A Queen Among Tempests

Malice - Azadou

Just look at them. Humans now swarm the globe by the billions, their very existence polluting the Earth they inhabit, rotting it from the inside out. I remember when this planet was a thriving oasis, and the humans who existed among it respected it, nurtured it, and even revered it. Now look at them. They move like uncoordinated ants, crashing into one another while simultaneously trying to avoid each other. It would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic. And then there’s the stench.

Every last one of them carries the putrid stench of malice. It emanates from them, contaminating everything around them like a virus. Some wear their malice proudly, owning it and showcasing it like it were a decomposing crown to be mounted proudly upon their heads. Others hide theirs. They attempt to mask it with good deeds and kind words, but I still smell it. I can smell the insincerity a continent away. They can pretend to be mild-mannered, compassionate creatures, but it takes so little to bring forth the malice. How easily every last one of them would turn on each other, and for what? This is the world I have awoken to and it’s enough to make me realise I was better off in a cage.

Walking through what they now call city streets, the tiny people barely throw me a glance as they pass me by. As I continue to walk, attempting to familiarize myself with this new world I exist in, the odorous scent of malice emanates from nearby, calling to me like a vulture to a decaying corpse. I follow the hideous stench, the unmistakable tang growing in intensity and tasting bitter on my tongue.

With each step I take, the malice grows but with it comes the sounds of chanting. Angry, vindictive, hypocritical chants that feel as though they are drilling into my skull. It’s not long before I come upon a large crowd of humans, gathered and screaming obscenities while waving large signs with crude depictions of human foetuses and words scrawled across them that carry the intellect and grammar of an infant. How apt.

“You’re going to burn in hell you f*****g baby killer!” A deranged man shouts at a clearly, terrified young woman, swaddled and protected by the arms of another woman.

“Jesus knows what you’re doing! You deserve to fry!” now screams a most unpleasant woman.

I watch the angry mob with growing curiosity. So much malice oozing off every single one of them. Their words scream hypocrisy that goes unheard by their own impaired ears. They seem to be protesting on behalf of an organism too small and undeveloped to be able to comprehend its own existence, let alone offer any value or worth to the world. They’re screaming how they fight for its life and rights while wishing death and eternal torture upon a fully developed being, whose life has already impacted and contributed to thousands if not millions of lives just by existing. There are several flaws in their logic.

For one, if such a human carried this organism and no longer wanted it, would casting them into a fiery pit of death not in turn destroy the organism they seek to protect? But even more important is the very crucial detail they are all overlooking in this moment.

“Can all of you freaks just f**k off! My sister is here for a cancer biopsy you brainless, sanctimonious fucktards!” screams the angered woman, keeping a protective hold on the young woman she calls her sister.

I shake my head in bemused disappointment as her words do nothing to quell the angry crowd. Their ears deafened by the screams of their own self-righteous and misguided indignation. So much malice is filling the air and yet…I detect the subtle notes within the stench that differentiate one person’s malice from another, like a bouquet of rotting flowers, each offering a wide range of scents to confound the senses.

While the crowd’s malice is dripping with hatred and disgust cloaked in perceived superiority, the malice oozing from the young woman stems from her anger at the mistreatment towards her sister. I’ve not come across this kind of malice before. I’m accustomed to sensing the malevolence that lurks within all beings, but this might be the only time I’ve encountered someone where that bitterness was born from a need to protect that which they covet at all costs.

I stare at the young woman with fascination. My experience with humans is limited and much like that of a newborn child. I had barely been able to open my eyes and take in the new world I had been born into – if one can even call it that – before I was cast down into the bowels of the Earth, sealed away and frozen in time for thousands of years. I hadn’t existed long enough to encounter this unique and powerful aroma, but it’s one I wish to learn more about. I wonder which malice is stronger; that which is born of hatred or that which is born of this other emotion I can’t quite figure out.

