Decommissioned

It was the great mystery of mankind. Why are we here? What is our purpose? What is the meaning of life?

But I know the answer. The meaning of life is death. We were born to die, after enduring the hardships of a lifetime. A human existence is a web of losses, regrets, sorrows, betrayals, disappointments. And then demise.

In death, those sufferings become our crosses to bear. We each endure our own private Hell, our failures our own torments. But regardless of how and what we suffer, it all has one singular reason. One purpose.

We only find out on the day we are conscripted. When our suffering has been endured so long, has become so much a part of us that the only suffering left to give would be to take it from us. Our afflictions mould us, that we might be perfected for selection. Plucked, when we are ripe enough, from the tree of the gods. Harvested to be thrust into battle, as soldiers of our vaunted gods.

I fought their war for eight hundred years. Eight hundred and thirty-five, to be exact. I felt nothing. That is how they had made me. I knew no remorse or loss as my battalion fell around me, struck down by a god made flesh, or torn apart by a towering colossi or leviathan. I watched souls rendered by succubae and men broken by madness. I knew no regret as I abandoned these allies to win volleys against my enemies.

My victories were many, my accomplishments great. But I knew no personal gain nor no pride, for the weapons of warfare were not of flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses. And we were those weapons.

I cannot speak for what made me, among the countless, stand strongest. Perhaps in the torment of Hell, I had suffered the most. Perhaps in life, I had suffered the least. But our celestial Lord chose me to lead the final battle against the strongholds of the unworthy, and we did not prove wanting. Those fortresses fell one after another. I discovered that day that the gods could die like any man, and for a moment – a single fleeting moment – I knew pleasure as I beheaded the last of the usurpers and presented that macabre prize to our master. A momentary lapse that I regretted immediately.

Our war had been over for no more than a day when my Lieutenant approached me in my chamber. The room was kept bare, the decay plain to see in the brimstone walls. A single shield hung as decoration, a memorial of the many battles since past. A reminder. There was no pageantry in Hell, even for the head of our Lord’s legions.

“Congratulations, General.”

My Lieutenant was a being not unlike me. For this reason I had assigned him the position. There are no ages in the afterlife, and so none showed on his face. Eons of suffering left him haggard, with holes where once there may have been eyes. Physically, he was strong, and built. Through our suffering, they made sure to keep our bodies able. Honed. Ripe. His face bore no expression, and I fancied that looking at him might in fact be like looking in a mirror. Eras had gone by since I had last seen my own face.

“Congratulations sounds a lot like pride, Lieutenant” I reprimanded him.

“Apologies, General. It is just that…”

I held a hand, silencing him. He was compliant, as he should be.

“I understand, Lieutenant. It is an unusual time for us. The false gods are dead. And now there is…” I had to spit the word from my mouth. “Peace.”

“Yes,” he confessed. He drew his own sword from his back, eyeing the hellfire that crackled along the ebon blade. I felt no threat at his action. There is no dying in Hell, only the endless existence of battle and killing. And yet…

“Do you feel lost, Lieutenant?” I asked him. “With no war left for us to win?”

The look of surprise on his chiselled face was palpable. He studied me for a moment with those dark pits of eyes, and my patience was quickly worn.

“What is it?” I demanded, “What do you know?”

“Have not you heard, General?” he asked, moving to a stark stone table where he laid down his weapon one final time. “We are to be decommissioned. The war is over, we won. We are no longer a requirement.”

For centuries I had been trained to know no pain. No feelings. To view myself and my battalion as the tools of a god, of our divine Lord. And for the second time in that day I experienced an emotion.

Decommissioned.

A death after death. An end to our suffering, to the constant torment of existence, to the ceaseless rigour of warfare. For me and my battalion and for all our Lord’s armies, a finality. No more war. Peace.

For the first time since my death, I found a smile upon my face. The shock was evident in my Lieutenant’s features, but I did not forestall my emotion.

“Sir?”

“Pick up your sword, Lieutenant. We have another war to fight. We have one last god to kill.”