Constantly on the Edge

Constantly on the Edge

         I’m just a shallow voice of my former self. A fraction of what I used to be. Through the mists of darkness, deep within my amnesic slumber, I still haven’t lost my selfawarness. My complete persona is gone. It vanished in the dusk of passing time.

         Lost my mood. Lost my ways. I went astray and yet something’s there that awaits me to awake and struggle some more.

         I can barely breathe again. With pain in my chest I can hardly even focus on my surroundings. And thus I, the disgruntled warrior awakes to find meself in the gloomy forest, me trusted horse and all of me possessions missing.

         Memories, I can’t morally accept to ever have possessed, rush from the head into me conscious self. A peasant who abandoned his restraints and recklessly turned into a hero who let his bravery overgrow him.

         Luckily this body didn’t cease to continue its ephemeral functioning. The hilt of the sword it took into the chest was still provoking lung-objections to the frenetic inhaling of fresh oak aroma.

         Heartbroken he lost not only a battle, but something was taken away from him after he got knocked down. Everything about himself felt more surreal than before the dream. In his mind and spirit he was still the swordsman that fought for his cause.

         The abundant green decorated tree trunks, where holding the sky from falling on him. Thankfully it wouldn’t fall to hurt his aching head even more, thus he could peacefully continue to gasp for more air. His palms were resting upon the soft leaves and strings of vegetation.          There was a false sentiment of relieving surroundings.

         His slayed donkey passed out from its bodily trenches and its inners were burst off through heavy blows out of the torso.

         “Since when do I own a donkey?” Leaning forward, slowly he approached the corpse kneeling. In great awe, filled with disgust, leaning his palms on the donkey, he pushed himself on his feet and started looking around for his sword.

         It appeared that the memories of him being a peasant were more real than those of the glorious swordsman image; the image his sense of self so much clung to.

         There was no sword. No shining armor. No foaming white battle horse.

         His rags would have to do for now. Perhaps once he reached the village people would recognize him, he would recognize them, amnesia would fall back and clarity would finally emerge.

         “Where shall I go? To the left? Or shall it be to the right? One path and yet two many choices!” he murmured before him.

         As he was following the meandering trail of battered earth, he realized he couldn’t even remember his name. How could he ever hope to tell his heroic tale once he would remember it if he didn’t even know the name of the main protagonist?

         There must have been others with him. Perhaps some false friends. Slick bastards that fooled him into a trap. Together with the crooks that lay hidden in wait they must have ambushed him all at once, for a man of his caliber wouldn’t go down so easy. So, he remembered, his former self felt.

         But what would become of him if he were to be ambushed again? If those criminals wanted to kill him, they would’ve done so when he was unconscious. Would he be able to expose them once he remembered who they were?

         Even if nobody would pay attention to his story filled with misfortune of an unjustly beaten royal knight, he would still bring those evil doers to justice, one way or the other. What great title did he really hold?

         A dreadful thought suddenly blossomed within him. It penetrated all his body, causing him to shiver in terrible fear. What if he really was just a peasant? That donkey must have been his only fortune and some robbers might have stolen his hard earned pay.

         He whistled away all the bad thoughts and went on without paying any serious attention to his sorrowful revelation which pointed at a meager future.





         The town was crowded with old houses covered in smooth white walls and topped with hay roofs. Tree trunks ends were slightly sticking out of the houses.

         The brave hero didn’t have too look for long to recognize someone. In the market place, which was right in the middle of the town, he recognized an old acquaintance. Boekeeft Lowrance, a slick slimy crook, but nonetheless it was his best friend from what he could remember. He was a skinny man small in stature with light orange hair and few freckles and was wearing a hood to hide his straightforward criminal appearance.

         “Hi there, old friend!” says the worn out peasant.

         Boekeeft opens his mouth and his lower jaw starts shaking as he tried to get words out. He could only stare in wonder, as if he saw a ghost when he noticed the familiar face.

         “Hey there! What a great surprise to see you! Are you alright?” cautiously he replied, not being sure how to react.

