"Oh, I love the smell of black powder in the morning!" Harold threw his gauntleted fist into the air whilst taking a swig of booze from the flask in his other. Both he and Kant sat atop two Gangurrian bodies, stacked just-so to act as a makeshift bench; seemingly to spite the fact that there was literally the charred remains of a wooden bench right next to them. After he sighed in refreshment he signaled over to me, "Zien, helluva fight out there, man! Come have a drink with us!"
I spat on the ground at his feet and turned away, hoisting my halberd over my left shoulder in the notch between my breastplate and pauldron.
"Fucking prick…" Kant mumbled.
Harold slapped his comrade on the back of the armet and sputtered, "Shut it, mate! You saw what he did to those Gags…" Their voices faded as I walk down the body riddled, blood drenched cobblestone road.
Some two or so dozen years prior to the death of the Shadow, on a planet unanimously referred to as "Khazzak" by both man and elf alike, I started my official career in war. I was Private Zien Whiteblade - an unimaginative name, I realize - frontline infantryman of the polearm division, Shawn Brigade, first company, of the Firax army.
I joined the army at the request of an old friend of mine who, as it turned out, would become the future field marshal of the entire Firax military. I had known Perry since his early childhood; a queer little boy with grand aspirations of world peace and an uncanny sword arm to mismatch. The lad was also aware of my condition. Of course, he never believed me until much later in his life when he realized I did not age.
He was as naïve as any human desiring world peace, but the thing about Perry was that his martial and tactical prowess was so out of place in such a strong idealist. I was almost positive that he would grow up to be one of the Heroes of Legend, but in that I was mistaken.
He was a pleasant and very charismatic individual, and when he asked me, on his twentieth birthday, the day he would be promoted to field marshal, to become a part of his new world… I agreed. I suppose he expected me to take up his offer to ordain the title of chief tactical advisor, which he assured me I would be able to attain in spite of having no legal documentation of even being a resident Firax. I refused the offer, insisting that I was more suited to actual combat. That is true, to a degree, but the real reason I rejected was because I could not handle the social strain of constant contact with people and the disdainful droll of bureaucracy. I have always been more comfortable with my own two feet on the Earth as opposed to my head in the clouds.
Of course, joining the ranks of humans for the purpose of adjudicating their own petty squabbles was not something I had ever envisioned myself even considering. Though, of all the billions of humans I have known over the course of my long life, Perry was among - if not the most agreeable or impressionable - the best I had ever made the acquaintance of. I tried to steer him in the right direction and, as a conglomerate rearing of his own fanciful ideals and my own earthly wisdom, I believe he had the best interest of the world at heart. Naturally the fact that he hung on my every word and suggestion may have had an influence in my decision to join.
Perry was ignorant of the nature of man, however, and he did not ever have the "privilege" to witness the gritty details of war himself. He was still subject to the will of his monarch, though, and for all of his protests and all my "sage" advice, there was frequently unnecessary conflict. I made it my purpose in the world of Khazzak to minimize the treacheries of mankind during these conflicts. Yet without full access to my maximum mana capacity I was limited in effective ability and importance during those early years, as is so often the case.
The vast majority of the Firax populace was opposed to the war with Gangurria, myself and Perry included, but when the royal proclamation was issued, he followed; and I in tow. Effectively, despite whatever beguiling propaganda was being forced down our throats, it was the forced annexation of our neighboring country. No one, not even I, was entirely certain of the reason for the attack. In all common senses it seemed like the wrong thing to do; politically, geographically, economically… The only reason I took part in the conflict was to help bring it to a swift resolution. If things started to get too out of hand I would summon the Shadow and combat it. I had done it before, in realms past; a contest between two unearthly powers is often taken by fanciful or fervent people as a "sign of the gods." If all else failed I would risk my life to scare the humans into submission.