As the women finally make their way into the safety of the clinic, the burly man whose vile words could be heard above the others, places his sign down and steps away from the crowd, walking towards a nearby side street. I follow him, stepping into the side street just as he lights up a cigarette. How fitting. Filling his lungs with poison and further polluting the air he breathes. It seems his soul isn’t the only thing rotten about him.

He takes a drag of his cigarette, glancing over at me when he senses my presence. There’s a moment of apprehension in his eyes when he takes in my appearance, but his pernicious nature makes fear an afterthought.

“Can I f*****g help you with something?” he asks, blowing a stream of smoke in my direction.

I say nothing. I merely stand there, observing this malodorous human being with burning curiosity, confounded by the fact such a thing exists. Here stands a man whose life holds little to no value, his time occupied with terrorising innocent people through a fabricated veil of nobility. But I can see into his mind as clear as daylight. There’s nothing noble or humane about him. He doesn’t preach righteousness because he is righteous, he preaches it because he thrives on the pain it causes others. He uses moral outrage as a shield to inflict the most damage on innocent people just fighting to stay alive. The Earth is swarming with insects such as this and yet, this is the world I should be grateful to be a part of. Would the Gods have me kiss their feet and extend my thanks for forcing me to share an existence with cockroaches such as these? The very notion repeats itself in my mind ad nauseam.

“You got a f*****g problem mate?” the loathsome creature snaps, the malicious odour around him intensifying as his mind runs through all the contemptible yet hilarious ways he would love to put me in my place. It amuses me how the most sadistic of humans are also the most stupid. Their inability to feel humility or empathy gives them a warped sense of self; a grandiose reflection that impedes them from seeing the dangers they willingly put themselves in. Dangers I feel no compulsion to warn them about.

The human before me flicks his cigarette onto the ground as he storms over while attempting to bring himself to his full height as if his 5’9” frame could even compare to my 7’9” stature.

“Are you mute you f*****g freak?” he spits, throwing his hands out to shove me.

I don’t remotely feel the moment his hands connect with my chest. The only thing making it clear this fragile being attempted to harm me, are the sounds of his pained screams and contorted look on his face as he drops to the stone ground, unable to clutch his own hands as they remain flopped back at awkward angles, the pure white of his bones now visible and experiencing life outside of their cocoon of human flesh.

I look down at him with disinterest and not an ounce of sympathy, “You really shouldn’t have done that,” I utter stoically.

I watch on as his howls of pain soon morph into screams of horror as a dark shadow begins to engulf his hands, quickly moving down his arms until his entire body is consumed in darkness. His cries become muffled before they’re silenced by the darkness taking him over. In an instant the man who once was, is no more, now replaced by a humanoid shadow. Its eyes open to reveal bright purple voids staring up at me as its wispy figure begins to absorb the light around itself, slowly bathing the street in darkness. It observes me as if waiting for a command, even though it has no consciousness. All I see now is a malicious human now consumed by their own hatred for all eternity. Perhaps some part of me should care, but I don’t. Instead, I turn my back and walk away.

Sickened by the thought of infecting my senses by suffering through more human interactions, I transport myself back to my home – if one could call it that. I’ve never had a home, but I find the concept strange yet comforting. A dwelling of my own creation that separates me from all the earthly things I despise, while providing me with a sanctuary to do as I will, even rest should I find need of it.

I chose to take up residence in a place called Hoia-Baciu, a forest in a land called Romania. Gullible and paranoid humans seem to believe this dark forest is haunted, and I suppose now it is. When I erected this home for myself I realised this was the first thing I had ever created of my own volition. Yes, I created the eyti but there’s not a single eyti in existence that I ever made intentionally. This place, however, was. I saw it in my mind then made it happen and have come to treasure this place in the short time I’ve resided here. I even feel quite protective of it, another emotion I am unfamiliar with.

