Fall for the King
A short story featured in a neuroscience study from Newcastle University in the UK.
Izra ascended the pearl staircase on the tips of her toes, every sweeping step a swirling haze of blood as each challenger flew to pieces beneath the arc of her blade. With the rhythm of a twisted dancer she reached the final step, only looking back to clean the scimitar with a flick of her wrist. The air tasted sweet with the richness of fresh corpses. Izra’s light armor clicked and clanked with the stiffness brought on by the rust of the battlefield, her bloodied cape sashayed as she lifted the helmet from her head and flung it down the staircase from which she’d come.
Large pearl doors steadied in front of her, their plain innocence had known nothing of the butchery outside. Despite their heavy appearance, a small armored touch revealed the glory and splendor of the entire kingdom. The throne room was as beautiful as she’d once known. Pearl pillars stood next to a pair of well suited guardsmen, ornaments prepared to fall for their King. Izra cascaded the gold carpeting in silence as the court stood in whisper. Courtiers glanced at the bloodied black armor that encased the warrior. Izra raised her sword and shook the room with a bellowed pronouncement.
"It is I, Izra the Third, daughter of Queen Harki, granddaughter of Queen Irma, and Duchess of South Armina. I have traveled many nations to return to my throne, and my road has been paved with the bones of my enemies." She pointed her sword forward to the glimmering golden throne before her. "Shall you follow your queen, or remain loyal to this usurper and his puppeteers?"
She stepped towards the King. His bald head bowed forth in boredom. His guards took two steps forward and unsheathed their long pretty swords. Izra smiled and with a flick and a daring dash forward her opponents exploded into fountains of blood, their flesh plumping within their armor.
The King applauded, drool dripping from his chin. The court's whispers had slowly curled into screams and pleas as courtiers pushed past one another to escape.
Izra reached forth among the chaos and placed her hand atop the King's head. The baby cooed as Izra rubbed his little chin and proceeded to sit him on her lap, as she sat on the throne.