I hated wearing armor. Unlike my stone and diamond skin, armor worn externally was stuffy, restrictive and noisy. It violated virtually all of my senses, and yet it was a necessity when I was unable to maintain most of my natural defenses. The multitudes of vile scents, both inside and outside of my armor, put me in a foul mood.
This ill temper was magnified exponentially by the preceding battle. Hubris, the final town between us and Gangurria's capitol city, Ferral, boasted little defense. These people were unprepared for us, the grievances of war a distant fantasy to them. Our steady advance had pushed the bulk of Gangurria's army back into the capitol, and I suppose the people of Hubris just expected us to pass them by on our death march to conquest. Never before had I witnessed such a grievous miscalculation…
The Firax people had grown a taste for war over the course of this campaign. So many tens of thousands of men and woman were eternally scarred and demented by the atrocities they had committed. Perry was three cities back organizing the siege battalions for the final assault, and he befell command of the army to a man by the name of Gut: one such demented soul.
He would not listen to my suggestions to bypass the valley and make a beeline for Ferral; of course he wouldn't, I was a lowly Private. He insisted we occupy Hubris and recover while we wait for the rest of the siege equipment to arrive from Bereft.
This so-called "occupation" was effectively a one sided slaughter. Our army, already inclined towards violence, reveled in the foray. What surprised me even more than my so called "comrades" despicable behavior was the fact that the residents of Hubris had not evacuated. It was as though our world-wide reputation as a militant country were not adumbration enough. The town fell in under two hours, post-dawn
The humidity that day was deplorable. Even as early in the morning as it was, the heat was horrendous. The thousands of bodies which littered the streets were already becoming fetid.
There was a river which ran through the town, a causeway on either side of the great flow with numerous bridges connecting the two sides of the settlement. When our soldiers ran out of room to move due to the excess of corpses lining the street, we were suggested to push the bodies into the river. So many hundreds of men, woman, and children, most of which did not wear armor or show any signs of having put up plausible resistance. One of the bridge pilings had managed to catch clothing as they floated downstream. A massive buildup of cadavers partially obstructed the water's flow. The river was literally choked with bodies, and for as far as the eye could see the water went from blue-green to red after the pileup.
Everywhere I looked I saw something absolutely abhorrent. My comrades were celebrating a "decisive victory." I saw one man fondling an unconscious female soldier, another was urinating on a prisoner of war, a small group of men and women were beating a small band of non-violent protestors, and the rest were just indulging in their own arrogant pride.
I stopped, slamming the hilt of my halberd into the cobblestone, and scanned the road. I saw the corpse of a little boy over the body of an even younger girl, probably the little sister he tried to protect. I saw a Gangurrian old woman weeping over the mutilated corpse of a young man, likely one of the under-armed militiamen. I saw a starved stray dog tearing into the disemboweled carcass of a woman; and a young man screaming at the beast, kicking the creature and then trying to put the intestines back into the lacerated corpse, sobbing in delirium.
Of course there were those of us showing remorse and regret for our actions, as well. I saw one medic performing triage on a wounded Gangurrian militiaman. Two men were helping a grieving mother search for the body of her son. One woman offered her last candy to a child with wide, horrified eyes; she was rejected and screamed at.
The entire sight reviled me beyond solace. Humans are so repulsive. What was I looking for? What did I seek to accomplish by perusing the monstrosities of my kind? I picked my halberd up once more, twirling it in my fingers reflexively, and walked across the nearest bridge. For no reason in particular I heightened my mana perception and felt two belligerent human signatures in the building directly before me.
I don't know why I decided to investigate, but the dreary atmosphere and overwhelming scent of death outside was enough to make me vomit; any change of pace and scenery might have been welcome. So I thought, anyways.
I opened the door, and through the dusty morning sunlight coming in from a window on the other end of the bungalow, I found none other than Gut. On the ground a few meters away from him was the corpse of a man with a nasty gash to his jugular. At his knees, bent over and at sword point, was a teenage Gangurrian woman being forced to perform oral sex.
