"When the world teeters upon the precipice of the abyss, when the soil drinks only blood and the air carries only the rot of plague, a Savior shall arise. He shall tread upon the old world to birth the new."
For decades, I believed those words. Time after time, my choices connected like threads in a tapestry I alone could see. The decisions I made, the paths I carved—they all led toward the mantle of the chosen. And when the world's suffering reached its peak, I acted.
To create a paradise, I had to become a monster. To bring 100% peace, I had to eliminate the 40% of humanity that thrived on chaos. I lost my family. I lost Maria, the only woman who ever saw the man behind the crown. In the end, I succeeded. I built a world without discrimination. A world without hunger. A paradise built on a foundation of sun-bleached bones.
I thought that was what it meant to be a hero.
Year 3040 july 6
"Supreme One!"
The voice broke my reverie. I was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window of the Zenith Spire, looking out over the glittering, peaceful capital I had built.
I turned. A man in a sharp, charcoal suit bowed deeply. He was my personal attendant, a man who had served me for a decad.
My memory of my own name… hazy. Perhaps it had faded with the endless wars, the unending responsibility. Names seemed trivial compared to the weight of a world I had conquered.
"The High Council is ready to begin, Supreme One," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
The Council. Twenty-four individuals. The warriors, tacticians, and geniuses who had crawled through the trenches of the Unification Wars with me. Today was the third Grand Council meeting since the global peace treaty was signed.
"I despise these meetings," I muttered, my voice raspy. "The paperwork is more exhausting than the war ever was."
I shed my heavy, ceremonial robes and changed into a crisp, white suit. It was the color of purity. The color of the paradise I had promised. As I walked toward the Great Hall, the heavy obsidian doors groaned open.
Standing there was Philip.
My heart eased for a moment. Philip was my most trusted aid, my right hand, and the only man who had been with me since the very first day of the rebellion. He looked sharp, his posture perfect, but his eyes were fixed on the floor.
"Welcome, Supreme One," Philip said solemnly.
I clapped a hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of affection.
"Philip, how many times must I tell you? When it's just us, talk to me casually. Like the old days in the muddy trenches of the North."
Philip's lips twitched into a small, fragile smile.
"After this boring session is over, let's sneak out," I said, leaning in. "We'll go to that old tea shop the Granny runs in the lower district. I need a break from being a god."
Philip didn't reply. He simply turned and led the way into the hall.
The Great Hall was a masterpiece of architectural intimidation. The twenty-four members of the Council sat in a perfect circle of elevated stone seats. I walked to the center, the focal point of the world's power. Usually, my arrival was met with cheers or the frantic scratching of pens.
Today, there was only silence.
Twenty-four pairs of eyes stared at me. There was no admiration in them. Only a heavy, suffocating grief. A cold shiver raced down my spine—the same instinct that had saved my life on a hundred battlefields.
"Something is wrong," I whispered to myself.
The eldest council member, stood up. His voice echoed in the vast chamber.
"Supreme One... you have done the impossible. You have created a paradise"
He paused, his hand shaking.
"Now... it is time for you to rest."
My brow furrowed.
"What? Rest "
I froze.
A sudden weakness gripped my body. My vision blurred. My mind raced. Poison? I thought desperately. The cold, creeping numbness coiled around my chest. And then—a flash of steel.
Poison?
My throat felt like it was filled with glass. I felt a presence behind me..
Philip.
Schlick.
The sound of steel sliding through flesh and bone was sickeningly loud in the silent hall. I felt the cold blade of a combat knife sink into my back, piercing my heart with surgical precision.
I gasped, a spray of crimson hitting the white marble floor. I turned my head with agonizing slowness. Philip was holding the hilt. His face was a mask of agony, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Why...?" I wheezed.
As if it were a signal, the other twenty-four members descended from their pedestals. One by one, they approached. They weren't moving like assassins; they were moving like mourners.
Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.
Twenty-four blades. They stabbed me not with hatred, but with a terrifying, weeping necessity. They were sobbing. Some whispered "I'm sorry," while others couldn't even look me in the eye as they twisted the steel.
They picked up my broken, leaking body and carried me to the central throne—the Seat of the World. They sat me down, my white suit now completely soaked in a horrific, brilliant red.
I looked at them through the haze of death. My friends. My brothers-in-arms. My betrayers. They were all on their knees now, wailing, their foreheads pressed against the cold floor. They had killed me because a "Supreme One" has no place in a world of peace. A dictator—even a benevolent one—is a shadow over a sunlit world. I was the last remnant of the old, violent era.
To keep the peace, the monster had to die.
I felt a strange sense of peace. It was inevitable, wasn't it
"Philip," I croaked.
Philip crawled to my feet, clutching my hand.
"I'm here."
"Give me... a cigarette," I whispered.
With trembling hands, he pulled one from his pocket, placed it between my lips, and flicked his lighter. I took a long, dragging pull. The smoke tasted like the earth and the wind.
"My people," I said, my voice fading to a ghost of a sound.
"Protect this world. Don't let the blood I spilled be for nothing."
As one, the twenty-four voices roared through their tears: "WE SHALL!"
I closed my eyes. The cigarette fell from my fingers. The darkness rushed in to claim me.
I'm coming, Maria, I thought. But I doubt I'll find you. Someone who killed 40% of the world doesn't go where the angels are.
I expected the void. I expected the fire of hell.
Instead, I saw a light.
It wasn't a soft, welcoming glow. It was a searing, blinding gold. It felt heavy, like it was pressing against my very soul. Is this judgment? I wondered. Is the universe finally going to squeeze the life out of me for my sins?
The pressure was unbearable. It felt like my entire body was being crushed through a narrow tube. My bones felt soft, my mind was swimming in fluid. I tried to scream, to defy the heavens one last time, but all that came out was a gargled, wet thumping in my ears.
Suddenly, the cold air hit me.
Bright, artificial light burned my new eyes. A cacophony of sounds—clinking metal, muffled voices, and a rhythmic drumming—assailed my senses.
"Push, my Lady! Just one more!"
Lady? Push? What is happening?
I tried to reach for my power, for the strength that had leveled cities. But my arms were weak, tiny, and covered in a thick, sticky substance.
Then, a pair of giant, gloved hands lifted me into the air.
"Congratulations, my Lady! It is a healthy boy!"
A boy?
I opened my mouth to demand answers, to ask where I was, But the only sound that escaped my throat was a high-pitched, piercing wail.
Waah! Waah!
I looked down at my hands. They were small. Wrinkled. Pink.
I, the Supreme One, the conqueror of Earth, the architect of paradise... was a screaming infant.
What… what is this place?.