When Heroes Die

“I never denied that I am what I eat. It was only by embracing my nature that my problems went away.”

– Dread Empress Sanguinia I, the Gourmet

He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song rolled over once more and dreamed. As he dreamed, he contemplated the Song of Renewal.

The rendition begins, as it always does, and as it will in the repetitions to come.

The season of whistling wind through newly blossomed grass arrives, and with it the song of fang and claw has crested its all consuming crescendo. All that remains is for the excess rabble of notes to rouse and run — run to the lands of the deaf meat on two legs that does not suffer the song of starvation.

And so it comes to pass, as it always does, that He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song gave the call once more. The baton rises, the baton falls, swishing from side to side. The thrum beckons, the music calls, the rabble rouses and runs. Up, up, up the peaks they climb, down into the gobbling maw that swallows the sound of the song.

Death finds the dynamics of the newly born notes. The ringing of steel culls the chattering cries of those who have only ever performed a single repetition of the riff. The fortunate few who endure the release return, spiriting away the pilfered instruments of civilization for the conductor to comb. New variations are found, new tunes are included. The performance is pruned. The notes fade out, the rendition begins once more.

The grass has grown and now sustains while the wind continues to howl. The season of mewling cries of newly birthed notes echoes out in a diatonic scale across the hungry plains. It is marked as it always is, with the fading out of those conceived but one riff before. One tragedy released, another born anew. The song beckons, but falls on deaf ears, for history is written to repeat. With the opening of their eyes comes the gluttonous gap, the now reborn hunger blossoming within their bellies. They feed and fight and gorge on kin until only the most ravenous remain.

The frenzy terminates. The endless appetite demands satiation, but there is none to be found. Bereft of nourishment, the newly born notes find themselves adrift. With no other recourse, they finally answer the calling of the song. For the song croons to them, empty whispers of a belly filled, sustenance that they lack. Instruments are raised, the enactment is joined.

The rapid alternation of paws on the plains enters the eternal orchestra. It’s time at last! Their performance begins! “Where does it start?” the cries call out. Why, at the only place it could. Near the edge of the fathomless maw of salt and sweat that swallows the dying light of the golden tyrant above.

The symphony soars, the music beckons, round the stage and to the east they go.

Deaf meat on four legs grows sparse, the tempo increases.

Bellies of softer notes begin to swell. At long last, the season of shrivelling grass and waning light arrives. The rise and fall of paws on hungry plains follow a trail perpendicular to that of the tyrant glaring above. The song beckons, the orchestra follows, each note an essential part of the story recited in full.

Down, down, down towards the lands where melody dies but sound never rests. Near, but never in. To enter is folly, a lesson hard learned. A lapse once committed, never to be repeated. For the Song remembers all. Even the silence of retired notes captures a tale in their absence. The rabble listens, the rabble records, and round the stage they run.

Hunger, all encompassing hunger, scours the lands of those unfairly cursed. The season of grasping wants unfulfilled arrives. It lays claim to many of the notes in the rabble. It rises and quiets their music from the song. Adjustments are made, notes need to be reshuffled. Melody is brought to discord and the performance transforms.

The rabble runs like never before. Runs as if it has never felt the gnawing bite of frigid fangs down the backs of their necks. The tempo increases, the belly of the orchestra beckons ahead, the end of the repetition arrives.

He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song records the rendition. Records and examines the music with the sharpest of ears. With each iteration refinements are found, refinements can always be found. The performance persists, the search goes on. In a rendition far off, a song to silence the call to hunger will be sung. Freedom croons from beyond the bars. Freedom from endless want.

The season of whistling wind through newly blossomed grass arrives, and with it the song of fang and claw has crested its all consuming crescendo. All that remains is for the excess rabble of notes to rouse and run — run to the lands of the deaf meat on two legs that does not suffer the song of starvation.

“You get - easily,” a voice called out.

Two notes uncalled-for had trespassed on the grounds of his theatre. Did they follow the timing he had set, or were they offbeat?

