3rd POV:
Umbra starred with trepidation down at the letter. He was not dumb. And he did watch the news. And he also recognized that stamp on the letter.
Well, no time like the present.
Umbra tore the letter open and read the contents.
It was a draft calling him to war and telling him to take care of his final affairs.
He crumbled the letter in silent rage.
Typical. Just typical.
A very high chance of death by going to war. Or certain death, by refusing the draft.
Umbra slammed his fist on the table.
As if he had a choice.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Then he observed his modest abode. He did not have much. He lived spartan. Nothing really that tied him down to this place.
No friends, no wife or child. Half of that was by design from their precious overlords. But also because people no longer had that sense of community. Everyone spent time in their house. The fault, in this case for once, does not solely lie with the rich people. Much as he would love to lay all the worlds problems at their feet, he was not that far gone into his hate for them.
No. The fault also lies with them.
Still, as he was not tied down by anything he could just pack some clothes and disappear of into the nights.
Nothing would stop him. Perhaps they will never catch him.
...
Still...
Better men then him will be called to war and they would answer the call.
He can't lie. There was still enough compassion in him to hold a sense of camaraderie with those men. Strangers as they might be. And men, have always sacrificed themselves for wife and child.
Even if he did not have the former. He could only hope his death would serve the latter.
...
In the end, he would go to war, even if he did have to fight for a repulsive leech.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A fist descended into his cheek and Umbra, forced on his knees as he already was, stumbled into the dirt.
Turns out killing was far harder to do then he imagined. A conundrum of his that his fellow soldiers did not share. And one that did not earn him favors.
Understandable. In war, if you could not kill your enemies, you were, at best, dead weight, at worst, a liability.
All the same, killing did not come easy to Umbra.
His commanding officer forced a gun into his hand and forcefully moved his finger over the trigger.
''Shoot him,'' his commanding officer commanded.
Umbra swallowed. His finger refusing to move. He did not turn his head away, watching the leading enemy soldier on his knees. He knew, logically, he was an accomplice. But he also knew that his side and theirs were not so different. Umbra, too, was an accomplice to a billionaire politician just the same as the enemy soldier was.
There was only one enemy in this war.
Those fucking rich people and their insatiable greed for everything.
A thought Umbra kept well to himself.
Perhaps, it was this that stayed his fingers. Even in spite of all of this he managed to sympathize with the enemy in a weird sense. His mother always did say he had a bleeding heart for everyone. He always used to scoff at that. Young as he was, he thought himself wiser then his mother.
A shot rang out and the enemy soldier fell down. The hand of his commanding officer was over his own. He ripped the pistol out of Umbras hands and punched him again.
War made beast out of men. Decorum and propriety was the first thing to go.
All the same he was reduced to latrine duties.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a combination of factors that kept him alive.
For one it was raining. For two, the earth was softened up and with the rain muddying the soil, he could crawl away from the mass grave.
A calculated risk as Umbra did not hear anything, judging the enemy soldiers to have long departed. He would have stayed longer hidden, but the fire was burning all the same and it was getting closer and closer, the heat only increasing.
Umbra crawled slightly under the corpses of his comrades and buried himself in the muddy earth as much as he could. The small layer of dirt on his back acting as protection towards the flames.
Eventually he managed to crawl out of the grave.
Dirty with mud and blood and some other fluids as well, Umbra starred at his fellow soldiers with shock and ruin.
The plan went wrong and they walked straight into an ambush. Frankly he did not have the faculty to comprehend how he managed to survive this encounter.
Umbra swayed himself back and forth a little, like a babe.
Perhaps he could not strictly call them friends. His craven behavior did not endear him to them and vice versa. And yet all the same when one fights at each others side a sense of friendship does develop.
Umbra gave a silent scream and pounded the dirt. A part of him, in spite of the whirlpool of emotions inside of him, still retained enough sense to not waste their sacrifice. Their corpses managed to hide him. There was no reason to risk attracting enemy attention with his bellowing scream.
Still, ... no one goes through an experience like that and comes out fine.
In a way, he died just as well as all the others.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was turned into a whole spectacle. To boost morale, was the justification.
After that mass grave, he should have sought a way to contact his superiors. As was protocol. Instead, he chose to follow the tracks of the enemy soldiers.
Foolish perhaps. And risky.
But Umbra possessed now a recklessness to his actions. It was one thing to waste their sacrifice, but a kamikaze play....?
Alas, much as he wished he did no such thing. He wished for nothing more then to kill as many as he could on that temporary base. He did no such thing. Instead he managed to sneak in, an accomplishment that surprised even Umbra himself. Granted the terrain and weather did play in his favor, but all the same it was a surprising accomplishment. And then he snuck back out with intel of some enemy movements and plans.
Umbra would not draw blood that day.
In the grand scheme of things it was not much. But Umbra brought back that intel to his superiors and some of their troops could be saved.
For exemplary conduct and acts of valor he would receive a medal.
The president saluted him and Umbra saluted back.
Disgusting leech.
Umbra wanted nothing more then to take the medal and slit the presidents throat with it.
He did no such thing and even managed to keep his expression thankful as he shook his hand.
He washed his hands at the first opportunity.
He received a small promotion and was promptly sent back to war.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They say the first kill is always the hardest and the one that will always stick with you.
The guy did not look much older. Perhaps only a few years younger then Umbra was. Umbra was 27. So maybe 22-24. Maybe. He had brown hair and brown eyes. And he had a mole on his nose. To the left of Umbra and to the right of the young man. The mans hair was sticking to his forehead from grime and sweat.
Somewhere in their scuffle. The man lost his helmet.
