The Word of the God King

  • Viscount

    “How do you reckon, my king?” Cicero proposed. He stood at the newly constructed altar and shivered in the hot weather. The king posed an upright stance of flawless posture, looking oddly youthful. He motioned to open his mouth, but delayed and glanced at Cicero. A moment of dreadful silence passed, and Cicero shivered once more before the king spoke.

    “Oh my dear Simon,” the king suggested with devious intentions, a smile and kind eyes.

    “Cicero.” The advisor corrected. “It is Cicero.” He repeated, and the king glared in response.

    “Cicero, my boy. Oh my Cicero…” The king developed compassion in his voice, before progressing into a deceitful optimistic tone, “how do you reckon?” He nearly screamed as his face was enlightened with excitement and a crooked smile, before coming to an abrupt stop and grunting under his breath, maintaining an emotionless face. “You’ll do it for me my friend, I see you’ve already made quaint friends with that altar you tremble upon ever so gently.”

    “Darius, his majesty, my lord, I can do all but not what you ask of me.” Cicero pleaded with his king. “I shall not deceive my public. I am a man for the people, my people.”

    “You are a man of great influence and voice.” Darius took a heavy step toward Cicero. Breathing down his neck, Darius threatened, “you do remember him, don’t you?” He paused and leaned back, creating eye contact with Cicero. The king smiled. “You do remember Titus?” The king seemed to maliciously plead with Cicero, trembling in a mockery.

    “I have no words.” Cicero mumbled, and he leaned against the altar. “I disapprove of your methods, my king.” Cicero challenged.

    "How uncanny, the bones he once wore as support, I now wear as clothing. Sometimes I use them to practice the drums.” Darius remarked, batting his arms like drum sticks and posing to display his gear.

    “How dignified.” Cicero replied.

    “His mother must be proud!” Darius could hardly restrain himself as his face turned as red as a broken blood vessel. “Oh wait…. I killed her too!” He burst into laughter before composing himself once more.

    “Darius.” Cicero stated.

    “Cicero. You will be Titus if you don’t preach my will to the church, to the people.” Darius emphasized.

    “As you wish sir.” Cicero didn’t tremble, but he looked down the empty hall of the church, and smiled.

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