The End and The Beginning of My Struggle

"All is hopeless. Ze var is lost. Ze Nazis are defeated. Gott ist tot! Zere is no vay out." Such thoughts ran through the man's mind as he entered the fabled bunker. "Mein doggen. Mein vifen. I liebe you." He states, tears dripping down his mud-riddled face, the weight of countless lives crushing him. Bang, bang. "Ze little doggy and ze vife are deaden... Now zere is only vone left." As these words exit his speech-manufacturing mouth, he puts the gun to his head. "Just vone more bang, zen, Gute Nacht." Bang. Silence reigns. A heavy atmosphere over the bunker. The world does not cheer, not yet, for they know not of his demise; but soon all will cheer. For the man who just died by his own hands was... Adolf Hitler.

But just when you thought the nightmare was over... light spreads throughout the bunker. A divine being appears, incomprehensible, inexorable; "I forgive you, mein kinder. Now say guten morgen to a new vorld!" As these kind words leave the demonic angel's mouth, Hitler's murky black soul is transported at a speed beyond that of light; to another universe; another dimension. Here, all is unknown; this is just a man with a moustache.

Hitler wakes up in a royal castle, much like the ones he used to frequent with nieces and nephews, with no (few) ulterior motives. "Vere is ze blonde?!" Hitler screams upon awakening, brought back to those summer days with family (and more than just family). Almost answering his question, a woman steps into his view; a beautiful blonde with blue eyes, fair skin, supple curves. The ideal woman in his eyes. She's adorned with white and light blue robes, perfectly clinging to her body; golden shoes cover her feet, matching her abundant jewellery. "You're awake, Sir Hero!" She speaks melodically, almost singing; one can picture the birds descending upon her shoulder, in envy and awe of her voice. A faint blush crawls up Hitler's face. "A-ah, fraulein... your beauty iz like a thouzand summer nights; I feel like an Ubermentsch in your prezence." He positively shouts, excitedly. "A-ah, vere are my manners?" Backing away, he murmurs this excitedly. "I am Adolf Hitler, Commander of ze Third Reich." Introducing himself, he bows forward slightly, extending his hand - a habit learned from his Japanese comrades. "And your name, fraulein?" She blushes, then takes his hand. "I am Elizabeth Benowitz the Third, at your service. I'm the priestess of this kingdom, Rehoboam is its glorious name!" 

Looking around, Hitler admires the beauty of the palace; his mind only distracted by the softness of Elizabeth's hand. As he releases her from his sturdy grip, he wanders around in circles - a habit from his years as commander, where meetings would last long, and he'd need activity to avoid hemmorhoids. He takes it all in. "Zis really is anozer vorld." The vast sprawling landscapes and mountains enter his vision through the tall palace windows; deserts on one side, infinite mountain ranges of green and white on the other. "Just like Mussolini's Italy..." He makes the apt comparison. Introducing himself to other members of the palace, he quickly becomes a fast friend to all the staff. The maids, the servants, the slaves. An ideal life he's envisioned for himself many times. Finally, the grand event - meeting the royal family. Though he never met Hirohito in his lifetime, he knew enough members of the nobility to have some decent manners.

He's led into the hall by the saintess, who is positively glowing with pride at summoning such a composed and charismatic hero. She knows not who he is. On either side of the red carpet his feet march on, hundreds of nobles, fat and ugly the lot of them, stare at the man like an animal in the zoo. They critique every aspect of his manner - the walk, the shifty eye movements, the fidgeting, and worst of all... the moustache. Anger blossoms in his heart as he hears these comments. "I am ze leader of Germany; Commander of ze Third Reich; destined king of all ze vorld!" He thinks to himself. Composure finds him - he'd been insulted before, and dealt with enough stressful situations (countless assassination attempts) to steady himself even as his pulse races faster than the tanks in the Blitzkrieg.

Silence looms. He stops in his path. Breathes in, breathes out. Calm and ready to drop bombs. All eyes fall upon his short figure. He knew how to deal with these types - the Hindenbergs of the world. He lowered himself in his mind. Now, he was just a man in another's court - soon, his ambitions would again be realised,  but not yet. Approaching the king at a respectful pace, and stopping at a good distance, he lowers his head. "Bonjour. Hallo. Konnichiwa. Hello." Greetings spew out of his mouth, as he acts as a messenger for all of Earth's languages. The King is impressed. "I see you know your manners, Hero." The pompous oaf shouts, spit raining like bombs in the Blitz out of his mouth onto the floor - "Hero!" Booming, he grabs everyone's attention. "Within a year, our world wll come to end. The vile Demon King threatens our sanctity and peace with his villainous army. You alone must put a stop to this and save our world." Not a request, this is a command, a demand. The anger would usually rise in our hero here, but something far more pressing has come on. Withdrawal symptoms.

Shivers run through his body, as cold sweat drips down every surface. Disorganised thoughts scream in his mind "I am ze commander of ze sird reich vy am i being treated like zis i am ze commander i should demand rezpect i alone vere are ze jews gott damnit vy stalin vy stalin vy stalin russia america russia damn zem damn zem all I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE DAMN ZEM DAMN ZEM ALL I WILL SLAUGHTER SLAUGHTER SLAUGHTER calm down you are in ze presence of a king FOOLISH KING I ALONE AM KING OF ZE VORLD VORLDPOLITIK SUCCESS" such a torrent of thoughts that cannot be stopped.

Suddenly, a feeling of calm runs through his body - the saintess to his right provides a temporary relief from the hell of his withdrawal. Only temporary, not a cure, but just enough to get through this initial meeting. Composing himself, Hitler meets the King's gaze; "I vill do all zat I can to save zis country." Applause.

"Good. Our sacred faith will be protected from any vile influence through your actions. We will provide as much support as we deem necessary, of course, Hero." The King speaks, relaxing in his chair; no gratitude, this was what he expected, and what he wants he gets. "Your faith? Vat faith vould zat be, exactly?" Hitler asks, genuinely curious about the religions of a world so foreign to him.

"Why, I'm surprised you don't know. It's Judaism, of course."