He never learned the mans name. Umbra did not bother to find out.
But he would never forget how in their struggle Umbra managed to shove the knife into the mans lung.
Umbra removed himself from the man and dragged the knife with him, to remove the pressure and let the blood flow.
The mans arms were moving. Bloody bubbles forming at the mouth and popping. The man looked desperate clawing for something. Anything. To get him out of this situation. Of the encroaching death around him.
Umbra watched it all. He watched until the man died. Then he watched a little more.
He watched until one of his colleagues shook his shoulder.
He was lucky to not have been ambushed by an enemy.
The man asked him if that was his first kill. Umbra affirmed it. Then the man proceeded to talk about his own first kill. The soldier showed understanding, writing Umbras trance as shell shock.
Umbra left him with his delusions.
No reason to tell him how delectable it was to kill an enabler of these fucking leeches. They will only declare him mentally unfit, to serve on the lines.
Umbra could not permit it.
He needed to kill them all.
More fool was he, that he ever sympathized with them in the first place. The only good enabler was a dead enabler.
A shame, that he conveniently never acknowledged or confronted the hypocrisy of that stance. As if he was not beholden to the same faults as his enemy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Guerrilla Warfare. The art of smaller groups of soldiers, mostly irregular, fighting against bigger regular forces. Most often through surprise tactics. They did not achieve much victory. But it was akin to death by a thousand cuts.
It made sense. The were gaining in on enemy territory. But the citizens were mounting a resistance to defend their precious land.
Vermin.
All of them.
If it were up to Umbra, he would mow them all down and put the city to the torch, as they stood between him and the rich fucks. He did not care, in doing so he would burn down a metropolis.
Were it not for this, he would not even pay them mind.
His superiors were in a stump. Say what you will, but the enemies were good at striking and retreating. And they could not move past this city and have those fighters at their back until they either pacified them or took care of them.
''Permission to speak, sir?,'' Umbra requested.
''Permission granted,'' came the reply from his superior. Protocol being a little ignored.
''They are good at what they do. But striking from the shadows and retreating is not hard. What is hard is managing to keep it up. Send me. Give me your clothes, I will pretend to be the highest rank in the army. They will manage to capture me and drag me to their base to interrogate me. Meanwhile you will track the base with one of the trackers I will have on my body,'' Umbra suggested.
''You will most likely be stripped of your clothes, before being dragged anywhere. They already did so with some of our supplies we conveniently left behind,'' his superior told him.
''Cut me up. Put the tracker in me. A small incision will do,'' Umbra shot back.
''They will torture you,'' his superior warned him.
''With all due respect, we both know torture is worthless. Those are civilians. They don't know that I will not spill anything,'' Umbra told him.
''In a way that makes them more dangerous then any 'professional torturer','' his superior continued to warn him.
''I know.''
''You could sustain irreparable damage. They could maim you.''
''I know.''
''You could die for nothing.''
''Will you let my sacrifice be in vain? Sir, I know the risks. The sooner we get back to moving the sooner we can finish this war and go home. If my sacrifice can achieve that, I will assume the risks.''
His superior put his hand on his shoulder and looked into Umbras eyes. Seeing his convictions, he gave him a squeeze of his shoulder and a sharp nod.
---
Like fish to a worm they took the bait.
''Tell me of your movements,'' Umbra received a punch after being asked that question. He turned sideways and spat some blood on the ground. No reason to foolishly agitate his interrogator.
Now he just need to wait. The small cut on his calf burning from the sweat and the salt. He was stripped of all his clothes in an undignified manner.
His interrogator mentioned with his head to someone. Umbra was shoved on the table bent over.
''Tell us about your plans and movements or I will shove this up your ass,'' his interrogator held up a flashlight in front of his face.
Umbra was starting try and disconnect his mind from his body. He knew it would not do much, but he remembered, when he was younger how his pain, when he got hurt, lessened by distractions.
All he needed was to hold out.
---
In the end he had to suffer them for a little less then 24 hours. Thankfully he was not maimed. They were however taking their time to stomp on his dignity.
He looked impassively as the resistance fighters were all lead to the execution range. Hiding the sheer delight of these fuckers interfering with his justice and the death they wrought for themselves.
Alas, instead of allowing him to march on with the others he was promptly sent back by his superior to recuperate for his valiant sacrifice.
And a mental examination.
Adorable.
The little dove studied psychology and now she knows the minds of men.
It was easy fooling her.
He made sure to show that the torture did affect him a little. Not point in giving her the impression that he was a psychopath or the like. Or a sociopath or that he had any other kind of mental impairment.
He was none of that.
He just had a strong will.
He received another medal and another promotion.
As if he gave even the most singular of fucks abou...
How could he have been so stupid?
Of course.
The higher he rises in the military, the more authority he has on commanding troops.
This time he gave the president a small smile, smiling not to him, but about something.
He was still fighting the desire to slit the presidents throat.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
''Please, mercy for my child,'' the leech begged Umbra. The soldiers secured the house and looked to their commanding officer.
Unfortunately, for the leech, they just happened to stumble upon him.
Fortunately for Umbra, that meant this leech was not expected by his superiors to be captured alive.
He was not a big backer to the enemy faction. But he had his fingers in the pie deep enough that people knew of him.
''Mercy? I suppose I could grant it,'' Umbra told the leech.
The leech made a hopeful look.
A shot rang out and blood splattered on his face. He starred in horror as his son laid down and starred blankly back into his fathers eyes, his visage contorted in horror and despair, blood beginning to pool around his head flowing down and touching the leeches cheek.
Umbra mouth twitched as the leech began to howl in agony and rage.
