[We officially go on a break after this. Enjoy and leave comments cuz it important for fic ranking and engagement.]
[This is a side story where Rob reincarnates Kitler as shown in chapter 1 of this fic with some changes.]
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Berlin, Führerbunker, 30 April 1945/
The air in the bunker was thick and stale. It smelled of damp concrete, sweat, and old cigarette smoke.
The lights flickered now and then, but they held.
Adolf Hitler sat alone in his private room. His wife, Eva, was already dead.
She had taken poison a few minutes earlier and now slumped in a chair, her beautiful face pale.
The Russian artillery above ground had not stopped for days.
The deep vibrations came through sixteen feet of concrete like a constant, low drumroll.
He held a small brass capsule between his thumb and finger.
It was Cyanide.
Lay on the desk beside his scattered papers were the Walther PPK pistol.
He would use both.
The capsule alone might take minutes to kill, minutes in which the Soviets might find him alive.
He had seen what they did to Mussolini, so he would not let that happen to him.
He would bite the capsule first, then put the gun to his head. The combination was certain.
His hand trembled a little, but he told himself it was only tiredness. He had not slept properly in weeks. He had lost the war. The Allies were closing in on every side. His armies were broken. His generals had betrayed him or failed. The German people, he believed, had proven too weak for the great future he had planned.
But behind all of it, behind the failed offensives and the collapsing fronts and the cowardice of his generals... he knew there was a deeper cause.
A hidden hand.
The same hand that had stabbed Germany in the back in 1918. The same hand that had engineered the humiliation of Versailles. The same hand that now closed around his throat while the world cheered.
The 12 tribes that still exsited from thousands of years ago and now control the whole world.
He spoke, the voice he had used in the great halls when thousands hung on his every word, now his only audience was his pitiful dead wife and the concrete walls.
'I shouldn't have involved her.' Hitler thought with remorse in his eyes.
"You see, the conflict and hatred among nations are cultivated by very specific vested interests. It is a small, rootless, international clique that incites nations against one another, and clique that does not want us to find peace. These are the people who are at home everywhere and nowhere and they have no soil on which they grew. They live in Berlin today, could just as easily be in Brussels tomorrow, in Paris the day after, and then again in Prague or Vienna or London. They feel at home everywhere."
He paused.
Hitler stared at the map on his desk, the map of a Berlin that no longer existed except as rubble.
"They are the only ones who can truly be considered international elements because they can conduct their business everywhere. But the people cannot follow them. The people are chained to their soil, chained to their homeland, bound to the means of life provided by their state, their nation."
"I tried to break those chains. I tried to free our people from their grip. And the whole world... the banks, the Bolsheviks, the democracies... all of them marched against me. Because they knew! They knew that if I succeeded, the game would be over. THEIR game, the international Jew's game."
He shifted in his chair, and his eyes moved from the map to the shadowed wall before him. His voice turned sharper, more personal, as though speaking directly to the enemies he could not see.
"And you know, by the way, that none of that is the real reason. The reasons lie elsewhere. Basically, you hate socialist Germany. Because what did we ever do to you? Nothing at all. What did we take from you? Nothing. Did we threaten you? Not even once. Weren't we willing to make agreements with you? Absolutely. We did. Didn't we commit to limiting our armaments? We even proposed it. No, none of that interested you."
"What you hate is that Germany sets a bad example. It's primarily National socialist Germany, the Germany of our social labor legislation, that you hated before the war and that you hate today. The Germany that, over the course of seven years, has striven to enable its citizens to live decent lives. That's what you hate."
"The Germany that has eliminated unemployment, just as you, with your wealth, were able to eliminate it albeit by spilling foreign blood and mass slaughter, that's what you hate. The Germany that provides decent quarters for workers and sailors on its ships, that is what you hate, because you feel that it could infect your own people. You hate the Germany that has taken up the fight against the classes, and this is the Germany you truly hate. Therefore, you primarily hate healthy Germany or a healthy Germany. The Germany that cares for its fellow citizens, that washes the children, that doesn't allow conditions to take hold, as you now admit in your own press, where children are infested with lice. This is the Germany you hate!"
He fell silent for a moment, breathing slowly. His voice had risen toward the end but now dropped to a murmur.
"And so you allied with the clique to destroy it. You called us evil while children in your own empires starved. You claimed the moral high ground while your banks bled entire continents dry. You bombed our splendid cities and called it liberation. And now you think you have won."
He looked at the capsule in his palm, then at the pistol.
"They think they've won," he whispered. "But their victory will be their undoing because without me and the will of the people, the world will rot!"
"They will strip every nation bare. Communism will march across continents, devouring everything in its path, and the democracies will hand over the keys because they are already owned. The Jews will pit everyone against each other until there is nothing left but ashes and debt and slaves who thank their masters for the chains."