         “Thanks for asking. Not too well.”

         “I invite you to a drink and then we could perhaps discuss what troubles you.” Boekeeft was a man of the rare kind of unstoppable urge to stick his nose in every pile of shit he saw, just so he could find in there.

         They took a sit near the window and soon ordered few drinks, even something to eat for the peasant since he was looking very pale. Nodding his had with his lips pressed and a hidden smile, Boekeeft asked:

         “So how have you been man? I’m glad I saw you, because I was very worried. You know we’re friends and friends stick together.”

         “I fainted in the forest. I know someone beat me up, but I don’t know who.”

         “Fainted? I could have sworn those blows Chad delivered to your head had killed you for good.”

         “I know what you mean. I can still feel the sword’s hilt that was punched into my chest. Name is Chad, huh? Do you know where he is?”

         “So you don’t have any recollections of what happened. No memories of the entire affair that got you there in the first place? No??”

         The peasant shook his head. “No. Tell me where I can find him and I’ll get back at him for what he has done.”

         “Whoa! Wait, you actually want to go against the entire group of thugs on your own?” surprise wasn’t faked this time.

         “If that’s what it takes to exact revenge! Let’s see if he can come back from a near death situation.”

         “Wait and calm down for a minute. I don’t think you understand the underlying implications that are tightly related to this situation. There’s more to the story than just your hurt pride. If you manage to hurt or even kill the thugs somehow you will only be doing injustice to the right cause.”

         That appeared as if Boekeeft was clearly siding with the thugs. It enraged the swordsman, but he didn’t want to hurt an old friend.

         “Just tell me where they are. I’m will go to them and put some real hurt on them”

         Boekeeft was silently staring out of the window. With a twitch of his lips outward, raising one brow he then said in a persuading tone:

         “I was just thinking. You know you just came back from the dead, maybe you should take some rest first and then you can plan with a clear mind a lot better how you will go about the situation.” Sliding his eyes back at swordsman he then asks. “Does that agree with you? Am I making sense?”

         That pressing argument of stating a fact and then asking if it makes any sense.

         “Where could I possibly rest? If Chad is in the same town and sees me alive he might try to harm me again or even kill me.”

         “I think I have just the right solution. You could perhaps hide at Inn next door?”

         “All my belongings are gone, even my donkey is dead ...”

         “Your donkey … ?” interrupted Boekeeft with a frown on his face.

         “I might be a poor peasant but I had at least the one donkey. Well, not anymore since its dead now.”

         Just as the confused looking peasant was about to open his mouth and ask any more questions, Boekeeft realized the blows this guy took might have shook his brain a little too much, making him misremember things.

         “Ah! Alright now I remember. I see what you mean.” Pause. “Yeah I can definitely see what you mean.”

         Forcing a concerned look on his face he continued in a sympathizing tone.

         “Don’t worry about the money. I will pay the Inn for you for the one night, even more if needed.”

         Suddenly a thought convulsion hit the peasant. That sounded totally out of character for Boekeeft, to pay and care for someone else. Normally he would even steal the last cent from a beggars pocket if he could.

         Perhaps, he thought, this time it’s different. He might actually care about someone close whose life is in danger. After all he did have to fight for his. A friend in need? Indeed, why not?

         They finished munching their food, then stood up to head straight to the Inn.

         As they passed one of the tables filled with celebrating customers, the peasant saw a huge roasted pig being carved for the large hungry crowd around the table.

         “Alva! Come and get the puffy potatoes!” called the chef growling. She promptly followed the order and was in such a rush that she even let the knife on the table.

         In that blink of an eye, right as she let go of it, the swordsman instinctively grabbed it. Two drunkers thought they saw something but couldn’t notice exactly what. They were looking first in his direction, but the knife was already gone and hidden in the sheath under his cotton belt. In their dizzy state they insistingly thought it had to have gone somewhere and then looked to try and notice the knife in the lady’s hand.

         It just didn’t want to show itself anywhere they stared. No matter how large they were opening their eyes. But what they could see was the waitress’ nicely shaped rounded ass.

