One shrill ringing of the school bell drove through the whole symmetrical building as I stuff all of my Math stuff into my bag. For one moment the steaming classroom seem to explode with turbulence. Shift. Sitting on a stolen royal chair with velvet cushions. A beautiful, obsidian dagger. Home. Time’s ticking as I feel each one them (dumb strong-built jocks, queen bees with her deceiveful followers, that skinny geek) forcefully push me passby. Shift. Hateful blue eyes. My triumph. Then another second, and they’re gone. Shift. Betrayer becomes the Betrayed. A mistake with a point of no return. Swords drawn. Like a dream. Shift. Thief against Warrior. Blood, limbs, organs, bodies everywhere.

It’s time.

Blinking rapidly I monotonously advance towards the packed shelves at the back of the classroom to grab my Ethics folder. Today we’ll start our “official and professional” debate if revenge is ethically acceptable, excluding the Bible to use as an argument. Shift. Taunting. Halfway through the movement of grabbing the folder I stop. Shift. Realization. Besides the shelves stands our sink with shiny glass tiles. But it isn’t the bright sun reflecting the glass that bothers me. Slowly I approach the sink, something thumped the floor and my hand feels light and free, lean both of my hands on the white, dirty rim and I stare.

Not at myself entirely with that rich, light-pink skin colour that immediately bleaches to an intense white at my psychic-mental demand.

Not at my dark-brown eyes which I force to a dark, but bright, red tint. But…

At my throat.

It’s time.

When looking closely one can say that something is wrong from the jawline to the collarbone. At first it seems like someone drew an extremely thin and nearly invisible line down my throat with a black ballpoint pen. Another closer look might toy one into thinking that it’s in fact a hair strand, which is not surprising as it blends with my actual hair. Yet only I can really notice what it truly is. With light fingers I scornfully run them over my scar.

Shift. Scream. Suffocating.

I angrily try scratching the strong clots away.

Shift. Despair. Boiling anger.

“I’m sorry”.  Sorry. Sorry? Sorry?! Sorry! SORRY?! Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.

But they never come off.

Shift. Snarl. “Royal scum!”

Once again tears sting in my eyes. This scar wasn’t an accident, wasn’t an injury. No, it was an insult. An underestimation of my spirit. A mockery of who I really am.

“You shouldn’t have chosen this fate!” Fate. “Chosen this life!” Life!

One might say that I should seek help. Comfort. I open my mouth and the small clog inside releases itself. But who noticed? Who showed compassion? WHO?!!

No one. But every time I was thrown down… I would rise up stronger.

My breath shudders as it flew out, however as I inhale I smirk. Smirks turn into giggles. Finally I laugh.

“I AM this life!” My life. My rules. My world. My creation.

“I curse you!” You. You. You. Him!

“I curse you so that neither you nor of your closest, your most cherished, your family and friends can escape me. I will always find you!”

Once again, after what seemed like an eternity, I feel… powerful...like… a goddess!

It’s TIME!

“Hey”, I hear Mark speak from behind and everything rapidly stops. How long had he been in here?  Did this happen again in my mind? He doesn’t seem to notice at all from what I can tell from the reflection. My focus quickly shifts to my fingers. One of my nails are ripped. I rip another one. He must not see me.

“Heyy..uh! The class...Ethics, y’know… where is it again?” Poisonous, fake sympathy and compassion radiates from his feelings. I know how to repel them easily from my mind. Furthermore I feel how he awkwardly shifts from one foot to another. So the rumours are true: Mark Barnes, most popular kid in school I presume, feels uncomfortable around foreigners, especially when his new classmate is Austrian.

“Was jetzt?”, I murmur quietly.

“Oh!”, an awkward laugh, “Yeah, sorry...forgot that you...yeah. Weisst du… eh-uhm… wo-ehr...die?...des...the Klassenzimmer...for, fur, fer...für...Ethicssss-Ethik ist?”

First I let him hanging there with regret and self-shaming. It’s fun to see one struggling to speak a foreign language.

“2L, glaub’ ich”, I reply after a moment’s silence.

“2L. Yeah I remember now. Thanks...eh...danke.”

A quick peek at the tiles’ reflection shows me how he smiles as he thanks me. An innocent smile. Just like that royal scum. Talking about that royal scum…

Its time!

Strapping my school-bag over my shoulders I motion him that I’ll leave. However before he can even stand aside I bump my shoulder against his and hiss at him.

“Until next time.”

I have never spoken a word of English since I got transferred into his class. Too bad I couldn’t see his stunned reaction before leaving!

