The clamor of soldiers echoed beneath the skies. A multitude of men advanced across the burning, cracking ground, eyes bulging, screaming, their faces twisted in terror, desperately trying to contain their fear. Above their heads, Angels, Demons, Beasts, Demonic Creatures, Paladins, and Hybrids looked down upon them. For the first time in history, the greatest powers of the ancient times had allied and unleashed wave after wave of attacks.
The energies merged, reinforced one another at such speed that no eye could follow them, and soon they reached the earth. Blinding lights filled the battlefield here and there, forming spheres that grew larger and larger, and soon the ground roared in agony. Pieces of corpses were hurled out of the smoke—if any part of them even remained intact. Such cases were rare. A Paladin pushed with his hand, and the smoke rushed in another direction, revealing a graveyard of craters. No man was left standing. After all, it was never a true army. And yet, the force commanding it had compelled the greatest powers of old to vow never to separate until the complete destruction of the being—the self-proclaimed King of the Universe.
Crawling beside a rock, holding his energy within his body, Rodolphe observed the scene from a few kilometers away."They're all dead," he thought. But it wasn't just a thought—it was a message. For the King of the Universe's followers, having conquered two-thirds of the former human lands and expanded in all directions over beasts, demonic creatures, and Angels, could—no, were forced—to communicate in this way. Individual thought no longer existed. Everything was monitored by the system.
[Understood. Return.]
This army had no other purpose than to change their own fate. A parasite controlled their minds, forcing them to impale themselves before the enemy. At the same time, other armies were attacking enemy territories—the rest of the world.
Rodolphe vanished without a sound.
***
Rodolphe landed in a massive crater. He walked step by step, using none of the strength befitting his Paladin status, and stopped before an obelisk. He contemplated his own creation, built in just a few days thanks to his energy, and was suddenly overcome with nostalgia.
"Father," he said at last. "Several years have passed since we were separated. Since then, not a single day has gone by without screams. First in my dreams, and then, as my power grew, as I became nearly indifferent, I began to hear the cries of the people. A Paladin hears almost everything. From Moir, I can hear the wind endlessly trying to wear away this monument, the water that will one day erode it completely."
There was a short silence.
"Father, you'll always be a father to me, even if you weren't the one who gave me life, even if you were just a guardian of my survival under Ludovic's command. The latter's body now serves the King of the Universe, who has further enhanced it. Father, tell me... who was I to you? With you, I pictured a pure world, untouched by filth. Was that world your lie? All those stories you told me—did you truly believe them?"
Rodolphe fell silent at the same moment the quill stopped writing. The fire beside the armchair crackled gently, joyfully burning on the logs. A hand slowly closed the book and placed it in the drawer of a carved wooden cabinet, a luxury piece from Cleppé. The man turned toward the fire, and it was clear now—it was Louis.
"It should've been me, not you, upon whom nature tore its claws…" he said weakly. "I know—or at least I hope—that… whatever you do, someone like you will be protected by the Gods. Jean and Cleppé are watching over you. Nothing ever guarantees the order of things, but you…" Facing the fire, his eyes reflected the rising and falling flames, as if they danced upon the wood, ignorant of his sorrow.
And then he murmured, "You know, they say people only remember the bad things. I immediately thought: how will they remember me? I don't know, I just thought maybe I shouldn't have. It's hard to be sad next to a fire. It's so beautiful, so comforting… I mean," his voice faded, "it's what li—what will happen to all of us."
His face was half-lit, half-shadowed by the room's darkness. In the gloom, a few kitchen tools could be seen hanging on the stone walls. The thick wooden beams of the ceiling, barely visible to Louis, gave him a feeling of security. He felt at peace there. He would have felt even better had he not received the news—an explosion had annihilated the troops where Cleppé's soldiers, his adopted son, and the villagers were stationed.
"It was so good, back when I didn't know. The tragedy wouldn't have occurred—for me. I'd forgotten, forgotten what it felt like to be at peace through ignorance. Power, like knowledge, solves nothing—it replaces some problems with others. And once we've progressed, we can't go back. Our minds will torment us endlessly. Sometimes, you almost envy the simple-minded."
His eyelids dropped, allowing only the vision of the fire to remain, then the tears, which he wiped away with a hand. He hoped—truly hoped—in that cozy room, the product of a labor that wasn't his, resonating with his sobs, that his dreams might be reality. That Jean was stronger than an ordinary Knight, that even Gabriel, a mere guard, might shine in History. He knew the truth well. They would soon remain nothing but memories—regrets of a time when he still had some strength left, a time he would give anything to return to before his end came. Soon, death would take him too, just as it had taken his family and friends.
He coughed."Urla, Father, Grandfather, Nirtusu, Guigemar, Mother, Jacobe, Riuts, Stira, Eva… they're all dead. Jeanne and Olivier probably are too… Rodolphe, Alain, Eloise, Emilie… why? Why must they join them? Why didn't we pay instead of risking their lives?"
He sighed deeply, placed his hand over his eyes, and sobbed.