Random stories

"To be *\*akh akh\** brought down by a peasant of all things!" the Tyrant scoffed in between bloody coughs. "How did *you,* of all people, become a hero? You're... you're *immortal*, yes, but the fighting prowess, the magical wards, you shouldn't- *ah*!"

His speech was cut short as a jolt of pain coursed through him and he clutched his side tighter, blood pouring from in-between his fingers. He was wounded, beaten, and utterly defeated... but alive.

The hero, in contrast, appeared... indifferent. Gazing into a corner, looking at empty air, he almost seemed dazed, confused.

"They're talking, you know?" the Hero said quietly.

The Tyrant did his best to prop himself up against the wall, managing only to sit. "Who is? What are you-"

"Him, for instance," the Hero said as he lifted his sword and pointed it at the Tyrant's chest. "The sword, I mean. Whispering in my ear."

"It's *cursed*, you fool," the Tyrant spat.

"I know. I was curious what it would do. Said to consume the life of its user within a week."

He finally turned away from the vacant corner and looked at his defeated foe.

"It wants to kill you, you know?" he said casually. "I think it's angry it can't kill me. None of the things I gathered can. This pendant," he said and pointed towards his neck, a small silver locket hanging on it, "is why your magic couldn't touch me. It wants to strangle me. Always."

The Tyrant narrowed his eyes as he inspected the Hero carefully, spotting more and more cursed artefacts on him. Artefacts of immense power that always came at a cost.

The life of their user.

"*Fascinating*," the Tyrant whispered.

"It gets easier when I do stuff. Fight, for instance. Go on quests. Focus on something other than the venomous promises and squabbling."

"Is... is that why you came here? Fought me?" the Tyrant gasped. "I thought you were on... a quest to remove me from..."

"Power?" the Hero finished. "No. Well, yes. I mean, I don't really care. I just needed to fight. You were strong. And evil. Silenced the voices."

"This power... think what you could accomplish!" the Tyrant said with renewed vigour. "*No one* was meant to hold this much power and live, but *you can*! I can help you, aid you in-"

"No. The things promise. No more promises. I just needed to fight someone strong and evil."

The Tyrant looked at him intently. "And when there's no one *evil* left to fight? Only the strong who are *good*?"

The Hero met his eyes. Despite their respective actions, it was the hero's eyes that seemed... empty.

"Goodbye," the Hero said.

And he pushed his sword through the villain's chest, deep into the stone wall behind him.

When his gurgles finally stopped, he went back to looking at the empty corner, its void somehow beckoning him.

The room went silent.

His mind did not.

---

Submitted by SirPiecemaker on Tue, May 23, 2023 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

"How did a mere peasant become the most powerful hero in the land? Sure you're immortal but that can't be all" "Well you'd be surprised how many artifacts will grant you ultimate power in exchange for your life."