         “Geehee-hee!”

         “Oh what the hell!” They didn’t care anymore.

         So they reached back to their beer jug and dug in the contents.

         To the peasant surprise still came, wondering where he got those habits of executing theft without even looking. A practice that no longer required thought for him.

         He needed it, he got it. As simple as that.

         Closely following his friend dressed in robe, head covered in hood, he decided to think about it after he gets some rest..





         After he got in his room, the peasant asked Boekeeft:

         “What about those thugs downstairs? They look kind of grumpy and dangerous and something tells me they are part of Chad’s group.”

         “Don’t worry they weren’t there when you got beat up and left to die.”

         “But you were there, tell me what exactly happened. Now!”

         “Don’t rush it. Knowing what really happened, might shake you up more than you already are or perhaps could even handle. So for now just have a rest. I will get to tell you everything in detail after you’re not so tired anymore. Bad stories aren’t good before bedtime, they’ll make it so you can’t sleep.”

         Too tired to argue, the swordsman thought he will leave this sort of problem for the next morning.





         “Hey Chad, big man, how’s it going? Everything alright?” asked Boekeeft with a cheeks sucked in slim, pale and dried out face. His eyes bubbling out of his face, fixating a look at Chad. It was as if he was trying to widen his eyes even more, his lips twisting sideways and then he pushed his head forward shaking.

         Chad Persky was the boss of a large gang of thugs. Nobody to mess with and some smart enough to bribe the guards in town to close an eye at times. Blond, tall and very muscular. A fierce looking man with a moderate beard and medium short hair.

         Chad threw Boekeeft a look as to a pesky lap dog and said “Hello.”

         “Listen, I got some news you might be interested in. what do you say? Care to hear them?” continued the slick dog enthusiastically.

         “Ah. What the heck. Spill it out already.”

         “Sure.” Pulling his nose upwards, sniffing a bit of air through. “I just want to make sure there’s something in for me if I spill the beans.” His mouth’s edge was far outstretched to one side. Pupils dilated. “Alright?” Staring Chad right in the face from less than 10 centimeters away.

         It made Chad go deep into his imaginative side of thinking.

         How wonderful it would be land a nice and clean  punch through that retarded looking face, striking him to the ground. But his step brother Laris, one of his my most faithful followers and his loyal bandits would then be against me.

Chad threw him few gold coins.

         “Well I see you are full ears. This will surprise you, but Ugrait is still alive. He’s up in one of the Inn’s rooms and probably fell asleep by now.”

         Chad looked straight at him with one eye, while lowering the back of his head to let the glass’ contents roll down his neck, then gently put the glass on the bar’s table.

         “Are you shitting me?”

         “No Sir! I would never do such a thing.”

         Of course he wouldn’t, realized Chad right away. Boekeeft’s neck would be on the line if he was pulling such a great stunt.

         Three of the rough looking figures in ruff clothing, stood up from their table.

         “We’ll make sure he’s dead this time.” they exclaimed alerted.

         “Sit down men. It’s obviously not Ugrait.” Chad had his brows leaned straight horizontally and a set back look, being tired from the day’s adventures.

         “So this little shit is lying!” blurted another thug.

         “No, that’s not it. He wouldn’t risk his neck to make such a stupid joke.” Chad carelessly spat a burp and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “It must be his twin.”

         “But he knows about the body.” intervened Boekeeft.

         “So what? He must’ve seen his brother’s dead body in the forest and came to find out who and why has done that to him. I would do the same if I had a twin brother and saw his mutilated corpse in the forest. Too bad for him he doesn’t stand a chance against us.” There was one more argument for Ugrait being alive, but the boss’ compassion of arguments subconsciously influenced Boekeeft to suppress the thought. The most important clue flickered away from his mind and he could only agree now.

         “So let’s go get him!” advised someone with high ardor.

         “Enough for today! I am really tired and wish to get some piece of mind before I loose myself completely in all the bloodshed. We might murder for the sake of robbery, but constantly slaughtering pigs is a job for butchers not noble bandits like us.”

