Postscript – An unsolicited sequel (But let’s call it a fresh start)

For miles, the forest had been replaced by blasted plains filled with cracked armor, spears, and rubble as all the Kingdoms of the land marched as one for the first time in history. If one followed the chaos, they would notice that the epicenter of the conflict was the remains of a fortress.

In the days of the war, it wasn’t much to look at – it was a hastily erected pile of architecture built into and around a mountain with logs and rough-cut stone that adhered only to the concept of defense.

As ugly a place as it was, there was one kernel of beauty within it all. At the very heart of the fortress, in a shattered hall, a tree grew, though not well. Though it stretched and pushed through the broken roof, its brittle bark and sickly purple leaves showed it was growing in resistance to something.

Embedded in the trunk was a branch shaped almost like a sword. In truth, the sword was what gave birth to the tree, for the war only ended when it sprouted and crushed the evil within.

Nonetheless, though the world had been celebrating, the immeasurable presence in the great tree still seethed, biding its time.

The memories of its defeat still stung it, as it remembered the miserable little spit of a human, suffused in the guardian spirits of this world, driving the wooden sword into it.

It could still feel the power that it leaked across the world five years ago. Once it was its instrument of conquest; now those dregs were being gathered by opportunists.

It knew what it had to do. It had enough strength to make a final play. It remembered that the human had not been alone on that day of days. It had been accompanied by loyal compatriots, who had wasted their lives on that person’s behalf.

It could sense their remains: their scattered blood, their fragments of bone, and their dried sinew. Just enough to rebuild and fill the gaps with itself.

From within its wooden prison, it reached out, and the corruptive miasma leaked through, sweeping through the ruins to gather the bits and pieces that would fit each other.

There was enough for four bodies, just like it remembered. Slowly, it knitted their bodies back together and resealed them with dark energies and its directives.

Find and reclaim the power it had scattered across the lands.

Free their master from its prison.

Take revenge and make that human responsible suffer as much as they could, in body and mind.

Some of the rebuilt bodies found themselves kneeling at the foot of the tree imprisoning it, and with a sense of sadistic satisfaction, allowed itself to rest, certain that its rebirth was inevitable.

But in distracted viciousness, it perhaps did not notice the sneering titter from other powers that had been watching, which had added a little something extra to the vessels without it knowing.

As the first of them rose to his feet and opened his eyes to a new world, he faintly recalled a voice asking him to take revenge, or something, but that issue was quickly brushed aside by a thought far more pertinent.

“...Wait a minute,” the man pondered aloud. “This isn’t the convention center.”

Person With Many Aliases Presents:

Rebirth of Revenge! (Well, actually…)

A story about Four Evil Generals who aren’t in the mood

The man cut an imposing figure as he stood tall in full plate, a gift from his malevolent patron. There was no burnished shining steel here. Instead, it was twisted and flowing, as though its wearer had been trapped in flowing hot metal before it settled into the shape of armor. His exposed head matched the menace of his attire – a face ghastly pale and gaunt, with sunken eyes and overgrown gray hair that spoke of far too little in the way of a balanced diet, if nutrition could ever change his features.

His gauntleted hand grabbed at open air, and he found his lack of suitcase, which contained the laptop with his slideshow, to be incredibly distressing.

It took an extra second to look down at himself, eyes boggling. “Wha - the hell is this role-playing crap? I was on my way to a conference! Where is this?!”

His only answer was a feminine shriek, which made him turn his gaze – very conveniently trained to scrunch up into a vicious scowl – at the voice. The owner was a dark-haired woman in a particularly conforming dress. Before the armored man could respond, the woman tripped on the hem of her outfit, sending her tumbling onto her back. As she flailed and scrambled upright, she grabbed a loose stone in an iron, white-knuckled grip and fiercely flung her arm back, prepared for the best pitch in her life.

“Did you kidnap me!?” The woman snarled, and the man jerked back – her sclera were pitch black, highlighting the bright yellow irises she glared with. Those weren’t human eyes, even if she convincingly sounded like one. “I swear, if you don’t let me out of here right now, you’re going to be in a hospital for the rest of your life!”

