The Irredeemable King

In the middle of a palace heavily furnished with gold, a stern old man sat on the throne in the middle, pensively tapping his fingers on the armrest. Tap, tap tap.

A priest wearing a bird mask walked in, leaving a trail of feathers in his wake. He pointed at the King and shouted, "You will regret not choosing the option which I have provided for you. Divine retributive justice shall erupt in the last day of the fifth cycle of the seasons."

The old monarch jeered, "There are only four seasons: winter, summer, spring, and fall. Wherefore do you derive a fifth?"

The priest humphed and stomped out of the chamber. Once the imperial servants made sure that he was gone for sure and out of hearing distance, the old King lifted up the entirety of his humongous bed. A dark stairway was revealed, and he grabbed a candle from the servant and entered into the catacombs where no life exists.

Once he arrived at the bottom of the staircase, he sat on the red carpet and revealed a jagged golden dagger. He quickly placed a tiny golden jewelry box onto the ground and chanted "Oh Pagan Deities of the Deep, accept the vast stores of grain and precious metals which I have offered in the past decade. Turn the object which I have provided you in this box and convert my greatest desire into a divinity."

The bird-masked priest appeared behind the King and softly whispered, "I knew it was you."

The old monarch widened his eyes, the white of his pupils in pure disarray.

The robed priest continued, "You can make one hundred thousand excuses and elaborate stories for the crime which you have committed against the Divine Council. But none shall work! You think that justice is spontaneous? I shall report you to the higher levels with the Mirror of Infinite Connections, not even the Deep can save you!"

The old king sat there in an unmoving position, reciting in a monotone voice, "Open the box."

The bird-masked priest opened the jewelry box made out of solid gold and discovered a black feather that was emitting a dark red light. His hands rapidly shook and the box clattered onto the cold stone floor.

The old man stood up and looked at the activated mirror, hurriedly urging, "Your envoy has joined the Deep. The punishment he deserves, separation from the reality of the highest degree."

Large beads of sweat flowed like a river down the forehead of the masked priest and dripped onto the floor.

The priest retorted, "How dare you construct a secret ritual chamber in an attempt to trick the priesthood which has supported you for so long, through thick and thin."

The king continued, "You don't dare utter the name of your master for you will dissolve into the ashy embers of imagination, forever trapped in the Deep."

The bird-masked envoy shrieked in pain and shouted, "Who are you?"

The king ignored his question as he was captivated by the visions of beauty and insurmountable majesty which barraged him. He saw flourishing fiefs under his rule, a legendary victory against invaders, and a pale face of a young man.

It was himself.

Number Two.

The illusion of the bird-masked priest faded into specks of oblivion.

Was it all a dream? Did he not have control over his fate? Mother Sky showed him the millions of strings in his body that operates his breathing and consciousness.

The old monarch's face slowly morphed into that of Number Two.

He listlessly uttered, "Answer me Mother Sky! Where were you in my life? Where were you when I forged this grandiose kingdom?"