My trusty mace Starfury smashes through a final skeleton; a warrior this time. The last member of the horde before I can finally confront the Dark Lord. I stand battered, but triumphant, before the doors to the Wicked King’s throne room. With my mace at the ready, I fell the doors with a single mighty kick! This is it, the final confrontation; the battle I have been training all my life for!
“False King! I have come to bring about your end, in the name of justice!”
The ghoulish figure of my Fated Nemesis, the Embodiment of All Evil, looks up from the table he had been peering over, away from the map of his forces. He turns to face me… and I recoil in surprise. The Beast, the Agent of Darkness, The Bearer of the Crown Steeped in Sin… looks entirely normal?
He looks me up and down in bemusement… I’m prepared to listen to whatever speech he might have prepared, but his next words shock me far more than I could have expected.
“…Who are you supposed to be, exactly?”
I tighten my hands around my mace, tensing my body, ready to strike at the first sign of witchcraft or demon summoning.
“You belittle my stature, but know the truth! I, Galaran of the Wild Lands have come to strike you down and return freedom to this realm, in my duty as Chosen One!”
He starts laughing. Laughing! As though my duty is a joke to him! It isn’t even a sufficiently evil laugh; he sounds like my father, five beers deep, laughing at my Uncles’ belches and flatulence. Where’s the dark cackle of a villain?
“Ah… hoo… sorry, sorry. So, Chosen One, hm?” He composes himself, turning to address me again.
“Yes! The bane of evil and tyranny! The-”
“Yes, yes, I know all the titles. Born under a blue moon, beneath a flaming bough? A child who sings songs so sweet as to charm the wickedest beasts, with bravery to match a dragon?”
“Of course you would know of the prophecy, fiend! The one that describes me, the hero who will-”
“Bearer of a tree-shaped birthmark on the back of your neck? Blind to the mortal world in one eye, but with sight into the realm of the spirits? Ten time pie baking champion?”
“Yes! I am the one of the prophecy-”
“Okay, but did you actually manage to obtain a god’s hand in marriage? And live 3 years in the Poison Marshes with nothing but the clothes on your back?”
“Of course! It was fore-ordained!” I’m starting to feel a bit uncertain now… why all of these questions? Certainly, a Villain must recognize their Heroic Nemesis… right? I almost feel like I’m being made fun of by the tone of his voice…
“And, the ‘ritual of humility’?” I can see him barely restraining from bursting out laughing.
I hesitate, remembering what I actually had to do for said ritual. At the time, it felt more like a ritual of humiliation than humility. But that’s the point… to strip away unearned pride, and remind myself that I am no better than anyone else…
He sees my hesitation, and bursts out in another round of laughter, leaning on the table. It’s getting harder to keep my mace held up.
“And what, precisely, is so funny to you, monster?” I bark out at him, my patience fraying to its ending.
“I made it up!” He keeps laughing, barely managing to squeeze the words out between laughs.
“Made what up, Wicked Serpent of False Promises?”
“Oh my Dark Gods, you’re even doing the names thing. You really did follow everything in that bad joke, didn’t you?”
I can feel a bit of doubt building in my heart. Certainly, I’ve followed the prophecy step by step… there were occasional blips, where things didn’t go as ordained, but I corrected for them. I have fulfilled the prophecy. And I’m here, ready to take down the villain!
He smirks darkly at me. “I made the whole thing up, you know? Just a bunch of nonsense.”
“The nonsense is what you’re saying now, Purveyor of Poisoned-”
“Frederick.”
“What?”
“My name is Frederick. Or Fred. Dark Lord Fred if you want to be formal. And it isn’t nonsense. Do you know how hard it is to rule an evil empire without rebels popping up all the time? It’s exhausting. So, I whipped up a prophecy of my own. A false hope, for everyone to invest into. To ensure nobody would try to challenge me, due to the unlikely conditions to be a ‘chosen one’.” He laughs, and this time, at least, it’s a more appropriate evil laugh. “Just your bad luck that you happened to fit.”
I quickly rally myself. “Bad luck? Hah! Prophecy or not… prophecy or not, I bring your death today, Vile Beast of-”
“Hey, if you’re ‘the chosen one’, then that’s the legendary mace Starfall, right?”
I hesitate. I look over at the mace, and think on what he’s already said. And notice that the mace is glowing… I toss it away from myself… but somehow, it clings onto my hand.
He wags his finger at me. “Close, chosen one. If you’d reacted just a hair faster, you might have managed to drop my little contingency plan there. As manufactured as the prophecy you follow. But for now… goodbye. Do give my regards to the gods for me.”
As the mace explodes… I have one final thought in my mortal life, as I look towards my fake nemesis.
‘Wow… what an asshole.’
Commentary: Probably one of my favorite short stories that I’ve written; this one is a bit of a sarcastic take on the whole concept of prophecies and ‘chosen ones’. Honestly, it’s not like there’s anyone out there verifying that these prophecies are genuine, after all.