He put the capsule between his teeth. The metal was cool against his tongue.
"The strong prevail and the weak perish. If Germany could not win, then Germany does not deserve to survive. But one day the world will understand what I tried to do."
"One day...
"One day they will see that I was right!!"
He bit down hard.
The bitter taste flooded his mouth instantly, a chemical burn spreading across his tongue and gums.
His throat began to tighten, but he did not wait for the poison to take hold. His right hand found the Walther on the desk.
It was heavier than he remembered, or perhaps his arm was simply weaker now. He forced it up, pressed the cold muzzle against his right temple, angled slightly inward.
He pulled the trigger.
*BANG!!*
The crack of the gun was the last sound he ever heard. It echoed through the bunker, through the concrete walls, through the ruins above.
His body slumped sideways and struck the floor. There was no pain, only the fading sensory blur of cyanide and absolute darkness of a bullet's final answer.
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At his final moments, he felt a motion. A strange pulling, as if something was dragging him sideways through a narrow space.
Then everything went black.
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__________________
A place beyond life/
He did not know how long he drifted.
He had no body, and he had no senses. He was just a point of awareness in a vast, screaming silence.
'I still am,' he realized.
As soon as he thought that, the silence changed.
It became a howling wind, and the wind was full of voices.
They were not human voices. They laughed, wept, and screamed all at once, layered over each other like a thousand radio stations playing at the same time.
He heard names he did not recognize and he felt emotions that were not his own. Hatred, hunger, despair, and a deep, eternal greed.
He understood then that he was in the Warp!
The word came to him out of nowhere, but it fit.
The Immaterium.
The Sea of Souls.
It was a dimension where thoughts and feelings took on lives of their own, and it was full of predators.
He tried to open eyes he no longer had and he tried to shout.
The effort sent ripples through the not-space around him, and something noticed him.
A huge intelligent being turned in his direction. It was like being caught in a searchlight on a dark ocean.
He felt its attention pass over him and he sensed a hunger that was older than humankind. This thing had fed on the death screams of long-dead civilizations.
It was a god in every way that mattered.
The vast presence paused.
Then, as if finding him too small to bother with, it moved on because he was beneath its notice which made Hitler sigh with a nonexistent relief.
Then he felt the pull again.
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Terra, the Yndonisic Bloc Underhive — 926.M29/
"Aghhh!"
Pain woke him.
Not the dull numbness of poison or the violent shock of a bullet, but sharp andvivid pain!
His lungs gasped, then a hot, foul air rushed in.
He smelled the disgusting chemicals, rust, and rot which made me him puke, only for nothing to come out of his stomach since it was empty.
He opened his eyes to an ugly sky.
It was the color of a bruise, streaked with green and orange from distant fires.
He was lying on his back on hard ground. He tried to sit up and found his body did not respond properly.
He felt very weak and when he pushed himself up with his hands, he saw they were thin and pale.
It was the hands of a child, which made confused beyond belief.
He looked down to see he was wearing rough, dirty clothes.
His arms were stick-thin and he looked about twelve years old. The shock was so strong that for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
"Scheiße! Was soll das?!" He cursed.
Maybe the poison and the bullet had not quite finished him, and this was a dying dream. But the pain was too real!
The hot, stinking air was too real! Everything felt real.
He was in an alley between high walls made of rusted metal sheets and crude welds. The ground underfoot was cracked and littered with trash.
The smell was terrible... old oil, sewage, and the sweet-sour scent of decay.
Above the walls, strange structures loomed against the sky.
Some looked like black iron fortresses with no windows. Others seemed to have grown rather than been built, with smooth curves like insect shells. A few were the wrecks of much older, more elegant towers, now covered in centuries of soot.
He could hear a constant dull roar.
It was the sound of machines, furnaces, and grinding metal, mixed with occasional human shouts and the banging of hammers.
Where am I? When am I?
*fuuuhhhh*
Then the memories of his new body began to surface as he went on a trance.
After a little bit of standing there, he got the information that he wanted.
He knew the boy's name... Adol Frick... A rough, changed form of his own name, as if the universe was making a dark joke.
Adol Frick was twelve years old and he had been born here, in the underhive sprawl of a place called the Yndonisic Bloc, a techno-barbarian state that controlled part of what had once been Europe.
His father had died years ago in a brutal fight over water. His mother had sold herself into service to the gene-guilds to keep her son alive and now she had disappeared into the guild's spire laboratories.
Adol had been on his own ever since, scavenging to survive.
But there was more because along with the boy's memories came a wider knowledge, seeping into his mind like water through a leak.
He understood that this was still Earth, but now it was called Terra. And the year was not 1945. It was the 29th millennium. Twelve thousand years after his death.
