Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter 1

Written by Daton L Fluker

http://deathkeeperworld.com

E-mail datonfluke@live.com

INTRODUCTION

In reality, life is incased within its own formality, occasions of factual truths we see with our eyes. The world we breed in makes us use assets that compose us to believe in wealth. We dream and we live in terminologies that can’t be figured out by just a naked look. These items of principalities lead us on a path of wreckage or opposite; appreciation. These nomenclatures of society aspects, which we believe, give us our first bicycle, our first kiss, and the first time we have a fight-are the above covetousness must that all human beings’ encounter during decades of vigor imprisonment.

Conversely, what if there was another world besides the one we hold dear and love? Inside a cube shape, there are four dimensions and each dimension is plighted in its own place or noted lines. These cubes are filled with smaller cubes or living organisms. If we take a look inside of a plant’s anatomy then we can figure out-through science-that the smallest cube of life is a cell.

This ideal of biology is voiced and fulfilled with the unique track record of our scientific methods. Our scientist can distinguish smaller worlds within us and many other worlds beyond them. One social circle-in contrast-keeps well-overseeing itself in the convictions of our minds. The power of the soul is occasionally explained as supernatural. In mathematics and physics, the share of a space or object is informally determined as the smallest number of dictums necessary to indicate each level within it. Thus a line has a ratio of one because only one order is needed to identify a point. However, what if the points are not necessarily straight and are bent like a circular or inert pattern? Most cubes of life are explained without edges, and the edges are not fringed together even though a figment of an edge is scoping inside itself. We think of the supernatural worlds when we think of other universes this way.

We have to go somewhere when we die. Nevertheless, this is not suavity, which holds authentic behavior. I’m going to tell you of another dimension that stacks its bodies as fast as it piles its resources. Dimension 360 is a verse where people are similar but not necessarily like us. They live like us but they have an abundance of prosperity. Imagine a place that is 50-times the Earth size. Its massiveness counteracts its seasons. When it circles the sun, it rotates on its axis only once every five human decades, meaning that summers are long and bright and winters are cold and dark.

Half of the planet is full of ice and the other half of it is blessed with vegetation and animal migration. This world is eight-billion-light-years away from planet Earth, which has similar life forms.

Just like Earth, water, trees, mysterious creatures and humans are on its surface. However, because technology can’t advance more than what earthlings had in the Middle-Ages (when there was an abundant outfit of royal families) we tend to forget how brutal humans will fight for power, respect, and wealth. We begin our quest in a newly built town-hall. Unknown people are grouped, resettling on the other side of the planet. Some of them are protesting because they need nourishment. The winter has finished and spring time is on its way.

The people must capture as many resources as they possibly can, well, before the wars begin. More colonies like theirs are being brought to bed on their planet. These wars can last for the entire summer and there is no limit on how big a kingdom can get because if the population doesn’t relocate when the winter comes then the city can be incased in ice for decades and the people will die from starvation. Even the sea creatures change direction overtime because of the seas freezing over and their natural habit is lost in hoarfrost and ice. They consider each race as barbaric and the kingdoms not in alliance could be brutal rivals.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1 NOURISH THE BEGGAR KILL THE CRAVING I

People are protesting around Town-Hall. An example is being made of a man and his family outside. They stayed loyal to the lord of their people so now they have to suffer for it. The doors are chained up from the inside. The crowd can’t go inside and get revenge on their leader. The winter came unsuspected and it veiled a treacherous trail of death and suffering on the uncivilized nation. The people of the city had to walk 32-years in a forever blizzard to the other side of the planet where they are made to saunter out on a journey of life and death. It is a pilgrimage that every man and woman have to go through in his or her world. It’s a calling that carries the young to maturity and buries those individuals, who are weak and frail, from the joys of a new day. It could be because in time, they can get the best of the plentiful resources gathered and harvested during the summer.

They call their planet Minaera. Minaera is turning slowly and spring will be here soon. For almost 45-years no vegetation grew; however, every day more grass is showing out in the crevices and for the first time in ages the sun is arising in the east. They used all their resources two years ago, and they blame their lord for their gluttonous behavior.

During that time, families were picked from out of the colony every month to be consumed by hungry colonists. The lord had to accept this behavior because his traveling metropolis has run out of strength and endurance and its people have turned into ravenous maniacs. His army had to take half of the food to fight a smaller army, which attacked them from a mountain-pass; three years ago. None of the soldiers have returned and the lord sets weakened in his quarters looking out of a bulletproof window that has bars on it. Weapons used similar to Earth guns are thrown in a pile on the ground, but there are no more iron resources or gunpowder to make ammunition for them. On a human made hill near a cottage (constructed of mud and packed ice) is used for an execution zone. The crowd of farmers and workers are holding unfamiliar gardening tools made of stone and 80 of them, are walking behind the poor gentleman and his family.

THE MAN

(The man calls out) “Lord Matchbox!”

