Lord King Aet’he Moværús the III heard the footsteps before the knock. 

In a voice that seemed to fill the hall with its richness and magnificence, he said simply, ENTER. 

A small man was thrown into the hall by a pair of armored guards and, resembling a rather embarrassed gnome in doing so, knelt down at the foot of Aet’he’s golden throne, his bushy brows touching the cold concrete floor. Aet’he stared high over the gnomic man’s head, his eyes fixed on a point in space visible only to him, along with the other lords sitting beside him, with identical expressions, on identical thrones, with identical robes of crimson, one on each side of Aet’he, who sat in the center, and a little farther back than the other lords, creating a shallow triangle. The gnomic man raised his head, trembling.

“My lord, er, my lords-” his voice shook with the effort of speech, and one of his eyes twitched as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, “I ask you for forgiveness, your greatnesses. Your majesties, the eternal lords of all that we know of-” he was cut off. Aet’he raised his hand above his head, and held it there for a second or two, and then brought it down swiftly. The guards stationed in the corners of the room, two by each door, lifted their rifles and marched forward, bowed to the lords, and deftly clasped their arms around the sweating man. 

“My lords…I beg you for forgiveness…” Aet’he’s eyes remained fixed at the wall.

YOUR CRIMES ARE NOT FORGIVABLE. THE ONLY SOLACE FOR YOU IS THAT YOU HAVE NOT MUCH LONGER TO LIVE. He lowered his eyes imperiously at the guards, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

AWAY WITH HIM, he commanded, and raised his eyes again. The guards bowed stiffly, and marched through the doors to the hall, dragging the prisoner between them like a puppet, their feet resounding on the cold concrete floor, one two, one two, one two, one two, clicking as the backs of their boots clashed against each other.

Aet’he’s gaze remained fixed at the wall as he said to the other lords, THE WORLD IS GOOD, IS IT NOT SO, BROTHERS?

The other lords, their gazes also nailed to that one point in the air, said, respectively, YES, BROTHER, and LIFE IS GOOD. The guards silently reentered the hall, and in the depths of the stronghold a bell began to toll.

LOOK BROTHERS, IT HAS BEGUN, said Aet’he. The other lords nodded, their eyes not moving from the spot of air.

The doors to the hall were thrown open by a large, jovial man, plump, and dressed in motley garments, carrying a gong in his hand, which he was hitting repeatedly with a large wooden hammer. Ancient wood from centuries long past rained down from the doors, covering the floor in a fine dusty powder. 

The three lord kings stood up from their thrones in unison, gigantic in size and proportion, their long robes billowing in the still air, the fringes of their golden crowns scratching the ceiling, their figures huge and looming, as they towered over the little man, consuming all light, becoming indestructible statues of stone, their eyes still fixed at the one point in the sky. Behind them, their shadows fell long on the floor, and their cloaks resembled the wings of dragons, flying viciously through the stratosphere, gorging themselves on life and those living, trying to survive forever, and yet had failed. In unison, they raised their right hands. In unison, they said, LET THEM IN.

The motley-dressed man nodded and bowed fervently at the three lords standing in the hall, and backed out of the door, bowing the whole way, mopping his brow several times in the process. Aet’he walked forward, closed the doors to the Great Hall, and turned a pillar as thick as a man over with the flick of his finger. The mosaic tiles on the floor began to spiral outwards, and the other Lords were forced to take a step backwards. A large sphere rose from the center of the floor, wreathed in ethereal light. On its surface, unbroken peace reigned. Serene blue oceans and lakes encircled by gray mountains and lush green forests. Waves as tall as mountains surged across the sphere, but they were only ripples on its surface. The sky was blue, a clear, crystalline blue, One of the other Lords, named Wytha’hn, paced around the apparition, stroking his long beard, and touching his perfect nose. When he spoke, it was with a long, drawn out voice.

WE HAVE ALWAYS RULED, HAVE WE NOT, BROTHERS? THE WARS WERE ALL VICTORIES, he drawled. The Hall seemed to grow colder. Wytha’hn touched the apparition lightly with his long fingers. Where they touched the ethereal surface, tongues of red bloomed on the surface, and the land began to turn black. Wytha’hn ran his hand along the globe, the sphere darkening as if it was stained with ink, dotted with red spots as great lava lakes opened on the surface, turning the air black with smoke and red with heat. The Hall darkened as the light from the sphere glowed brighter and brighter. Wytha’hn passed his hand over the surface of the globe, and white light came from beneath as hurricanes and storms clouded over the destroyed world. He removed his hand, and turned to the other Lords as the sphere faded away, a pile of smoldering ashes.

YES, he said. WE HAVE WON.

At that moment, the doors flew open as the motley-dressed man came running in, ruddy, and panting.

He said, “They’re waiting for you.” 

Aet’he snapped his fingers and the sphere disappeared, much to the astonishment of the motley-dressed man. The man bowed several times with a flustered look on his face, and led the three Lord Kings out of the hall, the Lord Kings towering over the squat, plump man, their chins high, their faces beautiful and perfect. Their black, bottomless eyes were fixed ahead of them onto something invisible to all others, and yet they, all three, stared at with a cold indifference

Ahead of them in the passage, the motley-dressed man pulled back the bolts on the doors closing off the passage, and wrenched them open, revealing a sunlit plaza, thronged with people. 