Nevertheless I have better tasks to accomplish.

As soon I’ve reached the staircase do the signs then appear visibly in front of me. Lifting my head high I trot down the concrete stairs. Peculiar the staircase is quiet, I am all alone. From all of the sides the white walls stood high and dead to me, no matter what anyone thinks respectively of this school. No, not the school, but the building itself. Further down I go, the tighter the walls get. Like the living dead, preying on those with human blood. And I happen to bleed tremendously. Even though trapped inside this disposable body I will not bend down to this prison. Reality is just a tool, just like the creativity of a human being. One only needs to solve the riddle how to control it.

First I hear the echoes of my footsteps clashing onto the shallow stairs. Then under my mental command Change I feel my own darkness draping over them behind me like a long, thick cape. From the baggy, moist sneakers I command forth strong, leathery and protective battle boots. Furthermore I vision a change of clothes: black leggings, a purple long-sleeved linen shirt, over it a silver chainmail with a belt for my dagger (my obsidian dagger), and a long midnight-blue cloak with hood. I close my eyes for the effects to happen more quickly.

Secondly I vision a dark throne-room. One full of treasures of glancing gold, shiny silver, smooth rubies, sparkling emeralds, cryptic smaragds, bright diamonds, jewelry... I vision the black royal chair, stolen from one of the ruling families in my world, now mine. Slowly I can distinguish how the black colours drown the dull white and grey with no mercy.

Finally I open my eyes. My blood-red eyes.

Immediately I first sheath my obsidian-black dagger from the belt and draw the hood over my face and eyes. After that I take notice of the crowd surrounding my throne, looking at me. Originally they would fill the whole room, but after the massacre only half of my trusted ones in that room survived. Nevertheless I still rule a kingdom that stands by my side. As usual they’ve been expecting me.

Of course. Our time for revenge has come.

A lean middle-aged man breaks from the crowd and approaches me.

“Meisterdiebin”, he bows low before me.

“Kaol”, I nod curtly in return, a change in my voice.

“Sie sind alle bereit für den Kampf. Bogenschütze, Schwertkämpfer, Lanzenkämpfer, alle sind hier. Es fehlen nur noch Eure aufmunternde Worte.”

He guides me towards my tall throne and I sat straight, staring down at my trustworthy followers. None of them can speak my mother-tongue. So I cry aloud in the Common Tongue.  

“Friends, fellow followers and those who side with me!

The time has come! Today this kingdom will shine its glory and pride as we will march towards the lands of the treacherous Prince of Nibelung! Plunder every house that comes in our way, destroy the crops, the towns, take no prisoners! Every single follower must be paid the price of ever following the Nibelung family! Make them remember that we are no people of democracy nor peace, but people who steal, plunder, kidnap, steal and serve our own and only justice! Nothing will stand in our way! And no one will get away of exterminating each one of us! Especially those who backstabbed and who we have blindly trusted! We will always grow, always be stronger! Let them think that they are the light, the hope of this world! For they will notice how their world actually belongs to ME and we will swallow them up like the night the day! And I, together with all of you, will rule the world FOREVER!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kissing the cheek of a red guard, I pull my trusty dagger from the lifeless body and let it slide to the floor. We have made it to the throne room. With glee I watch the Nibelung family fall as my men pierce their arrogant hearts with their swords and lances. Just like they have done to my people. Done to my spirit. A small girl, the youngest princess, bumps against me as she tries to flee the scene. Oh, how the fear and trauma sparked from her eyes! I grabbed her by the little throat and dragged her with me into the heart of the throne room.

Maybe I should call myself mad, for I love it how this might add more fear and acknowledgement from people, because I enjoy this scene of the King lying lifeless on the throne, his wife's decapitated head on his lap while her body lies next to him on the floor. Two of his sons: dead, their wives: raped and dead, one of them decapitated, their children: smashed dead against the wall or with throats slit. However what ruins this wondrous scene are my men with the swords drawn surrounding the surviving Warrior Prince of the Nibelung. The One himself that dared to humiliate me at the massacre. To my pleasure, he seems worn out and tired from all the fighting. Weak from our powerful rebellion and just hold onto the armrest of the throne to support himself. Whimpering the girl struggles to get free of my grasp. I tighten my hand around her windpipe and she squeaks.

“Mark Barnes! What a pleasure to see you again!”

All of a sudden he swirls around with his blade high and directed towards me. His eyes blaze with wild anger and despair yet also so deeply lost. Of course he tenses at the sight of his last relative at my mercy.

“Cyndia….”, he whispers hoarsely.