         “Heard that? He said it!”

         “True words of wisdom! The boss is a man amongst men.”

         “Ain’t that right? No wonder he is our soul brother!”

         “Well glad you got it so quick. Fetch your bimbos, get some sleep and we’ll discipline the guy in the morning if necessary.”

         The crowd burst into bits of grotesque laughter.

         “Yaaaaaah!! The boss can kill and spare lives as he pleases!”

         Full of pride with a large smile on his face, Chad says:

         “Anyway. Anywhere. Anytime. We shall keep moving forward. Let’s drink for another step of our progress success!”

         “Cheeeweeeer up!” all men exclaimed while they lift their glasses, arms stretched out and then tipped the drinks down their throats.





         Meanwhile Ugrait could only hear the noises their high drunk spirits singing deep in the night, but could not discern what was being said. Lying in fear in the silent dark bedroom, he fell asleep while wondering why he was really afraid. He remembered himself a truly heroic knight that would never back down and shiver in fear. It were only Boekeeft’s words that insisted he would be scared off Chad and the fact that he gave into those misleading words.

         Chad, wherever he might be, he won’t be for long.

         Eyes dropped their heavy lids shut. Starting from his head, his entire conscious being and body was traumatically shaking with the last drops of strength he felt he had after the day.

         From outside his room noises of cheering and rejoicing swarming throughout the hallway and through the doors beyond. They were coming upstairs, but Ugrait didn’t care about some random drunkards, nor was he able to, for he was already deep asleep.

         Hugging the long blade in its sheath as if it was a lovely little teddy bear that would protect him from the monsters in the closet and the big booh-booh under his bed, he slept more tight and peaceful than he could’ve hoped to.





         In the middle of the night with lights turned off, hardly any shadow cast by the stars and moon through the wooden pillars on the wall, were able to illuminate the inner space of the Inn. Strange figures were always forming on the wall, changing shape and place as the moon passed over the sky.

         With a gentle slide, it pushed through the heart trying to reach deep into the victim’s soul. He would cough out a bit of blood and never again awake. His dream would be his last connection to this world. Happy moments of great robberies. Socially strong, bodily well built, a born leader everyone respected and feared for what he was, and yet individually still weak and mortally human.

         “What’s the matter? Did you choke on my booby?” giggled Trisha.

         She stroked Chad over his head and then moved the hand down over his chest. His body felt very moist to the touch. Wet, perhaps full of sweat. Then she felt a slight movement in the air. Looking up there was a figure standing straight up, moving away quickly in the dark.

         With a high pitched yell she screamed her lungs out.

         “The bogeyman!!!”

         Her integral complacent self collapsed while she leaned on her back in utter fear. Covered her mouth with the blanket and cried in silence.

         Few pairs of steady tramping were heard from the corridor.

         The first approaching trample stepped over a body that was lying in the corridor for a while, and then he felt a piercing blow stomped into his nape.

         “Keep the noise down, I’m trying to sleep.” A voice raised.

         “What’s going on heee … ?” said the guy next door of Chad’s room in a sleepy tone. A heavy clump was heard. A twist of an elbow followed by a groan and then crackling bones.

         “Mway awroom!!” painfully groaned someone in a muffled voice.

         “Bastard! Let him go!”

         Another clump plunged into the floor.

         “Hey! Keep the noise down or I’m going to kick your ass into and through the wall, no matter what the boss will say afterwards!”

         A heavy strike the thug tried to blow at the stranger was redirected into the wall.

         “Gah!” the gasping sound of pain followed.

         A thunderstorm of stone hard clenched fists poured down like a tempest on the thug’s body. It went beyond sensing the pain, into silent numbness and his consciousness faded away.

         In white undershirt and drawers with a flashlight in his hand, a bearded disheveled angry looking figure grazed from the end of the corridor. But when he noticed the end of the throwing movement it was already too late to dodge. That small sharp pin of a knife pierced to his eye, into his brain. He kneeled and then face slammed the ground.