He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song directed a phantom limb towards the first of his Rods in his sleep. He grasped towards the Rod and orchestrate answered. The voice followed the cadence of creation, but did not truly suborn it. The second was deaf to the callings of the Song, but also trespassed no further. Without needing to concern himself with his performance being interfered with, he rolled over in his sleep once more.

And so it comes to pass, as it always does, that He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song gave the call once more. The baton rises, the baton falls, swishing from side to side. The thrum beckons, the music calls, the rabble rouses and runs. Up, up, up the peaks they climb, down into the gobbling maw that swallows the sound of the song.

“-big rat,” the meat on two legs exclaimed from outside his chambers.

The viper nesting within his belly raised its head and opened its eyes. It was no longer content for him to lay his large furry snout down against the cold stone floor and retreat within the music. He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song started to wake.

Death finds the dynamics of the newly born notes. The ringing of steel culls the chattering cries of those who have only ever performed a single repetition of the riff. The fortunate few who endure the release return, spiriting away the pilfered instruments of civilization for the conductor to comb. New variations are found, new tunes are included. The performance is pruned. The notes fade out, the rendition begins once more.

“-the Ranger-” the meat on two legs continued to speak, and was now without its companion. It had waltzed deeper within the bounds of his chamber. It continued to encroach, and was now much closer than it was before. He could smell its succulent scent as the meat entered into the belly of his orchestra. Two enormous ears twitched against the cold stone floor. “-for you qualify.”

The Song screamed out to him, the thrum of the music resonated tightly throughout his muscles and bones.

He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song decided to dance with the meat to the Song of Conflict within the bounds of his arena. He danced, for it helped to stave off the endless monster within him. He reached towards his grand instrument and struck the rod of attunement three times, heralding the beginnings of the Song.

His large red eyes opened, at a glance he examined the figure before him.

The meat on two legs was small, with black fur and golden skin. It was clad in the skin of meat on four legs and plunged towards him with twin tiny blades. So small for such a tempestuous execution, not large enough to even make a dent in his freshly awakened hunger.

The Song called to him, and he rolled his mass to the right of the arena. The ground trembled rhythmically. The blades missed, as he knew they would.

A note of anticipation rang out in the Song. Excitement, thrill, the meat was pleased with his performance. Why did it insist on interfering with the harmony of the Song? So long as the performance repeated, the call of consumption was forever diverted, and gluttony could remain chained.

His stomach rumbled. The aching need to eat was an ever present malaise gnawing at the edge of his thoughts. The music called, and he reached towards it, burying himself in the Song.

How did he wish for this conflict to end? He tweaked the melody, pulling the sound of Creation as he willed. The Song would proceed as it always had, it would proceed as he willed it to.

His leftmost arm swung ponderously towards the meat. It tried to dance aside, but to no avail. Dull tones resonated as an enormous clawed paw struck the figure, propelling it rapidly between the crimson strings of his grand instrument towards the ceiling above.

It somersaulted as it hurtled towards the cavern rooftop opposite his place of slumber, a melody chiming out as it somehow came to rest on its own two feet, then it proceeded to leap back towards He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song. That was not unexpected, for the meat on two legs resonated with the calling of the Song. Not a single string of his grand instrument was struck in the process. At least the meat on two legs was not interfering with the instruments of his craft.

While it could undoubtedly hear the symphony playing out, he could sense that it was unable to orchestrate it.

He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song rose to his full height, no longer resting on the floor below.

Two pointy fangpicks came hurtling towards his left eye from above. Tension mounted. He tilted his head to the tune of evasion that had already been set five notes before. The flying food performed a pirouette in mid-air as it found that its performance missed the mark. A note of surprise rang out. It rapidly sheathed its blades and drew a bow. Two arrows swiftly found their place against the string, then arced their way in the air towards him.

A paw raised, a missile struck, clanging as it was deflected by claws harder than steel. A step back, then another, the ground rumbled and the harsh beat of metal against claws was offset. The melody must be maintained.

