The Endless Meeting

Reads: 359  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

A journey into the mind and soul of an immortal who cannot change his awful destiny.

His sword’s once marvelous glitter could hardly be seen anymore, even in the presence of the brightest flame. His scabbard and his sharpening stone were thrown somewhere in the courtyard, but why should he care? Too much time has already passed since he cared about such frivolous things, since he cared about anything. Could he even care anymore? That was the kind of question he barely had time to ask, let alone to answer.
And so they came yet again, as they had millions, trillions times before, there out-of-this-world-screams echoing through the great hallways. And so he goes to meet them, with steel in one hand, arcane in the other and disgust in his eyes. This was what he was, the one man, the only man that stood to fight. The only man that dared to look the Doom in the eyes, draw a line on the ground and stop IT from crossing. He was The Meeter, and he was ready to fight.
The first blow brought it all back to him, as it happened on each Meeting. All the pain, all the torment, all the despair and with them eons of memories that didn’t need to be put in any chronological order, all rushed into his head. Every wound he suffered, every blow he failed to parry, all were there, coming back just as regularly as The Doom. But he had no time to waste on silly feelings, he thought, sheathing his rune-forged sword on his back, taking a ball of blue light from his hand and sticking it in his chest and then running like a ghost through the indestructible walls of the keep towards the so-familiar screams that came from the back gate.
He could remember a time when the trampling of his greaves were not the only sounds that echoed through these hallways. He could remember that there was a time in which his scarred face in the mirror was not the only one he could see. He remembered family, friends, teachers, he remembered laughing, chatting and even sword-fighting to defend his honor against an older knight. He had all these memories but he didn’t even know if they were his.
Pulling out his sword, he charged to face the biggest behemoth he has ever seen. He was not scared, he hasn’t been in a long time. They always fell and he always stood, this was the way it was meant to be and sheer size will never change that. The monstrosity tried to crush him with a leg bigger than an elephant but he only managed to stab himself in the biggest spectral sword anyone has ever seen. It was longer than the giant’s hand and wider than his abomination of a head. Yet The Meeter plunged it into the behemoth’s belly like it was just a child’s stick, his eyes shining in a fiery blue and his entire being radiating unnatural heat. He was more than just a man but less than a god. He was a creation of his own destiny, an abomination of fate in a human shape. He was what he was and he had to do what he had to do, and he could never stop.
And as he returned to the watch tower, the peak from which in the first centuries he used to try to see and end to The Doom that stretched beyond the walls of The Forsaken Citadel, he couldn’t but feel a bit of nostalgia for the days in which he was a young proud battlemage that trained in those courtyards and looked forward to defending the realms of man with sweat on his brow, a sword in his hand, arcane in his heart and his friends by his side. It felt such a queer notion now that he didn’t know if he really ever felt that way or it was just his tired mind refusing to accept what was real. Yet it must have been true, otherwise he would not hate himself so much, he would not despise his very existence. He could not be what he is today if he hadn’t been what he was before and nothing would be this way if it hadn’t been for him.
And it was still there, as it had been for eons, the perfect symbol of what he has done, sublime in its nothingness and its power to reflect everything. Everything that has been and that isn’t anymore. Everything that should have been if he hadn’t existed. Everything that would have been destroyed if it hadn’t saved it. If only he could do something to change it, but he knew that only his death would bring things back the way they were, and that would only destroy it forever. And so, he must continue doing what he has to do.
He knew, like he always did. He waited, like he always did. He watched as they came, millions in numbers but singular in purpose, now knowing that they could do nothing, not knowing that they only came to witness their own demise. He knew what he had to do, he knew how it would end but he didn’t like it more than he ever did. He stood on the edge of the tower and jumped, more than he should be able to, more than he would want to be able to, but in the end he had to do it so his sword plummeted into the ground with the force of a thousand, wreaking havoc across the battlefield and starting again the battle that has never ended.
And in every swipe of his broadsword, every blow that he delivers, in everything that he does or thinks only one thought governs him and feels just as powerful as in the first day, the thought that he has to do it. He knew it then as he knows it now. He knows that if it had been any other way it wouldn’t have been at all. Yet the sacrifices still hurt. Even before they started and the plan was nothing more than a distant dream, they did hurt. How could it not hurt, to sacrifice everything that you know, including yourself. But he did it, and he would do it again, and he realized it too long ago, when the first rivers of arcane started to rush towards him while he was trapping all his friends and all that he knew, perverting their very existence just to have the power to change his, destroying their very nature just for him to be able to do it, for him to become The Meeter. But he had to do it, it was the only way to save everything. The growing powers of The Doom prove it now as they did then and he knew that no humans, regardless of how many, could stop them, that only a being that sacrifices both his humanity and that of others could stop The Doom, and he had to do it.
And then he stopped. Not because he wanted to. Not because he did something for it to happen but because he simply did. He stopped because it just disappeared. He stopped because somehow IT wasn’t there anymore. IT just stopped coming and left nothing where it stood, just a desolating emptiness. He could not believe it, it must have been just one of those tricks he always expected. Otherwise, why would he even stand there anymore, carefully watching everything, expecting the next Meeting.
But then, he started to wonder, what if he actually won, what if his duty was over? Wouldn’t that mean that now he doesn’t need to exist anymore? Doesn’t that make him worse than The Doom itself, trapping human beings without any purpose other than his own existence? Wouldn’t he have more rights to stand there if at least he didn’t know what he was doing, if he was a mindless abomination that could feel no remorse as The Doom was? Should he now do the ultimate sacrifice that he always craved to do? Should he stop his suffering and finally make things right and die?
He now walks. He approaches the trap, amazed of its perfection, embarrassed of the powers that he draws from it and of the mischievous ways in which he uses them. But this is what he is now. He looked into the trap, filling his head with the simple desire of finishing it. He knows what he has to do, as he always did. He puts both his hands on the hilt of his sword, pulls it above his head, and runs, past the cage, past the courtyard, past the gate, to Meet IT. And there it is, The Doom, and he know what he has to do. He knows what he has always known, that he is The Meeter and together with The Doom, they know what they have to do.

Submitted: April 26, 2012

© Copyright 2022 Dextergenius. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:



This was very intersting. A good story of how he conquests his fears. I will become a fan. Also, if you dont mine taking a look at some of my work. Thanks a lot.

Sat, April 28th, 2012 10:01pm

Facebook Comments

More Fantasy Short Stories

Other Content by Dextergenius

Short Story / Fantasy