As I make my way up the darkened, grand staircase I halt in my tracks when the air shifts, and I’m suddenly made aware of a light, airy feeling bringing with it an uncomfortable warmth. A snarl rumbles in my throat as I form a ball of purple electricity in my palm. I turn with blinding speed, hurling it in the direction of my intruder, but they disappear, causing the ball to blast through the front door shattering it to smithereens. I fume furiously as the b***h who just caused me to damage my own home reappears, glancing over at the gaping hole in my front entryway.

“Dude is there something about ‘Goddess of Prophecy’ that you just don’t get?” she huffs, folding her arms over her chest, her liquid silver eyes daring to look upon me with frustration as her cascading green and white hair stands out against the dark interior of my home.

“Was worth a shot,” I saw with a macabre smile. “Now get out,” I order.

“Azadou I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to help you,” she says with a sweet voice that makes me sick to my stomach.

“Then you can help by leaving,” I snarl.

“Why haven’t you tried to see Orenda?” she asks, not remotely deterred.

My molars clench at the sound of that name, a name I have tried day and night to erase from my mind along with the face it is attached to.

“If you just gave her a chance, you might find your entire life could be different. Don’t you want to be happy?” she asks sympathetically.

“Happy?” I scoff. “Is that how you see this…manipulative tactic?”

“Manipulative? Is that what you think this is?” she quizzes with surprise.

“Yet another God casting their magic upon me against my will. How can I see it as anything but?” I retort.

“Zarseti would never do anything to hurt you. She went through hell in the hopes of helping you and everyone else. We’re not the enemy, Azadou, please believe that,” she pleads.

I chuckle darkly, “A few months as a Goddess and how quickly you have considered yourself one of them, but I wonder if they see it the same way.” I walk over and begin circling her, pushing past the discomfort of the almost blinding light that radiates off her. “You’re not truly one of them. You were human once, and in your mind, you will always be a human. You weren’t created the way they were. You haven’t lived as long as they have. Trust me, they aren’t as welcoming to Gods that aren’t just like them.”

“If you’re trying to scare me or put doubt in my mind, it’s not going to work. I survived far too many deadbeat ex-boyfriends who tried the same crap and if it didn’t work on me then, then I’m pretty sure you’re screwed,” she says with a smug smile.

“I’m just stating the facts, do with them what you will.

She sighs, “You were wronged and mistreated because of fear and misunderstanding, but they would all happily welcome you and give you the chance if you let them. I’m standing right here opening the door for you, and so is Zarseti by giving you this incredible gift,” she says gently.

“Hear me now Goddess of Light. For as long as I draw breath, I will never trust the words or actions of the Gods, not even newly formed Gods such as yourself. So, you can tell your precious Zarseti that I spit on her gift of an animai, and you can tell the others that the next God to darken my door will find their entrails used to decorate my front steps,” I say with a malevolent smile.

She straightens up, taking a slow breath while observing me carefully, “Even if that God were Jartre?”

I snort in amusement, “Especially him.”

“You remember that if you kill him, you die too, right?”

I lean forward until my lips are a breath away from her ear, “I’m counting on it,” I whisper.

Before she can utter a response, I wave my hand sending her back to wherever the hell she came from, my mood now greatly soured and my home…my sanctum sanctorum, now sullied by her unwelcome presence. With another wave of my hand, I restore the front door of my home and make my way upstairs.

With each step I take, I reflect on her words. She truly believes I’ve been granted a gift. Where is this supposed gift? Ripped into existence and forced to smell the rotting stench of malice blanketing the Earth, only to then be locked in a prison. Now I’m free, but the world I have returned to is a million times more repugnant than it ever was, and for this, I should be grateful Or is it this animai the meddling little goodie-two-shoes speaks of that should have me singing the praises of the Gods? Am I to thank yet another God for inflicting their magic upon me? One more torturesome than anything Fretez did. At least Fretez left me in a frozen state of blissful ignorance, but not Zarseti, no. Her magic plagues my mind with images of two bright, rainbow-coloured eyes that looked upon me as though they could see right into the depths of my blackened essram. Every night I see those eyes, and every night I curse their very existence and the Goddess who bound them to me.