"The fuck?" Gut exclaimed, pulling his smallclothes up the instant I opened the door, "What is it soldier, can't you see I'm busy?"
I stepped through the threshold, knocking the axe blade of my long halberd on the doorframe by accident, and closed the door behind me. I gazed into Gut's eyes without blinking or changing my expression.
"What the hell is it?" He grunted, clearly aggravated. My eyes fell to the woman, whose smock had been torn open and whose face was red with shame, indignation, fear, and exhaustion. Her eyes were cast down but she did not cry; I suspect she was in shock, "What the fuck is your prob- wait a second…" Gut cut himself off, "You're that fucking tree hugging freak, aren't you? Perry's lap dog? What the hell do you want? The Gags had better be mounting a counteroffensive to warrant this interruption, meat."
I diverted my gaze back to Gut. Again, I said nothing; I merely stared into his disgusting face with apathetic derision.
"I swear to god, whelp, I'm going to have you-" His word was cut short when the pike of my weapon thrust into his skull, just above the right eye. The smooth surface of my weapon's edge fell free of the man's cranium as he fell, and I pulled the halberd head close to my mouth with my left arm, licking thin coat of blood which stained it.
The woman lifted her head and gazed up at me with terror emanating from every pore of her body. She covered her breasts and shifted her body away from me, maintaining eye contact. With one hand she waved before her and started speaking. I did not know more than a word or two of Gangurrian, though, and so her request, plea, or whatever it was fell on effectively deaf ears.
I set my halberd down on the ground and approached the woman, kicking Gut's cadaver off to the side. I crouched down and removed my helmet so that she could see my face eye to eye. She shuffled away from me on her rear, falling back and continuing to speak words I could not comprehend.
I closed my eyes and focused my mana into my strongest suppressant seal. It was a spell which would completely suppress my mana signature from even the most acute perceptions, though it required a significant amount of mana to maintain itself, as well as a good portion of my concentration. Because of this, the spell is inherently dangerous to use prior to my banishment of the Shadow. If it failed or my concentration on the spell faltered it would bring me over the summoning point of mana expenditure. However, it was also the only way for me to "safely" cast spells prior to Shadow's demise.
After the seal was erected I locked eyes with the woman again, who had scuttled over to the corpse of the Gangurrian man, and this time forced a path to The Way with her. Her thoughts flooded into my mind, and her vocalizations, while indecipherable to my cognition, became known to me on a primal level.
"…Just go, all of you! Bastards!" She shrieked.
"Go where?" I replied through The Way, not opening my mouth. Her eyes bolted even wider, deep blue irises glinting in the morning sunlight, "Where am I to go?"
"Wh-what are you? What is this?" It was only natural for her to be confused; humans were not meant to use The Way.
I fell from my haunches to the ground, crossing my legs and propping my chin up with my left fist. I stared into the woman's eyes and simplified, "I can talk to you without using words, basically. Though I didn't catch what you said before, care to elaborate?"
She seemed confounded; looking to and fro, for the source of the voice which she did not hear, but rather felt. When, after a moment of convincing herself that she was not insane, she redirected her attention towards me she said, "Why did you do this…?"
"Because he was raping you. I hated the man, anyways, so it was, I assure you, for self-gratification. I expect nothing from you."
She grunted and clenched her fist, averting eye contact, "Not that, you monster… this! This…" She threw her hands from her breasts and made a broad, sweeping gesture at everything in the building; the spilt over cauldron, the broken table and tipped over chairs, the blood stains on the ground, the shattered glass and clayware pots, "You people are horrible… how can you do such things?! Can't you see how evil you people are?!"
"Define, 'you people', dear. I am remiss to say I do not follow."
She gaped her mouth at me like I was some rube, dumbfounded by my nescience, and quickly readjusted her attitude when she realized that she presented her bare bosom before me. She clutched the tattered remains of her smock together in one hand again and elaborated, "You Firax!"