He sat in the dirty alley, breathing the chemical air, and tried really, REALLY hard to accept it and not just go into another suicide trip.
He was not in a coma had been reborn in a world more terrible than anything he had ever imagined, even in his wildest dreams.
A laugh began to rise from his chest, and It was not a happy laugh, but a broken and despairing one.
"I know I was not sinless, but this seems pretty over the top. Is this the jewish gods at it again? Were the jews actually correct?"
"No. Those devil worshippers could be anything but right. I was never wrong about most things, and this case is one of them."
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Adol Frick's home was a small space carved into the wall of a disused drainage pipe. He reached it by crawling through a gap too small for adults.
It was dark and cramped, but it was safe. A rough blanket was his bed. He owned a knife made from a piece of shrapnel, a fire-starting kit, a dented cup, and a few days' worth of scavenged food packets.
For the first day, he slept.
The young body was exhausted, and his mind needed time to sort through the flood of new information.
When he woke up, he began to watch.
The underhive was a vertical slum.
Layers of shacks and tunnels built over one another, going deep into the ground and rising toward the spires where the warlords lived.
The people who lived here were human, but centuries of pollution and hard living had left marks. Many had radiation burns, missing limbs, crude metal replacements, and skin diseases. Children looked pale and thin, the adults were tough as wire, and the old people wore their scars like medals.
They fought over salvage and they traded scraps of metal and old tech.
Some worshipped machine-gods and some whispered about things that lived in the darkness and gave power in exchange for blood.
It was total and utter insanity.
But he understood quickly that this world was not so different from his own.
The same brutal rules applied.
The strong took what they wanted and the weak suffered. Mercy got you killed, and the only real difference was that here, no one bothered to dress it up with pretty words and be hypocrite little bitchs.
'I was right,' he thought, and the thought carried no regret.
Everything I warned about has come to pass. The rootless international clique I spoke of, the Jews, used their twin weapons exactly as I said.
Democracy let them drain nations through banks and interest, and when people resisted, Bolshevism crushed them under the boot of communist revolution.
Both were Jewish tools.
Both served the same masters, and now look at this disgusting future. Look at the filth, the savagery, the collapse!
Without my fight, humanity sank into the very weakness the Jews wanted. Everything they touched rotted and everything I predicted came true.
'The only mistake,' he thought, 'was that I had not been ruthless enough soon enough. But, I would not make that error again.'
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There was a box that carried this body's belongings. He went for it and opened it.
He found a data-scroll.
The scroll was a real treasure for the current him because knowledge right now was worth more than food or bullets.
He activated it after staring at it in awe and tinkering with it.
Then holographic screen appeared in the air.
The language was something called Standard Gothic, which was close enough to his own tongue that he could understand it.
The scroll was a scholar's journal.
Then read quickly, learning about the history of mankind. How humans had spread across the galaxy. How they had built machines that could think, until those machines turned against them. How psykers, humans with mental powers, had begun to appear. How terrible warp storms had cut Earth off from its colonies. And how civilization had collapsed into the Age of Strife.
Then he found a section that stopped his heart for a moment as he read through with trembling hands.
The journal listed ancient political systems.
Among them was an entry for the "Germanic Confederation" of the early 20th millennium. It described a leader called "Agdalf Hitlerg" or "The Chancellor" who had ruled for about twelve years and carried out biological purges against certain genetic groups.
The entry said the Confederation's methods had been copied by later regimes, but that it had collapsed due to strategic overreach.
Twelve years.
A footnote about "biological purges." His grand vision, the struggle to save humanity from the international Jewish conspiracy, reduced to a few clinical sentences.
They didn't see that the banks and the communist cells were two heads of the same serpent. They didn't understand that democracy was the mask the Jews wore while they drained nations dry, and Bolshevism and communism was the boot they used to crush those who resisted. He had fought both simultaneously and he had nearly won.
He had stood before thousands and told them the truth.
The rootless international clique, at home everywhere and nowhere. The people who needed no homeland because they owned the systems of every homeland. The only truly international element, moving from Berlin to Brussels to Paris to London, conducting their business while honest nations bled.
'They remember only the failure and the cruelty, and I understand that, but at least... at least they should have told the masses the full truth and not act like angels while they committed far more atrocities than I could ever do in lifetimes.' he thought bitterly.
They do not see, and I told the world, and shouted it from every podium.
The Jews were already securing their control over global capital through the American and British banks during my war.
Their communist puppets in Moscow had murdered abive 70 million of their own people and millions of Germans under the red flag in the eastern regions. I was the only one who recognized the danger. I tried to cut out the infection. But the world was too blind to let me finish the surgery.
And now, 12 thousand years later, humanity lives in sewers, worshipping machines, while the same but kind of different forces of decay run wild.
Yes, now I am sure, my only mistake was that I did not start earlier.
The End.