The era of humanity was beginning to gather momentum. Dozens of city-states quarreled around the rich, fertile area Adam had made his home. Rich, prospering cities, or for some defenseless fat targets. Ozymandias Arelius, the First Emperor, saw leaderless cities, drowning in anarchy. He conquered them all, but fell in the end to the corrupting influence of power, a chilling reminder of the danger of the peak. He was put down like a mad dog by those he had once called friends and brothers. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. I only hope I can avoid his fate.
The rain poured down in fat, warm drops, dousing the land. Ozymandius trudged forward, the sleigh he dragged behind him smoothing gliding over the slick rocks. Lightning flashed, a nova of brilliant blue light, illuminating the gruesome contents on the sleigh: a woman's body, withered and diseased. Ozymandius scanned the landscape, with dead red eyes, looking for the distinct eight pillars that marked his destination.
When he failed to find them, he lowered his head and trudged on.
Hours later, in another place, Ozymandius once more lifted his head, lightning striking just in time to make his eyes glow, and reveal the pillars before him. Pillars was a generous word to describe the small piles of rocks that marked the burial ground of his family.
But to him they were pillars, looming larger than the sky itself.
Silently, he made his way forward, and setting the sleigh down, unslung the shovel from over his shoulder. He attacked the rocky ground with a dull rage, too practiced to truly be born of passion. The rock gave way before him, the gentle rain carrying the mud away from his tanned skin as quickly as it could gather.
His tears joined it, swept away in the cleansing rain.
When he was done, he walked back over to the sleigh, and reverently lifted the body of his dead mother. He averted his eyes as he carried her over, unable to gaze upon her withered features.
He still remembered when she had been beautiful.
He slowly lowered her into the grave, right beside his eight dead brothers. He hoped they would reunite in the afterlife, if such a thing even existed. After taking a second to let the water wash her, he returned the extracted ground to its rightful palace, burying her.
He carefully arranged another pile of rocks over her grave, this one taller than any that had come before.
And then he was done.
And then he was alone.
He collapsed to his knees, the weight of reality finally striking him, as heavy as the mountain he stood upon. He reached deep inside, searching for the will to continue.
And he found rage.
“Why her! She was so kind! All she wanted was to live! WHY COULDN'T SHE!”
He forced himself to his knees. I wondered if he could see the world warping around him, giving way before his apocalyptic rage.
“WHY!?”
He raged for hours, and when his rage finally gave out, he collapsed back to his knees once more. The world pushed down with redoubled force, and this time he had no rage to seek refuge in. He felt something break within him, the crack like the world breaking.
Paths once hidden opened up before him, their possibilities leading deep into the uncertain future. But he only had eyes for one.
When he looked back into the rain, his eyes were calm, but I shuddered at the spark I saw deep within them.
“Never again” he whispered, “Nobody shall ever suffer again.”
He basked in the gentle rains for hours, and when he opened his eyes, I felt his path solidify
That was the birth of the Mad Emperor.
Stolen story; please report.
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Ozymandias laughed, raising his glass in sync with the rest. He felt the warmth suffusing him, like fire in his veins.
It was almost enough to drive back the chill of the void within.
His comrades cheered, Brucet particularly loud among them, and the men below them joined in, their collective voices shaking the roof of their great hall, letting a few drops from the rainy night in. One landed on Ozymandias’ cheek, its downward motion seized him and plunging his mind into depths best left untouched.
Back to that night in the rain.
He scrambled for his comrades’ familiar warmth, and seizing it like a lifeline, pulled himself up. Visions passed by him on his ascent, the path that connected his orphaning and present.
He saw his shivering form stumbling back into the city, devoid of all except the burning desire to change it. To ensure that no one would ever suffer like he had.
In retrospect, his early actions had been sloppy and badly executed. Stealing royal funds to give back to the poor. Threatening rich doctors into treating the lowest of the low. He was lucky the embers of rebellion had found him before the king's men.
They had taught him the true root of the evil, of corrupt kings and fat nobles. They taught him the arts of war and command both, and when he was ready, he had taken the reins.
And now here he was, at the festival of Twilight, preparing to strike the king down from his hallowed throne.
Reality came roaring back like a flame, and Ozymandias shot to his feet, his sudden motion provoking a hush over the hall. Words poured out of his throat, a thousand sentiments tossed aside, leaving one left.
“When my mother died, the last of my blood, I kneeled in the rain. I screamed and I cried and I mourned. But it did not change the fact she was gone. That I was alone. And in her wake, I had one thought. Never again.”
He panned his gaze over the hushed hall, feeling the echoed pain. He was far from the only one that had lost someone.
“Never again shall we lose loved ones to the greed of a callous king. Never again shall we kneel over their graves and weep. Never again shall we starve. Never again shall we be denied the service of a doctor. Never again shall we be called to kneel at the feet of lesser men. Never. Again.”
He paused, letting his words sink in.
“They say that in rebellion we will find our ends. But I say, let the end come! For we are the end! The end of corruption! The end of poverty! The end of suffering itself! Come dawn, a new age will begin, a better age! A age of prosperity and equality and peace!”
He grabbed his glass, raising it above his head.
“So, let us drink to that future! Let us drink to the end!.”
He drank his entire glass in a single swallow and threw it aside, tilting his head back to let out a mighty roar.
Lost in visions of glory and the void seemed tiny,
And yet it persisted.
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The next morning, the day of the Eternal Sun, they stormed the royal palace with the sun at their backs. Ozymandias led from the front, his sword seeming to split into a dozen, butchering all that stood in his way. The throne room gave way to mighty kick, Ozymandias strode in, his frame burning with glory, concepts of war and rebellion making him into a god.
The king cowered upon his throne, screaming shrilly at his soldiers to defend him, but Ozymandias waved them aside with a single hand.
“Who… who are you?!” the king stuttered, “what do you think you’re doing?!”
Ozymandias took a single step forward, the movement moving him halfway across the throne room and allowing his soldiers to swarm behind him.
“I am Ozymandias, the Will of the People, King of Peasants. And I have come to punish you for the crimes you have committed.”
Another step took him right in front of the king, and seizing him by the hair, Ozymandias slowly dragged him down that richly carpeted floor, his men parting like water around him.
By the time they reached their destination, a large open square in the city, it was packed with people trying to figure out what was going on.
The murmuring gave way to shocked gasps as Ozymandias emerged, dragging the struggling king behind him.
“This man,” he intoned, “has robbed us. Wronged us. Killed us. All while claiming it was for our own good. What should his fate be?”
Shocked silence descended on the square, and not a soul dared to do as much as breathe. Then, like a vibrant spark born of cold steel, a little boy stepped forward, tears streaming down his face.
“They… They killed my parents.” He swallowed. “They should suffer the same fate.”
Just like that, the dam broke, and the rest joined in calling for the king's death. Ozymandias hauled the sobbing king to his knees in front of the crowd, and forced his chin up.
“Look at them!” he snarled. “Those you have wronged, slain and starved! Do you have anything to say to them?!”
The king only sobbed harder.
Ozymandias hoisted him up and stared into the king's eyes, illuminated by the flashes of madness in his own. The king, unable to withstand it, shut his eyes tight.
Ozymandias scoffed, and threw him down. With an almost reverent grace, he drew his bronze blade and raised it to the sky.
“Death to false kings” he intoned.
A sword carved a smooth arc through the azure sky, and the blood of kings watered the rocks.
The start of a new era.