He mentioned to his men to secure the prisoner and put him somewhere, he could not be of any danger. They will move out tomorrow.
Umbra only kept rising through the ranks. His recklessness being perceived as bravery. And he just kept getting prestige. As most of his gambles paid of again and again.
Fine.
That served him just as well.
Weather he lived or died, did not matter all that much to him. Not anymore. All that kept him going was his hatred for these leeches.
The war has been going on for years by now. His men having become utterly bitter and full of boiling hate. He felt completely secure with what he did here. And if he miscalculated the it was just the same.
How could Umbra not boost his mens morale when they encountered a leech in the wild. The reason why this war started in the first place. Granted only he was calling them leeches.
''Sir, we found his wife,'' a few of his men suddenly came up to him dragging a women after them. The women was weeping giving him a weeping look that was also pleading.
As if Umbra had any mercy left to give for enablers or any who was in contact with these leeches. Had she bit the bullet and put a bullet in her husbands brain, or her son, he would have been more inclined to show actual mercy.
But did they do that?
No, of course not.
They were benefiting after all, from his accursed money and practices.
''We are moving out early at 0545 sharp,'' Umbra told them.
Do not let this interfere with your duties, was not mentioned but clearly implied.
The men saluted him and dragged the women who began howling for help back to the bedroom.
It was good to keep up the morale of his men. Even if he never engaged in such practices, he knew this was not much better.
Umbra squashed that part of him down.
Umbra looked around him at the nice house, which granted was now a little messy after they let themselves in. He went to the kitchen and began making himself coffee.
He was tasked with an important mission. His group was small, so as to not attract attention.
It was easy to move under the cover of the trees, and ambush the family in their little mansion.
He sipped his coffee.
How truly arrogant.
There was a war going on. And they spent their time completely leisurely and without guards in their little and humble abode.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the coffee further, some of the men grabbing anything available to eat. He ignored the grunts coming from the bedroom, being completely unaffected by it.
It was damn good coffee.
---
They tied the leeches hand well and good and then the marched. They did make sure to remove his shoes before that and made him watch as they hanged his wife not bothering to clean her up.
The harsh terrain did not affect them that much thanks to their boots. No such thing could be said of the leeches feet.
They marched and his skin split up.
They marched and his skin was getting flayed.
The leech could not longer walk, but he still lived.
They dragged him after them.
Tenacious little fucker had a strong desire to live. But when he began producing puss and he was beginning to stink from his infections they tied his feet and threw him into a pond so he could drown.
---
''If I remember correctly, you are german correct?,'' Umbra asked one conversationally when they were eating.
''Ja... I mean yes,'' Max replied, for Umbra knew all his mens names. How could he not, small group as they were.
''Ah the germans. Our neighbors. Known for their beer, bread and engineering,'' Julien said jokingly.
''And our bratwurst. No better sausage in all the known world,'' Max boasted.
''Bold claim. I suppose all countries are known for one stereotype or the other. Julien how good does a baguette taste compared to german bread, or your wine to their beer?,'' Umbra asked him in challenge.
''I can't say, but their women .... exquisite,'' Julien joked making some of them chuckle.
''Ah yes. France, the language of love. Did you woe her in france or german?,'' Petru asked.
''German of course. She was patriotic as they come. Luckily for me I took german as my second language since I live so close to the border. We had quite the falling out when she found out I was from france,'' Julien shrugged his shoulders in a what can you do manner.
''Luckily for us we can all speak english,'' D'Artagnan mused. The good mood slightly dampening as some of the other men shot him a look that could not be interpreted. The other man sitting near D'Artgnan rolling his shoulder a little in discomfort.
''Indeed. Hurrah to the Lingua Franca. Thanks to colonizing half the known world,'' Umbra just moved on past the awkward atmosphere and held up his glass of water.
''Hip, hip, hurrah.''
''Hip, hip, hurrah.'' 14x
---
An explosion rang out.
When Umbra regained his bearings he starred in the glassy eyes of D'Artagnan. He shoved the corpse of off him. The jeep functioning as cover.
They had one simple mission.
Through various means they learned that some high ranking general was planning to move at a certain point to another base. And he would just so happen to cross over a bridge.
There was a reason they did not just fly a jet over the bridge and carpet bomb it into oblivion. They wanted to give the enemy a sense of security and turn the destruction of the bridge into an assassination as well.
Thus they were tasked with marching into enemy territory and planting bombs all over the bridge.
There was a reason Umbra considered that leeches family arrogant as they were in captured territory, so it could have not been that that must have tipped the enemy off.
Unless....
Ahh. The same stunt he pulled.
Smart play.
Still, they did manage to plant the bombs all the same.
Even if they fail in killing the enemy general, the loss of this bridge was a massive boon to them and Umbra. In that case, the enemy had balls of steel to throw explosives on the bridge.
Umbra did not hesitate to press the button, even if he still was on the bridge.
The strategically placed bombs promptly detonated and made the bridge fall down.
The ice cold water made him almost gasp, but he managed to resist thankfully. Even more so when he did not begin to panic when he found himself pinned under the very same jeep that provided him protection previously. He was lucky enough that, with the way the jeep fell on him, he was not squashed to death, but all the same he was pinned and unless he found a way out he would drown.
Another debris fell in the river hitting the jeep in a way that slightly lifted it up and Umbra wasted no time in getting out, moments before the jeep fell back down.
Umbra forced himself to continue to remain calm as he proceeded to swim away not approaching the surface until he could not longer hold his breath for fear of getting shot.
His fear was warranted, alas he managed to swim far enough away that the enemies did not see him. He promptly took some air and dived back in, continuing to swim.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another mental examination.
Another promotion and another medal.
