Dues Exitio

By Kaylee Hutchinson
Dues Exitio Kaylee Hutchinson

Dedicated to my cat, who is the epitome of the fallen “chosen one”.

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Dues Exitio Kaylee Hutchinson

Initium
His teeth were habitually locked; a despondence that extinguished the flicker of
passionate flames disinterring from the depths of the kaleidoscope green of his eyes. He knew he
had committed a sin. A wrongdoing that couldn’t be redone nor covered up. Instinctually, his
body forced the high wires of his nerves to cut off existential sensory to protect itself from what
was to come. Seven forwent the sequence of his body; his mind running through several strains
of thought focused on a singular topic.
I made a mistake. There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in his mind as he thought these words. It
was a fact - a hard and cold truth that he didn’t dare run from. Instead, his mind focused its panic
on the mood of the person in front of him. The Elder’s displeasure was a forefront to his worries
and his mind tried to conjure up ways to make up for his failure.
“Seven . . .” His name was called out soft, full of hurt and disappointment. A shiver
crawled through his limbs as the heavy implicant of his name imprinted itself onto his mind.
“You didn’t mean it, did you?”
It was more of a statement, but even if his choices were limited; Seven would never
disagree with what was said. His teeth were released as he quickly grasped onto the chance to
soothe the man’s displeasure. He shook his head, midnight strands of hair swaying with the force
of his action, “No, never. I wouldn’t.”
Relief flickered across the man’s face as a gentle smile took over his features, “I see.
Still, you know that all things have a consequence, do you not?”
The slow building hope that Seven had been harboring cracked and crumbled down in an
instant; replaced with the cold feeling of dread once again. His melancholic eyes looked down
from the pain filled face - the sight of his feet blurring slightly.
Oh. But I don’t want . . . He threw it out of his mind. It doesn’t matter what he wants. He
deserved it anyway. His youthful voice was almost a whisper, the reminder of Rule 10 keeping
his voice from becoming any quieter. “I’m sorry.”
“I know, Seven.” The Elder’s gentle voice was sprinkled with sorrow. “I don’t want to do
this either.”
The blur in his vision became heavier and Seven bit his lip, “I’m sorry.”
The Elder’s hand moved slowly, reaching out to Seven’s shoulder. His fingertips brushed
against the frozen limb first, before taking a stern hold of the muscle. Despite the grip, his voice
continued to be soft. “It’s for your own good, Seven.”
“I’m sorry.” Stuck on repeat, his mouth was a broken record. The Elder moved behind
him, his other hand moving towards his shoulder as well. It briefly brushed against the back of
the boy’s neck; against the permanent mark that was inked in his skin. The sudden coolness
against his neck made Seven flinch. The Elder’s grip tightened in warning and the words
tumbled out of Seven’s mouth. “I’m sorry.”

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Dues Exitio Kaylee Hutchinson

The Elder pushed Seven forward, his fingers digging bruisingly into the soft flesh. Seven
didn’t dare to react and instead allowed himself to be pushed forward. He knew exactly where
they were going; his mind flashing with the familiar white walls. Soon enough they would be
stained, but as always - they would wash those walls to a crisp white; ready for whenever Seven
messed up again.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t want to go. He couldn’t help but have these treacherous thoughts that
leeched onto his paranoia; even though he knew . . . he deserved it. “I’m sorry.”
The Elder leaned forward, his breath hitting the dark strands in front of Seven’s ear. His
voice was but a soft whisper, full of misery, “No, Seven. I am sorry.”
A centipede so familiar wrapped itself around Seven’s heart, squeezing in all of its
despair.

The steps were clean, though made of old marble. The house of the Oracle was as old as
it was prestigious. Seven hadn’t been here since the day he was found by the Elders - in dirty
rags and barefoot. It was a simpler time, though Seven couldn’t really help feeling that his life
hadn’t become easier.
Standing on either side of him were the two Elders who were notarized as travelers,
bringing Seven to and fro places he was not allowed to roam. Their arms brushed against his own
as he slowed down, bringing his attention back to his pace. He struggled to follow their long
steps. However, he never even held a desire to ask for special treatment.
“Come, Seven, the Oracle mustn’t be kept waiting.” The Elder on his right sounded
warm. Nevertheless, Seven could feel the emphasis of the implication and he made haste with a
nod of his head.
The steps gave way to flat marble and Seven shifted his eyes ahead. The Oracle’s murky
white eyes were even seen from where Seven stood. He didn’t dare move forward, feeling as if
he was being picked apart and seen under those unseeing eyes. Seven could feel that those murky
eyes were just a façade to the Oracle’s pansophical mind.
The Oracle smiled, “Come closer, my child.”
Seven hesitated, his legs slow as they brought him closer to the Oracle. As per custom, he
genuflected and lowered his head.
“I have received a message from the gods,” the Oracle’s voice was euphonious and Seven
found himself enamored with the symphony of the Oracle’s words. “As my prophetic child
kneels before me, so shall he kneel before a temple set upon the land that has been abandoned.
There, the truth of the portent and prodigal shall be confessed and he shall return with his mind
in the hands of fate. Therefore, my lost prophecy, halcyon to your kismet. Lest, your wings be
torn perpetually.”
Almost delicately, the pads on the tips of the Oracle’s fingers entangled themselves with
the loose dark locks of Seven’s hair. Seven’s lips parted, stilling himself as he felt the butterfly
touch of something warm touch the top of his head. The Oracle smiled once again, a malaise
touch to it’s usual apathy.

