Author Notes:
I really, really need a drink man...
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With a satisfying hiss and a clinking of metal upon glass, the telltale sound of a bear bottle being opened can be heard in a quaint, idyllic private cemetery. The site is fortunate enough to be situated in the portion of the Farbanti land that didn't collapse or be swallowed by the raging Atlantic during the Cataclysm. Right now, in this well-maintained graveyard, a well-dressed man in his late middle age can be seen kneeling by a pair of unmarked tombstones. On his hand, a chilled bottle of bear is letting out a misty fragrance. Putting away the discarded crown cork and his bottle opener in a small carry bag, the man gives a toast to one of the tombstones, the one that is a bit bigger and more weathered by the years.
"To you, my liege," The man with a unassuming yet healthy stature says, a ghost of a smile can be seen beneath his well-groomed mustache. "The finest bottle of Belkan brewed bear that we managed to acquire. Something I have no doubt you would enjoy, wherever you are."
"Even after many years, I still wonder about your strange fascination with this common alcoholic drink, beer. It's always too out there in term of taste for my palate." The man comments with a wry chuckle.
In a familiar motion, the well-dressed man then pour the golden content onto the big tombstone, coating it with the alcoholic drink from top to bottom. "While I can see the charm in savoring a bottle of this in a rainy evening, I find myself more comfort in a cup of hot tea or even chocolate when the urge hit. Although I must admit, I find myself missing the latter now that I am back here, the homeland that was my home... Heh, getting good chocolate is surprisingly hard now that I am not a political figure."
Having said that, the man then falls into benign silence, broken only by the rustling tree canopy above the small cemetary. The empty beer bottle is still in his hand; the scene should have been very peaceful if not for the sudden outburst of gunfire in the far distance. Being broken out of his trance, the man offers a wry smile to the two tombstones.
"You must excuse my subordinates. Although our common friend tries his very best to keep this area tidy, some trashes are bound to appear with the passage of time."
As the gunfire turns more and more sparse with each passing seconds, the smell of alcohol vapor makes the middle-aged man chuckle. "Look at us, my liege, drinking in front of our daughter. We can't have her growing up to alcoholic parenting, huh?"
Like before, the man puts the empty bottle into the small bag before reaching out his hands to caress the two tombstones.
"... Things coming together at last, you two." The man says in an even tone, as if he isn't trying to do anything of note, really. "The people are in places. Things are finally being put into motion. The ultimate goal is never nearer. Sure, there have been hiccups here and there, what's with the Cataclysm and all that flipping the chessboard... But even that turns out to be a blessing in disguise. What should have been a near pointless struggle that might even take generations to accomplish... It can now be done in just one, perhaps even less than that."
"Still, along the way, I sometimes forgot the name I once bear. Yet another casualty in this shadowy war of mine." Patting the tombstones, the man stands up. The empty bottle and its crown cork making some clinks and bangs in the bag together. "Perhaps I can even join you two, here, in the future... But that will be asking for too much now, ain't it."
Turning around, the recently cut grass echoes the man's footsteps as he moves away from the tombstones. His feet, however, only carry him for a few short steps before they stop.
"I am sorry that I couldn't be a better subordinate, a better husband, a better father. Goodbye, Diane, my wife. Goodbye, Anna, my daughter." The man leaves behind these words before making his way out of the private cemetary where a small convoy is waiting. Men, dressed in a variety of semi-formal attires and arms toting pistols and submachine guns, stand at the ready to receive him. The well-dresed middle-aged man isn't some insignificant people. An insignificant people can't afford to field a small army to cleanse this graveyard of the roaming Demons and Zombies, things that the Erusean military and police have failed to properly address even now.
"Commander." One person steps forward to greet the man, this group's Commander-in-Chief.
Receiving the offered top hat and trench coat from his aide, the middle-aged man says. "Do I have your word that they will be undisturbed?"
"We'll have a Squad permanently stationed here to work with the Count's people, sir. Your family will be able to rest easy now." The aide says as he helps the Commander putting on the trench coat.
