“Is it hate, or, is it peace– that inspires such debauchery amongst the people? Is it free will, or, is it the bliss of ignorance– that leads them into the arms of, nonsensical beliefs and ideologies?

Or, simply, it is nothing but the tainted hubris of man, itself, that guides their foul minds, towards lackadaisical ends.

In truth, I, too, am unsure. Perhaps, it is all of these, or mayhaps, it is none of them. Maybe, it is our existence, in of itself, that guides our frail minds to such heretical thoughts.

Some, even now, might be questioning my intentions– regarding, what enlightenment I wish to bring with my words.

I wish to do naught more than bring into question, the allegations levied against me; and, to a greater extent, against mine bloodline.

There are a great many fools, who dare to taint my blood with allegations. These heretics claim, despite history being witness to the contrary, that my ancestors were borne of Willow's womb, and not of Ishtar's.

A claim, I merely scoff at; for, you cannot teach a fool, how to be wise– for, an old dog, can never be taught new tricks.”

-Lilac's speech against claims of illegitimacy

DREAM AT TWILIGHT

It is said, that a man's heart must break only twice; once at the death of his family and for the second, in face of his greatest failure. But that belief, respectfully, is entirely subjective. Some men are, merely, born with a tough mettle to them; they are those, whose hearts can be shattered irreparably innumerable times, and inspite of this, these beasts of the Goddess’ making would march ever onwards. Their tired soulless eyes, their broken hearts and their pledged souls– focused on but one task, the longevity and perpetual survival of this Reich.

Vanity, be banished and Pride, be forgotten; I am one of these men.

The very concept of a life, not pledged to her name, was alien; for– what is life, if it is not spent in penance for a man's sins. What is life, if not enlightening others to the glory of her path?

Some, men and women of Liberty– to be specific, would call such a life, ‘Meaningless’. But, who would teach these ignorant buffoons, that it was him and these supposed ‘fanatical’ legions, that guarded them; and, had been doing so, for more than a millennium.

It was, therefore, spoken rightly by the Goddess, that some can never be taught. Some, men or women, are born restricted; their mind, unable to comprehend the vast and all encompassing depth of reality. Other's, however, as pointed out by the Goddess, are merely blind by choice; such men or women, are simply fools who were never taught better.

It is the latter, that he wishes to enlighten. For the former, according to his vain mind, are akin to apes– content, to live in their own piece of imagined reality. He would not force them, he simply couldn't be bothered to force them. It would be unnecessary work. Simple logic, really. Nothing, too hard to understand about it.

He was a simple man, afterall; a mere ant, infront of the endless majesty of his Goddess.

Dodging the swaying corpse, which hung from the makeshift gallows, a scowl of wild disgust twisted his face.

“My Lord!” The soldier on guard, saluted him. Leonidas backhanded him, with an intense scorching force; the soldier fell onto the ground, likely unconscious. Pathetic.

As he, entered the small cottage, the other soldiers snapped to attention– broken from their holistic meditation.

“Fucking cunts! Did I tell ya, fuckers, to snap to attention?!” He roared, gray eyes swirling in a rageful inferno. Disrespect, it was something, he hated with a passion. It filled his mouth with ash and blood.

“Sir! No, sir!”

“Damn right, I didn't! Now, back to ya fucking meditation. I will not tolerate any disrespect to the Goddess, in my House!”

It feels, as if none understood his devotion to Her. It feels, equally horrifying yet fouly pleasing to the mind. Horrifying– for, lack of devotion to Her, would in turn mean, lack of devotion to the Empress. And, pleasing, well isn't it pleasing to men and women of all birth, to know that they're their Goddess’ closest?

It is the new bloods, methinks, it is them who are the so called ‘Freewilled’, A certain note of pleasant disgust fills his core. Freewilled or not, it is them, in the end, who shall face the eternity of Hellfire. And, he would make no further attempts of dissuading them from their dark path of damnation.

A guide can, afterall, merely point the way.

It is, exactly, what he does; Point the way, the righteous way.

