Last revolt of the Wrathful

Some might say that this is the time when we shall perish. Some might say we should abandon our ground, submit this very battle to the enemies, and let them run amok above the bodies of our brethren.

Some say that to prevail is to hope for the autumn leaves to stop falling. Some say that we are condemned, away from today’s victory.

I say we fight.

Let us meet those beasts and tell them that we shall yield no sword, relinquish no shield, and shatter no spear! Not with breath in our lungs, not with blood in our vein, not with brothers by our side.

I saw the red king charged to the thousands, he showed no hesitation, no fear nor agitation. I saw a man coming home.

To end of world, He screamed his war cry.

And all five hundred of us clamored his chant; strengthened by the glamor of the red king’s words. Fury has become our fuel. It seeped to each of our swings, penetrated our thrusts, and fused with our every wound. We forgot that there would be neither dawn nor a day after today. We lived for that day. The battlefield owned all of our limbs and our body, as we vigorously lunged to the sea of swords thinking that we are immortals.

That day, we are the children of wrath.

In the sea of blood we stood, the last five of us. I didn’t see him anywhere near the battlefield. All I saw was splintered shield, broken steel and fractured skulls; I saw death disguised himself as a black crow scavenging on corpses. Carefully he jumped in shivers, from one body to another. Even death was frightened by the aftermath of the king’s war.

Bathed in yellow sun, our king bursts out from ruins. He bent the iron plate of a chariot like snow to heat, making his way to us. He came slowly, torn asunder the world with his steps.

You can now bow to me child.

Why would we?

Because you are nobody’s patron, men! I am yours. Even before the first tear of a fallen soldier reached the earth,

Our blood pact is over. Destiny has been called upon. The oath has been answered.

How foolish.

He struck down three of us. Scattered their limbs in a single blow, leaving almost nothing but his burning fist smothering the very sky above. It was kingdom come. The crows were leaving as he shook the ground with the second blow, made the ash out of the man beside me.

For some reason, he decided not to banish my existence.

Why, a second chance?

Don’t mock me child, not after I spare you.

I though there shall be glory.

Boy, there shall be vengeance.

Revenge is in the pact?

The rest of the bloods that stained the pact are but pieces across the field.

Who was he?

Another human. Does it matter?

He unsheathed his last dagger, one that was laying still for the entire battle. He said that it is a blade like no other. It is a key for today. It is meant to open his last war. After today he said, he is needed no more. He shall be a name in a thousand temples, the most hated of all gods, and denied by the rising of white flags. He shall retire.

Remember child; there is no such thing as warriors of peace time.

War drums or burning banners. Shall be no more?

Only buttons.

Triggers for another form of war, I assume?

Not war, only destruction.

Stabbed him, his dagger. Slowly faded the indomitable king. Abdication of diadem as a sign of a sovereignty end; such final moment attracted death once more. Now countless crows circling the sky mending the red dawn into pitch black.

Yet death did not pick him up, only his crown. Those who never live do not know demise.

Now you understand why I leave you standing, human?

I bowed.

As soon as lifted my head, the king is no more. He is now a forgotten figure, condemned by humanity and life.

Leaving me, as the human who fought side by side with war himself, and had lived long enough to tell the story.

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