The Kind Executioner's Guilt

You have a restless sleep, filled with the voices of those who’ve passed. Some voices are clearer than others, but you cannot hear any words. You open your eyes, and your veins are visible, though they’re purple and throbbing. The world around you is spinning, never staying still enough to see what’s around you. Time passes, and nothing changes. You feel your emotions start to rise. Rage, Despair, Ecstasy, all of which uncontrollably flood your mind. Nothing else matters except for those emotions. Your mind is on the brink of shattering and about to succumb to these burning feelings, but the spinning stops just before you lose yourself. You feel normal again, and your vision clears. You gain your bearings, and the world comes into focus around you.

Desolation, an endless desert devoid of color more than grey. Zombie-like husks wander aimlessly, their faces sunken in and their skin barely taking hold. They make no sound, some walk in circles. Shrunken, sickly trees are scattered throughout the wasteland, barely taller than a deer. There are no mountains, no hills, not even a single elevation change. You can see for miles and miles, witnessing every pathetic thrall, every sad tree, you’d be able to see forever if it weren’t for Him. Hundreds of miles away you see something, something massive. It spans the entire horizon and restricts your otherwise endless vision. It breathes, its gargantuan form expanding and contracting with each breath. The spaces between each inhale and exhalation are long, and each one is held deeply. This creature is asleep.

You take a step forward, the environment flies past you, the world itself contorting to allow your strides to span miles and miles of distance at a time, transporting you right next to its never-ending body. The creature’s features become noticeable. It has no legs or arms, and its body is covered in millions of dull scales. This is a serpent. You spend some time trying to find its head and find its unfathomably giant eyes closed. Its eyelid flutters and it stirs in its sleep, beginning to writhe around in agony. You narrowly avoid being crushed as some of its body comes crashing down right above you as you dash away. The serpent is having a bad dream. As it thrashes, the world around you regains some color and begins to shake. Purple, pulsing veins emanate from the serpent and into the ground, thrusting outward across the entire horizon. Some of the vines run right under thralls. As they do, they begin to glow a bright violet, grab their heads, and begin to scream. They all have different emotions in their screams though. Some yell out in fury, some in elation, some in sorrow. The thralls begin to act out, weeping endless rivers of blood, clawing at each other’s empty eye sockets, or laughing at nothing loud enough for the entire world to hear them. It’s utter chaos, a bloodbath with no rhyme or reason.

The serpent suddenly stops its thrashing, the earth under you calms down, and the veins slowly begin retreating into the serpent. The thralls return to their normal, apathetic state. You don’t feel a sense of fear towards this creature, you feel empathy. You rest your hand upon the serpent and are transported into his mind. This is Fengsel, and he’s enduring an endless nightmare. You see through his eyes, the trees and people below you just puny ants beneath your gaze. But Fengsel doesn’t view them like that. He carefully avoids hurting any creature he can, moving cautiously and slowly through the landscape. The world Fengsel sees is an undeveloped one, there are no cities, and hardly any settlements. He makes a stop, looming over a small town. Four or five elves walk up to him, panicked.

“There must be something you can do, sir! You have life-giving powers, right? Our chieftess, she’s dying. You must help her.” A pleading handmaiden says, begging on her knees.

Fengsel raises his body to its full height, towering over the woman. She does not seem afraid of him. Fengsel sighs, the trees around him bending from the deafening sound. Even the elves below wince in pain, trying to remain steadfast. He bellows “I can help her, but I cannot save her. She has contracted a fatal illness, and it is unavoidable.”

The woman looks up at him with tears flowing down her cheeks. “But, you can bring people back to life, right? So when she dies you can-”

Fengsel cuts her off, “You know I do not bring people back from the dead. It disturbs the dance between the elements. I can spare her from the agony she will feel though. Bring her here and I will make sure she experiences no pain from her death. She will die a horrible, miserable death without my aid.”

The woman looks up at Fengsel with a fiery hatred. “You can save lives, but you don’t because of some bullshit about nature and laws? You’re a fucking evil creature, and I hope you suffer. She has done nothing wrong!” She screams and begins to hit Fengsel, who sits there expressionless. After a few minutes of frantic, desperate flailing, she gives up, stares daggers one last time into Fengsel, and brings out the chieftess.

The chieftess smiles at her handmaiden and waves her and her friends away. “I’d like some time alone with the serpent please.” She coughs, blood spilling out of her mouth. “I know my time has come, I’m sorry for how my friend treated you. Please, I would like an easy death. First, though, can we talk?”

