Lord of Flies: Prologue (Patreon)

The full moon was shining brightly tonight as it hung above the clear night sky. It bathed the sleepy city of Fuyuki with an almost ethereal glow as it slowly made its way across the heavens above. The streets were empty and only the sound of animals and insects could be heard over the silence that has settled upon the old district of Miyami Town.

All was well and peaceful tonight yet in a certain mansion, in stark contrast to the city around it, was eerie and quiet. Its western architecture and huge size was an imposing sight to behold with its bricked facade and well cared for garden. 

For the residents of Fuyuki, especially its neighbors, it was always like this. An eerie yet staple fixture to the historic town. Its foreboding nature with its unlit windows and sharp angles made it stood out amongst the others. It wasn’t merely just a house, it was a statement of its owner's wealth. A symbol of power demanding the awe and respect of those who pass by. It was afterall the domain of the Matous, an old foreign family that had long since settled into the city and taken root.

On most days, this house would remain quiet but tonight, there was something more to the air around the house. The silence became foreboding and cloying as a sense of dread hangs over the property. It was a suffocating and oppressive feeling that choked the breath out person, a type of silence that sets even the calmest of persons on edge as nary the sound of insects nor the rustling of leaves could be heard from the property. 

It was then that the sound of the ring bell of an old grandfather clock echoed across the empty halls of the Matou estate, cutting through the oppressive silence like the death tolls of a church bell. Something stirred inside thet mansions as the shadow inside darkened.

There in the old study of the head of the Matou family sat a young man. His pale features and deep blue hair was only made all the more fae-like as he stared down on the cup of tea in his dainty and delicate hands. His small frame and features were only made more apparent as the large chair he sat on loomed over him.

This after all wasn’t his chair nor his room but that of his fathers. It’s not like his progenitor will have any use of it after tonight. Years of planning all leading to this one night. While his girls secured the area, he was here ready to finish what he should have done so years ago.. Now he waits, enjoying his tea as he does so in relative peace and quiet while playing with his phone. Only the sound of a nearby clock as well as the sound of his device could be heard inside the room. 

He savored his drink, letting the fragrant and flowery scent of chamomile fill his lungs as he took a sip from his cup. Slowly, he laid the cup down upon the wooden table before him before he opened his eyes. A scratching skittering mass stirred about, clawing and scraping behind the wall of the room. He could feel them even as they hid amidst the wards of the room, waiting and biding their time for the time to strike at their masters' behest. 

Deep blood red eyes stared into the darkened room even as the light of the moon bathed him from behind. His eyes focused ahead, staring right at the heart of the darkness as the sound of a cane clacking against the wooden floor could be heard from the shadows. 

Slowly, the form of a feeble old man appeared in front of him. His form bowed and his features wrinkled and twisted hiding the power that the man holds. It seems that finally his father saw it fit to grace him with his presence.

“Good evening, father.” He greeted ever so cheerfully as he gave the shadow a sardonic and mocking smile. 

His father merely smiled back, a cruel and vicious one in response, as he replied “Ah, if it isn’t my wayward progeny. Isn’t it a bit late?”

“I could ask the same to you father. Shouldn’t you be in bed? A man your age needs all the rest they can get. You aren’t getting any younger, after all.” The boy replied in turn as he set his phone aside.

The old man snorted in amusement before he shook his head. “The youth today really don’t know when to give respect, do they?”

Said youth simply chuckled as he replied in turn “We only give ours to those that earn it.” 

“Oho? Has arrogance blinded you already? Letting those hussies around might have been a mistake.” The old man quirked an eyebrow at the youth. 

The youth rested his chin against his palm as his smile turned to a grin. “Blinded? Funny, coming from you of all people, father. I know what I see before me and all I see is a bag of olds bones with flesh made of insects and held together with nothing but spite and bitterness. There’s nothing worthy of respect from a corpse that hasn’t acknowledged it died years ago.”

It was at this point that all traces of amusement from the older man vanished as the smile on his face slowly faded. The youth however didn’t relent as he kept talking.

“You know father, I used to admire you. You who conquered death and held mastery on flesh crafting, you were a goal worth surpassing. It was only after I surpassed you that I realized how  pitiful you are. You’ve stagnated old man, your drive has long since snuffed out and without that drive, you wasted years by merely existing. You could have achieved more but here I am, ready to take by force what you’ve been holding on for too long. Your times up, old man”

The man was frowning at this point, his hands gripping his cane hard enough that it splintered beneath his bony hands. It was then that he started laughing. He started out slow until it turned into a full bellied laugh that shook his weary frame.

“You’re a hundred years to young to tell me when my time is up.” The man replied as countless insects spilled out from the shadows behind him as well as from beneath his feet. A thousand skittering and clawing brutish insects bayed and hissed in response as they were called into action. Their claws and pincers gnashing and grinding as they flowed.

“And you’re a hundred years too old to realize how wrong you are in that regard.” The youth replied as his flesh started to come apart as insects with elegant streamlined bodies and razor sharp claws formed from his flesh.

An army meets an army, their lines drawn as battle was to be had. There was no turning back now.

“A pity really. Of all my creations, you were my finest one. You remind me so much of myself and your mother in our youth. You even have her eyes. If you submit now, maybe I’ll be merciful.”

The boy barked out a laugh as he replied “If.”

“I’ve taught you well.” With those words, the room was torn asunder as the two forces clashed. Claws against claws, pincers against pincers. As equals they fought, choosing to settle their fight with violence. Winner takes all and, with the Matou’s crest on the line, there was no room for error.