The hunger within him roared through his blood. It whispered to him sweetly, the same lies it always told. He started to salivate, his addiction called. Why did the meat on two legs never learn to leave him be?

“Not what I was expecting from a rat called Tumult.” It spoke to a tune of discord and disharmony. A claw outstretched, a scarlet string plucked, the dissonance was corrected once more.

The clawing, all consuming need to gorge himself rose up within. The compulsion, the obsession, the desire that He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song struggled desperately to tame.

If the food hungered to trade harmonies, then he would bestow upon it the dirge that it surely deserved.

Bite off the bone, suck the marrow. Gnaw, rend, chew, slice. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat.

Another arrow was loosed and yet, despite his girth, the arrow flew wide. It flew wide, for that was the tune that He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song chose to orchestrate. If the meat desired a performance, then a performance was what it would receive.

“Aeons ere even the echo of the first recitation of the Song.

Two melodious voices traded harmonies in dawn’s waning light.

Hunger inquired: ‘The end comes to all, what is there to prolong?’

The Star Seekers rejoined: ‘All have not spoken, the deaf have the right.’”

His voice resonated outwards, reverberating between the strings of his grand instrument. The instrument responded. A gale slammed into the meat on two legs, sending it hurtling towards his descending paw as it swung down in harmony with the world. The meat grabbed at the approaching limb and redirected its momentum through the gap between two claws, narrowly avoiding being pulped into the floor.

“He was right, you are interesting.” The dissonance in the food’s voice interfered with his composition. For meat that was not deaf to the Song, the manner in which it vandalized his music could only be deliberate.

A twinge of irritation struck him in the interval.

Two steps left, and a chord is struck. The interference is accounted for.

“Finding their voices to be discordant, their great harmonies did clash.

Hunger turned its malevolent gluttony towards the city of mirrored glass.

The Star Seekers spawned a scheme ere all that lingered was ash.

A desperate strategy to suborn Hunger during the moment of its trespass.”

Another projectile chimed its approach, warning him long before it blurred its way towards his head. The clicking of his fangs colliding arrested its progress, he reached out once more, following another attempt at containing the food. The food leapt nimbly past his paws, and the thump of its feet heralded its arrival on the outside of his knuckles. It balanced precariously on foot alone while stabbing down at his paws with an arrow grasped in the hand not holding the bow.

The Song thrummed, and He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song rolled his paws to the side, intending to squash the food on two legs beneath. Laughter rang out melodiously as it proceeded to dance away from his blow.

A tune of surprise. That accompaniment had not been accounted for in the Song.

“Ah,” the meat on two legs said. “Feisty. End of the monologue it is then.”

His irritation bled through into his dance. He sang not to monologue or entertain, but merely to cling to his sanity for a few notes longer. He was not like He-who-Embraced-the-Call-to-Eat, he did not wish to submerge himself entirely within the Song of Feasting. Once, many seasons past, he had tried to share song with the meat on two legs, only he could not restrain his own Hunger.

The memory forced him to stifle the Song of Resentment once more.

Drink the blood. Gorge on the flesh. Chew on the eyes and crunch down on the knuckles.

His vision started to darken once more, the hunger trying to poison his mind. Sleep, sleep was the only escape, but sleep did not easily come. He had to eat. He needed to eat, to gorge himself until he passed out from overconsumption. It was the only release this madness had. It was his only way out. He reached for his music, his Song, his reprieve, desperately trying to divert his thoughts.

“Their partner in song joined the performance, they sang of binding and chains.

The Star Seekers declared: ‘Hunger shall be shackled to the will of the beasts.’

All but seven and one fell, the edict transfigured lands into vast, empty plains.

Hunger rejoined: ‘And so shall I return, following on from the grandest of feasts.’”

Two more arrows headed his way. He tried to knock them aside once more. This time, their place in the rhythm was even harder to subvert. The Song deviated further.

“So that’s how you’re doing it,” the meat on two legs mused.

