¹
"Heroes," legends of antiquity, from the ancient eras to the present day.
Historical and mythological figures who performed unmatched feats for the sake of a "Good" for the world or their nation.
King Arthur
Robin Hood
Rama
Arjuna
Gilgamesh
Alexander the Great.
Legendary figures who shaped history and fantasy.
Many say they were blessed by the Gods. Perhaps it's true, perhaps it's a lie.
But in the end, is it possible to say that there are heroes in this modern era?
There are everyday heroes, teachers who educate their students to help society.
Police officers who protect law and order.
Judges who ensure that the laws are upheld.
Doctors and firefighters who save lives at risk.
But there is another kind, an infamous one few remember.
The war heroes.
Those who risk their lives on the battlefield for their nation. But of course, nowadays, the term "hero" is merely subjective. A hero of one nation is the villain of another, and vice versa. Among all of these, there exists one who is unanimously known across the planet as the 「Greatest villain in the world」 and the 「Personification of modern political evil」.
Adolf Hitler
Responsible for more than 60 million victims of his actions, directly or indirectly. A true Monster without equal. A repugnant figure no one would want near them in the modern world.
And because of that—
"Ach so… How the hell did I become Herr?"
A childish, high-pitched voice grumbled while adjusting a tie on a thin and delicate pale neck. The small and androgynous figure, impossible to determine its gender, could easily pass for a child under 10 years old, with a slender, clearly albino body, alabaster skin and hair. Its hands soon finished the knot and moved on to straighten the creases and folds in the tall, dark military uniform, a way of seeming taller. But what would definitely catch attention were two features of this being:
Huge, completely black eyes with no distinction between pupil and cornea, two dark abysses that reflected no soul.
And the Swastika (Manji) on the Armbinde of its left arm.
This was none other than the Unlucky Reincarnated, currently called "Adolf K. Hitler," who was preparing to make his first appearance before his "sponsors."
"Ja! Let's go, Herr Captain!"
Turning to the enormous shadow in the corner of the silent room, the young, genderless figure smiled at it, and the figure only nodded in confirmation, opening the door for its master. The light that fell upon him briefly revealed a two-meter-tall giant with dark skin, equally white hair, and deep, indifferent red eyes.
This was his Captain.
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²
It had been over 60 years since the end of the Second World War and the fall of the Third Reich, yet the humiliation and bitter taste of defeat were still rooted in the dreams of old patriots and young rebels. A putrid flame that could easily be molded into… new objectives.
In an abandoned warehouse on the shores of an ancient city, now serving as a base for the Neo-Nazis gathered at the call of their superiors, something caught everyone's attention.
Murmurs, chatter, and the scraping of chairs reverberated inside. There were just under a hundred people here—many for these new times, but few compared to the old party. Yet still, loyal and mad for a battle long lost.
On the platform, the two superiors responsible for summoning them whispered to each other, with the microphone muted and the audience's ears distracted.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Trust me, Cristoff, this is a golden opportunity."
"You know I'm skeptical about this, Michael. How could he return? And even more, how as a… a—Fraülein of 10 years? Have you lost your mind?" the second growled, sweating as he glanced at the incoming numbers, as if the dictator himself were about to walk through the door.
"Believe me, Cristoff, you did NOT see what I saw. That thing was far too inhuman to be just a little girl." Grabbing his companion's trembling wrist, he stared into his eyes. The sharp look of the so-called "Michael" was enough to calm the other and make him wait.
"...Ja…" Cristoff reluctantly agreed, crossing his arms. And as if waiting for the perfect timing, the doors burst open, turning the crowd toward the two figures standing at the entrance.
The two were anomalous figures, who normally would never belong there, and they gave everyone a feeling of strangeness.
The first was the largest, a two-meter giant towering above the men, a dark-skinned man with completely white hair. An indifferent, stone-like face with two emotionless ruby eyes. He wore a green-yellow military overcoat of the Afrika Korps, collar raised, and an M43 officer's cap emblazoned with the Totenkopf symbol. His trousers were the same yellow-brown color, with dark brown boots and a pair of white gloves.
Normally, someone of such a "race" would be lynched or expelled by the "pure," but his empty gaze and sheer stature—no, even without proof, everyone instinctively felt that what stood before them was a "Beast." He was at the top of the food chain, and they could never match him. The trembling knees of the men were proof enough.
But the figure before him, the smaller, childlike one, seemed to exude an even more dangerous aura! Even though it looked like an albino child, its raised chin of confidence, its upright body, and those abyss-like eyes were enough to subjugate the hearts of the men. With a single step forward from this child, a path opened for him. It was an unconscious act—everyone felt tempted to bow to him.
Such an overwhelming presence, such vitality, was demonic.
The entire warehouse fell into absolute silence. The sound of held breaths echoed louder than any scream could. Not even the creak of the wooden floorboards or the slam of broken doors dared compete with the presence of what all still hesitated to call human.
Adolf K. Hitler, the little "Herr," stopped at the center of the improvised stage, crossing his arms with a childish confidence that would make any adult shrink back. His black eyes were two bottomless pits, sucking in the air and the courage of everyone present, as if every heartbeat was a secret laid bare.