Tears roll down the man face as he marches to his gruesome fate. He continues…

THE MAN

“We stayed loyal to you! Please save us! Come out and stop these people from doing this! Please lord! We still believe in the principals of our nation! How and why can our lord let this happen?”

His wife is bleeding from her mouth. She can’t speak because her tongue has been cut out. A man behind the family (being pushed to the hill) has fingers on his necklace. He pushes them to the hill while the diminutive crowd follows. It’s so cold plus the wind blows a freezing mass of air, which covert chills underneath your skin every second. Everyone has developed a form of adaptation to the weather, and they look like aborigines dressed in nothing but rags. The Passing Tory, the man with the finger bracelet around his neck, is over 500-pounds and seven in-a-half feet tall. His wardrobe is black. Compared to a certain devious profession on Earth, he resembles an executioner but on this planet he is called The Passing Tory, they are the ones who prepare the people for eating.

Two traitorous swordsmen are at the top of the hill bearing the sign of the kingdom on their armor. It signifies a picture of a lion with wings and the words “Camelot” on it, except most of it has been scratched off, and it is covered with dents and human blood.

The swordsmen are the ones responsible for gutting the people like fish (taking out their organs and saving them for the upper level families to eat) the families, which are now in command.

The day resembles a never ending sunset. The ground beneath them looks like sheets of soil cracked ice that gnashes underneath their feet as they progress forward. The place where no one ever walks at is on the out skirts of the trail. Brown grass has grown a few feet higher than the level of land that has been smashed on for months.

The first time in years there are clouds forming in the east in front of the rising sun, and the dirt path the crowd is following leads to a human made dirt hill. Lord Matchbox watches as the family is being harassed and shoved toward it but there is nothing he could do. The man and his wife have a son and a daughter and both are truly young. The girl is the oldest, and she looks around 10-years-old, her brother is nearly eight. The children are being held in the front of their parents so that they won’t get hit with the weapons from the crowd behind them. However, instead of guiding themselves away from the mass of people they are trying to push back into them.

On the hill, the swordsmen stand there waiting for them because of the big surprise at the foot in front of the hill. Logs from the dark forest and a large pot of boiling water is in facing distance is gradually proscribing their doomed destiny.

The man is screaming out more. He and his family are half way up the hill,

THE MAN

“Lord Matchbox! At least help my family! You Coward! Come out and face your people. Can’t you see everything you all are doing is wrong? Let them go and take me!”

An old man from the crowd screams back,

OLD MAN

“You bastard, can’t you see your Lord is nothing more than a man? He can’t save you! Your family is lost because of your loyalty to these fake principles! Kill his family first!”

The mob repeats,

MOB

“Kill his family first! Kill his family first! Kill his family first!”

One of the swordsmen meets them on the pathway. He punches the poor man in his nose causing him to lose grip of his daughter and son. The swordsman takes the children up the hill, along with his wife. They pull him up behind his family. The iron glove the swordsman has on has knocked a few teeth from out of the man’s mouth.

He lays on the ground bleeding and too hungry & weak to fight back. The Passing Tory grabs him by the neck and forces him to his feet. They both walk up the hill together but nothing the man could do. He reaches his hand out for his family kneeling down in front of the boiling water. Hopelessness sings in his heart, and for a moment, he is no longer loyal to his lord.

The man screams,

THE MAN

“Nooooo!”

The swordsman raises his sword into the air and lowers it in the same breath (all the way to the dirt). His sword chops off the woman’s head. The man screams…

THE MAN

“No! Not my son! Please stop… I’m not loyal to this kingdom anymore! Please, let them go and take me! They are only children!”

He tries to fight but The Passing Tory is too strong. He holds the wiry man in place. Next in line is his son. Both, he and his sister are bowing near the body of their dead mother. Her open neck bleeds out into the boiling water. A number of other human remains are simmering on top, while her soft tissues boil from the neck of her braised head.

The other swordsman has another job to do. He goes and grabs the legs of the dead women dragging her body to the middle of the hill. Taking off her clothes, he prepares her corps for consumption. In a chopping position, the other swordsman raises his sword to strike the man’s son. However, when he does an arrow goes through the swordsman’s neck constructing him to, instantaneously drop his sword. In a distance downward coming from out of the darkness, a figure of a man riding a horse toward the hill is blurred out because of the midnight shade and behind the man on the horse yonder a small army. It must be the army that went to defend the valley. They have returned from a two-year battle. Within 15-seconds, more arrows fly toward the swordsmen. A few arrows hit the swordsman iron chest-plate and bounce off but the soft parts of his body get squarely pierced through. The swordsman falls in the pot of sweltering water. Lord Matchbox is witnessing this through the window. Tears flow from his eyes while some of the servants inside the town-hall remove the boards from the door.