The cottage was a meager little thing, built on the side of a pleasantly gracious stream that flowed directly from the mountaintops nearby. A thick haunting forest surrounded the cottage, protecting it from prying eyes; much akin to the knights of old. It was built with an artistic touch, everything blending so well together, almost as if these materials– these paints, were lost siblings embracing eachother after years of separation. The interior was, likewise, breathtaking. Packed full of treasures, older than time, itself.

Although, only a few remained. The rest, having been ransacked by them. A noname shepherd, on an equally backwater planet, having hold of such artifacts was unacceptable. And, though, it would be a shame to have this cottage be burnt and destroyed; this, was the order of business.

The musical shrieks of wild abandon, begs for mercy and broken prayers uttered with bruising lips, reached his ears; a delightful shiver wracked his soul.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

As the door flew open, a most beautiful sight greeted his hungry eyes– it left him, positively, uneasy and squirming in his boots. Another hoarse scream, this one louder than the last, broke the warm fog over his mind.

Tied to a chair, was a roughed-up man, roughly of 30 to 35 years of age, wearing the most unassuming clothes– if one didn't know better, they would have assumed him to be an equally unimpressive man. Alas, he knew better. The common rags on his person, were a mere disguise, a cosplay.

The bloodshot eyes of the man, glanced up at him, and, inspite of the innumerable bruises and cuts on his being and soul, an angry sneer bloomed on the man's face– twisting it into the very picture of hatred. As, Leonidas neared him, the man glancing through the swollen eyelids, spat into the ground. Meant to be, undoubtedly, an insult. However, it felt more pitiful in a way. It made laughter bubble up in his throat.

Hilarious, the way, a man can remain so steadfast in his ways. No matter how foul, they might be.

The soldier, standing beside the man, punched him for the insolence; sensing the incoming beating, Leonidas raised a hand. A dead man, would do no good to him.

He knelt by the man's side, his knees popping and sighing in relief, “Ahh, yer a tough man, aintcha. I, am usually impressed by such a, delicious, display of tenacity and tolerance, however, this is haardlyy the time for this… shit, man. Ya gotta speak, man. Since, I can't do shit for ya, if you don't speak.” He pointed to the guards beside the man, and spoke in a low conspiratorial voice, “These guys, man, you don't wanna see.. what fucked up shit, they be capable of. That's why, I am yer ally heree, just speak and you'll be outta here, pronto!”

The man mumbled in response, something pitiful that made him chuckle. He leant into the man, straining his ear to hear the words.

A burst of pain, burning pain, wracked his skull. Fuck! Fuck! His hand ghosted over his ear.

“Fuck, you!” The man groaned, chewing on his ear.

Fucking savage!

Leonidas roared with a great burning rage, and lunged at the man, his fists pounding the savage’s skull in; feeling the, pathetic, bones creaking and shrieking against his fist, filled him with a great rejoicing passion. The feeling reflected, itself, in the blows– the sturdy bones breaking and shattering at the continued brutality. Soon, they too caved in, the man's face turning unrecognisably broken, akin to a painting of blood and gore;

Even, the Goddess shall not recognise his filthy face, he thought with a sickening glee dancing in his heart. The blows, decreasing in intensity, as they struck not but an unholy mush, an unholy orgy of fleshy brain and cranium.

Eventually, the rage cooled, the fog of all encompassing, maddening, inferno receded; being replaced by a serene and cold ocean of logic. He sighed at the handiwork. A dead man, would've been a waste; he had said it, himself, for the Goddess' sake! And, here he was, straddling the man's unrecognisably shattered corpse.

Uncivilized.

He got up, and in a tone, oh so calm, as if nothing had even occurred, he spoke with a sniff, “Clean this shit, up. And, fucking scorch this shithole,”

Taking his leave, from the room, and the cottage, itself. A sigh broke through his lips. A step in the wrong direction. He needed answers, not body bags, yet, it seemed that his straying heart found such an idea, impossible to stomach.