“...Markie!”, a sobbing in reply.

“Is this how you are going to greet your dear classmate?”, I sneer and draw down my hood. I speak with no accent. Travelling from one parallel world to another can change a person belief, persona or even the way one speaks completely. In addition I point my bloodied dagger against the girl’s, Cyndia’s throat. Warm tears drop down onto my hand. She is crying.

The freezing of his whole body sold his exact reactions and thoughts when recognising me. Emotions run wild on his face: disbelief, shock, confusion and anger.

“You! But...the accent...your appearance...so it's YOU I see here, in my dreams-"

“Wrong! It's in MY dream that you have wandered inside, my world that you have taken over, my people that you have murdered!”, I spit out the loudest snarl I can give.

“This world belongs to no one, not even to me. We both share our dreams in the same world, the same universe. It's our duty to protect and further develop the world. And not mistreat it for our own pleasure and goals!”

At this I let my dagger take the lead and the last female Nibelung body drops to the floor. Her neck is hardly recognizable from all the red colour and open skin tissues. As expected Mark leads out a tragic moan.

“You should shut up!”, I hiss at him poisonly.

I nod a signal to my men jump at Prince Mark. Young heroes tend to think that a touching speech will end all the violence and war. But I only play with my own rules. When I reach the throne, Mark is on his knees, holding one stomach wound with his left hand and busy defending himself from three of my men. The fourth and fifth one lie dead a few feet away.

When does he ever die?

Suddenly an idea flashes in front of me. I call my men to stand aside and as they do I sheath out my sword, stolen from the King that destroyed Grendel’s mother-creature. At the same time I lick Cyndia’s blood off the the dagger with gleeful delight.

“Let us replay that evening one more time, so you can have that taste of revenge as when my own people were murdered in that very similar room. In fact tasting revenge gives out a wonderful desire to drink blood. Of our enemies. And our enemies’ innocents.”

To my enjoyment he straightens up proudly, fueled by disgust but most of all of heating hatred.

“You monster!”, he poses in his defense position.

I shake my head, “Oh no. That’s just mere revenge and a beginning!”

Just as I’ve finished that sentence my blade has just clashed violently against Mark’s own. I attack swiftly like Beelzebub, Prince of Demons, while Mark unconvincingly tries to defend himself like the former Angel Lucifer. We are in the dark with muffled torches, the hard clashing of our swords spark specks of light. For what seemed like an eternity I finally drive him back against the throne chair. The Prince makes one fatal mistake: aiming for my head from the top while my blade is held downwards. I take this opportunity to halt his attack and twirl his sword forcefully so he is easily disarmed.

Impatient with the situation I dash towards him like a flash and I slit his collarbone. He stumbles and falls beside the throne. For a few moments I listen to him coughing up blood and watch him stare up at me. Look how far the Prince has fallen!

“Why?”, he snarls after a fit of coughing.

Those eyes full of betrayal. That he has been lied to. That he has trusted me during class, in the neverending reality. Or is it an neverending reality?

“Let me tell you a secret”, steadily I crouch down in front of him and cupped his sweaty chin. “No, there are more than one for you. First: Nobody in the whole wide world, here or on Earth which you call home or the “reality”, thinks about not taking over the world. From writing books to capture readers’ minds to terrorizing a country or state to do your own biddings, everyone wants to rule the world. I happen to deliver the truth literally. And I enjoy it!

“Second: Everything I dream of, everything I see and touch, is mine. This kingdom I started to build up is mine, the territory and its people you vandalize and destroy are mine. Your empire, this castle and this throne is now mine! And I won’t stop until I have every single corner and speck under my grasp.

“Finally: The shy, introverted, foreign student whom you’ve helped with at school is dead. The reckless, cunning, deceivable thieflordess you defeated back then in my throne-room has died. That just, fair, controlling who begins to rise right now will be dead. For I am the Liar, the Deceiver, the Creator, a Goddess. I am no one, yet I am everyone else. I create and re-create myself and the world, destroy it all if I feel like it.”

I smile inhumanly.

“You are just one of my broken toys. It’s better you be gone.”

Finally I remove my bloody dagger from his chest as rapidly as I have stabbed him. Moreover I no longer take notice of the dead Prince, nor of my surrounding men starting to spit at the royal corpses. On the other hand I take interest of the King slouching in his throne, in particular the golden crown above his head. Greedily absorbing the beauty of it I carefully remove it and I glance at all the little details engraved on the crown. How funny that once you have possession over this piece of jewelry you can technically rule over the whole world!

Forthwith with my blood-red hands I place it on top of my head.