A young lord perhaps in his 20s has a semblance of a flying tiger on his armor. A red-cloak is coming from his back, and he stares out to everybody with his dark-black-eyes, holding a brand-new sword. The Lord has a helmet on that only kings wear, made of gold and diamonds. The people stare back at him but no one is attacking. He sets off toward the hill with all his attention on the remaining swordsman. Standing at parade rest saluting, the dead body of the woman is beneath him next to his feet. The little girl grabs her younger brother and holds him close. Everybody goes quiet.

Clouds move through the sky like zigzag lines, moving toward the darkness. The sun is blazing in the east and two moons are close together in the western skies in the direction where the darkness is coming from. A black forest is behind the town and the shadows of a vast mountain range shadow in behind the forest. Lord Matchbox is nearing closer to the hill. His body levitates up with every step he takes, moving a little faster each time. Lord Matchbox speaks while continuing to move forward…

LORD MATCHBOX

“How dare you? We had a deal not to kill any children! For over a month I have watched you murdered a dozen young youths! Don’t you know they are our future? And their families, thirty of them lost because of your political anarchy!”

The swordsman stands in place. He breaks his thousand yard stare and looks toward Lord Matchbox’s direction. He yells back,

SWORDSMAN

“You are not my lord anymore! You allowed your people to go hungry and in return they have turned into corrupted monsters! I’m no longer loyal to this lunacy! You will find your reprisal, and it will be in the courts of our Gods! Don’t tell me about how I murdered innocent children! Tell me how a Lord can let an entire nation fall to its annihilation!”

The Lord is next to him now. The villagers all seem afraid as they watch this avocation acquire. The army from the west advances toward them at a full speed, leaving a mass of dust behind them. It’s so cold that their teeth clatter together as they speak. Lord Matchbox replies,

LORD MATCHBOX

“You do not understand! It was my father that ordered those people to die! I’m a different leader and this is a new day! However, you will never see it!”

It was the Lord’s gesticulate action and the sound of his voice that cued the swordsman’s death. Lord Matchbox swings his sword. The swordsman falls to his knees and his separate head captions into the sky twittering off his neck, while his body falls on the dirt like aspic gelatin ( inanimate and lifeless) while blood flows from out the opening of his neck and his heart slows down, it virtually stops pumping. A Hero is riding toward their direction. He jaunts passed the people to the hill. No one can make out what is on his chest-plate because it is in from arrow heads. Carrying a broken sword, the hero is missing three fingers on his right-hand. He gets off his horse, and he walks toward the hill.

On top of the hill, the man, who was once loyal to his nation, is now mystified that fate gave him back his children. He reaches out and grabs them and holds them close. Lord Matchbox says to him,

LORD MATCHBOX

“I’m sorry about your wife. I saw what happened.”

He points his sword out to some open space. He continues,

LORD MATCHBOX

“Over there you can have your own farm. Now you are graced as a Duke. I will give you workers, tools and 1,000-gold-pieces to help you and your families grow.”

The man replies back with tearful shrieks,

THE MAN

“Thank you Lord.”

The man and his son and daughter walks down the hill pass the hero through the crowd. No one touches him because he has been granted a royal position.

The army is taking control and the kingdom is under martial-law. The Hero goes toward Lord Matchbox and kneels.

He lays his broken sword in the dirt bowing his head to the ground. He is showing his appreciation to the new Lord because when the Hero left, the new Lord father was king. Lord Matchbox walks over to him and puts his hands on the Hero’s shoulder. He says to him,

LORD MATCHBOX

“You don’t have to bow anymore! Stand up! I’m appointing you as mayor! Help me govern these people! We can talk tonight at Town Hall!”

The Hero stands up. He gazes out with the eyes of death. He says,

HERO

“Yes my Lord!”

Lord Matchbox proceeds on with his talk,

LORD MATCHBOX

“But before you take your position, I want all these families names brought to me with their heads on silver platters. These are the people who started this outrageous anarchy and brought months of disorder on our people! The Johnstown, Flasksens, Belgrans, Lebeltons, and the Norchins; bring them to me in the next hour!”

HERO

“Yes my Lord!”

His voice is ferociously deep. He is in his 50s but in good shape because of many battles.

The hero screams out to some warriors carrying heavy loads of meat that they captured from a valley army they had fought with previously.

HERO

“Drop those sacks! You heard the King! Bring me the Johnstown, Flasksens, Belgrans, Lebeltons, and the Norchins now! I want everything that they own brought to this hill and burnt along with their headless bodies!”

The warriors drop their bags and begin searching for the people in the crowd.

Lord Matchbox’s eyes are full of tears. They fall out by the loads. He walks toward Town-Hall. The entire kingdom has become chaotic. An old man and his wife are being brought in the middle of the street, and more people are being pushed with him and her.

Lord Matchbox looks back before he closes the door and sees his soldier beheading Mr. Lebelton, a man who was once his father’s friend. This is a new age, and now Lord Matchbox has to make them pay for their fowl mistreatment of their own countrymen. Lord Matchbox’s father would never accept this type of behavior from himself, nor the people, but now he is Lord, and he must rule his kingdom. He closes the door and Chaos continues.