"I see," I transmitted my thoughts to her as I sighed. I planted my fists into my knee caps and leaned forward, piercing her with my gaze, "Why is it the Firax you shift your contempt towards? What is Firax? What is Gangurria? Lines on a map which only exists in the minds of man. We are all the same, aren't we? Allegiance to something which does not exist is nothing but one of many artificial constructs manifested by a species with too much free time on its hands."
"What are you talking about?! Firax attacked us!"
"No, you are wrong," I snapped my fingers and pointed at my forehead, "The people who associate themselves with the abstract concept of the nation known as Firax attacked the people who consider themselves Gangurrian. Firax doesn't exist. The monarch who demands such atrocities as these," I mimicked her broad gesture from before, "does. So I ask you, who do you direct your contempt towards?"
"I don't care! The monarch may have made the order, but you were the ones who attacked us! You're the ones who swung the swords," She started tearing up, shifting her gaze between me and the corpse next to her. She continued to vocalize her thoughts in spite of the fact that it was no longer necessary, "As far as I am concerned, you're all monsters!"
I smiled, "That's it, so you can identify a tangible target. So," I opened my palms up towards the ceiling and closed my eyes, "What now?"
"What…?"
"My, you're dense, lass," I opened my right eye and scrutinized her above my cheekbone, "You have clearly suffered, so what will you make of this event? How will your story play out? Will it be a tale of vengeance and glory? Will you wallow in your sorrows until your grave?"
Again she gaped at me, "What is wrong with you people?"
"There it is, again, you're generalizing… but that does not matter, lass. Your plight pains me; please believe me when I tell you this. Though I have my speculations as to the outcome of your future; I've seen in many times before. One last time, dear, what now? Think very carefully…"
Her hands clutched her smock so tightly that I could hear the fabric wrench; she stared intently and forcefully down into the body of the man, "I am going to kill them all…"
I closed my eye and sighed. I had seen it all too often, before. I leaned forward again and stared at her, "You realize how futile such a desire is, don't you?"
She vehemently threw her eyes at me, that fiery animus boring a hole into my very consciousness. After a few seconds of intensity she utterly fell to pieces. She started sobbing uncontrollably, wailing into her hands. I rose and walked closer to her, crouching down to the young woman.
I did not expect the girl to latch onto me when I neared her. She sobbed into my chest and clutched the leather bindings on my breastplate, "Why? Why? Why…?" She repeated over and over. It seemed as though she was now suffering delirium in her grief.
Against my will I began to depress. I was not anticipating warmth from one who should despise my very essence. I would not grant her solace, however, "Tragedy is inevitable…"
She fell back and looked up into my eyes, eliciting sympathy. The young woman placed her hands on my chest as she inquired, "You'll help me, won't you?! Please! You saved me, so you can't be all that evil, right? Please!" She was sincere, too, which was the final stroke. She was not attempting to seduce me; she was not in any way intentionally manipulating me. She was destined for tragedy, a shattered vessel of life.
I looked down at her and placed my gauntleted right hand upon her cheek, wiping the tears away, "I have born witness to countless tragedies. I have seen vengeance executed time and again, and with each incarnation a new hollow life. Your drive to live is a flickering flame fueled by nothing more than your desire to see your hatred reciprocated and your old life avenged… Your soul is dead, lass, and you can never go back…"
"What are you talking about?" She did not voice her thoughts this time; speaking to me, instead, as I spoke to her.
"I am sorry I could not have arrived sooner… perhaps you might have been saved." I reached around to my back pocket with my left hand.
"This doesn't make any sense. You won't help me?"
"I will grant you your final mercy, girl. Please forgive me." I steadied the trembling young woman's head with my right hand, and with my left I drew and twirled the dagger from the hidden sheath at the base of my back. With all my strength I buried the steel into her temple; I watched the flickering flame extinguish.
The light would not have to fight for a tragic, unfulfilling end. It would have peace, however brief the wick had burned.