He rolled over, intending to tenderize the food with his bulk alone. It was what the Song called for next. The cavern trembled under his weight. The meat on two legs darted backwards, this time hiding itself inside his grand instrument.

Once again, he climbed swiftly to his paws.

Sliced or chunky. Raw or cooked. Chew the flesh. Gnaw the bones. Begin the feast. Don’t stop, don’t think, just eat.

Hunger’s crooning called to him. The crunching of fangs into flesh, the sound as blood is slurped down his throat, the crunching of bone underfoot. Scrabbling, he reached to his Song once more.

“Many times, the golden tyrant chased the song of its partner across the sky.

Long was the shadow of time before at last the lay of the bet was revealed.

Hunger wagered that by returning from many to one, the curse would nullify.

The Star Seekers held to it that Hunger would return to beasts while sealed.”

Another gale sent her tumbling out. Three strums of the string — another arrow headed his way. His tail swung and struck it by the shaft, deflecting the projectile out of the air. Another gay laugh from the food below him. A few more exchanges were had.

The ringing of a blade drawn pre-empted the food’s decision to move closer.

His paw came down once more, the meat on two legs pranced to the right, then stabbed down into the leathery surface of his skin. A discordant note, the blade pierced through, and he felt the welling of blood. The sizzling notes of acid thrummed in the melody, poison echoed along the edge of the blade. His eyes narrowed. How had it landed a blow?

The poison in his veins burned his concentration, a misstep, the Song began to decay. Adjustments would need to be made.

He listened carefully, listened to the sound of his orchestra.

The meat on two legs started to scale one of his lower limbs, stabbing down with poisoned blades as it continued its ascent. His paw swung down like a pendulum, only for it to leap from the leg to an arm and resumed its run across a new range.

He danced rapidly from side to side, trying to shake his foe. It danced with him, matching him beat for beat as it scaled his hardened limbs. His other paw rose with the rise of the tempo, swinging towards the food scaling his arms. It jumped and grabbed his thumb as it descended, pivoting around it in the air. He reached out once more and the grand instrument chimed, sound rippling towards the food in a gale. The meat on two legs released his thumb, and rotated in the wind as it whistled towards his face, not disturbed at all.

“Not much left to transcend. Think I’ll take a trophy,” the meat taunted as it rose in the air.

The notes all struck wrong, the tempo was off. How had it broken the call of his music?

The food was learning from his performance. It was discovering how to mimic his song. The meat on two legs was a fraud, a talentless hack, with no skill save that which it found in those that it stole from. Fury and indignation arose, the meat on two legs did not have the right to plagiarize his masterpiece. The food conducted the orchestra with less skill and finesse than He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song did in the interval between the first and second thousand revisions of the Song. A lesson would have to be taught.

The next part of their duet began.

“The tyrant marched, the Tumult was conceived, and soon the truth was learned.

And he declared: ‘Neither the Star-”

His snout stung as the meat with two legs drove home a blade upon collision with it. His paws rose with the tempo, but not fast enough. The food repositioned, swiftly sprinting up the bridge of his snout, then leaped towards his antlers. A slice of the blade and a chunk fell off.

The meat with two legs let out a whoop and caught the piece it stole.

“-Seekers nor the Hunger deserved to claim the win.’

For he had found his fate unjust, a doom that certainly hadn’t been unearned.

Neither Hunger nor a return to madness appealed, he would struggle and suppress the din.”

But the meat on two legs did not stagger, as he believed that it should. Instead, it pivoted in the air and its blade rung out once more. A slice, a cut, and the Song screamed as it found the stillness cut off.

The meat on two legs landed deftly, then turned towards him and bowed.

“Maybe some other time,” it declared cheerily, then sprinted towards the walls.

He-who-Subverts-Starvation-with-the-Symphony-of-Song began to give chase, but to his mounting frustration found that he was too slow.

The meat on two legs disappeared into the tunnels.

He needed to start the Song of War quickly. It would take much to quell the riot in his belly. Song of War then Song of Feast. Only then could rest come once-

The red mist swallowed him. His belly needed to be filled.