Disc 4: Jail Boy Elias

Elias walked through Asylum X's courtyard in handcuffs, escorted by a guard into the visitor's center and into a stall. In front of him was a glass window and a telephone hooked up to another telephone on the other side, and King Zacchias sat on the other side of the window with a book in his hands. The same song repeated in his head over and over.

It's a sweet, sweet life!

The king slid the book into a compartment beneath the glass window, Elias nonchalantly accepting it, rifling through the pages before nodding at Zacchias.

And life's a sweet dream, and life's a sweet dream!

Elias watched the clock tick, the king leaned against the glass window and murmured something to him, and a guard noticed the book in Elias' hands. As the guard peeked over Elias' shoulder, Elias pressed the book against his stomach and shooed the guard away, then pressing his ear against the glass and taking in King Zacchias' words as the guard on his side of the glass shuffled over, preparing to escort the king out of the visitor's center. Elias tucked the book into his orange jumpsuit and signaled for the guard to take him back to his cell.

Well, what a sweet and merry dream is this!

He spent two days in this scraping land of junk, and he only planned to spend six more hours in this heap of garbage known as Asylum X; tonight was the night of his escape. He walked through the courtyard with a grimace on his face, a coy smile that signaled trouble for the police officers, who thought they had him under lock and key. But he would make his escape tonight, he was sure of it.

In his cell was a mat, and under the mat was a trapdoor, and concealed within the pages of the book the king gave him was the only key that could open that trapdoor.

How sings you? I sing well!

Elias confidently smirked as the guard shoved him into his cell and locked the door behind him. "These fools," he muttered, quietly talking to himself as the Moon battled the Sun's reign in the skies. "They don't know. I'll make my escape tonight, and I'll make it quickly–"

As Elias took a knee and peeled the rug off the concrete-paved floor, a prisoner from another cell cried, "Hey, won't you help me get out of here?!" Elias ignored him at first, frustratedly stabbing his key into the key shaft (to no avail) before eventually turning his head as the prisoner continued, "C'mon, don't you recognize my voice?!"

"You try to start chit-chat with me every day, but I don't even know you," said Elias, whipping out a keyring he pocketed from the guards a few days earlier. "And–let me get one thing clear–I don't care to know you, period." Elias ripped the key away as the trapdoor swung open. "But if you want out," Elias tossed the keyring in the general direction of the voice; he listened for the sound of a gate unlocking and climbed into the tunnels below, "then have it your way!"

Then the prisoner, initially drowning in his own shadow, stepped towards the former king; it was King Trak, the former dictator of Furrza and the mysterious inmate Elias hadn't been able to put a face on. Without hesitation, King Trak climbed into the claustrophobic labyrinth and after Elias, crying out, "You know, we used to be cool!"

"You're crazy if you think that," Elias said, a tinge of "I want you to shut up" in his voice despite the former king rambling on. "Absolutely crazy!"

"No, no, we used to be friends!" Trak explained, following Elias out of the tunnels and into a dingy backstreet. "Wait, hear me out!"

And life's a tiny little thing full of sunshine and rainbows!

-

A disco ball glistens in the air, beams of light shooting away from it and onto the seam in the archangel's umber bosom (the slit between the archangels' breasts) and illuminating the king's orange suit with sparkly light. Hoards of men dance on the dance floor, waving their arms and moving their hips back and forth as King Zacchias–escorted by Saint Makael, both of them presenting themselves as ordinary humans–move through the crowd and through a sea of streamers, into a shady office where a horde of muscular men quietly played blackjack. Hands reach out to pluck the archangel's feathers, but he swats them away and folds in his wings as he enters.

It's a shady place, they both admitted; it was much more gloomy and grimy than the rave taking place just behind them. There was only one flickering lightbulb illuminating the place, there were dusty tables with men hunched over them gambling. There were small glimmers of light from the party outside beaming in and the noise still pierced through, but everyone was too distracted by some sort of game to notice that or the two figures in their presence.