"Then I am pleased. We can set off and prepare our next steps then." The Commander says before nodding to the men around him. "Well, the Count won't be able to stage a performance with just himself. Saddle up, people, we got a Kingdom to burn."
"Yes, Commander!"
In less than a minute, the roars of car engines can be heard as the small convoy vacate the premise of the private cemetary. The middle-aged man, now known as the Commander instead of the Prime Minister of the Ustio Loyalist, have much to ponder as gaze to the fading scenery beyond the windowscreen.
Just like the last few times he managed to visit his unfortunately deceased family, he leaves with a heart shimmering in cold rage and regret.
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BANG
A body collapses onto the ground, a fresh ventilation hole is made in between the eyebrows. Understandably, blood and brain matters come spewing out of the gap. Whoever that was, his dead is made swift, unwillingly as it may be. However, things are made more tragic when the corpse is young, perhaps much too young to go off in the manner of being executed. But this is war, and war is a righteous excuse for all the crimes known to man, right? Perhaps...
"No! Oh, God, no!" Comes the cry of a heartbroken mother, bound and helpless when she sees her youngest boy being executed on his knee, right before her eyes.
The fact that her son's very executioneer was her fellow countryman is temporarily forgotten, the unending helplessness and sorrow has consumed all in her mind.
"Brother! No!" Being bound in much off the same way as his mother, the eldest in the family, and who is surprisingly wearing the combat fatigue of the Polanian Army, shouts in grief and regret toward the deceased. "You monster! My family is a loyal supporter to the regime, they did nothing wrong! My brother, a kid, did nothing wrong!"
"But you did, Private! You did!" The executioner, a young officer with a rank and epaulette much too shiny among the grass root soldiers, shouts back with a smoking gun in his hand. "As soldiers, you must unite as one with your battle brothers against adversity! Not becoming a thief that stole precious military supplies!"
"There's a famine happening right now!" The bound soldier screams back in rage. "If it weren't for the corrupted policemen, my family wouldn't have been beaten, wouldn't have had their rations stolen from their hungry stomachs! The food I brought out come from my very own portions. They're used to feed my innocent mother and siblings! What's criminal about that!?"
"What's criminal is that you weren't there when I came to inspect the troop!" The officer snarks back, not at all moved by the soldier's words.
"It was a shift change!" The bound soldier replies with heat in his voice. "I left my post only after I had done my duty as a sentry properly! I carried with me only the food that was granted accordingly to my rank! I acquired a permit to leave before I set foot outside of the camp!"
"A permit that's without my explicit consent!" The officer retaliates stubbornly.
"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU'RE THE NEW OFFICER OF MY UNIT WHEN NO ONE EVEN KNOWS YOU'RE THE NEW OFFICER IN MY UNIT!"
"Everyone in knows that I am to lead you an hour ago, it's broadcasted in the intercom when I ordered for an inspection. You, on the other hand, ignored the command and sought to steal and deserted your post, bringing your family with you on the run!"
"Do you even listen to yourself speaking!? I left the camp two hours before your arrival! I COULDN'T POSSIBLY KNOW!"
"AND FOR THAT YOUR FAMILY WILL BE EXECUTED!" Now completely ignoring the reasonable defenses of the accused soldier, the young officer points his gun at the back of the head of the soldier's last remaining sibling, his young sister.
"No... No. No! NO!"
BANG
"NO!"
"YOU MONSTER!"
The soldier and his mother cry out in helpless rage as the girl is executed just like her younger brother. The souless eyes of the pair of siblings look at each other in a macabre, heart-wrenching way. By now, the public execution in the town's square has attracted the entire town's populace. Unsurprisingly, many are understandably confused by the ongoing butchering of a family. However, those that are in the known are rightfully appalled, but the presence of the officer's armed retinue forced them to bite back their honest truth. A few of the less wise and more fanatic members of the populace cheer at their perceived brand of justice being rightfully dished out by the officer.
As the mother grieves and uncaring that she's about to be the next unrembered casualties in this ongoing conflict... As the bound soldier struggles helplessly against his binding in a vain attempt of saving his last remaining blood relative... Someone intervenes.