“Hey, whatever you are, drop the rock!” he retorted, jabbing a finger as he stepped backwards defensively. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m not falling for anything you’re pulling!”

The woman spluttered, eyes wide in disbelief. “What-whatever I am!? I’m a normal person! I’m the one talking to a zombie-robot… thing!”

Before he could get a response in edgeways, a third, wavering voice called over to them hesitantly.

“Uh, dudes? Are you going to fight? I’m… not really wanting to fight? Can we not? I think we all got kidnapped. Or whatever’s going on.”

The two trailed off, the echoes of their argument fading, finding their attention taken by a figure hiding behind the remains of a pillar and watching them intently. The sight was more than a touch absurd: he was truly a bulky piece of work, with thick cords of muscle rippling under the skin exposed on his Asiatic robes. His sharp features were covered in streaking lines coursing across his body, seeming like tattoos at a glance, and framed by a wild mane of red hair.

All in all, he would have been a terrifying figure who looked ready to fold a person in half had he dared to just straighten his back, rather than huddle behind the cracked column with a wary stare.

“Look,” the stranger suggested, “maybe we should just, you know, introduce ourselves?”

“...Well, since you put it forward,” the armored man emphasised, sunken eyes narrowed into a stare of his own, “who are you?”

The redhead raised a hand placatingly, voice flat. “Well, the name’s Bao. From California? Anyone want to go next?”

The woman frowned, but allowed her arm to hang down again, even as the rock remained firmly in her grasp. “Trudy. And who are you?”

Trude turned her uncertain gaze at the last unnamed man, who raised his encased arms in frustration.

“It’s Paul, okay? Look, right now I know as much as you. I don’t wear stupid stuff like this.”

An eerie stillness descended as the trio was unsure how to continue, before Bao offered another question. “Did you guys wake up with, like, a feeling? Like you remember being told to take revenge or something?”

It felt like a dam broke. It only took a moment of introspection before Paul once again distinctly remembered the pressure on his mind, like he recalled a dream where something told him that this world, full of kingdoms, people, and spirits, deserved to be destroyed by their hands.

“What the-” Paul barely managed to eke out, even as he watched the woman named Trudy stagger back.

“Who said that to us?” She stammered. “That’s messed up! Is that real? What’s this other world?”

Bao gingerly responded. “I’m not sure, but the way that thing put it, it makes it sound like we’re the ones on another world.”

Paul looked around at the stones of the hall, at the twisted tree behind them, and considered how strong the impression of these orders was, like the thing’s final thoughts so clearly knew the existence of countries and people that didn’t match his mind’s map. It seemed so convincing that the man nonetheless couldn’t help but scoff.

He raised his arms placatingly towards the other two, trying to speak slowly.

“Look, we’re all confused, but just because we woke up somewhere else doesn’t mean we’re in some airport fantasy novel. This is a prank or something. I got put in armor, you got painted on, she got contact lenses or something-”

A sudden impact thundered through the room, seeming to quake the very foundations of the earth. The force was enough to rattle the stones around them and make the floor tremble hard enough that the three took a step to regain their balance. Somewhere, a bassy rumble echoed, and it reminded the three of something like a very large lion, or tiger, or maybe a bear.

Following their ears, the three slowly edged away from the large double doors at the far end of the hall.

“...It’s probably cameras,” Paul muttered. “They’re watching us, and the moment we’re calming down, they’re doing this-”

The doors exploded inward, admitting a giant limb covered in bronze fur. Perhaps there was a time for fear, but the three couldn’t help but stare incredulously at the claw-tipped paw the size of a small car, or the way it scraped at the adjacent wall, like it was trying to pull a body on the other side of the doors in.

If there was a body, the three could only see one bloodshot eye, and a snarling, drooling maw pressed against the arm.

No amount of practical effects or trickery could afford to cover anything in that much realistic fur. Or make an eyeball glisten like that. Or produce that much saliva that splattered onto the floor.

“Oh wow,” Paul observed.

“This isn’t Earth,” Trudy deduced.

“I think we’re about to get eaten alive,” Bao concluded.

As the door frame began to buckle inwards, the three ran for their lives.