"Ja… welcome, my dear friends," he said, his thin, childish voice reverberating strangely through the wide space. "I hope you are all prepared to be part of my… historical reconstruction."
The Captain, behind him, moved slowly, the metallic clack of his boots on the floor making some Neo-Nazis stumble over themselves. His presence was as overwhelming as the child's ahead of him, but in a solid, threatening way, like a living wall.
"And so… who will show me what remains of the old guard?" asked Herr Führer, tilting his head curiously. The question sounded harmless, almost playful, but each syllable carried a weight that made seasoned leaders break out in a cold sweat.
From the back of the warehouse, an old veteran of the former era, still wearing medals yellowed by time, stepped forward hesitantly. "Mein Führer… we… we were only waiting for orders…" he said, trying to bow respectfully.
"Orders? Ah, orders…" The little Herr paused dramatically, raising a slender finger. "Do you think anyone in this room truly knows what they are doing? What I see are… idiots who believe they can make a difference, stupid and irresponsible. In short—Trash."
A murmur spread. Some laughed nervously; others swallowed hard. The warehouse seemed to shrink, as if the very space itself recognized the absurdity of the situation.
"And that is why… I will teach you the difference between power and… irrelevance!" he continued, taking a step forward—so small and light it seemed to float, yet carrying an authority that crushed everything around it. "I believe you have all noticed our dear Captain behind me, correct?"
Behind him, the only sign the Captain was alive and not a statue was the slight nod to his master's question.
"He is what you would call an 'inferior race,' correct?" asked the young Führer, which was soon answered with a chorus of affirmations and jeers thrown at the dark-skinned man, who ignored them all, never taking his eyes off his master.
"NEIN—WRONG!" With a thunderous roar and a slam of his small fist against the podium table, the young Hitler silenced them all. "In my eyes, YOU are the inferiors here! Ignorant fools who didn't even have the strength to fight on your own! I had to crawl from hell itself, by the hands of the Devil, to help FOOLS like you? In my view, the Captain is worth more than each of your useless lives!"
Faced with his outburst, Cristoff immediately looked at Michael in panic, who remained utterly impassive.
"Cristoff! That brat is going to get lynched!"
And it was a real fear. The men in the audience were already showing clear signs of irritation. Beyond being humiliated by a little girl, being called more useless than one of the races they despised was like begging them to revolt. But Cristoff only nodded calmly.
"Just wait, it'll all make sense soon. Believe me, the Captain is the least of our problems."
Still anxious, Michael turned his gaze back to the little Hitler, who huffed as he stared at the increasingly furious crowd before him, then continued his speech.
"And do you know why?" he murmured with a wide grin, abyss-like eyes piercing into the hearts of everyone present. "Because he is not human. He is a beast~ one that I tamed in Hell itself~" Turning to the Captain, he snapped his fingers, and immediately—
FOOSH
CLANG!
BOOOOM!
Like a ghost, the Captain dissolved into a silver mist and slammed into the floor before the platform, a curtain of smoke rising and covering everything in sight. And yet—
"Grrrrrr—"
The growl of a hellhound was heard, as if Lucifer's own hound had come to claim their souls.
And when the curtain of smoke and debris cleared—
"GYAAAAAAAH!"
Screams of panic erupted.
For there, before them, stood a creature of fantasy—a popular myth that SHOULD NOT exist.
Resembling an enormous canine the size of an adult horse, with a silver coat like ivory, heterochromatic eyes, one blue and one red, and a massive maw full of teeth capable of tearing flesh like paper, with a silver mist wafting off its body. Some of the men who had been shouting earlier were now in shock—some even wetting themselves in terror, while others fainted outright. Such was the nightmarish sight.
"This, gentlemen, is an authentic Werwolf, a supernatural being that dwells in this world. And I… have tamed it!"
After such a revelation, Michael, who had moments ago feared for the child's life, now stared at her in horror.
(T-That little girl… tamed a hellhound? A Werwolf?)
The thought echoed in the minds of everyone in the warehouse.
Especially when they noticed the enormous silver wolf was circling its mistress with a veil of silver mist—a sign of its awareness and intelligence.
"My dear Soldats! For too long we have lived in the darkness of our world, believing that our enemies were the impure. But today, I reveal to you that NO! At least they are still human. Our true enemies, those who have manipulated our lives like toys, are none other than these supernatural beings that lurk among us." she declared, stroking the silver fur of the wolf that surrounded her like a growing barrier.
"That is why, my brothers, I ask for your support—to shift our attack against those who believe themselves superior gods to our pure race! I do not ask you to cast aside your bitterness and rancor over our past defeats. But I do ask you to think of the long-term future! For the future I see is one where we are nothing but slaves in the shadow war of these beings—angels and demons—as real as this Werwolf—who use us as pawns in their games."
The silence that fell over the warehouse was heavy, as though the air had turned to concrete. The child's soulless black eyes stared at the crowd, who, without realizing it, had stopped breathing. A single cough—short, sharp, almost comically out of place—echoed like thunder against the rusted metal walls.
