Some Holders Won't Submit

I finally fucked up. I mean, ya know, kinda bad. I've been at this for a while now. In fact, last time I checked, I haven't been aging, like, at all. But that's not what I'm really worried about.

It had, of course, been a long night. It seemed that it was also going to be another long and uneventful day. I had also, of course, been slightly drunk. It was as I was strolling around a nuthouse somewhere in the States, that I sorta began to notice, upon retrospect, that my emotions were getting kinda fucked up. Not in no sissy ass "cry my eyes out" way. It was weirder than that. I hadn't felt fear in a long ass time, and whenever I should feel fear (ya know, when some of the stronger Seekers or Holders managed to fight back) I instead felt rage. Rage and a kind of sadistic glee. It was fucked up, but I liked it.

But, as for my up-fuckery, some dipshit decides that, today of all days, he wants to see "The Holder of Submission". Now, understand, I don't know much about any Holders I didn't go to personally, but I'd heard that this Holder was a tough nut, ya dig? But whatever, I mean, I can't get scared, right? So, I manage to sneak down behind the two as they make their way through a goddamned maze, and, as always, they don't even come close to spotting me, even as I manage to squeeze through the door behind him and roll to absorb some of the shock of the fall, before scrambling to a pillar behind him and crouching low, not making a sound.

Now, that king dude up there on the throne. I guess he was the Holder, but damn. He looked like a beast. Very like a beast. I let the Seeker do the appropriate series of question-and-answer before instantly slipping from my hiding spot and taking off his head at the neck. His body and soul were both off to eternal judgment before it came close to hitting the floor. 'Course, now I gotta deal with this guy. And damn, yeah, he's a tough sonnuvabitch.

He was on me, cutting with his own sword before I even finished my cut through the would-be Seeker. I don't know how I managed to parry that first blow, to be honest. My arms both went numb from the force and I felt myself go down to one knee. Ya know what pissed me off the most though? That fucker was only using one hand! He wasn't even trying!

Now, I'm not slow by any means. I can run through the average person's field of vision and be out of it before their eye has time to register the fact that I'm there at all. Although, my fuckin' shoes aren't so hot-lookin' afterward. Yeah, by the time I've gone more than a few steps, I'm fuckin' barefoot. Pain in my ass, don't doubt it. Anyway, I'm not weak either. Ya know, this sword and ol' grandfather-ankh did a good tune-up on my body. As far as I knew, even Holders weren't too much to be worried about.

And this guy just totally bested my ass with one hand. That made me mad. And giddy. Which meant that I was scared. I flew into a frenzy then, slashing and stabbing a hundred times, and each one, he picked off with his sword at the last second, not so much as a cut on him for all my efforts. Then I felt a hot burn on my chest as his sword exploded out of my back. That was not a fun experience at all.

I woke up at a church of all places, and didn't have a scratch on me. The priest seemed kind of shocked to see me there, sprawled out on his office desk, when he walked in. But I didn't really notice him as I pushed past him and left. I was pissed. And that meant that I should be scared. I just kinda wish I could be.