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Only when they had left the house of the Oracle, did Seven realize where he was going.
The City of Ruinas, a city abandoned by even the gods themselves. In his distrait, he hadn’t seen
the Elder on his left lean down towards his ear.
“Be careful, Seven,” void of sentiment, Seven snapped out of his thoughts at the Elder’s
murmur. His hand twitched, the impulse to touch his mark only held back by his loyalty to the
Rules. Seven would be an incompetent fool is he didn’t know what the Elder meant.

Standing at the gate, anyone could mistake the desolation of the town for the apocalypse
of the world. Ruined metal signs and crumbling walls were surrounded by weeds that, with no
other life to fight, had grown out wildly.
Seven looked down from the red hazed sky, his eyes moving ahead to the deteriorating
roads. He took a step forward hesitantly, before fortifying his resolve and moving his languid
pace to a strong stride. His eyes darted to the buildings and other corroded areas of what he could
only assume was once a sumptuous city.
The more Seven looked, the more curious he became. How did it come to be? Did it
always have such a forsaken name? His curiosity spread like a wildfire across his body - the
tingling sensation becoming a reverberating river that splashed all sorts of questions in the scape
of his mind. Eventually, the sound of gravelly road moving under his shoe became a distant
sound to the voice of his thoughts.
Why did it fall to ruins? What caused the city to become deserted? How long has it been
deserted? Was it ever full of people? If so, what caused them to leave? Did another Oracle
prophesize this? Why did the Oracle send me here?
Slowly, his thoughts became fixedly centered on himself. The questions that swarmed his
mind shut down the rational part of his brain; leaving him to the questions he didn’t want to
answer.
Why was I chosen? Who chose me? Am I able to live up to the expectations? Am I even
able to act freely? Who decided this? Who . . .
The questions slowly centered around a final question; Who am I?
As if he had asked for a forbidden secret, it seemed the time had stopped. His breathing,
which had quickened upon the self-interrogation, had also ceased. Seven couldn’t even hear his
heart beating. The silence was almost tranquil, as if he was in a meadow and not in a ruined city.
Seven looked up, a subdued sensation starting in his lungs becoming more and more
pertinent. The scarlet sky itself was more serene than before, and Seven felt a sense of
foreboding calm. He gave into the sensation, gathering a staggering breath. The air rushed into
his deprived lungs, soothing the starving cells.
Then he fell to the ground.

Dark eyelashes fluttered, revealing the fathomless green hiding underneath. His body was
placed in a sacrificial state on top of a podium table. Seven’s conscience began to run again and
his hands twitched. He lifted his head, only to let a light hiss of air escape his teeth from a sharp

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sting on the back of his neck. In reaction, Seven’s arm moved and his pale hand cupped his
mark.
His eyes looked around as he rested his head back onto the table, with the support of his
hand keeping pressure on his mark. They soon landed on a large symbol next to him. His whole
head turned, reading the rune written on the old wall. His dark brows furrowed and the red
expanse of his lips moved with his translation, “Templum Desolationis . . .”
As his voice uttered the last syllable, a white hot iron rod struck his brain. His body
jerked and his eyes blew themselves wide. The nerves in his head screamed at him, the intensity
of the searing sensation expanding - overpowering every other sense. He could do nothing but lie
down, his body shutting down with its inability to handle the expanse of the agony.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Seven opened his mouth and ragged gasps fell from his
lips. Anon, the pain ceased completely and in front of his eyes, memories fleetingly passed by.
The widened pupils of his eyes contracted and focused on a far-away dreamscape.
His fingers curled as forgotten or hidden memories brought up missing points. His mind
worked on overdrive, dealing with the sudden absence of the pain and the new information
flowing into his knowledge at a rapid rate. With the remainder of what he could think with,
Seven connected several memories to questions he had avoided asking himself.
Ah . . . The memories stopped and Seven’s breath had stabilized. Thankfully, his brain’s
adaptation rate was higher due to the Elder’s care. Unfortunately, that meant Seven also could
organize and solve things he didn’t want to at a higher rate. This, this . . . why?
Seven’s world crumbled down, revealing the fiery inferno that had been hiding. The
centipede that had been complacent seemed to evolve, stalking his heart like a predator over its
prey. Seven clutched his chest, sitting up as the centipede slowly squeezed the muscle for all it
was worth. The empty void it brought was now a black hole, sucking in everything he was.
Seven was lost, gone with what he thought he knew. The blur in his vision returned with
the hot sensation at the corner of his eyes. His nostrils flared and unable to control himself, the
hot liquid ran down the expanse of his cheek.
Lies. All lies, lies, lies. The numbness of Seven’s limbs left his mind - wallowing in the
despair that reached into the depths of his soul. It was all lies.
His grief was cut as he heard the Oracle’s voice, “Now rise, young hero. For the prodigal
son has arrived. The ink you carry shall intertwine the serpent to the light. For he shall bruise
your heel but you shall crush his head.”
Seven tilted his head back, the water in his soulful eyes becoming a lugubrious river that
stained his pale cheeks with salty sorrow. The temple responded to his despair, the symbols
allocated around the room glowing a deep red. The sky rumbled, thunder rolling across the entire
plain of the sky. Then, in tune with its creator, rain fell from the bloody clouds - coating the
ground with its misery.
The temple hummed, a singular rune glowing a bright white. It seemed to whisper,
“Malum”. In another temple, a synonymous mark glowed the same holy white. The sound of a
young boy hitting the floor gathering the attention of the priests. They moved by his side, their
hands brushing against the corresponding glowing mark on the back of his neck.

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Dues Exitio Kaylee Hutchinson

Finis