King's Foil

King's Foil

"Get out of here, I've had about enough of your incessant ramblings, you will no longer enjoy my company, leave, now!" The horrified look on his servant's face told Mr. King that he had gone a bit too far, no matter he thought, the weakling deserved it.
"Y...Yes, sir." The servant knew he had done nothing wrong, it was not his fault.Yet he couldn't meet the cold eyes of Mr. King.
"Before you leave, I want you to pack my suitcase, I'm going on a trip."
"Your will, Mr. King." The servant turned around and, with head lowered, left the room.
Mr. King made the necessary phone calls, and waited for his servant to return when the preparations were made. An unhealthy fear of planes was enough reason for Mr. King to require a few, select pills from the medicine cabinet, the result of which would put him in total oblivion during most of the seven hour flight. A hop over the desert and he was there, no worries, he kept repeating to himself.
The women waiting for him were as ignorant of each other as of his manipulations, but the trip was not just personal, business awaited him. Men needing punishment, women requiring behavior modification, nice words for dirty jobs.
Mr. King's trade was not immaculate, but it was profitable. Being the richest man in his country,
by far, Mr. King favored privacy above all else. A small organization of peace keepers had uncovered some of his personal, not so legal dealings with a certain military branch of government, and proceeded to make the mistake of making public their findings. Most of them had been found and terminated, few were left, and Mr. King wanted to deal with them, personally.
"Your bags are packed and in the limo, its waiting outside Mr. King." The servant had made no sound upon entering, as Mr. King had once told him he was too loud when he walked, and to stop it. Since then he had bought soft shoes, and Mr. King had not mentioned it again.
"Very well. See to it you let yourself out at the week's end, and please, hire a replacement before I return, your services will be needed elsewhere. Don't worry, I am not firing you, you've been in my loyal service for years. I've found a position for you, it's not going to be easy for you to adjust to that kind of work but you'll get used to it. It is not too big a decrease in pay. Good bye."
The servant gaped at the transfer sheet he was handed with tears forming in his eyes, for he had been Mr. King's servant for over two decades. Mr. King's unhurried footsteps down the marble stairs echoed through the mansion, soon the engine of the limo could be heard outside, fading.

The plane, was cold, Mr. King had ordered the temperature raised but there was something wrong with the heating system, what it was he did not know, he did not understand the terminology. The ride was comfortable, Mr. King could only see darkness outside the jet's window as it hurtled through the air at thirty thousand feet. He knew they were flying above hundreds of miles of sand dunes. The drugs he had taken were in full effect, and he had not noticed the gradual increase in turbulence until a loud cracking noise woke him, he struggled to loosen his seatbelt so he could look outside, the noise hadn't stopped but he could see nothing, pitch black. A quick trip to the cockpit had him infuriated. They had locked the door. Didn't they realize this was his private jet? He owned the thing and he damn well could go anywhere he pleased if it was his property. He banged on the door. " Open the door... right now Mr. Jonas."
No answer.
He banged harder. "Mr. Jonas, what are you doing? Open this door right now!" A swift change in altitude thrust Mr. King into the ceiling and he immediately lost consciousness.

Something was burning...it was his arm. Mr. King opened his eyes, brightness made it hard for him to see at first. He sat up, his arm the only part of his body exposed to the sun. It was red from sun exposure, his shirt was ripped to shreds, but the many shallow scratches had clogged, other parts of his clothing was ripped, and he had a massive head ache. He tried to rub the pain away but that only made it worse, he left it alone. He realized he was sitting in sand, and in fact, sand was all he could see besides a huge palm tree and a few bushes nearby. What had happened? He looked around, no sign of a wreckage... delusional, he started wandering, not knowing which direction he should take, he felt surreal, there was no reason he should be alive. His clothes were untouched, was this a dream? It certainly didn't feel like one. The heat was real, that he concluded after what seemed like hours of walking, was a fact. Each step he took became a burden as the sun approached the horizon, his face was as dry as the sand, his clothes long ago soaked with sweat had dried and were chafing his skin every step, he had given up hope of water, he could only think of the fortune he would be leaving behind if he died. The massive amount of wealth he had amassed was incomparable, and few people knew it. He had hidden it from prying eyes, and hidden it well, but what good is hidden treasure, with no map to be found? That was the only thing keeping him alive, and walking, like a zombie, over dune after dune.
When night fell, the freezing cold made him stop and think. He was dehydrated, starved, and not equipped to deal with this situation. He thought, what is all the money in the world worth if he could still get into situations like this. What did it matter how much he gathered, if it was all a waste. The horrid and disfigured faces of those he had personally murdered of wronged went through his mind, slowly, one by one, it took a long time, and then he was so cold under the sand, in which he berried himself for its residual heat. Later he had stopped trembling, and his eyelids slowly came together.
"Do you feel the pain!"
Mr. King's heart skipped a beat, and then pumped faster than ever, he opened his eyes, not having heard what the voice had said, only that it was there. He tried to speak but to his dismay only a pathetic grunt came out of his mouth. He opened his eyes, there was a god standing above him. The god was glowing slightly, had a heavenly face even though it was scowling, and wore only white. The god spoke again.
"Do...you... feel... the pain!"
Mr. King understood the question, and his mind jumped from one thought to another. "Whatever you're here to do to me, I will accept it, you are god, I will not stand up to you. I believe!"
"Shut up! I am not god! I am merely an avenger among many. Murderers and sadists, child rapists and molesters, criminals of a kind deserve to die, and we are their maker. I will die by my own hand, when my work is done. But not after destroying men like you, dishonorable Mr. King." The god reached behind its right shoulder, he pulled out a long sliver of light.
Mr. King was still under the sand, it took him a moment to realize it was a katana. The sword was deadly and he knew it. He was glad now, glad he had accumulated his vast wealth, so that it would not fall into the hands of people such as one standing in front of him. Little did he know, the party of hunters would not have existed had it not been for the seemingly simple acquisition, and subsequent transformation into a underage brothel, of a martial arts school in Japan.
The swing was almost noiseless.