To Hell with Good Intentions, To Hell is Where I’ll Go; But The Devil Makes Exceptions for All American Psychos

[ItzToxie]

Over.



It was all over.


Ringing.

Tinnitus.


The End.


Everything Fisk had ever worked for was gone. Done. Unwound. Sullied. Soiled. Finished. Finito.

Gone.


All Gone.


Fisk’s eyes opened, and he saw nothing but black smoke and red cinders. He coughed, rolled over. He took notice of his surroundings. Where Ashanti and Mandy were, where his intended funeral pyre for Ivan laid, where it was all supposed to end?

Nothing. A large burning hole, right through the floor, the roof even, as smoke poured out into the moonlight. The jetpack was gone, the wood that surrounded it incinerated. Shrapnel littered the surrounding area. In between the burning wood there were burning parts of a different quality. Besides the barest resemblance of who they were before, the charred remains bore little difference than the firewood surrounding them.

He turned his head to where Verity stood next to him. A pillar from the ceiling had collapsed down into the area, and the floor was completely caved in, the pit nothing more than a fireball below. Even now the hole was spreading, the banquet hall falling in on itself around Fisk.


Everything he’d worked for since waking up was gone. At least even with Verity he had an ally if not much of a friend, but now?


Now he had nothing. Everything he worked to achieve had gone up in flames around him. His reason for fighting, for continuing on with this game was gone. It’s all smoke now. For the final time, Fisk was truly, truly alone. Nothing that mattered remained. All that hard work, and nothing to show for it.


He wanted to scream as the anger built up inside him. All that came out was a laugh. A weak, choked chuckle one has when they had an realization. ‘Oh I guess I did leave the oven on, huh?’ Fisk laughed harder.

What made it funny was it wasn’t Ivan’s doing this time. Sure, someone of his ilk, someone so self important, someone who believed that if they weren’t in the center of it all, they’d tear it down around them. They weren’t enough on their own and they had to intrude. Well Ashanti, it paid off didn’t it. You’re a star now, for all of .035 seconds you were the brightest burning thing on earth. Now you’re ashes, along with everything you tore down.


Fisk laughed harder. He had this conversation with himself before, when he found Vasily after Ivan was through. What’s an emperor to do when their empire burns?

Play the harp of course.

With nothing left to do, nothing to work for but himself, what else was there to do but have a blast. Good thing about rock bottom was that you couldn’t get any lower. It was impossible. Fisk laughed and laughed. With the selfish bastards remaining that took everything he was away, they’d turned his acts of necessity into acts of wanton cruelty. Nothing had mattered in the end. Alls left we’re Fisk’s actions, and all they’d earned him were fire and ash.

It was funny.

For the first time in his life, Fisk was free. In failure he had found peace. He had nothing more to work for, besides his own whims and desires, and with his original desire, his original goal, the success of his friends taken, his only desire now was to bring suffering to those responsible.

Fisk couldn’t stop laughing.

In the end, he couldn’t kill the clown. The clown was Fisk. Fisk was always The King of Hearts, it was his destiny to become it. And it was The King’s destiny to bring suffering and sorrow the which that would bring DeSade to disgust.

Fisk was free. From this point on, every action would be done without reason, without the purpose, without excuse. There was nothing and no one left to care for, there was no one safe. Everything Fisk will do will be for the sole purpose of his own entertainment, to commit to the suffering of those responsible for putting him in this state. Ashanti died too quick, but that was fine, there were others to suffer in her place, there were always others.

Fisk grabbed the one thing that stuck with him since the beginning; the American 180. He stood up, barely contained giggles escaping. If his fate was to go down, he’d go down burning everything with him, tearing everything down the way so many others tore him down. If someone were to take The King’s kingdom, then he would burn it down to ashes so nobody could have it. A King of ashes was still a King in the end. Fisk racked his machine gun.


Hail to the King, baby.