Chapter 37 - A Ghost and an Iron Heart
Author's Notes: Unedited, so feel free to point out mistakes. I'll return to fix tomorrow.
Enjoy.
It was a silent, grim-faced line of black silhouettes methodically making their way through the rocky pass. A palpable aura of death hung over them like a dark omen, as though they had just come from hell and could only move further down. The only sounds were those of marching steps, interrupted every once a while by the heavier impact of a body hitting the ground after collapsing bonelessly without so much as a single cry.
It was no wonder, for they had been marching without a respite since their last engagement with the enemy. They had managed to slow down their pursuers at the exact moment when they most needed it in order to gather their meager numbers and finally being reinforced by their comrades in arms, though they’d paid dearly for the move. A full half of their remaining ranks had fallen in that battle. However, that had been well within his estimates.
All they needed was precious time. An hour, two at the most, and they would finally be able to collapse into the arms of their brothers in arms. It was all they looked forward to, all they asked for after this journey through damnation itself.
One hour stretched into two. Then three. Five. Until finally twelve hours had passed, and the exhausted, despondent soldiers had long stopped giving even a second glance when yet another of their number fell to the ground, unable to muster the strength necessary to move one more step. The more fortunate among them had simply died on their feet, the very last ounce of their lifeforce spent utterly, and the sound of their bodies hitting the dirt was merely an afterthought.
The the pitiable ones were those who had fallen, yet their eyes were still open. Their arms twitched restlessly but were unable to summon the last bits of strength needed to lift their own guns, let alone depress the trigger in order to end their misery.
Abandoned. We have been abandoned. Worse yet..
The grim thought echoed through his head, but Stahl stubbornly shook the thought off of his mind. He couldn’t bear to finish the thought, to grasp at the repercussions of such.
Either way, he and his men were dead. His son’s final legacy, trampled into the dust in an ignominious hellhole in the middle of nowhere, along with the North Star’s tattered flag. For two months Stahl had soaked his own soul in naphtha and willingly set it aflame to condemn his enemies to a burning inferno as they relentlessly pursued them, bleeding and being bled in turn.
It had all been for nothing.
“Sir! Movement ahead!”
Stahl’s vacant stare suddenly flashed with vigor as his heart finally began to pump blood into his veins once more. His lips parted to give a command for the units to advance, to link with the reinforcements, to demand answers from their commanding officer for their delay.. But as the sound reached his ears, Stahl’s words died in his mouth like the embers of a dying flame under a sheet of icy rain, hissing in their indignant protest.
It was clapping. Slow, deliberate and firm, the sound echoed too loudly against the walls of the canyon around them.
“Well done, Stahl. You truly live up to your name as the Lion of Balboa, the Bulwark of the Empire, General Dominik Stahl, acting commander of the North Star’s Crimson Banner?”
The words drifted over from the area ahead, though it was still too dark to be identified. This voice, however, carried neither the hatred of an enemy nor the warmth of an ally. If anything, it radiated coldness, an aloofness and indifference that burned like dry ice.
“What do you want?” Stahl asked slowly after gathering his thoughts, his eyes flashing around to assess the situation. Not good.
“Ah, straight to the point. A man after my own heart. I agree, my recognizance units tell me that last ambush you staged originally bought you a good half day’s headstart. Excellent maneuver, that pincer move against the Serene Defile. However, with the present condition of your troops, the enemy has made up ground and should arrive within the next four hours or so. If you don’t run yourself down to the ground first, that is.”
Stahl simply glared as his eyes were slowly able to distinguish a vague shape from the shadows ahead.
“Indeed, we are pressed for time. Come, Stahl. Take a seat.”
A gentle light flickered in the darkness as a match sprang to life in front of Stahl. It was applied to a candle resting on top of a small, round table placed in the middle of the rocky pass. As the candle caught the flame and spread its gentle glow, Stahl was finally able to see his interlocutor.
A shockingly young man, with burning dark eyes and unruly black hair, the image he projected was more that of a wild beast than the general that his United Federation uniform proclaimed him to be. This was a man of passion, of power, but more than anything, of danger.
Stahl had ever been a sharp judge of character, and this young man casually draped over the chair in front of him was by far the most dangerous man he had ever come across.
His hairs stood on end and a tingle ran up his spine as he forced himself to slow his breathing. His face gave away nothing as his eyes narrowed even further.
“Declare your intentions, General,” Stahl bit off between gritted teeth.
The man simply spread his hands in front of him, waving them over the table, “I am not your enemy today. Come, the Game of Life awaits.”
Stahl’s impatient reply immediately died in his chest at those last words. Only his family had ever called it the “Game of Life”. How could this outsider know this? Unless..?