King Zacchias, annoyed by their lack of acknowledgement, loudly announced, "My name is King Zacchias, king of Rivalo. On behalf of Castlo Rivalo, you are all under arrest."

Finally one of the gangsters turned their heads and acknowledged him. "What do you want?"

"We're taking you in."

"Yeah, whatever" the gangster mumbled to himself, before announcing to the rest of his posse, "You hear that, boys? Ol' royal o'er here is taking us in!" He wagged a finger shakily at the archangel, spitting, "And I know you, pal! No point in hiding your feathers!"

"If you really do know me," Saint Makael replied, his wings ripping out from the folds in his skin and expanding to the length of the entire room–spreading out and blowing the streamers into the dance floor and knocking over a glass of punch, but the partiers didn't seem to notice. "Then you'll do what's best for you," he continued, drawing his rapier. The same gangster charged up to him with a dagger, but he grabbed the man by the arm and sliced the blade of the dagger clean off, muttering, "And you'll turn yourself in." He pushed the gangster back into his seat.

The seat fell backwards and the gangster crashed into the floor. "Damn you," he cursed, shaking his fist and getting to his feet.

The rest of the gangsters drew their daggers too.

"Do you really want to do this?!" King Zacchias cried, drawing his arnis batons and taking a fighting stance. "You're all drunk, all of you!"

The same gangster that attacked the archangel charged at the king with his own pair of arnis sticks, but King Zacchias blocked his attack, jamming the side of his right baton into the gangster's right cheek and kicking him back. The gangster spat out blood, muttered, "Alright, now you're testing me!"

Then all of the gangsters circled King Zacchias and Saint Makael; the archangel levitated.

King Zacchias flourished his kali batons, spinning them in his hand and standing against the gangsters. He slammed the eskrima blade in his left hand into one of the gangsters, whipping back and jabbing another in the chest with his right.

The archangel sliced apart a trio of daggers, switching his rapier into his left hand and plunging forward, skewering a blade onto his sword and stabbing his sword into the wall.

King Zacchias and Saint Makael backed into each other as their attackers hounded them like dogs, time seemingly slowing down as serrated blades fell down on them like lightning. Each parry lasted eons.

Gangsters tripped as they swallowed the party streamers, desperately trying to escape as ravers looked on in confusion, some peeking behind the streamers.

King Zacchias and Saint Makael dragged the gangsters out of the rave, throwing them into cop cars and sending them off unceremoniously.

-

Destiny shot into the depths of Hell, spreading her wings and embracing the scorching heat. She shot back out of Hell carrying a gargantuan scaly beast on her shoulders–one the size of a city–and hurtling it back down, killing it.

The citizens of Furrza looked on in awe as Destiny slayed several demons and bolted into the sky with one of them, zipping through the cloudy skies as the fire-breathing dragon chased her. She hurled the demon down and darted into the dragon, pushing it back into the ground and sealing the gates of Hell off for good.

The furrians applauded her, their tails wagging with excitement and ears perched. These human-mammal hybrids were more than happy to accept her as their queen again, except for the one who was their queen. Queen Maestra greeted Destiny as she descended upon her people, extending her two open paws and giving her a big embrace. She was gentle, unless her position on the throne was challenged.

Destiny curtsied before the queen, then lifted her head and dusted a speck of blood off her fuzzy shoulder whilst the queen mumbled, "We're so delighted to have you back. And, also, I appreciate the curtsy. We haven't been on the best of terms–"

"You stole the throne," Destiny shot back, brushing off the queen's pleasantries. "I'm here for business purposes. Let's get moving on." She paused, and–back-tracking on her snarky tone–adjusted the fur coat on her shoulders and said, "Your Majesty." Destiny tilted her head down and secretly smirked as she followed the queen into the palace of Furrza.

-

"You're joking," Queen Hekezel spat, the holy archangel-saint following her into the war room. "So Destiny offers to help us on the investigation, then flies off, finds her society, gets rejected from her government, and now she wants to overthrow her government and become the queen again?"