         Laris unlike Boekeeft, his short stepbrother, was of normal height with brown hair and nearly as strong as Chad.

         Laris knew it wasn’t smart to interfere with the boss’ men, but whenever the boss had problems putting them to their place or just making sure they’re quiet, Chad would be grateful for his help.

         He turned on the light and just in time barely noticed someone running into the room right in front of the stairs, slowly closing the door.

         “Hey! Come back here!” grunted Laris.





         Lingering between his conscious sleepy self and his awake subconscious being, he followed the path to the nearest sheltering soft blanket.

         In an awfully dizzy state barely holding his balance, crouching on the ground he pulled the blanket down to cover himself. He immediately dropped into the shadowy land flooded with imaginative thoughts.





         When Laris came upstairs he noticed there about seven or more dead men on the corridor to the left and to the right one guy with his flashlight in his hand and a knife through his head.

         Heavy knocks drummed on Ugrait’s door.

         “Open up!”

         Laris was now nervously kicking into the door.

         Doors all around the Inn were opening.

         “This is our Inn, don’t make me break the door.”

         The remaining bandits came out from their rooms, wondering what made Laris so angry. Whoever it was, he was in grave danger they thought.

         Ugrait woke up noticing his knife was now gone and for some unknown reason he had been sleeping on the floor.

         He jumped on his feet. The door flew off it’s hinges to the middle of the room.

         A medium tall brown haired tense strong guy almost had to squeeze through the small narrow door.

         Laris rotated his neck, then stretched his fist towards Ugrait.

         Ugrait mechanically responded by leaning his head sideway and pushed Laris’ arm away from his body, kicked the guy in the stomach and asked:

         “What the hell do you want?”

         Boekeeft, the little prick came around.

         “Hey cool it bro. What’s the matter? I thought we leave him for the morning. Chad will take care of him personally.”

         Hug! Ugrait still felt extremely tired. Breathing deeply he made one step back.

         “Chad is dead.” yelped a wailing half naked woman on the corridor with her eyes shut tight trying to keep the tears away. It was Trisha.

         Hug! The voice resounded in Ugrait’s head. Ridiculous! I won’t!

         “See? He is dangerous.”

         Hug him! Why would he hug a thug? It wasn’t an emotional felling of affection. It felt like his survival instinct was telling him that.

         “Brother, you step aside, I will finish what I came here to do.”

         It’s time for a little tenderness. Hug him already! Without any further moment of hesitation Ugrait stepped forward embracing Laris, holding him tight.

         What the hell am I doing? Where in his mind did this stupid idea come from?

         He pressed the opponent’s torso. Laris was strong enough to resist an enormous pressure on his chest.

         “Aw man! What are you doing to Laris? Let go you rat!” exclaimed Boekeeft.

         Laris was about to break free and unleash his anger. But it didn’t matter, it was too late for him. He had lost the moment he got into Ugrait’s embrace. The palm around the neck slid further to grab the chin and with a tight grip while being pushed away, Ugrait also pressed his hand against Laris’ shoulder and from there moved that other palm on his opponent’s temple. With a tight grip and his foot pushing away on the guy’s body, he wrenched the head.

         Laris fell flat on the floor.

         “Laris! LAREEES!” Boekeeft begged. With tears in his eyes, crying and sulking like a little kid, holding his brother’s heavy body leaned over his arm, he then screamed staring directly into Ugrait’s face.

         “He killed Laris! Murderer!!!”

         All the men that were waiting in the corridor to get in, but couldn’t because Laris was blocking the way, now stepped in to the room one after the other.

         Unsure of what made him kill the guy so effortlessly and now fearing for his life, Ugrait rushed to the window and with both hands in full force tore it open, then jumped head down. Did a quick air flip, pressed his boots into the wall to brake the fall and barely managed to grab on a stump slightly sticking out of the house. Pressed his foot on the wall and did a backward spin jump, landing safely on the ground.

         Still dizzy and mystified about the acrobatic moves he had just experienced he started running.