This time the promotion stung.
Not because, of the deaths of his men. Although that too.
But because the president was not half as clever as he was thinking himself to be.
They were setting him up. This mission did not deserve a medal or promotion. It was a completely normal military operation. He did not go above and beyond.
Promoting him to general over this?
The president saluted him and then shook his hand.
This time, as Umbra starred into the president eyes, He gave hims a genuine smile.
He will make his ending particularly delectable.
Puppet.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
War was terrible and men must become terrible to wage it.
The enemy planned on using Napalm on them. Umbra and his troops managed to sneak someone into enemy base and tamper with the equipment. When the enemy attempted to shoot them, it backfired and they killed themselves. Thus Geneva conventions were not broken on their side. If the enemy wouldn't have shot it, they wouldn't have died from napalm.
Or so the official story goes, when news reported back to the civilians.
An useful tool to further vilify the enemy.
Propaganda.
Cute, but useful.
After a particularly vicious engagement, the enemy base surrendered. Umbra requested humanitarian aid. Alas, it turned out it was an ambush by the enemies, by pretending to be hurt and incapable of further combat. The nearly managed to succeed in killing their beloved general. They were all promptly executed.
Or so the official story goes, when the news reported back to the civilians.
When Umbra ans his troops continued to advance they stumbled upon a small city deserted by every civilian. It was stripped of food and off everything else that would indicate some one would live there. The enemies are getting desperate, now drafting even women and children to war. The war should end soon.
Or so the official story goes, when the news reported back to the civilians.
Umbra did not care. He diligently reported back, detailing every one of his Geneva violation in great detail.
His men were split.
On one hand, they knew full well what they were doing and yet Umbra was leading them to victory after victory. Since he was made general, they have made great advancements in defeating the enemy. On the other hand they knew he was telling his superiors the truth and yet he was not court martialed. Shooting him would probably earn their own court martialing and the next general might not be as competent as this one.
Meanwhile a much smaller group worshiped the ground that Umbra walked on.
Zealots and fanatics.
For all his brutality and savagery, Umbra gave them victories with minimal loss on their side.
All this, Kurt analyzed and came to the conclusion. The second in command to Umbra. It stung a little to be demoted, but he couldn't lie and say Umbra wasn't effective.
It stung all the same.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The war was over. Their side won.
What else could the enemy do with Umbra at the helm. Both sides were military almost equal. It was the generals that made the difference.
And off course, after a war judgement always follows.
''I struggle to understand why I bothered to entertain a visit to you,'' Kurt said as a greeting, as he entered Umbras temporary abode.
Everyone knew Umbra would be trialed and sentenced. Frankly, if it was up to Kurt he would have immediately imprisoned Umbra the moment the enemy surrendered.
Umbra said nothing, he merely looked at his watch. It was displaying his heart beat.
Steady.
Calm.
Kurt followed his eyes and looked at the sight as well.
''We both know there is only one verdict that my trial will arrive to, whenever that is,'' Umbra mused. His eyes moving back to stare into Kurts eyes. A sly victorious smile one his lips.
''What have you done?''
When Umbra refused to answer, Kurt packed him by his T-Shirt and screamed in his face.
''WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?''
''It always pays off to have fanatics and zealots in your following. They are ready to do what many else will not. See, Kurt, your mistake was underestimating the hatred I have for these oligarchs. I would sooner see all life on earth incinerated then permit them even the smallest of victories over me,'' Umbra leisurely said.
''You are insane,'' Kurt whispered, letting him go and stumbling back in horror and shock. He wanted nothing more to deny, what Umbra implied, but Kurt well knew not to gamble when it came to Umbra and his plans.
Umbra adjusted his T-Shirt looking bored all the while.
''You will, naturally, help me in my coup. I will leave it up to you to rally the rest that is not as eager to follow me. You have an edge over me in that regard. I will make use of it. You are dismissed,'' Umbra told him, leaning his cheek against his fist.
The ball was in his court now.
Kurt stumbled out of Umbras apartment.
Now alone by his lonesome, Umbra could only close his eyes and swallow thickly.
His heartbeat was picking up.
---
''Mr.Nightshade. You are accused of violating all Geneva conventions. How do you plead?,'' the judge asked Umbra.
''I don't know. How do you plead?,'' Umbra asked him cheekily. As he expected, these leeches could not help themselves but try and turn his trial into a public trial. To make a spectacle out of him and turn him into an example. He did after all kill quite a lot of leeches in the war.
The rest of the leeches were spooked and hoped to remind people that even someone like Umbra was not above getting punished if they dare move against their overlords. The moment the war was over, they began smearing his name through the dirt, destroying his reputation.
''It is not us, that is on trial today Mr.Nightshade.''
''On the contrary you have been on trial from the very moment YOU were the one to order me to break the Geneva conventions. You knew I was breaking them and yet you allowed me to continue on anyway. When I requested napalm you were quick to provide me with it.
You knew what I was doing and yet you sit on that high and mighty chair and judge ME? Judge me for the way I finished the war that you started?
I will not have it,'' Umbra told him causing some mutterings in the public.
''I can assume then, that you are pleading not guilty. Very well then. In that case I will call to session, the trial of Umbra Nightshade and his...''
One secret service member came to whisper something into the presidents ears. He widened his eyes a little and calmly stood up, adjusting his suit before he calmly departed.
People were taking note of that and some began leaving the building as well.
...
...
...
...
''... we call to evidence and testify...,'' the judge stopped speaking when a distant explosion rang out.
''Ugh, finally I was wondering for how much longer I had to entertain this sham trial,'' Umbra stood up and motioned for a guard to remove his shackles.
