Jerome watched as his men lifted the long log into the air and rammed it into the tall, iron doors, swinging back and forth again and again, each thrust producing a massive ring that shook through the walls of the hallway. Everything that they had worked for was leading them to this moment. They would enter the throne room, capture the king, and usher in a new age of rule. Just as they had promised their friends and family back home. The king would have nowhere to run to from inside the throne room. It was as good as done.
After five minutes of pounding, the doors finally cracked and burst open, iron, wood and rubble all falling together in a cloud of destruction as Jerome and his men rushed into the throne room. Inside there were no guards. No protection. No last standing lines of defense. The king sat on his throne, resting his cheek on his closed fist, a look of bored impatience on his face. "You know," he said, "perhaps if your men were worth anything it wouldn't have taken you so long to break down those doors. Not that you even needed to. They were unlocked. But I know you needed to show off your manly bravado somehow, so there you go."
The crowd of men seethed with hatred for this king who had so long brought suffering into their lives, but Jerome stepped past them, hand on the hilt of his sword which he wore on his hip. His shield was slung over his shoulder so that it would not be in the way as they had rammed the door down. He didn't believe a word that was coming out of this farce's mouth. "It's time you forfeit the throne, 'your highness.'" He let as much contempt as he could ooze out of his mouth in those last two words. "We're here to put an end to your reign of madness."
"Yes, yes, of course you are," the king replied dismissively. "I think that much is obvious, you don't have to say that to me." He stood up off of his throne. He wore no armor, had no shield. He only had his own sword on his waist, though his was much more finely decorated than Jerome's. His face showed clearly that he was not in the least afraid of Jerome and his men. They were mere pawns to him, as they had always been, and he looked on them with the subtle contempt deserving of that which has lost its value. "Why, then, don't you come and actually try and take it from me?"
One of his men lurched forward to strike, but Jerome held up a hand. Slowly he drew his own blade from its scabbard, and shrugged his shield off of his shoulders and onto the ground. "It seems only right we fight on equal ground," he called out. The king merely rolled his eyes.
Jerome launched himself forward, intending to take the upper hand. In the blink of an eye the king's sword was in his hand, already in the air after having delivered a blow, and Jerome tumbled backwards, the vibration of his sword having only just barely blocked the strike tearing through his arms. He had no idea what had happened.
The king slowly resheathed his sword. He had barely moved. "Still think you can take me on?" he challenged. "Please, by all means, waste your strength against me."
Jerome pushed himself onto his feet and rushed forward once more. He strained his eyes not to blink, to watch the king's every movement. But the king was too fast. Once more the sword was out, and now Jerome's own blade was flying through the air to stick into the wall. Nigh instantaneously the king's sword was at his throat.
"You are barely even a plaything to me," the king said, clearly so that all Jerome's men could hear. "I suggest you go home. It should be clear now that you cannot win this battle. Go, before I take your lives. Hide in exile if you prefer. Find some kind of peace. But choose quickly, before I change my mind."
A pause. Then Jerome could hear the sounds of footsteps as his men fled for their lives. He had failed. He had come so far, only to fail now. He didn't understand.
"You are a brave one, Jerome, I'll give you that." He didn't know how the king knew his name. "But bravery can only get you so far. Do you think I became king by luck? That people bow before because of name alone? I'm afraid status such as mine is not so easily earned. This is your last chance to run."
Jerome might have run then. But his legs wouldn't move. He was frozen in place. He knew not why.
"A shame that you could not achieve more."
He didn't even see the blade move.
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