She cranes her neck to look up at him. “You’re a bit tall though,” she grins, weakly. “Can you come down and be with me for a moment or two? I think I deserve to speak eye to eye with you before you kill me.”

Fengsel nods and begins to shrink himself, his infinite body morphing into a small garden snake, who curls around the Chieftess. “I hope this form helps. You probably already know my name, but I am Jormangandr. There is not much I can say to ease you before you pass, but I will try nonetheless. May I tell you a story?”

The chieftess smiles and brushes her hand against the now tiny snake’s head. “Please, I’d like that.”

“This is a story about a wolf. A wolf who was strong, kindhearted, and a natural leader. He spent his time patrolling the area around his pack, warding off foes. He fought in many a battle and won them all. His peers saw him as a legend, the one who would protect them forever.” Fengsel pauses and looks into her eyes. “He reminds me of you, warrior.”

The chieftess shakes her head. “I am no warrior, I just do what needs to be done. If that means protecting my people, then it shall be.”

Fengsel’s usual stoic demeanor softens. He rests his head against her hand, letting her pet him softly as he continues. “This wolf was selfless, he hunted for the sick, letting them eat first even if it meant he had none. He lay with the dying as they took their last breath, resting with them until long after they had passed. He was beloved, and revered. One day, he came home from patrolling, terribly wounded. It was fatal. All he could think about as he stumbled back to his pack was that they would have no one left to protect them. He would leave them to die.”

“I don’t like this part,” the chieftess faintly whispers, her cracked lips quivering. “Won’t they all die, stranded and alone?”

Fengsel simply continues with the story. “The pack worried amongst themselves as well, understanding full well what this meant. They would be undefended, and would eventually die out. A few somber minutes passed before three young wolves stepped up to the Great Protector.

The wolves speak one after the other. “We have seen how you fight. We see your will, your compassion, your spirit. We cannot let your legacy die with you. With your great deeds in our hearts, we will fight on, in your name. Rest well, Great Protector.“”

Tears slowly fell down the chieftess’ cheeks as she wordlessly held the garden snake close to her as he finished his story.

“The three wolves trained tirelessly after the Great Protector’s death, keeping the pack safe and sound, eventually even surpassing the might of the Protector. They stood proud and fought with no fear. They knew that even if they died, more would come to fight, lead, and love in their place.”

After the story finishes, quiet descends upon the pair, letting the words take hold. Fengsel looks up at the chieftess, her expression one of tranquility, juxtaposed against the frailty of her discolored skin. “Can I spend the rest of the day with my village, Fengsel? I want to say goodbye.”

“I will be back by sunrise. I hope that is enough time.”

The next morning comes, and the chieftess is sitting on the ground with her back to the village, gazing across an ocean, witnessing her final sunrise. Fengsel climbs up her body, wrapping himself around her body. He begins to sing. It was out of key, but it was honest, gentle. The song was one her mother sang every night to her as a child. The chieftess holds Fengsel tight to her chest as he sings.

She whispers, “Thank you, I would have suffered greatly without you.” The song ends, Jormangandr’s right eye flashes a piercing dark void, and the chieftess is no more. Earlier this morning, the chieftess intentionally awoke before the villagers, so no one could see her die. She preferred it that way. Her body rested peacefully, laid upon the grass, her eyes closed, and a gentle smile resting upon her lips. She looked healthier, as if she had gained hope.

Fengsel stayed with her until the first villager woke up. Just before parting, a single tear fell from Fengsel’s expressionless face. “You truly were kind, Reina.” He darted away, never to see the village again.

Fengsel’s vision begins to distort, morphing into a phantasmal apparition. Endless scenarios cast in front of Fengsel’s eyes depict Reina’s life as if he had revived her. He saw her playing with her newborn, holding her husband close, and having drinks with her friends after a long day’s labor. Everything he saw sent a spear through his heart. Fengsel began to thrash and cry out, fully weeping. He begged for it to stop, pleading desperately. The visions just got worse. Other people’s potential lives he had sent to death play before him, bombarding him with possibilities of a better future. “I had to kill them, you know I did,” His vision begins to turn purple. “Saving them would have destroyed the world, no matter how much it hurt to let them die.” You feel white-hot guilt in your stomach, overwhelming your senses. “I wanted to save them, more than anything.” Endless, burning pain flows through you. “I loved them like my family, and I never forgot them.” The pain turns to ecstasy turns to anger turns to fear. A never-ending carousel of uncontrollable emotions floods your mind. Your vision overflows with bright violet, and you wake up, panting, tears running down your face.