The Song Challenge 1.13 Chaos Royale-Sister Sin
Sir Tristan of Gothenburg felt the fatigue taking over his body. With each swing of his sword, more and more energy left him. The King had proven to be a far stronger opponent than Sir Tristan had expected. Sir Tristan had made it into the throne room alone, leaving his allies to fend off the King's Constructs by themselves.
The Constructs. They were the minions of whoever held the Architect in their possession. The Architect was powered by its owner's imagination; the more evil and imaginative the owner, the more fearsome the Constructs. In the hands of one who is pure of heart, the Architect and its Construct could be used for any number of wonderful things; constructions, defending innocents, anything. But in the hands of someone malevolent, such as the the King, the Architect and its Constructs could be used for the darkest of deeds; murder, conquest, tyranny. At least Sir Tristan was lucky enough that the King was so distracted by maintaining the Constructs outside and his battle with Tristan that he had not created any in the throne room.
Despite how tired Sir Tristan was, he was evenly matched with his opponent. It had been many years since the King had been in battle, and so the old man was sluggish, having trouble keeping up with his much younger, more agile opponent. Neither the King nor Sir Tristan would relent. Neither would retreat. Neither would be going home to recover from their injuries. One of them would be dieing that day.
Kill the King, end the tyranny, destroy the Architect; those had been the goals of Sir Tristan and his band of knights. Many of Sir Tristan's closest friends and allies had been slain that day, and Sir Tristan was determined to not let their sacrifice be in vain. He swung again, and his sword dug into the King's hand.
The King screamed in pain as his fell to the ground, clutching his injured hand. His sword landed beyond his reach. He looked up as Sir Tristan raised his sword once more. “N-n-no! Please! I surrender!” the King begged helplessly.
“I shall show you, oh gracious King, the same mercy you have shown you adoring kingdom,” Sir Tristan said. He held his sword up high over his shoulder, preparing for his final action. “The revolution has prevailed!” Sir Tristan said as he swung his sword, slicing across the King's chest.
The King's lifeless body fell to the ground, with the Architect, a plain and humble ring, falling from his hand and rolled across the ground. Sir Tristan could hear from outside the loud screech as the Constructs, now without their life source, wither and die. Sir Tristan prepared to strike the Architect and destroy the source of what had been centuries of misery and hardship. Before he did, he heard whispering, from where he did not know.
“Come to me....” the whispering said. “Take this power and reign over your kingdom.... Be the one true eternal king, and rule all the lands the way they should....”
Sir Tristan picked up the Architect and slid it on his finger. He was overwhelmed by what he felt. He felt power, true power. He was so distracted that he had not heard the doors open or hear his fellow knights approach him. “Sir Tristan has done it!” one of the knights cheered. “The King is dead! The tyranny is over!”
“No!” Sir Tristan shouted over the cheerful cries of the knights. He held up his hand with the Architect on his finger, and summoned Constructs far worse than any that the King had ever dreamed of. The sounds of the knights being viciously slain by the Constructs echoed throughout the castle. Sir Tristan sat in the throne, and watched with sadistic pleasure as the men who had once been his closest friends and allies, his family, were slaughtered by the very evil that Sir Tristan had vowed to destroy. “Long live the tyranny!”