Late December winds howled at the morning sun like wolves under a full moon. The coarse snow piled itself between the knees of the infantry. Alexander Conmar and his men had been caught a minor snowstorm the night before the siege. It pricked at their heavy lungs and reduced their line of sight to where the enemy fortress, dubbed “King Hill”, was completely invisible under the hazy sky. It was as if it never existed. A ghost fortress.
Heavily defended by the autocracy for nearly a decade, King Hill was the final standing point of the Arleon Empire, and consequently its capital. Conmar and his predecessors grew to become their greatest rival in nothing short of empirical world-takeover. The war efforts had doubled as it approached the 20th year anniversary of the death of Victor Conmar, consequently, Alexander’s father. It was his tragic death, poisoned by his late fiance who turned out to be an insider from Arleon.
Today would be the day he took vengeance.
His people were trembling, though it wasn't clear if it was due to the harsh cold or their anticipation for victory. Their ragged appearance compared to the castle in front of them was deeply misleading. They had a camp that fully circumferenced the fort- effectively working as iron-clad wall made of men and leather tents. They had been starving out the guards in the castle for weeks. Conmar's army was monumental, and they all respected him. He knew it wasn't just for his father's blood, either- his power was supernatural. In his two years commanding the war effort, he accomplished nearly twice as much as anyone has before him. Before he took up the position, the empires were in an effective deadlock, a stalemate. Nothing but two Kings on a chessboard.
"Sir." Drawing him away from his thoughts, the shorter man stepped up to Conmar's side. For a moment, the two silently stared into the blinding haze of ice and snow.
Finally, Conmar spoke without tearing his eyes away from the void. "Everything is arranged?"
"Yes Sir. Waiting on your word." It was Conmar's personal advisor, a recently drafted 20 year old statistics major. Many were shocked by Conmar's choice, but to him it made sense. The young man's sense of respect was his primary attribute, and his ability in his field was astounding despite relatively little experience. Unlike other advisors, he would never try to play Devil's Advocate with his employer. He never tried to change or challenge Conmar's plans, only improve them. He ended up being more of an editor than an advisor.
After a deep breath, Conmar turned around to face his people, the heel of his boot pinning the ground beneath the snow
"Brothers!" His voice echoed with spirit, vibrating with power. "Twenty years we have fought. Twenty years we have sacrificed to win this war. All the efforts of all those lost, and all those here today, have led up to this moment. To my father, and to all that have fallen, we pray to Heaven above- stand with us and witness the final battle! Today will be the last day of Arleon!"
The crowd roared loud enough to rumble the withered castle's stone. The only noise able to down them out was the rocket-propelled grenade soon fired straight into the castle gate, blowing the first interior line of Arleon defense back. Troops poured into the breach as a river floods into the ocean- fast, unified, whole. Of the Arleon soldiers still alive, they were weakened by restlessness and malnutrition. The outcome was undoubted.
The takeover was quick and tidy. Conmar's flag was forcefully raised by the castle's flagpole, after the troops had burned Arleon's own flag. The fallen Emperor was swiftly executed with a platinum bullet. It was over. They had won. He had won.
But something was wrong.
It wasn't apparent until post-afterparty. Perhaps Conmar drank too much. Perhaps it had just been a long day, but as he was walking home alone in the cold black night, he heard it. It talked slowly, deeply, and he could hear it throbbing in his chest.
"How does it feel?" It was not gentle, nor imploring. It was a curious accusation. A small twinge of guilt bubbled up in Conmar's stomach. He didn't want to hear it. Not now.
He noticed that the voice had stopped him on his track home. Determined to not let this creature torment him, he resumed his walk in silence. Yet, the voice continued to pester.
"What's the matter? You're practically the King of the World now. All you've been fighting for is finally yours. Why are you so upset? Aren't you happy with your decision?" It's voice sounded like a song once sung by angels, but had been carelessly dropped from above and fell on the filthy concrete. A broken song, crudely glued together by tar. A delicious bite infested with roaches.