"No, milady," said Saint Makael, rubbing his face against his forehead. "My bride has unfortunately departed from us, and she can no longer help us in our investigation as of now."

"She's our greatest asset," the queen retorted, angrily drawing her longsword and meeting Makael's sword. Their blades deflected and they stormed away from each other. "She's the one thing we need to bring the mobsters hunting Elias down to justice, and now she just ditches us like we're nothing!" Queen Hekezel charged at Saint Makael with her longsword, swiping it at the archangel's neck at cut-throat speeds. "What a great friend she is!"

"She's your friend, yes," said Saint Makael, drawing his rapier away and sheathing it. His black dreads just looked so… so handsome. His face was so nicely sculpted that the queen could easily lose herself in it, and his lips were so moist. So moist, in fact, that she could almost lean in and kiss his lips forever.

And she did. She kissed his lips forever. She kissed his lips until both of theirs were dry, until the Sun set and the Moon rose in the sky. She kissed his lips until her cheeks were rosy and the archangel's blushed, and their fur showed everywhere and they were giggling.

The queen stumbled away from Saint Makael, her plushy and triangular ears flopping back and forth as Saint Makael laid there, his fuzzy golden bosom filled with sweat. She couldn't help but think of the archangels' furry lips, how his eyes stared into hers as they kissed, how she fell into her arms.

But afterwards–after the making out and the loving and the affection–it was back to the gloom of sadness and despair.

After all, there were wars to be waged and battles to be won in the criminal underworld. The queen and the archangel adjusted themselves, then the queen gathered some maps and folders and she looked over them with the archangel until King Zacchias entered the room.

"We have bad news," said King Zacchias, adjusting his orange collar and straightening his polo.

Sidestepping his brother, Elias shouted, "Nope, good news! Step aside, bro!"

"I'm speechless," Queen Hekezel bitterly spat.

"You let him out?!" roared Saint Makael.

"He escaped," countered King Zacchias. "And he let King Trak out as well."

"No, I didn't know it was him," Elias corrected in a haughty manner. "And how was I supposed to know? He–"

"We're not talking to you right now," the rest of them spat, shutting Elias up.

"No," Elias said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "I want to be a part of this conversation."

"You just shut for a minute," Queen Hekezel said, wagging her finger at Elias as she marched up to the man she loathed. "You caused all this trouble, and now you, mister," she spat, the archangel hovering towards her and laying a paw on her shoulder. "You owe us all an explanation!"

The whole room was silent.

Nobody spoke.

But after a minute, Elias relented, and said, "What you likely heard was correct. Someone is rallying up gangs and they're coming after me, and there's also someone taking the gangs down."

"But why specifically you?" questioned the archangel. "And what's with gangs rallying and gangs falling?"

"The gangs rallying are the ones on my head, dummy," Elias said, putting his index finger against his temple and smirking haughtily. "That's the thing–someone's bringing them together and putting out hits on the other gangs, hoping I'm in one of 'em, prolly."

"And how do you know that?!"

"Because I was involved in a gang war years ago," retorted Elias, a hint of anger in his voice, a rage swelling deep within him, festering and cultivating itself inside of his bones, boiling his blood and manifesting as a swirling, hateful vein bulging in the corner of his right eye. "We shot a cop, but we got shot too!"

King Zacchias unsheathed his arnis blades, eager to bully his older brother over his own transgressions in a series of calculated strokes. "You shot a cop?!"

"Not a good one, bro," Elias said, shivering as he looked back on that fateful night. "He was corrupt, and we were just trying to save a kid who was being salvaged for parts. The copper was participating, had a gun to the head of a child being operated on for organs, and we got him good. Blam, blam."

The blazing lights. The sirens. The distress. It all returned to Elias' mind.

The queen, the king and the archangel left the war room, and left Elias alone in his own thoughts. Their jaws dropped.

Queen Hekezel's ex husband was a fugitive.

King Zacchias older brother was a scarred man.

Saint Makael's best friend was a hero.