"I am George Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army."
"George who?" Marshall blurted, uninterested in every way.
"I lead my men to face the British occupation. To free this land from unjust rulers and to secure democracy."
"Ah, that George?" Marshall poked his ear and chuckled, eying Marty beside him. "Get a load of this guy, Marty. Says he'll bring Democracy. Hah! Fucker don't even know what democracy is. Tell me, who's gonna get this democracy?"
"Grrf!" Marty responded.
"Ah, you don't know what democracy is? Picture ten dumbfucks lost in a cave. Six start shouting about light they've never seen, vote one of their own to lead them, and boom—now the blind are guiding the blind straight into a pit. That's democracy."
"Rrrawr-blarrrgh."
"Exactly, Marty. It's dumb as shit. Even you're smarter than them. No wonder Dinosia never implemented it." Marshall scoffed and crossed his arms, focusing back on the man.
"The people of the thirteen colonies. The whole of America. That is who'll benefit from it." George Washington said.
"Bahahaha! Then, does that include everyone? Like, every man, woman, and whatever's trying to stand upright these days?"
George Washington frowned, but he soon started to realize what Marshall was hinting at. And honestly, he had no answers. His views were slightly different; he believed that slavery was a social evil, but he couldn't remove it, nor was he willing to right now.
"Slavery… That's a topic we can only discuss once we have the right to govern ourselves." George argued.
"Bullshit! Actually, I don't give a fuck about what you humans do. But the hypocrisy, man—that grinds me. At least the Romans had consistency. Enslaving everyone, call it a day. You lot? You slap a label on skin tone and call it destiny. Pale? Suddenly, you're the boss. Dark? Now, you're furniture? Nah. Either chain everybody or let 'em all walk free. Ridiculous. If you're gonna be monsters, be consistent. Pick a lane!"
"..."
George Washington was dumbstruck. In his life, he'd seen many arguments in favor and against slavery. But none of them ever sounded like this. He didn't even know what to say to that. Marshall didn't sound anti slavery, nor pro slavery. Yet, at the same time, Marshall made the most sense. Slavery wasn't openly seen as evil when everyone was being enslaved. Once it became a skin tone thing, it became evil.
"I will… give you my word that once this war is over, I will vocally decry slavery, and do all I can to end it."
Marshall shrugged. "Empty words. Why're you here anyway? If you're after my cave, back off. If you play any games here, you'll thank it was the British fucking you over and not me."
"Our purpose here is alliance. The people of the nearby settlement informed us of your presence in this cave. I come not with demands, but a request, your aid in dealing with the British Navy."
Marshall rubbed his chin, amused a little. He couldn't remember the last time someone was brave enough to invite him into their war. "So you folks want a cheat code? Interesting, Marty, what do you think we should do? It can't be free."
"Hrrmmph."
"Ask them for meat? Man, we can get that any time. That's like someone hands you a gold bar on a silver platter and you ask for the fucking plate instead of the gold. Though it's understandable if a beauty is holding it..." Marshall mumbled a lot before returning to the topic.
"Anyway. Listen. I'm bored, so here's the deal: Get your bosses to write something up. I own this land. I own this whole spinning ball. I was here when the air tasted like metal. My island's off the west coast—don't touch it. I got a farm northwest—mammoths still stomping, don't touch that either. I got caves. Don't touch my caves. And if anyone breaks this deal, I will personally paint the asphalt with your leader's skull. With his brain still in it."
Ptui!
Marshall spat into his right palm and raised it towards George. "Deal?"
George Washington looked at the extended hand. He was aware that the military would soon send out explorers to claim the rest of America after the war. Knowing that the First Man already had a farm there meant it was good land. And off the West coast meant the place was habitable. But now, looking at that hand, he felt like he was making a deal with the devil.
The First Man, although written as an angel, as a divine, all-powerful being in the books, was also known to be unpredictable. Shaking that hand was like befriending a lion. Cuddly when full, but might eat you when hungry.
"Deal." George ended up shaking that hand anyway. Anything to deal with the British occupying Long Island.
####
A week later.
It was a clear sunny day over the skies of New York Bay.