''Return back to your seat prisoner,'' the guard demanded putting his hands on his pistol but not drawing it.
''What is the meaning of this? Mr.Nightshade explain yourself at once!,'' the judge demanded.
The doors to the courtroom burst open and in stepped Kurt with a few other soldiers who were dragging the president after them. Kurt was holding a suit case in his hand.
''Hello! I do remember demanding to unshackle me,'' Umbra reminded the guard again, startling him. The guard looked to the judge and upon not receiving an answer was forced to judge the situation by himself. He unshackled Umbra.
Some of the people who stood up, were seating back down, upon seeing that there would be no blood bath.
''I do think you are in my seat, judge. Do give me your attire as well,'' Umbra strolled over behind the judges desk. The judge scowled at him, but after seeing no one come to his rescue, he complied.
After Umbra donned the judges attire, he took a seat and slammed down the gavel several times.
''I am now calling the true trial in order. I call on the president to be trialed and judged.
You have some nerve. Or is it arrogance? You have here both falsified and true reports of my actions in the war. Guard, do be a dear and put both on the projector,'' Umbra said handing the guard his request of the napalm and the admission as well as the falsified report.
''I demand a lawyer,'' the president told Umbra.
''Where was my lawyer? I invite the public to take their time and read the reports. The one on the left is mine requesting the use of napalm. See the date? It was written by early on in my tenure as the general and handed to the president.
In other words the president knew full well I was violating the Geneva conventions. And still, it is now, two years later that he is dragging me to trial.
...''
Kurt observed the reactions of the court room.
Umbra was recounting how the president dragged him aside after his promotion and told him how he felt the war was going on to long and needed to be stopped at any means necessary.
Umbra was presenting himself as the tragic hero, helped only by the fact that he was never bothering to hide what he was doin...
Oh, Kurt realized.
Oh.
He watched as Umbra made the suspicious and distrustful look of the people towards himself turn into hateful and judgmental looks towards the president.
He watched as Umbra tore into the president, driving the people into a frenzy.
He presented evidence of the president colluding with the enemy. Planning to share the resources equally with each other from the soil the wars have been fought in and fill their pockets. Until the war started dragging on too long and the president wanted to swiftly conclude the war and make Umbra the fall guy.
It was all true after all. How could it not be the truth, when Umbra was admitting to the most damning truth of all, thus implicating himself? Thus he has to say the truth in all other matters as well, after all.
Oh.
Kurt looked at Umbra and grit his teeth.
They never stood a chance, did they?
How could the gods bless one such as accursed as him? To grant him such foresight and have him plan it all out from so early on.
Kurt desperately looked at Umbras wrist hoping to see a lack of heart monitor to be able to shoot him.
Kurt grit his teeth further upon seeing that damned thing was still on his wrist.
The gods are cruel.
''People of the republic, if the past years have shown us one thing it is that there was only one true enemy all along! With their unending greed and avarice they sought to fill something that could never be filled. Their unending void, cause by a lack of love and humanity. Those people do not know how to ever stop. Devouring worlds unending they would have still not been satisfied. They are demented and a sickness to society.
There is only way to cure a disease that has no cure. To amputate the limb before it can affect the rest of the body.
I declare myself Supreme Imperator to rule over all conquered lands and those who have surrendered. From henceforth all shall be citizens of the New Empire. I shall not rest until all those like him are put to the sword.
Thus there can only be one verdict for you Mr. Former President.
Death,'' Umbra declared to the satisfaction of the people.
The gavel came down.
---
Umbra starred down from the balcony and watched as the people paraded the former presidents head on a pole after the public execution.
A shame.
He wanted to take his time in torturing the puppet to death. But alas, need must and all that.
That served him just as well.
''What is that coffer?,'' Umbra asked him.
Kurt sighed to calm down his nerves.
''Why are you asking as if you don't know?,'' Kurt asked him.
''Ah, so even you were moved by my little speech. How does it feel to know your precious president would have condemned this city by shooting an ICBM just to get rid of me? Stings doesn't it? Truth. Why else would the coffer not close properly?,'' Umbra mocked him.
Kurt further gritted his teeth.
''Spare me your theatrics. We got work to do. Can I trust on you protecting my back, my knight in shining armor? I just turned all leeches into enemies. The war from here on out, will be a cold one, one fought with cloak and dagger. Wide removed from the eyes of the public,'' Umbra asked him.
They were friends once.
Once.
''What else is new?,'' Kurt said after a while in a defeated sigh.
With Umbra now forced to rule, it fell to him to lead the army. He could betray him, but he still did not quite made heads and tails of all the revelations. At least with Umbra he knew what to expect. He still can't believe the president would have killed so many people for one guy.
''I guess that is true. Well, it is more of the same. Let's just go,'' Umbra said turning around having had his fill at seeing the head paraded.
He got work to do.
Kurt fell in step with him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Umbra splashed some water on his face and then looked in his reflection while leaning on the faucet.
Two years he has already been Supreme Imperator.
Two years to settle the new government and digest everything that happened.
He was 32 by now.
A little wiser and more mature, he would like to believe.
He may have gone a little into the deep end at points.
He does not regret the deaths of these leeches or their family.
Fuck them to the deepest part of hell.
But their enablers was another matter.
Thought puppets were another matter entirely.
As were the innocent he had killed completely unrelated to the leeches.
That was a step too far.
He knew his soul was tainted with their suffering, as were his hands with the blood of innocents.
Umbra splashed some more water on his face.
He may have given way to much into his hate and was too eager to spill the blood of these leeches.
To the detriment of disregarding the innocents fate.
So much for being different and better then those leeches.
Umbra closed his eyes.