"Meine Kameraden..."
The childish voice, sickeningly sweet, rang out with crystal clarity through the speakers, as if the gods of sound themselves ensured no one could escape hearing it. The contrast was grotesque: words of military command spilling from a frail, scrawny body, almost cartoonish in its absurdity.
"For more than sixty years... you have wandered like stray dogs. Without direction. Without leadership. Trapped in a world that only laughs at you."
Some of those present lowered their eyes in shame, as if struck by an invisible hand.
"But now..." — the child's eyes gleamed like hungry black holes, devouring the courage of the men — "now, the Wheel of Fate has turned again. The flame that once burned in the heart of Germany… no, in the heart of the entire world… has been reborn!"
A nervous murmur spread. Michael and Cristoff exchanged tense glances, as though standing before something that should not exist. The dark-skinned giant at the child's side remained motionless, a wall of flesh and silence.
The child slowly raised his left arm, revealing the red-stitched swastika. The gesture, though made by such a small body, made the knees of many men tremble.
"I have returned… not by choice. But because even the gods feared my absence."
A deadly silence followed. No laughter, no sighs. It was impossible to tell whether they were convinced or merely hypnotized by the grotesque spectacle.
Then, the child smiled. A small, thin smile that did not match the grandeur of his speech.
"And before we go any further… could someone please..." — he adjusted the microphone that was a few inches too high for his mouth — "lower this damn thing? I'm barely one meter twenty, not a magician."
The remark cracked the heavy atmosphere like lightning. Some laughed nervously, others grew even more tense, unsure if laughter was allowed. The contrast between the solemn speech and the childish complaint only deepened the surreal mood.
The little Führer, unfazed, snapped his fingers. The Captain moved for the first time, adjusting the stand with absurd delicacy for someone of his size. Once finished, he returned to his statue-like posture.
The child cleared his throat again, this time more impatiently:
"As I was saying..."
And the black eyes shone once more, swallowing the sanity of the room. Only then did the people begin to look more seriously at the child on the platform.
Cristoff glanced fearfully at Michael, only to see the normally impassive man wearing a wide smile and jubilant eyes. Somehow, everyone felt that this Fourth Reich would be something entirely new and different from the ones before—whether they accepted the changes in its ideology or not.
◇◇◇
³
"FUCK!"
A loud crash echoed in the isolated room, caused by a chandelier hurled against the wall by the panting young Führer.
"Bunch of Hurensohn (sons of bitches) and Arschloch (assholes), idiots swarming me without salvation—GRRRAAAH!"
Since the end of the meeting, Adolf had locked himself in his room. After demanding privacy, his calm facade collapsed. He had literally declared a new Reich—and worse still, against supernatural beings!
"Dummkopf! But—Enough! At least this will stop them from attacking minorities. Even if, in the end, they serve only as cannon fodder! While I find a way to reach the higher ranks of the factions. Demons and the Fallen are the best option!"
He muttered in quick succession, slumping into the small armchair. His plan was simple, though far from ideal. Thinking too hard on it now would only bring headaches, so summarizing it as such was the best option. To redirect the hatred of these lunatics toward something non-human might be the best move, especially since any other "reform" would be seen as an insult to his "former self," Hitler. Not that he held any regard for human scum, but dealing with this was his priority now.
All of it so that, in the end, he could secure a comfortable place where none of the factions could enslave him. Especially with the power he had reincarnated with—something that, if discovered, would threaten his prosperous life.
At least, as the leader and voice, he would be far from the spotlight and front lines.
"Scheiße…" he muttered under his breath. "I should've asked for a stool on that stage. Having to stare up at those bastards from below was humiliating."
The Captain remained silent. His crimson eyes showed no emotion.
Hitler Jr. let out a deep sigh.
"Adolf Hitler… Hah! They really believed it. I could have claimed to be the reincarnation of Snow White and they still would have saluted." He scratched his smooth, childish chin. "It's amazing how easy it is to fool a bunch of desperate fools."
Standing and walking toward a door attached to the small office, the Captain opened it, revealing a room filled with wooden crates. Inside were maps, old flags, moldy books, and even some original uniforms of the Third Reich.
The albino picked up an armband with the swastika symbol and examined it with disdain.
"The world hates me for this. This simple emblem turned me into a universal symbol of evil." He raised the armband, staring at it. His abyssal black eyes reflected nothing. "If only they knew that, deep down, I'm just an unlucky guy with terrible Karma points."
He put the armband back and clapped his hands, brushing off the dust.
"Very well. If they want a new Reich, I'll give them one. But it will be a Reich on my terms. If I have to live in Hell, then at least I'll write my own rules, without this garbage about inferior human races! We'll all be human together."
He turned to the Captain, who remained motionless like a statue.
"Are you with me, Captain? Even knowing that I'll slaughter beings like you just to keep myself safe?"
A dark, empty abyss met a deep, blood-red gaze. And then, with a simple nod, the young reincarnate had his answer.
"Thank you… it's always good to count on you… Millenium Captain: Hans Gunsche.."