Archetypes Abound

     Seth tried to raise his arm from the cold marble floor.  Pain erupted in his elbow.  He writhed, releasing the hilt of his sword.
     "How did you ever expect to defeat me, field boy?" said the emperor, laughing.  Green silk hung over his torso.  A red-stained slit ran down the side of his breeches.
     “Samothet promised me strength,” said Seth.  Blood slid from the corner of his mouth.
     “The False God?  How quaint, a farmer smitten with idols.”  The emperor strode forward.
     “I saw him, the real Samothet.”  Seth clenched his teeth.  “He told me to slay the emperor at all costs.  The Shadow Lord is rising and our only hope for survival is to restore the Royal Bloodline.”
     The emperor spat into Seth’s ruffled brown hair.  “Prince Harold is a fool.  He couldn’t lead our country against an ogre, much less the Shadow Lord.”
     “Liar,” Seth growled.  “Prince Harold is a far greater man than you.”
     The emperor smiled.  “Your little Prince is locked in a tower in Thebe guarded by a thousand of my strongest infantry.”  He picked Seth’s sword up from the floor.  “No one shall stop the Shadow Lord from rising.”
     Seth gasped.  “You snake!  The Shadow Lord shall kill us all, especially the one who helped bring him back.”
     “No, boy,” said the emperor.  “You shan’t live for him to kill you.  A pity.”