“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
"Those were the days..."
Ven lifted his body from the floor of his cell, free from its damp embrace. His memories of battle still brought him the greatest joy, a shame that he kept hidden.
"Soon now..." His eyes raked the timer. "Soon I can escape this place, this world."
Ven's fists clenched. Even the good times on this planet held him hostage, a spiral beyond his control. To leave was his greatest dream, and now he finally could.
"System," Ven muttered, eyes on the blink of his display, the count not at one hundred. "I want another rebirth. This time in the strongest magical world, as the most powerful humanoid species."
A scrawl of text poured over his vision, error messages, highlighted in red. Nonsensical code filled the bulk of his display, pulses, and flashes of vibrant light.
"System error... processing..."
'That figures..." Ven sank back to the floor, head in his hands. "The useless system is useless to the end."
Ven ignored the continuous messages and dug into the earthy fungal mound. He shifted the soil, until a toothy skull was exposed to the air. a smile that mocked him, even in death.
"It looks like we'll both die, buried under our accomplishments..."
The skull was silent. Ven lay back, the cold floor a familiar touch. 'I should have never listened to you, brother..."
The crowded street below teamed with drunken soldiers. They walked, arm in arm, elbow deep in booze and song. The civilians were of two minds. One group joined in the merrymaking, the other hid in their homes.
"This is only the beginning..."
Ven leaned back, away from the balcony's edge. Today, he'd been crowned an emperor. His brother was down there, among the masses. Callum thrived on the adulation, so much so that Ven's simultaneous crowning had confused him. His brother had merely laughed.
"You know I don't want to lead, but you're too lazy to bother yourself..." Ven complained to his absent brother as he walked inside.
Now that they were both in command of the surface, they had much to do. A migraine loomed within his skull, a focused singularity of pain. It pinched his eyes and ears as a lance slid into the base of his skull.
"I'll speak to him tomorrow," Ven shook himself. "We have to make the right choices, or we'll only be remembered as tyrants..."
His bed rose to meet him, a lush extravagance he'd long forgotten. Face pressed into a thick pillow, Ven exhaled a deep sigh.
"I don't know how to be a king..."
The sun floated toward the horizon, hidden behind a lush canopy of trees. Browned leaves, carried on the wind, touched the feet of the branches above. Families reclined on the grass, eyes on the view. Children scampered through the open spaces, sticks in hand. They waged a battle for the forest while their parents relaxed.
"We did a good job, Ven."
Ven looked at his brother. The man was old. Skin hung off his frame, weathered and sallow. His hair had gone, ten years ago, and his teeth were sparse.
"We did our best," Ven nodded. "We can say we were better than the one who came before us at least."
"Pffft." Callum snorted. "We changed the world, Ven." He swept his hands and took in the vast, planet-wide city. "The people have food, the children have schools, you forced me to build hospitals on the middle levels..."
"I know, I know," Ven laughed. "Too expensive!"
"YES!" Callum roared. "But we did it anyway! We'll go down in history as the most revolutionary men of our time!"
"Maybe, but..."
An explosion snarled, a pressure wave that drove Ven to the ground. The people around tumbled and fell as the floor shifted.
"That was strong enough to shift the building!" Callum struggled to his feet. "Military grade!"
Ven nodded, balanced in a squat with his hands on the ground. The sound was familiar. A shell from the establishment war. Weapons used by the 'Tenant Party,' a radical group founded in the lowest levels. Ven had left them alone, because they reminded him of himself.
"We need to get to the palace."
"It won't be so easy, little brother..."
A group of soldiers advanced through the forested lawn. A professional team that slid efficiently through the trees. Dozens of men, each equipped with primitive rifles.
"I should have never helped develop those..."
"Too late for regrets now, brother!"Callum wrenched a branch from a tree. "It's time to fight!"
Fight... Ven's muscles stalled. A leaden weight that shortened his breath. They had nothing, sticks, and stones against a small army. I've fought enough... His back bent, spine curved under the weight of his memories. The metallic tang of pennies in his mouth, fields of blood so thick it hardened to black clay.
A hand fell on his shoulder, a comfort that had held him up all his life. He opened his eyes to his brother's face, a fire that had never gone out, visible in Callum's eyes.
"This is what we were born for, brother!" Callum pulled Ven to his feet. "We are the Emperors of War!" He shoved his stick in Ven's hands and fetched another. "Either they shoot us on sight, or we'll make a final accounting for the chronicles."
"Alright brother... one last time."
Ven's muscles lightened, the memory of a thousand battles like a fire under his skin. It had been too long... too long since he'd reveled in the darkest part of himself, the monster behind the mask. His deepest secret, a love of war that matched his brother.
The emperors charged, speed beyond what old men should produce. They weaved between the trees, wooden shields between them and death. No bullets came, just the steady march of armored men.
"Hahahahaha!"
Callum sprinted ahead, red-eyed and savage. He seemed to return to his youth, the reaper that laughed. His club found the skull of a startled soldier. A fatal blow that started a hail of gunfire.
Ven's grin expanded, a snarl of his own. A howl of rage and hate, long repressed, freed itself from the depth of his heart. This world was always against him. It never left well enough alone. He'd done his best by this place, yet it returned every kindness with another obstacle.
"It's been a good enough life," Ven rammed his wooden staff into a soldier's helm. "Screw the system, I'll go out how I want." He tore the gun from the younger man's hands and shot him in the chest. He would die with his brother, as he had lived.
Bullets sprouted, lines of death that connected Ven's gun to a cluster of soldiers. He darted to Callum's side, clip almost empty.
"What now, brother?"
"Now we die!" Callum howled, his laughter louder than the guns. "The last stand against impossible odds!"
Ven laughed. He followed his brother, together into a leaden swarm. The world turned to black and Callum's words drifted into his dampened ears.
"Glorious..."
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