Swank Will Have A Fall

Swank will have a Fall is a short story written by Aljarreau to enter Vorred's Writing Contest

Chapter One: Swank
At the Palace of Excessiveness on Stelt, the party was going on, like every day. Dancing in front of the Palace’s owner, Protz, who sat down on a massive golden chair, twenty female Vortixx performers gave her best to please the leader of the Kän-Xi horde with their artistic skills. They all knew that one of them, who hadn’t fully satisfied him by the end of the show, would be thrown as living fodder in the Kavinika caverns, for all guests to watch in delectation. Sometimes a dancer tried to bring another out of rhythm, throwing her to the ground or punching her, hoping she would be the sacrifice.

Protz enjoyed watching those pitiful creatures, fighting against each other to win his authorization to live for another day. He often wondered why they did not realize he was in fact the one they should combat. He always came to the conclusion that their intellectual abilities were too limited to embrace such a thought, and that they really did not deserve a normal life. The audience was, as always, a gathering of the most dangerous and infamous criminals of the Universe: slaveholders (among them the one who sold Protz a new Vortixx dancer each day), mass murderers, hallucinogens smugglers, burglars, mad prophets who awaited their turn to foretell Protz his future (and be massacred if his future was dire), religious fanatics, low-class thugs and so forth. Protz let his view fly across the guests and smiled, delighted. That was just the company he liked. Strangling a random servant who had, for a second, blocked his view on the dancer he coveted the most, Protz laid back on his chair, closed his eyelids and snapped his fingers, signalizing to the dancers to stop and to the audience to take care of the latter. Exhausted, the twenty Vortixx fell into the dirty hands of the criminals, wishing this nightmare to be, at last, over.

They didn’t know how close their wish was to become true.

Protz ran. The seven-bio-tall overweight being ran for his life. Several monstrous creatures, bizarre, distorted versions of what had once been Toa, had assaulted his palace and killed most of his servants and dancers who themselves had turned into one of those mindless beasts afterwards. Now they were after him, the, he presumed, only inhabitant of his castle left alive. If he died… No, dying was the wrong word. How could a living being die and still stand up subsequently, longing for flesh to bite into and circuits to rip apart? It looked like they all were obsessed with this one idea. Maybe someone else’s idea. Yes, this had to be the clue. After their deaths, the beings got possessed by a strong mind who commanded their lifeless bodies. But who had interest in doing this? Killing everyone? Protz did not ignore there were more efficient ways of killing, for he had used them more than enough in the past.

Yes, he wasn’t an angel. But who was, after all? Yes, he may have tortured helpless enemies and made vicious shows out of it. Yes, he may have encouraged prostitution, burglary and corruption wherever he could. Yes, he may have amassed so many gold and riches in his colossal castle the word “decadency” was a ridiculous euphemism to describe his lifestyle. If he was turned into a walking dead, he thought, continuing the interrupted thinking, hypocrite Turaga may say to their Matoran he would have reached his merited punishment for not following the Three Virtues. Well, Protz knew many Turaga who had adopted a lifestyle similar to his, for he had closely worked with them before, deceiving the credulous Matoran they ruled. This was the somewhat questionable excuse he hid behind to justify the thousands crimes he, or someone paid by him, had committed. Still running, he threw a horrified female dancer who had got in his way right into the monsters’ fangs to create a diversion. Their munching noises where barely covered by her terrified shrieks as she was ripped apart alive. Perversely, he regretted not being able to sit down, having himself a drink served and to enjoy the gory spectacle. Noisily exhaling, he turned to the left in a foggy corridor, only to find himself facing horrendous-looking un-dead. Spinning around, he jogged as fast as he could, clanking at every step. His body armour was cluttered with all kinds of precious objects, including bright Lightstones, gold, expensive pearls, shiny Cowrie shells, costly geraniums, diamonds whose value, weighted up in food, could supply an entire Matoran village for a month and much more things he had had himself carried in wagons to his home. For a millisecond, the idea of throwing some of those decorations to the ground to lose weight and thus run faster shot through his mind, but he quickly neglected that thought, disgusted he could have even come up with this idea. His wealth was over his own life, wasn't it?

Chapter Two: Fall
Coming Soon

Trivia

 * Protz' counterpart will play a major role in Aljarreau's own storyline