“You’re a despicable fool,” the Commander tells the King.
Captain Traumatic draws his sword and points it at the Commander’s throat.
“I could overcome you in less time than it takes you to blink,” the Commander says.
“Speak or jump, we don’t want to make Belchiore wait longer than is necessary.”
“Then,” the Commander continues, “I felt nothing for a long time. I thought I’d managed to exclude what I saw as, and still do, unnecessary baggage, useless sentiments and toxic emotions, the lot”.
“The lot?” the Captain asks.
“Only pure thought was allowed to filter through. Everything else was unwelcome and rejected.”
“Rejected, huh? You mean was left aside to cumulate.”
“The guilt came back to overwhelm me much later. It haunted me.”
“Sure, when Belchiore reappeared into your life. How convenient!”
“Explain Belchiore’s role, will you?” the King requests.
“She’s a whale.”
“Spare us your sarcasms, she has much in common with She-Coat, gobbling all things and creatures and—“
“—Stung are we? Feeling a pang of guilt?” the Commander retorts.
The Captain draws a drop of blood from the Commander’s throat.
“Not necessary, Captain, really.”
“What else have you got to say?”
“Belchiore specifically picks on lost souls and seeks to find whether it’s worth releasing them or not. She does so in darkness, because she can’t be seen and must work alone and in secret.”
“Is she some deity, some religious being? I mean who the fuck does she think she is?” the Captains says.
“It’s just the way things are,” the Commander continues, “you’ve travelled much, you’ve ingested much, surely you understand what is, what is not, what comes and what goes?”
To be continued…