Conmar's rage could be heard in his breath. His rage against this...thing… was the only buffer to his grave guilt. He did what he had to do, what anyone would do in his place. Despite this, his decision would burden him for the rest of his life.
"Do you not remember? Perhaps I need to remind you…" The voice grew incrementally louder, and soon, Conmar's vision faded to black.
***
"Alex, honey? Could you come down here for just a moment?" Hannah, Conmar's fiance, called over the loud news broadcast sitting across the dining room. They've known each other since they were children, and had spent nearly 7 years together before Conmar had proposed his love to her.
"Darling, you know I'm busy…" He began
"With the militia, and the plans for tomorrow, and this, and that, I know. I won't take up much of your time, I promise!" She was practically begging him to take a stopping moment. A few minutes wouldn't hurt. Taking off his reading glasses and setting them on top of the war drafts, he hastily made his way downstairs to see his wife-to-be standing in front of the counter. Hannah gave him a chaste kiss as he neared her.
"Alright, you have me. Now, what's so important?" Alexander's voice was laced in tiredness. Despite his minimal enthusiasm, Hannah smiled brightly and stepped away from the counter to reveal a small, but wonderfully decorated, strawberry chocolate cake.
"Voila!" She giggled softly at his now widened eyes. "I thought that your promotion to full military general was spectacular, and I thought it was an occasion worthy of celebration!" She kissed his cheek again, and he couldn't help but smile. "If anything, it's about time. I know you'll make a great King one day."
Conmar choked on his words slightly. "Hannah, I don't know what I say…. Thank you…" Finally, he remembered where he was. He was at home. He wasn't in a field talking with stone-hearted soldiers. He wasn't formulating plans of diplomacy with enemy rebellions. He was home, with the woman he loved, and who loved him for who he was. He started laughing softly, embracing her in his arms. "God, darling, you don't have to spoil me as much as you do. I love you…"
"I love you too, Alexander."
***
As his world spiraled away from memory into reality, Conmar caught himself from falling on a nearby lamppost, tears misting his eyes. The deep rumble of laughter shook in his head like a migraine.
"It was that night you traded Hannah's soul for ensured victory against the Arleons." It finally clarified. This make Conmar choke out into a sob. Although the entity was invisible, it's sinister glare and wide smirk could be felt all around him.
"You had to win. As soon as I, a demon, offered you power, victory and all you desired, you accepted. No matter the cost. You knew you had to give her up, but it was the right choice, don't you think?" It wouldn't stop taunting him. His nails dug into the metallic pole, producing a horrible scratching noise that he couldn't even hear over the venomous voice.
"One life to save millions. Besides, if you had not taken up my offer, you two would die the same fate as all emperors- begging for death at the torturous feet of their enemies."
Conmar's doubts flooded his mind. If this was all true, then had he really made the best choice? Would they just have died anyway? Was the peace of this world worth all he had given up?
As soon as he was about to justify himself, the demon growled lowly. He though it's voice couldn't Pierce his soul any more than it already did, but he was proven wrong.
"I must thank you, though. She was…. And still is… absolutely delicious."
The moment the voice ended the line, the sound of Hannah screaming and crying broke into Conmar's head. He realized it now. She wasn't just dead, he had sold her soul to a demon. A creature that only knows of sadistic pastimes; with an unfathomable hatred for human kind. He cast the essence of an angel sent to him, to love and cherish him, into the damned talons of a being of hell.
The noise of Hannah's deep suffering and the treacherous laugher of the demon wouldn't stop no matter how many times he hit his head against the solid pole. Every part of him felt pain that centered back to his heart. What did he do? WHAT DID HE DO?!
Holding his hand to his nose and pulling it away, he saw his own blood run along his fingers. Impure blood. The blood of a monster not fit to be a King. Pulling his gun from his holster, he knew the last thing he had to do. If he had gone this far to ensure world peace, he would make sure it would happen. Someone else would have to be the King.
The clock had just struck 6AM as the gunshot echoed the empty street. All that was left was the king's blood staining the sidewalk, and the rising sun of the morning.