         The thugs jumped away from the window hurrying downstairs, but before they could get outside, their target was already long gone.

         “Ugrait! You will die … !” Boekeeft’s blabbing yells were fading into the night.





         Suffering in vibrations of fear he was trying to forget and move on. There was also the confusing bursts of happiness he wanted to give into but wasn’t in the position to comfort himself with.

         He, at least had a name again. Ugrait.

         Went to hide in the back of a barn directly connected to horses. Dropped on the hay and fell asleep.





         It turned out it’s the knight quarter he went into, when in the morning a patrol was checking the stables.

         “Let me see the face of the idiot who dares to trespass and disturb the knight’s horses.” exclaimed a guard betraying a gloating tone. Then grabbed the sleeping peasant by the neck and lift him up.

         “Hey, isn’t this Bavereet?”

         “No way! You mean the knight leader of the nordic impaler army?”

         It gave Ugrait a reason to smile. He wasn’t a mere peasant after all!

         “Yeah! It’s that cowardly general who always hides in the far back of the troops.”

         “You sure? This lowly peasant? Look at his rags!”

         Ugrait’s smile was wiped away by those words just as fast as it appeared.

         “No mistake here. I attended the last royal conference, when we pleaded with their reason to give us our independence. Of course those rotten nobles denied it!”

         “Hey you shithead! Do you have any idea how many men you killed through your orders?” complained the other guard with precipitations out his mouth.

         The guard threw Bavereet on his back, then was held down by the guard’s foot and couldn’t stand up. Bavereet heard glinging sounds in his head and then his temper faced a sudden change.

         “What are you swindling scum doing here?” shout the guard.

         Holding on to the foot of the guard he forced his muscles beyond limits pushing the guy on his back.

         “You moron don’t know who you messing with! I’ll beat some sense into that numb skull of yours.”

         Standing up he had to deflect strong punches of fists covered in metal gloves. They were fierce men that wouldn’t budge so easy, but with his nicks and twists, he tweaked the one’s arm pushing him towards the other. I the light thin armors it was easy to step over. They fell down. The heavy impact knocked off the guy below and the guy above still needed a little while to recover from the shock and pain.

         Running for his life Bavereet slipped to a halt right before exiting the barn. He mounted a horse and at a steady gallop rode away for the sake of his well being. Through the town looks were turning on him, but he looked more like a scared peasant gone mad than a bad guy. People laughed at his sight.

         The guards standing at the town’s gate were more worried about bad evildoers invading the town and didn’t expect anyone to rush out. Of course it did arose excitement filled with curiosity, to see the peasant ride away at such a crazy pace.

         Why did the knights recognize him under a different name? Ugrait seemed to be known as the lowly peasant to the bandits, while Bavereet was he the royal knight person, according to the guards.

         He went rode around trying to find a place to collect his thoughts and stopped at a lake not very far away from the town. At the sight of the water, he remembered not taking his boots off for a long time, he took them out to relax and put his feet in the water. On the sides of the boots he noticed the hilts of knives hidden, one in each boot.

         There were only two short knives and he couldn’t waste throwing them at his opponents, even if he would hit. What would he do after using up his throws?

         Suddenly he remembered those strange thoughts he heard when confronting Laris.

         As if there was another self. One without a name, hiding within for some time, maybe it has always been there. No way he could remember, since he could recall almost nothing from before his collapse. Not the peasant’s, not the swordsman’s, nor that of Ugrait and neither of Bavereet.

         “Voice? Can you hear me? Are you there Voice?”

         Only the silence of the waves hitting the shore followed.

         He laughed.

         No reply. He gave up and looked in front of himself at the large lake.

         Thoughts started self connecting by themselves forming a somewhat distinguishable pattern together. He must have been the knight Bavereet himself, perhaps disguised himself as a peasant to infiltrate the rebellious town or land that sought independence. The kingdom must have sent him because he was staying behind the fights. The name Ugrait was most likely made up by himself just to cover his identity.