He would go to hell. Of that there was no doubt.
So be it. It would be a just and fair judgement.
But he still had some years in him.
And there were still leeches lurking, either attempting to kill him or biding their time until he keeled over.
Umbra tapped his fingers against the faucet and then opened his eyes, starring in his reflection and seeing his own determination.
That could not be allowed.
All leeches must die or neutralized.
...
There could only be one way in achieving that, without causing war.
Burn the chessboard and make a new one. One functioning by different rules, making it unfeasible for one to be too rich at once.
Easier said than done.
Umbra removed himself from the faucet and dried his face with a towel.
It was possible, Umbra was confident in that, but it would be hard.
Probably harder than anything else he has done.
Well, best get to scheming.
If he was destined for hell anyway, then at least he could grant humanity one last boon.
If nothing else it would give him some reprieve in the torment he is to endure.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
35 Years later:
''I don't want the Supreme Imperator to die,'' a child told his mother.
''All men must die. Cheer up, son. Nightshade personally chose his next successor and vetoed him. I'm sure you will experience the same peace as we did,'' his mother told him in comfort.
''That is stupid. Ms. Evengrade said that every new ruler is a coin toss. They are either c--com--pend...
''Competent.''
''Com-petent or ... bad. There is no in between. The new Supreme Imperator could be bad.''
''I suppose that is true. Do you know what else is true? If you don't hurry, you will miss your bus,'' his father warned him and looked at his watch.
''NO!,'' his son gasped and quickly stuffed his mouth before bolting out.
''...''
The father sighed.
''What is it, dear?,'' the woman asked.
''I just don't know what to think. Is all. Too many hold the Supreme Imperator close to their heart,'' the man explained.
''And what is wrong with that?,'' the woman asked a little defensively.
''Nothing. It is just... He is a butcher. I just don't understand why so many people ignore that,'' the man replied.
''As opposed to what? As opposed to WHAT?! War is ugly. Any other guy would have denied the atrocities he committed. He was the first to erect a memorial to all the victims of the Great War. He never bothered to hide any detail of what he has done.
What right do you or I have to judge him for the blood he has spilled? Neither of us were forced to join the war.
Can you tell me that he is a bad ruler? Huh?
You may have forgotten, but I remember. My parents were both working two jobs each and we still could barely make ends met. They could barely afford a car, let alone a house, forcing us to live in a run down apartment.
Yours could barely afford basic medicine for your mother.
The people are doing better then they ever did. Their bellies are filled with food. Recent advancements will solve our energy issues as well.
What are you complaining about?!,'' the woman went on a tirade.
''You're right, you're right. I haven't forgotten either. I don't know what I was complaining about in the first place. I'm sorry,'' the man apologized.
The woman shook her head.
''No, you are not. Look, I have to go to work. We will see each other when we return home,'' the woman went away without bothering to give her husband his customary kiss on the cheek.
The man sighed and began putting the butter back in the fridge.
...
''Well, someone looks miserable. Problems with the missus?,'' joked the mans friend upon the husband entering the office.
The husband shrugged.
''I'm assuming you told her about your opinion on the Supreme Imperator and she reacted badly?''
The husband nodded.
His friend sighed conflicted.
''Look, it is not a crime to criticize the Supreme Imperator and the law does say that it is illegal to harm or fire someone over an opinion. But the law is the law and people love him. You can find yourself socially ostracized.
Worse.
We live in uncertain times. The Supreme Imperator is old and no one knows if this Killian can continue what Nightshade has built.
Your wife is just worrying and fearing that Killian will take issue with your stance,'' his friend tried telling him amicably.
''It is not right. He murdered innocents,'' the husband murmured.
''And? It was war. Innocents always die and he did bring a swift resolution to it after he was made general.
Look, buddy. People don't care about that as nearly as you do. Maybe it is because you have more empathy or maybe not. Neither answer is a crime.
Maybe they don't care because it does not directly affect them.
Maybe it is something else entirely.
But most people are self serving and only want food in their belly, a roof over their head and a warm bed to stave off the cold.
What need is there to open issues long resolved?,'' the friend shrugged.
The husband sighed and reluctantly nodded.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kurt starred at Umbra.
Heavy is the head that bears the crown.
Despite being just a few years older than Umbra, he looked much older than Kurt.
For all his savagery and monstrosity and butchery. For all that he was culling rich people from the shadows and absorbing corporations into the government.
He was a good ruler.
Not the best. Even if that were not the case, there was too much bad blood between them for Kurt to admit that.
''Are you sure about this Killian?,'' Kurt asked him.
''Are you? No one can say something for certain until you must pick up the sword. Until then words are wind. I fought. I ruled. And soon I shall rest.
If he fucks up, I can only hope that unlike most of my generation, those people will not be complacent and let the matter deteriorate into a war,'' explained Umbra, turning his head slightly and revealing an eyepatch. The closest an assassin managed to come to killing him.
''And if they are complacent?,'' Kurt asked apprehensively.
Umbra shrugged.
''By then it will no longer by my problem. I shall be in hell,'' Umbra told him.
Kurt sighed wearily and looked on in the distance.
A comfortable silence reigned over them for a while.
''No wife. No child. Only a few escorts here and there. Duty and sacrifice. That is your essence. Do you regret it? Everything you've done?,'' Kurt asked him suddenly.
Umbra looked down and then off in the distance.
''No,'' Umbra replied firmly.
Kurt nodded unconvinced. He could attempt to make his life miserable. Tell Umbra about his grandchildren, how they called Kurt 'grampa'.
Kurt chose not to do this.
It was clear now to Kurt, that Umbra was tormenting himself.