"Stop...! Stop this madness!" An old voice bellows from a corner of the town's square. The sudden, authoritative command cut short the young officer's motion of pulling the trigger.
Any longer than a third corpse would be sent to the burn pit just outside the town.
With heavy steps, and the rising of his temporary walking cane, a Polanian General marches into the square with a retinue of his own. Walking right next to the General is his son and aide, who is similarly wearing a grim expression as the General's. In fact, the entire General's retinue gaze at the slaughters with a hint of distaste and their fingers itchy upon the trigger guards of their weapons.
"G-General, sir!" The young officer stammering salute the General as the latter approach menacingly.
With a snarl and a push of his hand against the officer's chest, the General forces him to step away from the listless and stunned mother of two dead children. "What is this!? What the hell do you think you're doing, Lieutenant Bukoski!?"
"I am punishing the convicted soldier, sir!" The officer replies, trying to put on a brave, righteous tone. "This is an example to deter future disorderly conduct!"
The General looks at the young officer as if he has grown a second head. "Punishment...? Making an example...? On an entire family...? Who the fuck gave you the right!?"
With a swing of his cane, the old General, and an injured one at that, smacks the broadside of his cane against the cheek of this audacious Lieutenant. The man is promptly knocked on the dirtied pavement of the town's square, his gun and a couple of his teeth comes flying and bouncing on the ground.
"We! Are! Soldiers!" With each words, the old General smacks his wooden cane onm the downed Lieutenant's stomach. His actions are infused by rage and medical Morphine. "Not judge, jury, and executioner of our very own citizens, the lifeblood of our nation, the very people we're supposed to be protecting, and our future!"
Seeing their immediate superior being assaulted by the General, the Lieutenant's escorts on instinct advance to try and stop the old, enraged veteran. Yet, the General's son led the furious and morally-correct soldiers forward to deter any attempt at saving the Lieutenant's hide. It is clear to everyone with a sane, working mind that the Lieutenant has severely overstepped his bound in a foolish attempt as exerting his power over the troop in his newly acquired command. Unironically and sadly, such instances orcurred more often than any competent leaders would have like. It's an adverse result of neopotism, corruption, a need to fill the ranks quickly, and irregular training regime, one that put far more sustance in indoctrination than anything else.
"By murdering the very people that makes Polania a nation worth a damn, you're condemning us for generations to come, Bukoski! Thanks to your initiative, we are now the very tyrants we all hate! No one will be willing to fight the good fights, and we will sooner annihilate ourselves before our enemy can even lift a finger in our direction!" The General rages as spits and blows of cane meet the curling form of the disgraced Lieutenant. "Oh, what's even the point reasoning with a little shit like you!"
His charged emotion reaching the peak, the old General straight up pulls out his service pistol and, under the surprise, pained, and fearful gaze of Bukoski, fires.
BANG
A third body hits the floor. Only this time, it's draped in the color of the Polanian Army. The old General exacts due karma by immediately executes the very man that torn a family apart. Ironically, the General's action contradicted his very words of them being soldiers, not an entire legal system. But honestly, can you blame someone that just went off Morphine from a wound to the leg and only to see something like a wrongful execution? That's a valid crashout, all things consider.
"General..." His son steps forward, asking in concern. "What should we do with them?" The man gestures to the daze mother and crying soldier whose children and siblings were murdered.
The General takes a deep, regretful breath to try and calm his boiling emotion. "What else? Remove their bindings, and let them cool off... Have the men aide in taking care of their deceased family members. As for this piece of shit..."
The General spits on the corpse of Bukoski. "It can rot outside the town's walls for all I care. From my point of view, he never make it to this town. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, sir." The General's son nods seriously before gathering up the men to handle the aftermath.
As they work, the General can't stop a sigh from escaping his sore throat. "If this is what we've to deal with from now on, then we won't be able to win against the Rusviets, much less the Belkans... It would have been real peaceful to die in that barrage instead of seeing this shitshow continuing, damn it."
Truly, there's no rest for the wicked.