August saw sunlight for the first time in this world as his eyes beheld a mining camp. He heard the ringing sound of metal striking metal from afar and smelled smoke.
The blacksmiths were repairing work tools, and the kitchen was preparing dinner for the miners. This was a major mining operation, so they came equipped with everything they needed for self-sufficiency.
The air abounded with the foul scent of metal, sweat, leather, and mold. He grimaced and continued on down a road that he hoped led out, ignoring the stares of the human supervisors as best he could.
When he neared the edge of the camp, he saw that it was surrounded by a wooden barricade and that guards were stationed at the exits. The barricade was just high enough to make it inconvenient to climb but not high enough to have been tremendously expensive to build.
The guards wore impressive plate armor. Their helmets were nearby, but they didn't wear them. They were slacking, as undisciplined guards normally would when on long, dull shifts. But if they wore armor that expensive, then why were they undisciplined? Clearly, somebody was providing them with enough money to purchase and maintain the armor, so why would they let them go untrained? August noted the dilemma and promptly ignored it.
They were joking and poking fun at one another, and generally not paying attention before August came into their line of sight. A giant in black armor was charging toward the five of them. There were four males and one female among them.
Three of the males quickly donned their helmets, but the other two didn't believe they would need them and went without. August was sprinting through the camp, and when he neared the gate, one of the guards held out their hand and yelled, obviously commanding him to stop.
But August continued regardless, not caring in the least because of his panicked and disoriented mind. The same guard shouted again with more force than before.
The others joined in when he still didn't stop and continued shouting at him in a language he didn't understand with increasing urgency, which heightened his emotional high even further.
There were no barriers inside the actual gate beside the guards, so when he reached it, they grabbed onto him unabated. They tried to slow him down, to stop him and ask him what he was doing here and if he was permitted to leave, as was their job, but he frantically tried to escape.
He tried to continue forward using brute strength, but while these guards were undisciplined, they were tested. They were strong, specializing in martial prowess and taking pride in it. They were mercenaries hired by the lord of the locality to guard this mining operation.
The lord of this locality, which was all of the lands nearby, was Lord Leon. They weren't who he would typically employ, though. They were a caliber above most and answered only to him.
He normally employed his legion for all martial needs, but the problem was that his legion was granted to him legally by the king and the noble who managed him. The king wouldn't allow the lords managed by his thirteen nobles to have more power than him, so he only granted them a pittance of a fighting force, which the king and noble actively regulated and kept tabs on.
The thirteen nobles answered to the king alone, and they managed the lords who were granted the rights to govern portions of this kingdom. The nobles and the king were all tremendously more powerful than all of the lords put together, and they meticulously ensured that through strict governance, monopolization of strategic resources and items, and espionage.
They spied on the fighting forces they allotted to the lords, in particular, ensuring that the lords would not become corrupt and use their forces to make money illegally or treasonously.
But lord Leon had not been content with that and wanted to make this mine prosper. It had been his largest source of income, but he wanted to enrich it even further, as any rapacious individual would.
This mine was worked by a legion of slaves, which was illegal for multiple reasons, so he hired mercenaries instead of using his legion to ensure that his slaves wouldn't escape and that word of their existence wouldn't leak.
The mercenaries were trying to apprehend August and interrogate him so that they could determine a course of action, but August was scared out of his wits. Damon was of no help, of course; he had been working on yet another spell and had little perception of the outside world.
August's attempt to push through was thwarted, but the guards weren't gaining ground, either. August began to flail, his arms flying. After only a little over a minute, August made contact. Or, more precisely, his elbow had.
He sent his elbow flying into the temple of the female guard. Cerebral fluid and gray matter clung to his armor as it crushed the temporal bone and obliterated the vertebrae in her neck. She crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Her name had been Christine. She didn't have children, but her husband was guarding another gate and looking forward to that night so that he could see her again.
He loved her dearly, and all he ever wanted each day was to see her again. He felt that she was perfect. His friends always complained about their wives, but she was above what their wives did. She was mature, never nagged, thought the same way he did, was even smarter than he was, and reciprocated his love twofold whenever she could.
Even after marriage, he was still smitten with her. He had seen her mind and saw a better reflection than a mirror could give him; he had seen her body and found it better than his; he had seen her soul and found it pure.
He did everything he could for her, and she did everything she could for him, both believing the other to be their perfect match. They lived for one another and couldn't find a better purpose to live for in all of their travels.
But August didn't care. His reckless strength and belligerent use of it had killed her and would kill a part of him as well. What would happen to her husband, Sel?
August didn't know about him, but what if he had? Would he care, then? Would he care that he had robbed another person of their very purpose for living?
No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't care because he was already drowning in his own misery. Why would he care that he had driven somebody else into the same pit he occupied? He didn't have a purpose to live for, so why would he care that he had taken that from somebody else?
'What's the difference between a life with and without a purpose,' he would ask. 'What difference does it make, whether you live for a reason or not? We're all space dust, anyway. Our thoughts don't matter, so what difference does it really make?'
Misery has always loved company, so he held no compassion for them. He cared that he had crossed the boogeyman line of murder, but he was still the subject of his thoughts. In his degenerate and corrupt character, an unholy and evil union thrived; his hedonism and nihilism had been wed and birthed this vile narcissism.