So the fucker did have a guilty conscience.
''If you die off old age, will life suddenly die out?,'' Kurt asked him suddenly.
''Hm?''
Kurt motioned with his eyes to the watch.
''Oh? You still haven't figured it out? It was a bluff. It has always been a bluff,'' Umbra revealed truthfully.
Kurts face and body slacked in disbelief.
He starred at him, to see if he was pulling his leg and upon seeing that that was not the case he buried his face in his hands.
''You are insane. Who gambles his life so readily away?,'' Kurt moaned.
''That trial was only ever going to end one way. In death. What difference did it make to gamble my life with that stunt. Hells. Half the convincing you did yourself,'' Umbra explained amused.
''But still...''
''But nothing.
It took me a lifetime to learn this, but I learned it all the same.
My german friend once told me, that to live is to naturally assume risks.
It was only recently I fully understood what he was trying to tell me.
Life is pain. Anyone who is trying to tell you otherwise, is trying to sell you something.
Misfortune lurks around every corner. Luck exists. Sometimes preparing is not enough and we must hold our breath to see how things develop outside of our control.
To think otherwise remains humanities greatest conceit. That they can control everything.
Can I say with absolute certainty that Killian will be worthy successor? No.
But I tried my best and worked with what I had. Let that be enough I say.
Go to your family Kurt. I wish to be alone,'' Umbra told him tiredly.
Kurt starred at him surprised.
Normally, Umbra kept his thoughts well to himself. It was like talking in circles with him.
Frustrating.
...
Was it time?
Kurt reluctantly got up, feeling his bones ache. Perhaps he too shall find someone for his position as general?
Once Kurt departed Umbra slacked in his chair, closed his eye and looked skyward.
People said that when one dies, their whole life will flash before their eyes.
What need did he have for such an event, when he possessed photographic memory.
He never forgot anything.
Umbra opened his eye, spying the night sky from the balcony.
It really was beautiful.
---
When Kurt arrived the next day, people were in a flurry, moving desperately.
Kurt grabbed one random girl and asked her what was happening.
Oh.
Kurt eventually found his way over to the balcony that they used to frequent often.
Umbra and him had a complicated relationship.
They were brothers once.
Once.
Eventually their relationship settled on spiteful respect, more so on Kurt side than on Umbras.
Kurt adjusted his military cap over his eyes a little.
What a joke.
As if the sky themselves was weeping for his loss.
Kurt swallowed thickly with some difficulty.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hm?
That did not really look like hell.
Umbra found himself in some sort of grey space. Grey as far as the eye could reach. Grey up, grey down, grey in the distant horizon.
Was that his curse and his hell?
Monotony and solitude?
To turn frantic and manic and forget who he used to be. Foaming at the mouth barely resembling a human let alone a rabid dog?
Umbra closed his eyes.
So be it.
If nothing else his body no longer ached, clearly returned to a younger state, though he could not say what age. Definitely before 40 as he still had both his eyes.
He lied down on the ground, ready to begin enduring his torment.
''You are something else. Most people would try to bargain or make excuses. Yet you are ready to bear the burden of your actions. Not many fall under your category,'' a booming voice called out amused.
Umbra jumped up and turned towards the source of the voice.
It was a completely dark person with red eyes.
No.
That would not do him justice. It was almost as if hid darkness was 'devouring the dark'?
If that description made any sense.
''The word you are looking for mortal is void. You are starring into the void. Best not stare to long else it will stare back,'' the entity joked.
''I thought it was the abyss you shouldn't stare into,'' Umbra said conversationally.
''Void, Abyss. You would be surprised how little difference there actually is. So. Umbra Nightshade. Fascinating life you led,'' the entity summoned some papers in his hand.
In spite of being about to be judged, he couldn't help but feel a little amused. It seems even gods were not above paperwork.
The entity burst out laughing.
''True. True. Paperwork, the bane of any existence. You can call me ROB by the way. Random Omnipotent Being. Its the best we can do, unfortunately. My true name is not for mortal ears. You would cease to exist just for hearing it, let alone speaking it,'' ROB told him.
Umbra slowly nodded. Guess, it made sense for ROB to hear his thoughts, how else would he be judged. Umbra pushed down any discomfort.
''Hm. Mhm. Hmhmmhm. Yup you will do, just nicely,'' ROB said suddenly, before banishing the papers.
''For what?,'' Umbra asked unsurely.
''For what else? Reincarnation of course.'' ROB told him.
Umbra starred a little befuddled at ROB.
''But shouldn't I... I don't know. Go to hell? No eternal burning or agony? To repent and stuff?,'' Umbra asked him.
''Hm? Why would I send you to hell?,'' ROB asked confused, Umbra shrugged.
''Oh! Right. You sinned and all that trite. No. Hell is not real. And neither is heaven. You really think us gods have nothing better to do than waste space to hold souls eternally. There are more people that died then there ever lived in any universe. Me, no! You all go through a cleansing process and then shoved into a baby. End of the afterlife,'' ROB told him jovially.
Umbra looked a little stumped. He was after all, a somewhat religious person.
''Huh.''
''Huh, indeed.''
''Can I refuse?,'' Umbra asked.
''No. No such options exist for you. We can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, I will have what is mine, mortal,'' ROB told him.
''Why me? I...,'' Umbra slumped his shoulders.
''You seem to lay too much value in morals. Or a lack there off. Morals are human constructs and we do not operate by them. I will not share by what merit I have judged your worthiness. Just know, that I have done so,'' ROB told him boredly.
Umbra blinked.
''Huh.''
''Huh indeed''
''You said, that you will have what is yours. And what is, that you will have?,'' Umbra asked a little apprehensive.
