White smoke

Even in them days seven was a revered number. Held in high esteem by the pious for its ‘heavenly meaning’. Bah! I bet Pope Clement VII thought he was going to be something special. That was until I had my hands around his scrawny, stubbly throat. Although, come to think of it, he did look surprised when entered his chambers alone and saw me. He knew it was over before we had even begun. His eyes flashed over my shoulder and before he managed to utter a single syllable I was on him. My outstretched fingers jabbed his throat whilst my knee met his perverted bollocks, and yes, even in those days they were perverts. Silent tears were the only form of communication that passed between us from then on as I mounted his chest and squeezed until his lips turned blue.
As I removed my hands I realised two things: one, I forgot to deliver the kings message. And two, my hands had left sickeningly deep impressions in the late Pope’s throat and neck.
I climbed up off him and thought about what to do next. The thing was,I didn’t feel any different!
I had travelled over 1300 miles and slaughtered countless scores of men just to get to this point, and now I didn’t feel anything!
Something caught my attention. It called to me in a way that nothing ever had before. It sang to me! I know it sounds stupid but, in a way, it did! I turned my head and remembered that the Pope had been looking desperately over in this direction just before I…the musical vibrations called out to me. I couldn’t stop myself. My fingers reached out and touched the dark wooden box lay on strip of deep red cloth. Entranced but all too aware of an imminent danger my heart rushed but my fingers released a latch. The box opened and a light brighter than anything you can imagine burst out and surrounded an object that was as infinitely black as it was bright. It was a blade with carvings around the handle, written a language with symbols that I had never seen before. I picked it up and studied it closer. Suddenly a loud knock on the door behind me surprised me and made me drop the blade. I fumbled to catch it before it hit the ground but failed. I panicked and leapt back with geniune fear as everything the blade came into contact with erupted into a flame of dark fire (something I later learned it was called). The banging had stopped and the door swung inward. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to hang around any longer, then with one last look at the blade that was burning its way through the floor I vanished out of the window, followed by white smoke.


About Henry Game

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