Kings

The corpse of Karl Strauss washed up on the rivers of Amazonias near the Sakilo-Jawani camps. His remains, whatever’s left of it, was blessed one by one by his soldiers. Most of whom idolized and revered him for what he did, or at least tried to do, they cared not for the politics of the greater galaxy, only in their beliefs and their home. And their Colonel was going home.

His coffin of white and gold was laden with flowers on the way home, he was a man beloved by the masses, people frolicked from all over the empire to lament his passing. To the regular man, the regular soldier, Karl Strauss was more than just a colonel, he was more than just a minor man in the chain of command, it was his group that gave them victories after all. Even though they never really realized that these victories were the result of manipulation of battles by the Kaiserreich.

But the lies didn’t matter, the heroism of a person that regarded himself as a legend beloved by the masses will, more often than not, be safe from their flaws. In a sense, these flaws disappear upon their death, their anger, their demeanor, such and such. All gone when he died.

His burial was watched by trillions, Pope Sin itself made an appearance, covered head to toe with white, gold, and red clothing. It was masked, even if it made an appearance, Pope Sin was never really known, nor seen. But the mere presence of such a figure caused the trillions to weep, it was as if they saw their own messiah in the flesh.

Then, he was canonized, with many as his witness, Karl Strauss became a saint. He would be known as Saint Karl of Concursus, saint of war, conquest, freedom. His belief was greater than any other, but even then it wasn’t enough to save him from a bullet, to bring him immortality.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Two people sat quietly above the entire cathedral, they watched the spectacle of the canonization, the millions of white dots that are sprinkled across the entire Cathedral. One of these people was a man named Michael von Kaiser. He held a glass of scotch in his right hand and cigars on his left.

“What is?” His ally, maybe acquaintance, Derek Ahenobarbus sat behind him, he fiddled with his phone, bored. There was nothing but Strauss’ death all over his feed, goodness knows what this man fed these people that they all praise him, at least that’s what he’s thinking at the moment. Derek and Michael were some of the people—Caspians— who migrated to the Sakilo-Jawani Empire to fight for them.

“I shot down those planes to make sure we have a CAS advantage, but the bastard Strauss threw it all away with his little crusader charade. And now he’s dead, and he’s a hero, and me?”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know what about me.” He takes a swig, and a smoke but this wasn’t really enough to take the edge off, “They fear me more than they praise me. I’m not really a man of their God after all, I’m just…” He trailed off.

“A man that floated through life and failed miserably, losing everything in the process?” With a click, Derek turned off his phone. He witnessed his friend silently contemplate his life. After all, what else he could do, but given the circumstances,

“I would’ve done things differently.” But the opportunity never came, the opportunity passed on itself and now he’s left as nothing more than a man with wings, no family, no child, wife, brother. Even if it was just an in-law. But he had Derek, Derek who was his friend since highschool.

“Well, things we regret, am I right? You miss Theresa don’t you?” He saw Michael gripped the objects in his hand ever so tightly at the thought of Theresa, her death was neither his doing nor the Empire’s.

Michael could still feel the softness, the warmth of Theresa in her final moments, “You are the most beautiful thing in my life.” Those were her final words to him as the bullet dug deep into her heart, her gloved hands caressing, wiping away his tears until she was no more.

“Let’s forget about that,” Said Michael, “Who do you think will replace Strauss? They still need a man on the ground after all, propaganda won’t win the war.” A bright beacon of light shone from high above the ceiling of the Cathedral down to the coffin of Karl Strauss, more smoke and mirrors, he was ascending to heaven.

Derek thought for a moment, “Can’t be you, god knows all your skill is in the sky. Could be me!”

“You? They don’t want more people dead, heh.” He huffed another bit of smoke before flicking out of the window into the crowd below, “But it’s not like it’ll change anything.” The war was a losing one with both empires down their throat.

“Ehhhh, I did well in the academy… That said,” Derek put his phone down and stood up to approach his friend. He grabbed a bottle of the scotch beside him and poured himself a drink, “I came to this place for money, pretty vanilla and easy, you? I don’t know what use you’d have for money, you were a nobleman.”

“I wasn’t. That’s the reason we went here in the first place.” But there never was a we, his plan was to call in Caius and avoid being killed in Caspian but after the death of Theresa, he never came to contact my boy, he was dead, at least to him, “There were good benefits considering they were looking for skilled pilots.”

“And damned skilled you were, Rex. Tell you what,” He raised his glass of scotch in front of the broken pilot, “Let’s ascend to greatness together, make a kingdom of our own, become the richest men in the galaxy.”

But there was no point was it? A broken man with nothing, no family, no son, brother, wife. The only thing he has are riches and his ability to fly, but what was the point of those when there’s no one to enjoy it with. He could be in a gigantic seaside villa, watching the sunset on a foreign planet of thirteen beautiful moons, “Yet I’d be on my rocking chair alone.” He whispered to himself.

“Aye, cheer up buddy. Let’s find some meaning for you.” Said Derek. Michael stared into the endless crowd below, into the bright beacon of white light in front of him, the wonders of the galaxy in front of his eyes, and though he so desperately needed only the sight of his lover, he thought to himself that maybe he needed something else to look forward to. He grabbed his glass of scotch and cheered with Derek.