On a lone American ship, Marshall left a port and headed towards Long Island. It was just one ship, the crew, Marshall, and George Washington onboard. The ship had no cannons so that it could carry weight.
The weight of thousands of cannonballs. The sailors were confused, but nobody dared speak in Marshall's presence. Heck, before they started the journey, the men had made a prayer to Marshall, holding their Bibles close at the same time.
In truth, even George Washington was confused.
"There they are!" Marshall grunted and moved towards the deck's edge, his fur cape fluttering on his back, still dressed like a barbarian. "Get me the damn cannonballs already."
Curious and confused, the sailors rolled the cart filled with 24-pounder cannonballs.
Then, with ease, Marshall grabbed one ball with his spread palm. He picked one in each hand. Finally, he looked towards the ships in the distance, flying the British flag.
"Hah! They won't know what hit them."
WOOSH!
"..."
The crew went speechless.
Marshall threw the cannonball towards the British ship with his bare hands. Each cannonball weighed ten kilograms. It was impossible for most men to pick it up with one hand, let alone throw it. And what a throw it was.
Cutting through the air, far in the distance, a British ship appeared to lose one of its masts.
Woosh!
Then the other mast.
Woosh!
Then a hole appeared in the ship's hull, and it started to sink. There were no cannonballs fired. No loud booms. Only the sound of water and a view of ships sinking in the distance.
"Hahahaha… More! Bring me more cannonballs!"
Marshall used both hands at great speed, moving like a Gatling gun. The constant barrage of cannonballs sank one ship, and then another. The scouts had informed that in total, the British had deployed four hundred ships. But out of them, only seventy-three were warships.
They all sank that day.
One after another, any warship that had a cannon on it sank.
As time went by, the American ship Marshall was on sailed closer towards the shores. As the British Navy got decimated, there was nobody to stop them. Then, eventually, they came as close as the ports.
Woosh!
Marshall kept going, destroying the port's barracks and whatever could be used to stop their ships. Although his cannonballs didn't explode, they did enough damage to the buildings. At the speed he was throwing them, they brought down entire structures.
And clearly, Marshall was enjoying it. Laughing the entire time, throwing the cannonballs like toys. He didn't stop, nor did anyone ask him to stop.
Hours later, at last, the cannonballs were depleted.
Result?
Total American victory.
There wasn't going to be any British naval support for Long Island now, the stronghold of the British. All George Washington had to do now was march his army in and take it.
And that was exactly what the General did.
Meanwhile, Marshall returned to Philadelphia and lived in a lavish, sprawling mansion with cooks ready around the clock. He even brought over Selene and Hela, enjoyed eating whatever he liked, and did Selene all night. By now, Hela had become braver and didn't hide herself from ogling whenever Marshall fucked his beautiful witch.
Heck, he regularly did a full nelson with Selene, lifting her up, and walking closer to Hela as if displaying a prize. He loved teasing the seven-foot-tall Goddess of Death. Loved seeing her sultry expressions. She was still embarrassed, but as time went by, he made her feel okay with touching herself while watching him in action.
Marty did what he loved doing and explored the city. At first, people were scared, but eventually they got used to his presence.
Every day was a feast. Every night was pleasurable.
In mere days, George Washington proved his command and won all of Long Island, and then the entire New York. By then, the other old men had prepared a document and gathered in the State House.
And as expected, Marshall was there. He was invited by them, although he didn't know why. He couldn't care less about them as he was loving the free food and wine.
"Since the First Man is there, he should be the first one to sign it."
It was a large space filled with mostly old men.
Marshall shrugged and walked over to read what the hell they wanted him to sign. He'd already signed the contract he'd discussed with George, after all.
"Hmm… Declaration of Independence… hmm…" Marshall read snippets aloud. "Rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness… all men are created equal—bah! Who wrote this?"
Right away, five men came forward.
Shrugging, Marshall pointed at one of them. "Come here and scribble this in. Write—First Man wouldn't sign because we're a bunch of spineless clowns who thought 'all men are created equal' was some punchline, and we still backhand slavery like it's a tradition. First Man said we crawled out of apes, but we're too thick-skulled to grasp it—This, I'll sign."
"..."
______________________
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