The battle was nothing like any other. The bloodshed, the pain, the torment was so high in its magnitude that one longed to call for God and plead him to let peace prevail. In the midst of the hostility and the suspicion, a gaunt individual treaded on, carefully walking past the multitude of bodies stacked brutally on the battle ground. He walked ahead, unmindful of the combat, the war that was surrounding him. He walked ahead.

            An hour of torture and agony passed by and finally, victory was attained. Minho rested on the palanquin that was supported by four famished individuals and looked disgustedly at the defeated King before him, disgraced and on his knees. Minho began to speak in his deep, sharp tone and every word he uttered was synonymous to pricks of petty needles. The conquered King before him flinched at his every word. He shut his eyes and lifted up his hand to brush away the drops of blood gushing down the gaping hole at the side of his head. Minho laughed and his hand curled around a bloodstained sword. With a roar of pleasure and a sweep of his hand, the King’s head detached from the body and landed before Minho. Minho laughed unsettlingly. He smelt deeply the nauseating odor of blood that lingered, making the air heavy with hate.

               And as this ceremony was taking place, some distance away in the centre of the field, surrounded by the carcasses and brutality of humans, Taemin stood still, wavering imperceptibly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He screamed out, piercing the stillness of the air. Immediately, all heads turned towards him. Minho began walking towards him, almost puzzled. Taemin stood there, waiting, waiting for his love to approach him. He smiled and his smile turned wider and more poignant as Minho approached.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minho barked as he stood angrily before Taemin.

Taemin shook his head and said, “Don’t talk, just listen. Minho, there are so many things that I want to say to you, but the uppermost in my mind is this – You are a cruel slave driver. Those words have no particular impact, I know. Because, oddly enough, you know that fact for yourself. But, I needed those words to cross my lips. I needed you to hear those words from my voice. You won’t waver, you won’t tremble, you will not even pay any heed to my words, but I will utter them anyway, to clear my guilt.

         Minho, you toyed with my feelings, you played with them. But, that’s just your nature. And, foolish me, I allowed you to. I gave you full control of my body and you operated it masterly as though setting up a pantomime. I let myself become a slave to you. You knew the mastery of acting, of attracting and of hurting. You attracted me infallibly towards yourself and then, when you had gathered all that you needed from me, you disposed of me. You’re soulless. You’re power hungry and you want to kill. I want to hurt you the way you do others. I want you to feel the fright of pain and death. I want you to know what it feels like to be just minutes away from death.

          But, those are wishes. You never will learn, you never will know. You will continue to kill, hunt, massacre, and there’s nothing that I can do to change that. I know my death will hold no difference to you. You may boil at my impudence but that’s it. I will be of no further botheration to you. But, I need to have my say.

            You are cruel, you kill for amusement, you lust for power. Don’t you see how repulsive it sounds? That’s you, Minho. That’s you. Your soul has been wrenched away from you and with that has vanished away your humanity. Unending violence, provocation, death and destruction thrive in you. They flourish with a zealous vigor. And, I realized, you’re not the Master, you’re just like any of us. You serve those lowly thoughts and emotions. You are but a slave.

            Minho, I’ll bid a farewell now. I prefer dying, dying with dignity on my very feet, rather than crouching before you, a slave, and living. I’ve said what I had to. But, I omitted one slight sentence. Although you’re ruthless, brutal and inhuman, I will never ever cease to love you…Never.”

He paused, brushed a slight tear away impatiently and bent down. He stood upright with a sharp, bejeweled sword in his hand. The sword seemed almost disproportionate in his faint white palms. He let out a scream that said it all, “ONEW, I’M COMING!” And with a calm, almost controlled gesture, he plunged the jagged end deep into his flat chest. He gasped and his eyes seem to swerve around painfully in its sockets, but not a cry escape his lips. His hands fell from the handle of the sword. He swayed. Minho came forward and impassively he pulled out the sword from the frothing body. But, the damage was done. Taemin tilted forward and then with a deafening crash, his feeble body fell onto the ground. He was dead, merely a worthless corpse.

         Days blurred into months. The servants in the castle were forbidden to ever mention the ‘last battle’ amongst their talks. Minho had won the battle, and yes, it had been his last one. He never undertook a fight after that day. But, he didn’t change his power hungry nature either. Every morning, he would come to the hall. He would sit, address his subordinates with a rasping growl and then he would wander around, searching for new mortals to frighten.

              He lived in the paradise of power. He had attained all the power that he could. He flourished in it, he took the same sadistic pleasure out of it. He still hurt people and he loved to watch the blood trickle down their remains.

              A year passed by, precisely a year. Minho awoke silently at the of twelve and walked out to his garden. He walked over to a spot that was surrounded by sharp gates. He swung it open and walked to the centre. He bent down and began scooping out piles of mud from it. A while later, his grimy hands felt a long, sharp, cloth-covered object. Minho smiled as he pulled it out carefully. He gently removed the cloth covering and stared at the long sword in his hand. The drops of blood still adorned it. He lived in memory of the blood. That was Taemin’s blood. He took it in his hand and stood up slowly.

“I’ve experienced my heaven of greed for a year, and now, it’s time to experience the hell of slavery.” He brought the blood stained sword at level with his chest and slowly it into his heaving chest. He felt his life flash before his eyes. His life was ebbing away and a searing pain was hampering that moment of ecstasy. He smiled through the pain, “Taemin, I’m experiencing pain. You were wrong.” He prodded the sword deeper, much deeper into his blazing chest. And finally he cried out.

        His hands dangled helplessly by his side, his chest was panting with agony and Minho cried out for death. And, it happened. Death crept up to him and brought him out of his misery.

           Maybe this death would herald a new beginning. Maybe there is room for hope amidst the despair and peace amidst the pain. In the midst of all the destruction, bloodshed and devastation, the heart still yearns for peace and life. Maybe, now these three youngsters will return, wiser. Whatever the troubled emotions in the minds of the three youngsters, mistrust looming large, the largesse of their hearts gladdens our hearts too, for deep down, shedding our egos and false vanities, all we desire is the lost innocence in our lives.

           Love, hate; Compassion, brutality; Slavery, leadership; when certain obsessions meet, there are only two outcomes that exist. Either a blissful happiness envelopes you or a fanatic death snatches you away. And, in the case of Minho, Taemin and Onew, their love stood the test of time, but death took them away much before they could sort out their chaotic lives…