Justice is blind, which supposedly explains why the court of supreme justice was as dimly lit as it was large. Whatever its original intentions, as it stands the vibe it’s actually giving out was that of the lair of the demon king. The intentional choice of using torches as lighting certainly wasn’t helping in setting the mood.

Or that’s James’s opinion, which once again Walter found to be rather trivial. Then again, there was a lot of time to dwell on such trivias, as he stood on trial. Of course his guilt and fate have been decided months ago by the powers that be, but the show must be put on, for the vanity and self assurance of the powers that be if nothing else.

And there’s plenty of vanity to be had. The Grand Inquisitor of His Imperial Majesty has been in thunderous verbal tirade for the better part of two hours of which the court seems to enjoy very much, if periodical applause from the audience was any indication.

After all, it’s a country that worships moral righteousness and justice, and what’s more morally righteous and just than the sentencing and coming death of a traitor? A glorious occasion displaying the highest of justice being served.

“All this has happened before and all this will happen again.” James noted idly, the two of them having long sense tuned out the court proceedings. “Regardless of the world it seems, the nature of humanity being what it is.”

“For some reason, your words here in my mind are oddly comforting.” Walter replied.

“It do be like that.” Was all James responded with, finding himself lacking the words for once. It wasn’t that their imminent death was that preoccupying. Rather, it’s a tinge of regret of his own combativeness up to this point. In a way he was just as stubborn as Walter is.

“BY THE GRACE OF STARS AND THE POWERS VESTED TO ME BY HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH, DAMNATIO MEMORIAE, AND THE COMPLETE OBLITERATION OF THE WICKEDNESS THAT IS YOU SOUL.” The Grand Inquisitor finally reached the end of his self serving ego stroking performance.

A pair of guards brutally yanked Walter, and dragged him out of the court chamber. The scraping of the chains on the floor echoed through the halls, yet not a sound came out of Walter’s mouth, though that minor detail wasn’t noted by anyone. He was far from the only condemned within living memory to have kept his silence in the face of his fate.

It makes no difference, silence or the last pleads of mercy, all will be obliterated and never to be seen again, as is the will of justice. Or of political convenience, the two are one and the same for the powers that be.

Finally they arrived in the dungeon, the dimly lit of the vast room unable to hide, or rather, it amplified the stench of death and despair as intended. Through the darkness the few strands of light caught themselves on a line of meathooks. A Banisher priest stood in a corner, ready to recite the rites of obliteration.

Such is the fate of traitors: to be disposed of like animals, and to be disposed of out of sight, and out of mind.

Without fanfare or fuss the guards wrapped a length of piano wire around Walter’s neck, and with the other end tied to the meat hook it began to lift. The priest began his holy chant of the banishment of evil.

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Slowly the wire bit into the skin and the flesh beneath, and his body twitched and twisted as it left the ground. His vision blurred, then turned red, and finally faded into blackness of nothingness.

Curiously, even as the lifeblood was strangled out of him Walter felt a clarity, as if all the trivial things of life were also being stripped away as well. Just like in the stories of old, such a revelation came far too late.

… or is it? As the two souls finally left the corpse behind and the pitch blackness itself dissolves into an oblivion that could not be described by mere words. It’s a nothingness more empty than vacuum, yet there is he is, with his thoughts, the will to use those thoughts, and that by extension his soul.

And he wasn’t the only one, off in the distance he hears the faint voice of James, singing an unfamiliar song presumably from his original world.

As the battle raged around the city.

Framed by the glows of gunfire.

Those do not bend nor break us.

Apparently we are tougher than armor.

We are not diplomats by vocation.

We prefer our battle brothers.

The commander’s orders are clear.

And a couple of grenades in pouches.

Friends, let us remember these lands.

The glows of fire, the ocean of mountains.

All these troubles of life and of war.

Let’s remember them in the vastness of silence.

Let’s remember how we walked with you into the night.

How the enemy fled from us into the hills.

Witness the rumble of our mighty guns.

Remember, friends, let us remember…

Walter wanted to ask where did that song come from, which James through the void told him it was merely the latest iteration of an old war song from his world, of soldiers who lost despite their best efforts, and that even in defeat and disgrace the world could not rob them of their dignity and self respect. There were many versions, each chronicling a different bad end, but all held their heads high regardless.

“Feeling better?” Walter asked. “About it all?” Though there’s nothing to be seen he felt the presence of James giving a ghostly shrug.

“Nah, just psyching my mind to make some sense of this horrid mess.” James chuckled. “I should have paid attention to the things that mattered.”

“And might those be?” Walter asked.

“The seemingly stupid things that you care about.” James replied. “Everything else, military innovations, body politics, economic maneuvering. All that’s merely rearranging the deckchairs of a boat, whether moving or sinking. The virtues of the individuals transcends all that.” He paused a bit before continuing. “At least when the whole immortal soul and reincarnation thing is actually true.”

“It’s true even when those other things aren’t true.” Walter replied, wondering if James truly get it, or if it’ll take him another few lives to figure that out.

Oh well, only the infinite of the universe will tell.