Humans are pitiful creatures.
They kill, and they are killed. They devour, and they are devoured. They massacre, and they are massacred.
Beings like humans deserve neither sympathy nor hatred. They are fools—creatures who slaughter one another simply for the sake of slaughter. Nothing more, nothing less.
Because of that, wars, genocides, and massacres of every kind are nothing more than the fruit of human stupidity. They are not tragedies worthy of being called catastrophes.
A true catastrophe is something brought forth by God.
Nothing else.
Consider the soldiers who fought throughout history—especially those who died in wars without purpose or meaning. You must know the type I speak of. Warriors capable of slaughtering millions without the slightest stain upon their conscience. Creatures so cruel that people could only describe them as monsters.
During the Second World War, countless people had become beasts.
It was almost amusing.
The difference between humans and the demons of old stories had grown thin—no, not thin. Impossible to distinguish.
Beasts killed as they pleased.
Devoured as they pleased.
Massacred as they pleased.
And yet that war—so often called a catastrophe, the greatest tragedy in human history—was nothing more than the consequence of human stupidity. It was not something God had caused.
Not because the Lord is kind or merciful.
But because true catastrophes are far more magnificent.
Why am I telling you all this, my dear reader?
Oh, that is simple.
Because this story begins exactly there.
With the meeting between a man… and God.
And with the birth of what would later be called:
The Great Catastrophe of Humanity.
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The year was 1939.
A young man walked through a corridor that resembled a prison. His steps were calm, measured, almost serene. Yet despite his youth, something about him carried a quiet menace, as if violence itself slumbered beneath his skin.
In his hand he held a sword.
An unusual blade—strange, almost divine in its presence.
He was in Berlin, inside a place hidden from the public eye. Few even knew it existed. Only the higher ranks of the military were aware of this facility.
The reason for his visit was simple.
He had come to meet a man who had been captured only recently.
It had been ordered that no torture be inflicted upon the prisoner. In truth, the man he was about to meet was considered far too valuable to be treated as an ordinary captive.
He was something far more important.
An asset.
A weapon no nation possessed… and no nation should ever have been able to possess.
Rudolf Hess himself had demanded that the man be handled directly.
Which raised a simple question.
Why was someone so valuable imprisoned here?
This was a place where torture was routine. Where prisoners were left without food for days until they resembled walking skeletons. Where starvation reduced men to animals—hungry enough to devour one another if given the chance.
Why would someone so important be kept here?
It made no sense.
Yet when the young man finally reached the cell he had been directed toward, he saw the prisoner waiting within.
And in that moment…
He understood.
The being before him was just like him.
A creature that existed beyond the natural boundaries of the world.
A monster capable of twisting the very logic of reality.
For the first time in my life, the young man thought, my blade is excited.
The sword in his hand seemed to tremble slightly, as though it had finally encountered something worthy of its edge.
Unable to contain his curiosity, the young man spoke.
"Who exactly are you?"
The prisoner smiled—a relaxed, almost playful expression upon his face.
Despite his human appearance, something about him felt profoundly wrong.
"I have been called many names throughout history," the man replied lightly. "Saint-Germain. Merlin. Though you may call me Friedrich."
He tilted his head slightly, as though recalling a pleasant memory.
"In truth, I am nothing more than a traveler who happened to be passing through… and somehow found himself arrested. Ah… my luck is quite remarkable, wouldn't you say?"
A simple man?
The young soldier did not believe a single word.
How could he?
The being standing before him might very well be the only existence in the world capable of killing him.
Yet Friedrich continued to smile, as though meeting another creature like himself meant absolutely nothing.
"And you?" Friedrich asked casually. "Perhaps you are famous in this era, but I must apologize. I do not pay much attention to the affairs of this world."
The young man answered without hesitation.
"Ascherson Ansbert. Member of the SS. Soldier of the battalion serving Reinhard Heydrich… and the current wielder of Schwarzklinge."
Friedrich's gaze drifted toward the sword.
For several seconds he said nothing, simply observing it with quiet interest. Then a faint smile spread across his lips.
"Schwarzklinge… what a fascinating artifact. A very high-level one, too."
He chuckled softly.
"If you wished, you could massacre the entirety of Berlin tonight, and no one would be capable of stopping you."
His eyes returned to Ansbert.
"So why serve those weaker than yourself?"
He leaned slightly closer to the bars, his voice playful.
"Hmm… perhaps you're the sort of man who enjoys being dominated by others? The type who would kneel before a beautiful woman?"
Ansbert felt no need to respond.
The mockery did not anger him. If anything, he was simply satisfied.
Satisfied that he had finally met another being like himself.
Without another word, Ansbert produced a small golden key and tossed it through the bars of the cell.
Friedrich caught it effortlessly.
"You are now a member of the SS," Ansbert said calmly. "Under my supervision."
His gaze sharpened.
"You will obey me. You will serve Reinhard Heydrich… and you will sacrifice yourself for Heinrich Himmler if necessary."
Friedrich examined the key in his hand.
His smile never faded.
The idea of being used as a weapon seemed to amuse him more than anything else.
"Very well," he said.
Then he bowed his head slightly.
"O Ansbert, I swear loyalty to you… until the day of my death."
He swore loyalty.
But he never said he would serve the SS.
He never said he would serve Reinhard Heydrich.
Nor Heinrich Himmler.
Only me.
I should have realized, from that very moment, what kind of man he truly was.
But I understood it far too late.
And perhaps…
That was for the best.
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