         With feet held in the cold water and the slightly breezy foggy weather, barely eating anything since the day before, while exhausting his body through all the fights, it all added up. It all got its toll. He was suffering a migraine and started seeing colored spots. He went to check the horse’ saddle to see if there isn’t by any chance something to eat, but all he could find was just the one bag of salt randomly hanging on to the saddle as if it’s existence even mattered.

         He holed himself under a bush to take cover from any patrols that might be sent after him. Used his jacket to cover his face and upper body from the now cool wind.

         He fell asleep. Would he hold out without any food?

         Deep in his slumber he remembered the good times at the royal palace. Piles of wonderful food that commoners hardly ever got the chance to see. Just looking at it was marvelous. You have great chefs, my king! He would praise and dig in.

         Munching through the tender meat slightly salting it, he started to feel rejuvenated and regaining his strength.

         He awakes with a knife slicing up pieces of meat from the horse, salting it and smoldering it over fire to then eat. Immediately stops and throws away the stick with a slice of meat at the top. Few moments pass and he mutters before himself he never thought horse meat would taste so great!

         Then he realizes donkey might have died by his own hands back when he awoke the first time in the forest. Clearly that inner self wanted to survive at all costs and it always kicked in when his life was barely holding any longer to this world.

         “Ah what the hell!”

         Horse meat won’t kill him and even if it was strange to eat it, why starve when there’s food. That’s the only thing to keep him alive and kicking.

         Now rest.





         Galloping hooves were dropping their echo through the abundant moss and leaves decorated trunks. As they strode through the forest, heavily pounding the ground birds fluttered back and forth from all around. A faint rattle of thinlery was growing more and more into a clatter.

         The bumping sounds stopped and the horses neighed in a high disturbingly high pitched tone making Bavereet to shudder awake.

Boekeeft was standing on his high horse few meters in front of him, throwing down his fierce stare of irrevocable end of days judgement. With him he had brought some knights from the town and whatever leftover thugs weren’t too scared to come.

         “You dimwit thought you’re above the law! Hehehehe!” gloated a knight.

         “What do you want?” asked Bavereet.

         “We thought your malice has prevailed. That you escaped from facing justice! But the Lord has graced us in the end. God has left you to die by our hands the moment you made that forest fire!” preached Boekeeft.

         “I thought that was my mistake, not god’s.”

         “Be silent!” grunted one of the knights.

         “We came here to execute you scum! Just give up!”

         “Fine. So come and get me. I can’t be bothered to stand up and walk over to you.”

         They get down from their horses. Just some of the bandits remain mounted. Once they got down from their horses, they pulled their swords out and made their way to him.

         It looked like the end. A very slow ending since they had to walk around a ditch and few fallen branches. He was shaking and wondered after all the trouble he went through what would he got to fear anymore?

         On a whim he decides to trust the inner self. Voice should still be there and ready to help him. He stands up and runs towards the ditch.

         He wasn’t sure how but he had to somehow pull few more acrobatics. Voice was there. They jumped forward landing with palms next to the ditch. While about to lean head down over his back, his hands gave a strong jolt to the ground. He flew over the ditch and while above it, with quick leg movement he pushed himself towards other side. Leaned forward to grab the edge just about enough to balance himself over it with his palms and then performed another flip over head.

         Before the bandits could break away from their surprised state, he took another leap towards a dismounted horse and as soon as he got on it, it jostled away.

         You exist you are there you are more real than anything in this world! Hahaha!

         They rode closely after him. Few moments later they already lost a bandit as he carelessly hit a branch and ended in a severe fall.

         Voice! I still have my two knives. We can win this if we use them to get a sword and then finish off the large gang.

         Without any hesitation he rode sideways making one of the bandits approach faster. The horse slowed down as he stood vertically on it, then with a bit of momentum kicked into the bandits face which helped him halt in time to drop in the saddle.

         Slow down Bavereet. You rush too much. We could’ve gotten his weapon.

         He bowed to take the knives from his boots’ holders. It could have been difficult to change horses or ride with them in his hand, but he now blindly entrusted the refined details completely to Voice.

