there are killers among kings

It was written all over history: in order for civilization to progress, the strong needed to rule over the weak. There were great leaders like Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and Julius Caesar who were born into greatness and shone above the rest, destined to shape the world around them, but they couldn't have done that without the blood of their subordinates.

Now, Florentin wasn't so presumptuous that he would think himself in the ranks of Alexander the Great, no. But there was no denying greatness. Florentin was born with a fine pedigree, his father an Octavius and his mother a noble Bellerose, and with his fine pedigree came the gifts it promised, such as magic, wealth, good looks, charm and talent. Florentin had witnessed his own effect on the environment before. He had a charm that demanded to be noticed, and an intelligence that challenged most scholars. If anyone were destined to hold greatness in their grasp, it would be him. And in his greatness, he would finally do away with the concept of Death. Dying. Endings. Compared to him, this man was...

This man was...

Florentin sat on the empty classroom's teacher's desk, fingers fidgeting, locked around each other. On the table was an English textbook, right next to it was a silver thermos filled with darjeeling tea and a couple of wrapped gourmet sandwiches. A last meal, he supposed. Lucky for him. Sasha made the best sandwiches. With the sky slowly melting into a dark orange and the street lights flickering into life, Florentin's silhouette strong next to the windows, the stage was set.

Professor Solaris was going to die. It wasn't a decision made out of impulse. Florentin had picked Professor Solaris out of everyone in the school because he was the sort that would never be missed. Despite his height, he had the presence of a ghost. People's eyes glaze over him when he passed by. Florentin checked and double checked, and other than the fact that he graduated at the same university with a certain Professor Wong Ha Jung, there was nothing that bound him to his place. Possibly only the University secretary would notice, and he imagined she would just spare a moment to sigh in disbelief that he never bothered to properly quit. And of course people would think he would quit. After all, he had no attachment to this place, no friends, families, purpose.

He was wasting space and resources for better people. People that mattered. People like Florentin. His existence made his gut churn uncomfortably, angry that people like this existed, and at times, he thought that he was a higher power, and he was going to make their deaths mean something. After all, why live for sixty years and die alone in your bed, unloved and unwanted, if you could live for thirty and be immortalized as the body that helped abolish death? This was Solaris' purpose. This was what gave his existence meaning. He was never supposed to have a will. He was supposed to be crushed by a great man who would use his death as a catalyst for bigger, better things.

He lured him in with the bait that he needed help with English classes. The fact that he had a thick French accent sold his case better. As a University professor, loathe as he was to do this, Professor Solaris was forced to give his time. The clock drew nearer and nearer, and as the classroom door opened, Florentin sat at the chair next to the teacher's table. He flashed him a bright, brilliant smile.

"Good afternoon, Professor."

It was time for the show.



@"Emy"

Florentin decided he was going to make his bit extra convincing. When Solaris asked him what the issue was, he pulled his English book and began to go to the bookmarked pages, the pages he needed "help" with. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I do hope I am not being the bother with this. I try so hard, and you see, English is so difficult. It makes no sense to me all."

He placed the page on the table for Solaris to see.

"Professor," he started, accent way, way thicker than usual, "I cannot seem to be grasping the differences between prepositions and possession and subject-verb agreement. The -s at the end is plural, non? Why is it that, in sentences, when you say They picks it is wrong? Is that not plural?"

It was an easy lure: A pretty face with no air or substance. That didn't mean he enjoyed it, however. As if remembering his manners, he offered Solaris Sasha's turkey sandwich laced with arsenic and a cup of hot tea with cyanide that ingesting either would kill Solaris within the hour. He supposed it was a pick your poison kind of deal, whether Solaris wanted to go out with a bloated stomach or internal asphyxia. Should he turn down either, he had a few back-up ideas, but why turn down Sasha's heavenly smelling sandwich in the first place? It sounded ludicrous to him.

He smiled at him. "Forgive me, I was rather distraught thinking about how I would be wasting your time today because of how lax I was with English lessons back home. I had my servant prepare this for you. It is for you. Please." He was polite, but there was a subtle insistence in his tone as he offered them, as if he would be very mad if his hospitality was turned down.

"Oui," he said as he picked up his book again, flipping through the pages as he "looked" for whatever he needed clarification with, all the while glancing at Professor Augustine with impatience. Let him think he was being discourteous. He needed to up the pressure to make sure he bit, and swallowed, even a small bite of the sandwich.

Arsenic Poisoning was an interesting thing. It wasn't pretty, as far as deaths went, but it was fast when done in the right amounts. Florentin made sure to coat the sandwich with the stuff enough that it would kill him within the hour. After that, Florentin didn't know. He should take him home and keep his body in the basement for further studies.

His heart was thumping dangerously fast in his chest. It should be guilt forming, or fear, but it was nothing but excitement strong enough to slow down time and make his head delirious. He felt dirty, for not feeling bad about this set-up, but he was literally granting his victim a higher purpose than he deserved.

Perhaps that was it. Celebration. Solaris' death was something to celebrate.

He smiled at Solaris and settled his hands on his lap. "Do you like it? My bodyguard Sasha made it."

There it was. That small bite that was going to kill him. Florentin needn't keep up the charade any longer. He closed his book, took a slow deep breath, and stared into space for a moment, mind shutting off for a few seconds as it tried to grasp the extremity of the situation, the conceptual largeness of it all.

Professor Solaris was as good as dead.

Florentin's stomach felt like a pit. Something in his chest ached, dull and muted. He was very solemn as he silently recalled the first man whose throat he slit in that dark alleyway all those years ago. His existence repulsed him. But he lived like any other sort of man. Just like Solaris.

"Professor..." Florentin started, his voice very small. He wasn't looking at him, but his usual accent came back. Curtains off. Weak and vulnerable. "I... Can we talk?" He placed the book on the table and set it aside. "Outside of the lesson?"

"I would prefer it be with you..." Florentin trailed off. When he gathered his courage, he sighed.

"Have you ever had a life experience that changed who you are growing up? Terrible, isn't it? That happened to me with my Aunt Cosette. She was a lovely woman, who taught me many things, like the ballroom waltz and dividing fractions. I loved her. I loved her so much these words seem insufficient," Florentin said in slow, low tones, and he paused, quiet.

Arsenic, when consumed in large amounts, as demonstrated by Solaris eating the sandwich would have the following symptoms within the first thirty minutes: drowsiness, headaches, confusion and terrible diarrhea. More severe cases included: Metallic taste, excess salivation, problems swallowing, blood in urine, cramping muscles, loss of hair, stomach cramps, sweating, garlic breath, vomiting, diarrhea. It was so very fatal when not treated.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "When I was twelve, she died. It shook me to my core. It's always hard, losing someone important. Wouldn't you agree? It was around then that I decided I hated loss, and I hated the concept of dying. I went into my family's library and studied. It was there I learned Necromancy.

"But theory isn't much without practice. I needed to experiment. I needed live subjects. Do you understand? I needed people that recently died for it to work. What would it matter if I claim a few lives if I could eliminate the concept of Death entirely? I claimed my first victim when I was seventeen."

He looked straight at Solaris, sympathy written all over his face.

He felt bad. It was a sick feeling pooling at the bottom of his stomach.

But it was far from regret.

"My second one. I'm so sorry."