ROB threw his hands out.
''Entertainment,'' he declared, making Umbra blink.
That was not at all how he imagined the afterlife going.
''Sorry, for hurting your mortal sensibilities.''
No, he was not sorry at all.
''You are right, I'm not sorry at all.''
Umbras eye twitched.
ROB huffed amused.
Umbra sighed.
''Then let us get this over. What if I fail in entertaining you?,'' Umbra asked.
''Nothing. I miscalculated. I will find another one,'' ROB shrugged.
Umbra starred. A god that could admit his own faults.
Will wonders never cease?
Unless...
''You are right. You should be mindful of gods that err. But you should be especially mindful of those that freely admit their own faults,'' ROBs red eyes looked upward.
A shudder went down Umbras spine.
''There is a reason no proper god fights another proper god. We are all beholden to someone and I'm not necessarily talking about capital G God. I suppose in that one regard mortals and us are not that different. Best mindful of the warning I have given you, even if you don't find yourself back here ever again,'' ROB told him surprisingly forlorn.
Umbra was not gonna touch that with a universe long pole.
''I guess there is no point in refusing and making my life harder. Very well, I will attempt to entertain you. Fair warning, I don't have many comical bones in my body. I can't promise succeeding too well in that regard,'' Umbra told him diplomatically.
ROB hummed and nodded. Then he picked some ... 'void' from his body and let it float over to Umbra.
''What am I supposed to do with it? What will it do?,'' Umbra asked starring at the god aspect.
''Hm. Calling it god aspect would not be entirely inaccurate, even if it is not entirely accurate. You need powers. Like all proper reincarnation stories. A bland normal mortal can only be so entertaining after all. Ingest it. No worries, it is no real loss to me and mine,'' ROB told him.
Umbra closed his eyes and simply got it over with. It tasted like nothing. Small mercy in that.
''As for what it does? Two things. The void is devouring all unending. An absence of something. A nothingness. Where it is, there can not be something. As it comes from me, it is a rather high ranked authority. Make of that description what you will. Where is the fun in not letting you discover your powers for yourself after all? I will however reveal one thing. It will grant you a void mind. No one can peer into your mind. I know you are too polite to voice any issues you have with me on that out loud.'' ROB explained.
Umbra grimaced, but kept silent.
''As for the second thing. It grants you a never ending source of energy. Congratulation Umbra. You are a reality warper. The imagination is your limit, the world your oyster. Do with that what you will as well. Any more questions?,'' ROB asked him.
''Just one. Where will I go?,'' Umbra asked.
''The Marvel Universe. Do prove that my investment was worthwhile, Nightshade. Cheers,'' ROB waved his hand and Umbra disappeared.
...
...
...
...
...
...
??? leaned in his chair.
''Good luck, my champion,'' ??? said towards the empty space.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apparently his knew name was Bell now.
Better get used to it.
Bell went to war, crawled through mud and tears, smelled all kinds of fluids and has seen horror beyond most peoples comprehension.
He now envied that babies could forgot their own birth. He certainly will not be granted such luxuries.
Oh, he did not see much. Human babies were blind for the first few weeks after birth and it seemed he was no exception to that. But being pushed out, feeling the liquid flesh moving around him...
Brrr.
Still the Marvel Universe, huh? He was shit out of like in that case. He was never really a comic fan. DC or Marvel. Perhaps that is why he was sent here? From the conversation with ROB he remembered that he wanted to see him explore, seemingly finding that entertaining.
All he knew was off Spider-Man and he Avengers and that was pretty much it.
Even then he picked those things up in passing, not paying too much attention to them.
The only thing he knew for certain was that, this world was a dangerous one filled with unknown dangers.
What else is obvious? That was a trend all magical worlds seemed to follow.
He had his work cut out for him, didn't he?
''Are we in agreement then? I memorized the list, we can go with something else if you want,'' a voice sounded out. Feminine.
''No. No. Our little Bell O'Quinn. It is a good name,'' another voice replied. Masculine.
''Bring the paper then and let us sign them,'' the female replied.
Bell O'Quinn. Huh?
Fine and well.
''Wait is he an albino? Why does he have red eyes?,'' the man said worried.
''I don't think so. He does not share any other characteristic with an albino. Maybe a genetic mutation?,'' the woman guessed.
''Hmm.''
Red eyes? What was he some edgy anime character?
Unless that was some sort of mark from his benefactor.
Urgh.
His benefactor.
Why was HE specifically chosen? It would have suited him more if he would have been just sent to hell.
But apparently such things don't exist.
Bell sighed mentally.
It ... was not easy for him to come to terms that there would be no punishment for his actions.
Entertainment was fine and well, but that could not be his own personal life goal.
Still...
Rome wasn't built in a day and neither would he digest all that occurred and find himself his own goal today.
For know, it would be best to let matters settle a little and then plan with a more clear head.
(AN: I'm sorry if there are not that many details about the protagonists previous life. But that was by design. I was trying to go for a sort off 'everything blurs into one' vision. Umbra no longer cared all that much about sides and so one, only about 'leeches' and their death.
Which bring me to my next point.
I did not skip 35 years of rule, because I was lazy, but because nothing substantial happened to Bells character arc. He hides it well, but he suffers from repressed trauma and because of that he is easy to lash out against his enemies. 'Leeches' mostly. And sometimes violently so. He also feels distant to others. You have seen what he did in the war. Though I will go into that in later chapters more.
I will not always write an AN at the end of the chapter as that ruins the flow and people probably don't want that, but I felt it required this time.
All in all I am much more satisfied with this chapter compared to the other ones first chapter.
Cheers.)