People everywhere. Around the fountain, in the hedgerows, beside the hedgerows, eating, drinking, even some sleeping. Kids frolicked on the great flagstones, and the sun shone merrily in the sky, the one place of light, surrounded by walls of dark, forbidding rock and steel. The motley-dressed man pulled out from his satchel a small silver trumpet, into which he blew three times, and stood to attention as the three Lord Kings entered the plaza, and took their seats on the stone thrones, one at each corner of the area.

It was as if a cloud had covered the sky, for instantly all activity ceased in the square, and all of the people marched into orderly rows, and kneeled down on both knees. Suddenly, the water in the fountain did not seem at all merry, and the great flagstones at all great. The walls seemed to close in and the sun seemed to shine less brightly as Aet’he stood, his head brushing the leafy boughs of the trees, his hands outstretched, his robes billowing out before him, appearing as if he was from ancient legend, so great was he.

CITIZENS, he cried in a voice so powerful that the trees shook somewhat. DOES ANYONE REMEMBER HOW LIFE WAS BEFORE THE CHANGE? One man, an ancient, elderly man, raised his hand, trembling.

“Yes, my l-lord. I r-rememb-ber. Please sp-pare me,” he said in a wavering voice. Aet’he spread his arms wider.

HARM YOU? SPARE YOU? WHAT HAVE I TO SPARE YOU FROM? HAVE YOU WRONGED US IN ANY WAY THAT WOULD NEED SPARING FROM? he asked. The elderly man nodded feverishly.

“Many thanks, my lord, and lords. Many thanks.”

SO TELL US THEN, Aet’he continued. HOW WAS LIFE BEFORE THE CHANGE? WAS IT BETTER, OR WORSE?”

“Your highnesses, now that your greatnesses rule, life is different. The change had been a change for us all. Thankfully, one for the better. The fields are full, and the rivers run with water and teem with fish. Life is better,” said the old man. He lowered his eyes and whispered to the person beside him, “All better except for the human sacrifices, the mass murders, the shortened life expectancy ending at the age of seventy–me, I’m eighty five! It bloody well ought to be worth it…” The man next to him nodded imperceptibly, but did not avert his eyes. Wytha’hn stood.

COME, he said. WE HAVE THINGS TO SEE YET. He swept out of the courtyard in a flurry of red robes, his face high and white, his eyes fixed ahead, never moving away. 

The crowd was shepherded by the three Lord Kings out of the square and into an arena, in the center of which stood a raised portion in the shape of a square. The people in the stands were poor, their faces dirty, and their hands in shackles held by the guards stationed at every corner of the stands, the square, and the doors. In the center of the square, there stood a scaffold. 

Aet’he raised his arms resolutely over his head and announced, LET IT BEGIN. 

One by one, ten black hooded men marched out from behind the walls. Between them they held a long, rectangular box, the lid of which had been removed as to show a long, golden blade, dipped into ceremonial oil and held there until it gleamed with rainbow swirls decking its polished surface. There was not a nick, nor blood spatter, nor even fingerprint upon the magnificent blade. The men marched up to the three Lords and kneeled, proffering up the blade. Wytha’hn took it solemnly and with long strides, walked slowly and carelessly to the scaffold. Aet’he turned to face the crowd. 

CITIZENS, he cried in a voice that frightened away even the raven chicks that had been nesting in the old wood of the stands, I BRING YOU A REMINDER. OBSERVE IT, AND IF YOU PROVE YOURSELVES, YOU WILL NEED NOT SEE IT AGAIN. 

Wytha’hn brandished the sword and looked at Aet’he, an irritable look beginning to boil in his eyes. BRING FORTH THE MAN, he declared. All at once a line of black-armored guards burst out of the double doors at the end of the square, and rushed into the crowd, kicking and punching all those who stood before them. At last they resurfaced, dragging along between them the ancient man, frog marching him to the scaffold, and throwing him down onto the platform at Wytha’hn’s feet. 

He looked up at the sky and cried, “There is no more good in this world! Down with the kings! Down with the kings-” Wytha’hn deftly spun the sword between his hands and brought it down sharply onto the lying form of the man. The head rolled away from the scaffold trailing red drops and was instantaneously destroyed by the guards surrounding the square. Wytha’hn raised the blade to the sky. It bore no mark, no redness; only a shining golden sheen covered with rainbowing ripples of the ceremonial oil. Wytha’hn laid down the blade and faced the stands.

LET THIS BE A WARNING TO ALL THOSE WHO DISAGREE. LIFE IS BETTER. The people in the stands rose to their feet at the gunpoint and repeated in a multitude of voices, LIFE IS BETTER. LIFE IS BETTER. Wytha’hn looked around appreciatively, yet coldly, and he replaced the sword in its case, which was quickly marched off by the black hooded men.

