intake of breath to his right and the stillness that always remained on the left.

Zyleth was no longer entirely whole. His skin barely remained. Patches and strands was all that was left now underneath the clothes that continuously rubbed on the skin. The only skin that still somewhat remained was on his neck and parts of his face. He had pursued immortality for so long, he danced with death on a daily basis, and now, that dance was almost to an end.

He regarded the king cooly, his now muddy-brown eyes never blinking. The muscles along his jaw clenched and trembled as he held back his anger. "I was NOT trying to bring her back!! I was trying to prolong my own life so that her memory may live! You, all of you forgot her! All but me! For all the good she brought to this world, you forgot her." His whole body shaking, freed from his chains, Zyleth stood; the bare bones in his feet clicking on the tiled floor. "But I was wrong. I feared death. I feared she would not be there and my own consciousness would disappear. Neither of us would exist. But here, here we did. That is what truly motivated me."

"So you say now, but that does not justify your actions, Zyleth," the king said in an almost fatherly tone, though the look on his face was one of disgust. "You must take responsibility for your actions. But I am merciful. I will allow you to live so long as you repent to the true gods."

Raising a bony hand, Zyleth pointed to the bowed silence. "That is not life, that is merely an existence," he snapped back. "No one who is truly merciful would inflict that kind of punishment on their fellow man."

"Have you ever heard them speak out in displeasure? Surely if they wished to die, they would say so."

"Lies! You speak nothing but lies."

"It is not I who lie; but it is you who will die."

Taking a deep breath, Zyleth reached a couple of the fingers of his right hand underneath his left pectoral muscle above his heart. Closing his eyes, he moved his fingers around they came across what he was seeking. With a slight gasp of pain, Zyleth pulled out a small picture, the surfaces glistening in the light. "My love...My Isabella..."

A few screamed, a few lost their last meal, but in the end those on the right took several steps back.

Looking up to address the king, Zyleth's eyes seemed to glow. "You are only right on one of those parts." Raising his left hand, Zyleth began a slow incantation, the words melding into one another to form a complete string of sound. If he took a breath now, it would all be ruined.

No guards approached him nor dared to touch him. Regardless of the screams and commands of their superiors, they just stood there, the color draining from their faces. Zyleth's eyes darted from face to face until he hit that of the king; he was standing now, reaching over for his bladed staff. By the time the king got to the bottom of the dais, Zyleth's spell was complete.

All waited in anticipation of what would happen next.

Slowly, the bones in Zyleth's left hand began to glow, faint at first, then brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until his hand ignited. Flames engulfed his fingers and his wrist, slowly creeping up his arm. "I knew that I would burn in the end, I have always known. My destiny had no other end, could have no other end. We are fools to think otherwise. Immortality is not physical, no one can live forever in that sense. But tales...tales spread and are remembered." Taking slow steps towards the king, he stretched out his right hand. "This, this is who you all forgot...and this is how we shall be remembered..."

Before the king could move back, Zyleth lunged forward and grabbed him with his left hand, the flames quickly engulfing the white robes. As the robes turned from white, to grey, to ash, those who stood to the left grew a voice. Not in a literal sense; they did not scream, or whisper, or chant. But they did make noise. Lowering their stooped frames to the ground, in unison, they picked up the ball at the end of the chain, and they dropped in on the floor. Over and over and over, they did this. Cracks began to form underneath from all the crashing weight.

Those who could, began to flee the hall. Their footsteps thundered and echoed in the high ceiling. But nothing could drown out the screams of the burning king.

Originally coded by: dreamsky
Edited by: Dracoren