His eyes narrowing to mere slits, Stahl waved his men back as he slowly made his way forward and sat himself in front of his host. Between them stood a small, circular table much like the ones he himself carried when on campaign. On top of it rested, shockingly, his own Game of Death board from his personal room, with the pieces intact.
Stahl hissed between his teeth but bit back the question that nearly burst out from his chest. He would not give this bastard the satisfaction of another question which would obviously be ignored. All he could do for now was play his game, because he needed answers badly enough that he was willing to follow the mysterious man’s rules - for the time being.
An arched eyebrow was all the reaction this got from the man, as though Stahl’s reaction had pleased him. It seemed this man was not a person given to entertaining other’s questions, especially those which were deemed unworthy in his eyes.
Such ego, the man was simply unbearable!
Without any further words, the man picked up his first white stone and placed it upon the board. Almost without the need for any thoughts himself, his fingers reached for the all-too familiar stones.
“Of course, there should be stakes. There should always be stakes, else what is the point? Should you win, I will hand over this document to you and detach units as needed until you reach the safety of your own borders.”
The stone almost fell out of Stahl’s hand as he read the top words on the thick stack of papers the man set down beside the game board: “Solemn Resolution and Agreement Between the Greater United Federation and the Sovereign Crissolt Empire”.
As Stahl’s incredulous gaze flew from the document to the man, he shrugged carelessly and continued, “Fully signed and empowered, of course, pending your own signature as an acting ambassador and pursuant to a substantial share of your Cadmite ores.”
The man did not have to explain further. This would mean the end of the war. Not only that, with the United Federation’s protection, the threat of their ambitious, encroaching neighbors would not dare to provoke them further.
“Should you lose, this document will become invalid and I will personally lead all my men away from this disaster posthaste. You have until this candle burns down. Do you understand the stakes, Stahl?”
Stahl could only nod numbly. His eyes closed for a moment as he calmed his breath and his hand stopped shaking. Stahl had been a soldier for most of his life, but his true passion had always come from the Game of Death. In fact, during his own youth he had become secretly famous in the international scene as he entered the online professional scene under an assumed identity. Though he had quickly garnered a name for himself, eventually his duties had carried him away. However, this fame had only skyrocketed as he finally retired from the army and devoted himself fully to his two main purposes in life: The education of his son and his near obsessive mastery of the Game of Death.
Using his online persona, he had won numerous regional, continental and even world championships. Indeed, with a perfect fusion of prodigious talent and steely temperament, he had reached the summit in short order. Yet he had never been satisfied, always looking for new experts to challenge, though those were far and between the further he advanced. Eventually, he had come to look down upon the world from his lofty perch, where only a very select group of individuals could ever reach.
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In front of this youngster, no matter how confident he looked, Stahl could not imagine losing no matter how many games were played, no matter the stakes or the odds.
Without any further reply, Stahl resolutely set down his first black stone in the very center of the board, an announcement of intent. He would face this challenge head on and crush it utterly!
The man simply twisted his lips in a smile that held no humor in it, and instead only seemed to grow colder instead.
This cold seemed to be possessed of some strange property which in turn let it chill the very core of his own heart. It spread a numbing sense of inexplicable unease which only continued to grow as the game quietly progressed.
At first, even given the importance of the game, Stahl still had the luxury of being distracted by the ludicrous picture he presented with this man, sitting in the middle of this candle-lit canyon, surrounded by haggard, half-dead soldiers and being hounded by spirits of vengeance who would stop at nothing to rip their flesh to shreds.
Of course, this only lasted until Stahl came to a stark, terrifying realization.
This man was insane.
Completely, utterly insane.
That was the only way Stahl could describe the man he was playing against. Outwardly, he seemed like just another person, a human being of flesh and bones, but inside he must surely seethe the soul of a demon howling for the entire world to crash down in a deluge of flames.
It started with the first attack the man made. Usually, two parties would begin by slowly feeling each other out, cautiously establishing faint borders, then sending out probing attacks and feints to assess the opponent’s reactions. Between experts, this phase of the game, the beginning stage, would last for the first 30 minutes to an hour, at the very least.
This utter lunatic, in the other hand, had launched a full on assault within the first three minutes of the game.
It was completely insane! Not even the rawest of beginners would play such a move. It wasn’t a simple probing attack, nor a feint, not even a measured advance. Instead, the man had simply lined up the stones he held at that point and had flung them in a brutal all-out, no-holds-barred assault on his own lines, which at that point had only just begun to take shape.
Under such an unexpected onslaught, and with the present situation and the stakes involved, Stahl had still managed to immediately shake himself out of his stupor and proceeded to coldly, clinically cut the head of this impromptu assault clean off in preparation of a deadly retaliatory strike.