         Two throws, a quick grab at the sword in a sheath and three slices finished the bandits before he could take note of being too close to them for comfort.

         The knights caught up.

         “Time for some chop-chop!” announced Voice through Bavereet the beginning of his child’s play. It did all put heavy strains on his hosts body, since the knights were quite strong and skilled opponents.

         But armed with a sword he soon took over another and overpowered them all.

         No more Boekeeft. No more knights. No more bandits. For they’ve been all put to their place and mellowed into goodie goods. Dead ones though.

         Physically exhausted and barely holding a grip, he slowly rode away.

         Since when are you in my head Voice?

         Conversing through thoughts wasn’t really appealing to Bavereet.

         The very first thing I remember in your body is the hunger and the tasty looking donkey that I had to kill.

“What provoked those heavy trenches in its body?!”

         I used boulders of course. Didn’t know yet how to make a fire on your world, so I tenderized the meat with them even further. After I was done eating I found the knives and did some inspection on the body to understand how it functions and try to deduce how your or other bodies might function on this planet..

         “How could someone like you not know how to make a fire?”

         Don’t be so quick to judge. You never saw fire inside a liquid before, nor plants that emanate it. Different worlds, different natural aspects.

         “Haha! What world are you from anyway? I thought you’re a spirit from beyond.”

         Your delusional beyond doesn’t exist, but other ones do. Yet I am from the same universe and three-dimensional space as you are. Between the stars in your sky, there are other worlds, some similar to yours.

         I was born under a dark star. It’s so big and intense that it sucks in all light, it shoots heat and rays far stronger than what your electricity.

         Some primitive beings, that are still more advanced than you guys, tried to understand what I really am. Grey little men they are.

         They wanted to understand a far superior being that travels and transcends the universe with just his body alone. Somehow they managed to copy a part of me. They caught only a glimpse of the whole and transcribed it into a broken body they found in the forest. They healed and repaired him and then let him go loose to see how the new being behaves.

         “So are they observing us now?”

         Whenever you got a pesky fly buzzing around in your room you swat it. Sure it can sneak on you and suck a bit of blood, but in the end I'm sure I killed my pestering fly.

         “If you tell me your name, we’ll search for it.”

         I have none.

         “Voice, the Dark Star Hero. The hero without a name now has one!” grinned Bavereet before him.







         After few days of search and travel, Voice narrowed down the site of the crashed flying saucer. He checked the system to learn how to transmit a transcription back ‘home’ as a warning message.

         Here I am, finally found what I was looking for. I think this is where it all begun.

         Voice parted from Bavereet’s mind, otherwise it wouldn’t assure the fraction of persona would be recognized. In truth, Voice had no real sense of belonging and couldn’t feel even the slightest attachment to the surrounding world.

         Bavereet Bohmanden was the knight’s full real name. He, the creature left behind has never been a noble soul, nor was he a ruthless assassin. He merely had his personal traits amplified to the fullest.

         “Please! Come back!” Kneeling he cried and prayed and begged.

         A long forgotten comrade touched his shoulder.

         “Get a hold of yourself, Bavereet Bohmanden!”

         “Jerdeo?! … and Dragomir!” two of his real friends were there. Royal knights of the nordic impaler army, high generals of empire surrounded by their own guards.

         “We got worried your cover got blown and you would be imprisoned for spying, so we started searching for you.”

         He stood up still morally fallen and lost in his feelings of abandonment. Left with the knowledge and the horrid experiences he went through, jumping through the eye of the needle, what else would he got to fear? But could he ever be able to come close to that ultimate being’s self? He could only look up to the sky and hope.

         “Look at him! A faithful devout! Is it god you praying to?”

         “Who knows? Can’t think of anyone else who would care to save my life and my miserable rotten self from the dangers I went through.”

         They stared frowning. With mouth opened barely enough to reveal few teeth, in utter disbelief with a displeased smile and yet baffled they threw a surprised look at him and then turned to the sky.

         In front of them lay the divine altar, the flying saucer wreck. They sat there staring for a long time at the starry sky.