Power.

Is it a curse?

A right?

A privilege?

A necessity?

What does it mean to have power?

Knight Berlin, widely considered the most powerful man in Germania, would frequently ask this question. Especially now, on this day when the skies are as dim as the misty eastern forests.

It was the exact day of the empire's fall, and what a horrific day it was.

He had an answer in mind. In fact, he already boasted about it to his people. Now, though, he's not so sure.

Reflected in Berlin's eyes were the ruins of a home he swore to protect. Words could not fully express the scenery he witnessed, the deafening downpour he heard, nor the crushing despair he felt.

Breathless as he was, the rancid stench of the crimson downpour intruded into his nose and wriggled his guts like a worm swimming in salt. Every drop of blood on his skin was hateful, and the sound... not so much. It was even quite nice—a calming melody amidst a dark, somber, metallic air. It helped him forget and think at the same time.

Berlin walked a few steps forward, then stopped. He stepped on something that, strangely, resonated with him. What could possibly resonate with a person in a place of ruin?

Anything but good.

At that moment, his heart raced ever so quickly. His hand was shaking, hesitant to dip itself into the gross puddle.

"N-No. There's no way, right?" His laugh was lifeless, like the severed hand he had unconsciously dropped. That was Samantha's hand. She was the love of her life, someone he ate heartily with this morning. Now, the paled knight regurgitated the very same food, forced to mix with the puddle of filth on the ground.

Berlin had to turn his eyes someplace else, or he'd go insane. However, anywhere he looked, there was only more of her body— No, is that torso even hers? Too burly to be. How about that leg? Nay, he slept on her lap far too many times to mistake that for hers.

"My family." He muttered.

He wanted to go home, to close his eyes and sleep, to forget about all of this for a moment. But... even that was no more. It was scattered, strewn everywhere, mixed with the carcasses of innocents.

"My home." His voice cracked. It continued to rain, but perhaps it was for the best. At the very least, his tears would be hidden. Not that there's anyone to witness.

Empire's hope, they said to him.

Power was responsibility, he boasted to them.

Hubris, he thought to himself.

The knight looked up, as it was the only direction that didn't parade the ruins of his home and the corpses of his people. No matter how much he regretted it, their blood still dripped on his face. Begrudgingly, he muttered a question against the gods:

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"Why? What went wrong? What did we do to deserve this?"

The questions were not quite right. They were painted with denial. Their empire too, great as it was, stood atop a pile of corpses. Most of which, he was responsible for.

"Who... did this?"

That too was not right. He knew who it was. Why did he ask so pointlessly?

Nevertheless, the gods flashed a bolt of red lightning briefly in the sky. Everything turned red for a brief moment as if everything was not red enough already. In that moment's span, the answer revealed itself.

Not far from his location, a black figure was distorting the red sea.

It was not some sloppy horror, nor was it a six-legged deformity Berlin usually dealt with. It was shaped just like him— head, torso, and limbs; all smothered in dark blood.

Berlin refused to call it human. No human can stand atop a pile of the dead without wincing even once. Not even him.

"Are you satisfied?" Berlin chuckled. "Tell me! Are you satisfied?!"

The creature did not speak. It opened its mouth, yes, but not a word came out. Strangely enough, it was motionless, never moving an inch. There was a faint glint of emotion in its eyes.

"Look at this guy- Why are you only feeling that way now?!" Berlin scorned. "Are you fucking bipolar, or what? You have NO RIGHT to feel that way!"

The creature—still paused—began to mutter like a child... before laughing like a madman.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO LAUGH EITHER!" Veins popped out of the knight's face. He was tempted to pull his blade out then and there, to slash this monster in front of him as tribute to the dead, to Samantha. Yet, he couldn't. The best he could do was stare daggers at it. It did not seem to have any effect, though. Not that he expected it to have any.

Instead, for the very first time in a long time, the monster finally spoke to him.

"Ah~ Sorry." Its voice was deep, like the void that it was. "Let me ask, have you ever shat a nasty stomach ache out?"

Berlin did not respond, nor laugh. Nevertheless, it continued.

"... It's just that, I'm not feeling guilty. Rather, I feel quite... relieved. Yes, I feel relieved, as if I could finally breathe. "

Berlin was lost in thought for a moment. Then, he chuckled softly.

"... Not even an excuse? Not anything? You... You really are a fucking monster now."

"Heh. You're made of the same bullshit these fuckers are." The creature's foot tapped the corpse beneath it. "Killing you WILL feel good, brother."

"Don't you dare call me that."

Without any further ado, Berlin pulled the sword from his waist. Earlier, he was reluctant. Now, he was melancholic, yet sure. As soon as the glossed blade parted ways with its sheath; runes etched into its fuller glowed a bright gold, much like the gallant knight's blazing eyes. Subsequently, the air felt hotter and heavier. An invisible sphere of unknown force formed around Berlin, bending space and disintegrating every drop of blood that came in contact with it. Crimson mist rose up in the sky afterward.

With a sharp gaze, he breathed deeply.

"Let's get this over with."

With all the fury and the respect he had left for him, Berlin thrusted towards the monster at a speed that froze even light in its place, then stretched it into long and thin strips until even it vanished in the darkness. There was nothing to see, as there was nothing for the eyes to receive in the first place. Through his venture into the void, the knight had only one desire in mind— to pierce the monster's heart.

In the smallest possible frame of progress in which one could exert movement; Berlin's blade, which seemingly teleported, pierced the monster's chest effortlessly.

"There's a special place for you in hell." Berlin spat at its face.

Like a sack of rice, the monster fell to the ground with a crisp thud. Death was cradling its body while blood flowed from the hole in its chest.

Satisfied, Berlin walked away. He looked back once, then never again.

How did the monster feel, right when the darkness was about to swallow it?

The usual— Solitude. What else is there to feel?

They called it- No, they called HIM a destroyer, a murderer, and all manner of depravity. However, were they not the ones who took his heart?

At this point, it did not matter. He was dying, and there was no helping it. As many as he killed, he himself was afraid of death. Who wouldn't be? Anyone who said otherwise was either God or the devil himself. He was neither, he was just a man, no matter how much people denied it.

Indeed, he was afraid... and yet, there was a part of him that embraced it. Longed for it.

This must be due to the flame— his companion amidst the lonesome darkness. He would only meet it whenever he closed his eyes, and all it ever asked for was a single, unchanging demand. Since he fulfilled its wish, then surely, when all fades to black, they will meet, right?

No.

W-where is it?— he was puzzled. His inner flame... it's gone.

Where is it now?