Bowers, Kelvin C.

The Demon King 

The fires burned and the Kingdom turned asunder. The people have voiced their rage 
and their agony. Oppressed they will be no longer. 

The Peasants chanted out, 'Death to the King!'; so they destroyed and they murdered. 
They pillaged and they looted. The seeds of discord harvested in the midst of chaos. 

The Working class was in shambles. The peasants have revolted! Their meager profits 
were now in danger. So they packed and they boxed. The allures of profit alluded their 
senses. They do not see hope for order, so they save themselves and their 'fortunes.' 

The Knights were in mutiny. The lower Knights of peasant origins have been bullied, 
abused, and taken advantage of. So they borrow the fires of revolt to assist them in their 
pathetic aspirations. Their 'noble' titles nothing more than accessories to their name. A 
joke to the higher class. Forever will they be lackeys and servants. 

The Nobles panicked! Their status would no longer protect them from the clutches of the 
filthy peasants. Their riches would not entice the lower Knights that bore with them 
peasant blood, and the Royal Knights would only listen to the commands of the Royalty. 
In this time of strife, their status only served as a beacon of hatred. 

The people of Royalty were in despair, for the people have revolted against them. The 
Knights have turned their back and the Nobles only seek to protect themselves. Who 
would side with them? 

And so, where was the King, hailed by the people as the oppressor, the tyrant, the 
executioner, and the conqueror. Why had he ignored the pleas of the people, and did 
nothing against the chaos that ensued? 

 
The King rested on his bed, decorated lavishly with jewelry and the best materials money 
and power could buy. He held his 1st wife's hand while surrounded by the rest of the 
wives and his many children. 

He was nearing his death, with every breath he took only bringing him closer to the 
reaper. There were many faces in the room. Some bore concern, others grief. He 
appreciated them. Some wore disdain and longing. He expected them. But what hurt him 
the most were those that wore apathy. Why? He did not know. He only wondered why 
his very children wore apathy, neither love nor anger. 

He closed his eyes as he listened to the chaos. He was peaceful. He was a tyrant that 
loved power. So he conquered and he ruled with an iron might. But that did not win the 
hearts of the people. The king understood, and so he was at peace. 

His breathing calmed, but fainter with each one. The sounds reached the castle, but he 
did not mind.  

The commotion had reached near his room, but he did not mind. 

The door opened, and the tyrant drew his last breath.