One guard detached himself from the dirty coloring of the stands and ran towards the third Lord King. He fell to his knees at a distance and kissed the ground.

“My lord Bra’ahn,” he whispered. “I bring news.” With trembling arms he held up to the King a large scroll of leather, which Bra’ahn took with pale fingers and passed silently to Aet’he. He unrolled it. The guard continued. “We were marching along the Southern Ridge when we were attacked, by what we could not tell, but it was by many. Hundreds, even thousands, swarmed our band and killed us. I was the only survivor, for they believed me dead after the first attack, having thrown me to the side of the clearing. This is a declaration of war that I bring you.” Wytha’hn tensed abruptly and began walking swiftly toward the guard, his eyes blacker than black with fury. Aet’he put out his hand, his eyes looking over the kneeling guard’s head, fixed on Wytha’hn. CONTINUE, he said.

“When they found that I was alive, they ordered me to bring it to you. I tried not to, but they forced me. So there it lies, your majesty.” The guard stood up, saluted, and marched off back to the stands, retrieving his discarded rifle as he resumed his post. Aet’he cast the scroll onto the ground unread. He turned once again to the stands, spreading his arms wide, casting a darkened shadow onto the earth. Wytha’hn’s face twisted into a smile, his pointed teeth shining white in the sun, and his drawn lips a pale red.

IF THEY WANT WAR, WE’LL GIVE THEM WAR.

The location for the battle was skilfully chosen, it being a large field just west of the Southern Ridge, which was a large mountain range that encircled the southern part of the dominions. Over the other side of the hill bordering the field there was what appeared to be a black river, flowing slowly towards the field, for it was not water that flowed, but men. Thousands of men, in rows upon rows upon rows, in tanks, in automobiles, and on foot. The Lord Kings sat upon their great thrones, ringed by their soldiers. The black river stopped, and all was silent. Aet’he high over the field, staring at the distant stars, and Wytha’hn growled softly under his breath. Then, one man moved, loaded his rifle, and discharged it into the sky. 

Aet’he raised his hand, and lowered it swiftly. The commander whipped his head around and began to bark orders at the field of soldiers. The two armies rushed at each other, rifles in hand. It was hell. Bullets flew. Men fell left and right. Good men and bad men alike. Friends and foes, loyal allies and hated enemies. The ground, the earth itself, ran red with the blood spilt from the gunshots. Dull sounds of cannons firing echoed darkly through the din. Tanks rolled slowly through the field, crushing soldiers beneath its huge tracks as it lumbered forth like a gigantic beast of steel, every footstep the sound of thunder. 

The Lord Kings yelled at their commanders, the commanders yelled at their sergeants, the sergeants yelled at the lieutenants, the lieutenants yelled at the commanders, the commanders yelled at the troops, and the troops yelled at each other. Aet’he and the other Lord Kings brought down lightning, to no avail. Large rumbles of thunder rolled across the roiling sky over the tumultuous sea of men and bodies. Then Wytha’hn raised his hand, and from the clouds came a storm of missiles, and from the sky descended another army, this one in the air, in jets moving faster than the eye could see, and hitting with deadly force and accuracy. Craters exploded all throughout the field, and the bullets rained down from above too. The enemy commander also raised his hand, and from the earth came monsters of steel even more horrible and ominous than the tanks. 

Massive machines, steaming and hissing at every joint, their gaping mouths filled with fire, the nostrils full of smoke, and their eyes black with hate, tore up through the field, slashing out with claws like scimitars at all alike, their wheels spinning, their guns firing, adding just another layer to the practically solid blanket of steel over the field. The metal dragons rampaged across the bodies slain, moving with speed and deadly fastness and precision, their claws scissoring the still living, their wheels killing the dead. Swords flew through the air, pinning men to trees and cutting them open. Smoke choked the field,

At last, the sky broke open, and a steady rain began to fall. The thunder grew more and more distant, and the flashes of lightning less and less frequent. The fire died in Aet’he’s bottomless eyes, the eyes of steel, and his robe ceased fluttering. The enemy was vanquished, their lines destroyed, their soldiers killed, their commanders imprisoned, and their leaders turned and impressed into the Lord Kings’ armies. 

Alone in the field strewn with men, they walked, huge against the rising sun shining through the dispersing storm, their crimson robes tattered and fluttering weakly, their faces high and perfect, pale  and beautiful still, but with a coldness that estranged them, for they were not mortal beings, but rather were immortal, angelic, higher beings. They walked through the field, the sun shining on their backs, and shining on their hair, and shining through their robes, and glinting off of their crowns. But they turned their backs on it in unison, and planted their banner into the ground, and declared that it was a victory.

They said that it was a victory on the field, and then on their thrones, high and mighty in their halls of stone and steel, of guards and of jewels. They said that it was a victory.

They said that it was a victory…on their side, and the laws against all things mortal were only strengthened one hundredfold, and the brief moment of peace, that sprout that was to be a rose, or tulip, was cut by the shears of the domineering farmer, and was left to rot in the dirt, and the Lord Kings ruled the world forever afterward.