|'Memories of Sorrow'|
All he could do was sit.
Emile stared blankly across the battlefield, sat among Lunarians and Earthlings, the silence deafening. Quietly, he removed his cape and let it slide off his shoulders.
The threat of an invasion from Earth was very real, and he was on the very real front lines fighting on the wrong side. With his branding still fresh on his body, he and 200 other turned soldiers fought their brothers-in-arms, killing many in the name of Queen Beryl. His first serious battle, and it was fought for entirely the wrong reasons.
The teen shuddered, choking back a surprise sob. The brainwashing may have turned him and and made him revel in felling his fellow Lunarians, but it didn’t let his conscience forget what their faces looked like. Emile vividly remembered cutting down friends who died with his name on their lips, surprise and pain on their faces. Kurtis, Alton, Hatim, Maks. He remembered the whisper of “traitor” in the chaos of battle.
Now here he was, removing his bloodied battered armor slowly and methodically, without emotion. Shaking fingers undid gauntlet buckles, dropping the metal onto the cobbled moon rock. He didn’t deserve to call himself a Lunarian with everything he had done. Wearing the armor weighed heavy on his already sorrowful heart; it had to be done away with.
As he removed his armor, he began to tremble, mumbling apologies.
There was blood on his hands, and it stained his soul. There wasn’t a priest in the galaxy that could save him.
I’m off to bed, friends! I’ve got work tomorrow.
I’ll be back tomorrow! See you guys then.
|'Memories of Sorrow'|
The smell of burning flesh invaded his senses as he deafened himself with his own screams.
The call to Venus was a trap, laid by Venusian soldiers brain-washed by dark Earth magic. The brunette Earthling with his boot pressed into Emile’s chest was once a man known as a friend to the people of the Moon, a man who was one of the Four Heavenly Kings. His mouth moved, incantations spewing forth and energy surrounding his hand. Emile panted and cried, Lunarian curses spilling from him, as the man manipulated his flesh into a crude symbol of the planet he came from.
The warrior flailed, naturally looking to his comrades for help. Instead they loomed over his body, watching with cold eyes and twisted grins. He had watched them fight and submit, with those who refused being cut down by Lunarian steel.
He felt like cattle. The man was slow with his branding, and laughed at Emile’s panic. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t fight.
He had failed.
By this time his bellows were now just squeaks and hoarse barks, his throat burning like the fresh mark on his chest. The man above him stopped speaking, signaling the end of the torture. Emile felt a dark, blistering energy forming inside of him, consuming him.
"We invade the Moon tonight," the Earthling hissed, a sickening smile on his face and a fist in the air. The men around him cheered.
And Emile did so as well.