And, to top it all off, as if failure was not enough, he had lost an ear. If the mongrel had wanted, a last meal, he could have asked nicely at least. Although, I must say, he did have a curious tongue, to stomach an ear as a last meal, He thought as morbid laughter echoed through his being. The laughter, so intense that it forced him to his knees.

There, he lay kneeling before Her; lost, in an empty, grieving, meditation.

“My Lord?” A melodious voice chirped, somewhere near.

“Yes?” He croaked out, the very act being revolting, sending shivers to wrack through his ailing body.

“The book, my Lord. It has been found,”

The words, as if a holy verse sung by the Goddess, rejuvenated his being. He stumbled onto his legs, almost falling a dozen times before he could stand tall– the only reason, that the tired groaning legs did not give in from under him, was the fact that he had the soldier’s shoulders in a vice grip; using them, as a crutch.

“Take me, there. Show me. Show me!,” He commanded. The soldier accepted it, with a shaky nod, her soft violet eyes shining with unease. Nonetheless, she guided him, like a true dedicated servant of the Reich.

What forbidden secrets, would it contain? What revelations, would be had? How many curtains of lies and falsities, would be burnt away? How many buried truths, would be finally uncovered?

The potential for change, for revolutionizing the understanding of history, itself, was immense. The possibilities were endless. And, the thought of being the one who had uncovered such, primordial, secrets sent a tingling shiver of excitement down his spine.

The soldier, finally paused in front of a feeble, fragile, chest– it's bottom half, covered in mud and grime.

“The.. the book is- is in it?”

No sooner had the soldier nodded, than he disentangled himself from the soldier’s supportive embrace, falling pathetically onto the ground akin to a flopping fish. The soldier burst forward like a bullet, to help him but he held his hand. He couldn't accept help, he had to be the one to open it… he had to open it, himself.

Crawling, with the likeness of a dying animal, he gripped the enigmatic chest in his hands; running them, along its length, trying ceaselessly to reassure his, doubtful mind.. that, yes, it was real. It was, in vain. The cold logical mind, would naught believe it, till his hungry lustful eyes had gazed upon the ancient secrets.

“Th- the key! Give it, to me!” He sputtered, spit flying out of his mouth. The soldier tossed the key and he swiped it from the air.

The key, itself, was plain. Too plain, entirely underwhelming. But, perhaps, that was intentionally done. Yes! Yes, that was the reason.

“Goddess bless me,” he murmured a prayer, and inserted the key into the welcoming lock, turning it vainly but the bloody thing wouldn't budge! Like a rabid dog, Leonidas clawed at the lock, slamming the key from side to side, as if he was operating a pendulum, even trying to pry the lock off; nothing would work.

With a roar, he slammed his head onto the lock, and when that, obviously, did not work, he began pounding it with his fists. Nothing will stop me, nothing!, he growled in his mind.

Oh! What a pitiful sight!

However, as if decreed by the Goddess's will, the lock broke under his assault, unlatching itself from the chest and falling limply with a cry of defeat onto the mud.

He laughed deliriously, “Finally.. hehehe! At long last- oh, at long, fucking, last! Hehehe” And with a great resounding holler of glory, he threw the chest open.

“Hehehe.. heh.. he. Wh- wha what.. what?” Profound silence greeted his horrified words; the silence mocked and jeered at his lofty dreams. As twilight descended in the horizon, bathing the world in shades of burning jeering red and tense mocking lilacs, his shaking hands dipped into the chest.

“What.. what is that!” The soldier shouted in horror, the previous chipper having disappeared, entirely, from her voice.

An apt reaction, for within his shaking and fearful hands, was the head of Inquisitor Leonardo– bolted onto which was a letter written with blood; Leonardo’s blood, his mind supplied, frozen in stark horror.

A sob wracked his body, as he read the letter, followed by a terrifying shriek of rage.

Wish for a dream at twilight, and, a nightmare of the foulest order, thine accursed self shall receive. This is, thy final warning. Stay away.

-Pleiades