Indeed, such an ill-advised strike had crashed against his defensive lines and broken utterly like the waves of an angry, tempestuous sea upon a granite shore. Stahl had barely been able to repress a grunt of dissatisfaction as he dispassionately crushed the assault with overwhelming force, collapsing his formations on the outmaneuvered white stones with wave after wave of his own black stones.
The result had been as he had predicted. Over half of the stones the white player had on the board had been destroyed in that attack. With his sudden and unexpected advantage, Stahl had gathered his own forces and surged forth in a deadly counter-attack, fully prepared to crush his way through the remaining opposition and bring a swift end to this farce, and the costs be damned!
Madman!
What Stahl found instead of a disorganized retreat were the very maws of hell itself, with a complete lunatic at its back.
Another full on assault from the white player, with a force that was clearly dwarfed by Stahl’s own unstoppable wave of black stones! So unexpected was this further aggression, that Stahl had been reeling in disarray while losing a dozen stones before he had been able to pull his forces back in order.
Although Stahl was unflippable on the battlefield, the recent events still weighed heavily upon his mind. Now, this insane bastard had inflicted such a contemptible blow against his own forces thanks to his own carelessness. There had been no finesse, no complex tactics or higher strategy involved. It was as though he had brought his finest toledo steel saber to a duel and had found his own nose bloodied and battered by a tire iron. This perceived insult to his one remaining great passion had kindled a flame that scorched his heart black.
Quickly gathering his forces, Stahl had aimed them for another weakness in the enemy’s formation, which were simply legion. However, to his shock he found much the same result. Another insane counter-assault from the white, which could have spelled certain doom for the madman had Stahl simply placed a handful of stones in a different configuration. Yet, Stahl had to grit his teeth while the man inflicted yet another shallow wound to his pride, taking another handful of black stones off the board.
Slowly, the candle burned down as the man’s indifferent smile didn’t waver a hair, while Stahl began to sweat copiously and his forehead became a jumbled mess of matted hair and convulsing flesh.
When they had entered the midgame, Stahl had long given up on his counter-assault as he had to recognize that his losses had become simply untenable. Under his expert eye and by his reckoning, the half dozen assaults he had launched against white and its many “vulnerabilities” had cost him well over the initial number of stones black had sacrificed in the beginning.
Of course, this could not be called a viable strategy. It was a madman’s gamble, like playing russian roulette. Yes, the man had managed to stave off Stahl’s attacks over and over, yet each time it had been by a mere hair, and the difference between a small loss for Stahl’s forces and a disastrous rout for his opponent had been paper thin.
Yet, the one sweating and grinding his teeth was Stahl, while the man had not lost that air of indifference. If anything, Stahl could almost swear the man even had the gall to look bored!
At this point, all black had to do was to defend his territory and he would be able to eke out a comfortable victory. However, at this point Stahl’s eyes bulged as the lunatic sitting across from him casually sent out yet another disastrous all-out attack on Stahl’s battle lines.
White’s casualties were legion, yet this time Stahl found a deep-seated fear of the enemy, and though his trained eye could identify countless gaps in white’s defense, he found his formations almost reflexively shrinking back, as though he were the prey and his bloodied, wounded foe a fearsome predator, hungry for blood.
Not too long after, Stahl found his caution rewarded, as white once more led a violently reckless assault against his now much strengthened position. Then again, and once more.
As the game finally entered the late game and white’s assaults continued, Stahl had to consciously suppress a shiver that ran deep down his chest. Though the attacks had been repelled at horrific cost to white, this insane strategy which seemed to abandon all subtle movements in favor of berserk charges had nonetheless managed to push his own black stones into a position where they vastly outnumbered white, yet Stahl’s position on the board was that of a desperate defender, barely clinging to order as his formations were so tightly clustered together they seemed to have been crushed together by the grip of an unspeakable fear.
Stahl knew in his conscious mind that should he decide to push forward with his current number of stones, there was no possible defense for white. His numbers were simply too spent in that insane storm of strike after strike into the heart of the enemy. Yet, they dominated the center of the board, careless in their dominance, in their utter freedom. It almost seemed as though the match had already long been decided, with the overwhelming masses of black cringing as the defeated, and the indomitable will of white raising its fist in absolute victory at the summit.
This image! Thunderstruck, Stahl froze in the act of grasping a stone, his eyes widening until they burned with the image of the unnatural game that had been played here this day.
This was it.
This had to be it. There was not a sliver of doubt in his heart.
Unnoticed, tears slowly streamed down Stahl’s ashen face. Uncaring, his lips parted to give voice to his agony.
“The ghost..”
He had truly found it. At the cusp of victory and from the jaws of defeat, finally and at long last, he had found it.
His son’s final ghost.
He found it, and it shattered Stahl’s iron heart.