Later that afternoon the sun beat down on the marketplace. Two men were in animated discussion behind a fruit stall. An elderly man sat on a stool with a cane nearby watching the gooey remains of rioters swirling around his feet. The entrails and blood had flooded the area which displeased the locals.
‘It’s immoral!’ exclaimed Johan.
‘Solved the problem though,’ Samedi countered. ‘But yeah, no it’s bad.’
‘It’s genocide though, am I wrong old man?’
The old man nodded, ‘It’s genocide.’
‘Genocide…’ cursed Johan.
‘Unless he turns them back?’ Samedi offered.
‘Of course he won’t. Mate, stop touching it.’
The city had been swamped in a tense silence compared to the furore of the last few hours. God King’s rule was resolute but never predictable. Nominating a god to become king was a democratic phenomenon, one of grandiose regret to the majority after what was a very prosperous revolution against Maximus The Arsehole.
Previously, the populous had grown tired of Maximus’s campaign of fear led by goons and mercenaries flocking to the capital and preying on the people. Many ended up bankrupt and subsequently dead from multiple insurance contracts between the mercenaries and violent gangs. With crime monopolising every industry and no effort to help the people, ire had quickly set in, particularly so regarding the unapologetically cheap gaslighting and propaganda in the press.
It was his highly unpopular and narcissist weekly tabloid column that once declared everyone should man up that earned him the title Maximus The Arsehole. Many factions rebelled with some colourful graffiti around the city which drew crowds together in heated debate, only to fuel the pickpocketing industry further. People were pissed. Fires were lit in frustration and riots inevitably broke every Tuesday evening when there wasn’t a curfew in place.
God King had infiltrated The Arsehole’s reign, by first removing the legs of all his cronies, and then their heads the next week. The turnaround was a short-lived affair, about twenty minutes or so that involved a heated discussion and Maximus’s head exploding, and a subsequent change of leader.
The God King did not start out as his name suggests. Magic came from many sources virtuous and dark, and the latter was notably easier to obtain. It was never quite clear though where his loyalties lay, somewhat to the people, somewhat to wine. Either way several bad decisions had made God King less favourable than when he toppled Maximus The Arsehole.
‘If the rumours are true couldn’t another curse just be put on him?’ said Samedi.
‘A counter-curse?’ quizzed Johan.
‘If the rumours are true that is.’
‘I don’t know Samedi, I’m a marketer not a witch.’
‘Some say he made a deal with a shadow tribe.’
‘If he managed to get there at all, yeah I know, and the genie rumour too, I’ve heard them all. Everyone magpies off the same fantasies, and they’re all equally bullshit.’
‘But he has those powers, that’s undeniable, am I wrong?’
The old man spoke up, ‘Some say it’s his blood.’
‘Makes my blood boil.’ Johan muttered. ‘With great power comes great responsibility y’know…’
Samedi and the old man looked at Johan.
‘What?’
‘No it doesn’t.’
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