61 Episode 9-Liberators of the Oppressed (7)
[Warning: This chapter will contain offensive terms that may upset readers.]
With my ruined body, I ran through the school. I didn't have a second to waste; the king was fleeing like a coward. Still, I couldn't help but smirk. Only an idiot would attack without collecting information via reconnaissance.
[Fable "Ender's Game" is fluttering its pages.]
The pawns I placed throughout the chessboard would converge, and the king will fall into his predestined checkmate. It was only a matter of time.
***
Steven Dixon Carson didn't know why this was happening. Days ago, he was on top of the world. His top engineer - Eddie Fran - was mass-producing rifles with faster firing rates, Agrigite production was peaking, and the soldiers were ready to mobilize and attack Garfield High School. The gangster Adler Santiago and his monstrous son would finally be put in their places. The path of fortune was laid out for Steven, but now the route was being blocked by someone. He angrily thought about his scheme against the Santiago gang going up in flames as he ran through the school.
(We would've had those damn wetbacks!!)
Now he was fleeing like a coward. He had to appoint a new representative since Rupert Williams didn't come back yet; he let the new deputy deal with this situation. As of this moment, Steven Dixon Carson - Grand Dragon of the Klan and King of Northwest School - had to escape with his life.
His entourage of soldiers opened the door leading into the small parking, holding their new rifles out.
"Clear!"
"I'll prep the MRAP!"
With trembling steps, Steven Carson stepped out into the open night air. He passed by his dead soldiers and the slain flare zombies. Averting his gaze from the grisly sight, he focused on the MRAP, a former military vehicle sent to the police because of the 1003 program. Due to the fall of society, the tank fell into the hands of the Klan. The soldier was opening the tank, but as he did, Steven Carson heard the screaming and gasping of his men.
"The flare zombies!"
"It's a trap!!"
The undead who played dead rose to life, looking at the humans hungrily. For the shortest of moments, they hesitated and looked at the fleshy mortals in front of them. It was a moment too much, a moment where the King took the initiative.
"Shoot, you dumbasses!! Use your new rifles!"
At the command, every Confederate soldier and white-robed Klansmen raised their Henry Repeating Rifles and aimed at the zombies. They began shooting and-
-!BANG!-
-!BANG!-
-!BANG!-
-!BANG!-
-!BANG!-
-!BANG!-
-a plethora of men died from the backfire.
(Wha!?!)
Steven Carson was left in shock. After the incessant explosions from the rifles, the falling of the dead or injured bodies was almost anticlimactic and betrayed the weight of this situation. Hmm, betrayal. Such a fitting word for this moment.
Soon after, the screams of the survivors followed the injury but were soon extinguished when the flare zombies attacked like feral wolves. As it happened, Steven Carson was left standing in stupefaction, wondering how this happened.
(How!? Was it those abolitionists!?! Did they make our guns explode!?!)
Steven's thought wasn't far from the realm of possibility. In a world where a game-like system existed with skills and magic, it was plausible for someone to use said magic to make the guns explode. Still, Steven didn't see anything. There was another possibility he began to consider but inherently denied: sabotage.
(N-no. It c-can't be. Eddie, he wouldn-)
Sherlock Holmes once said, "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." One possibility existed: Eddie Fran, Steven's top engineer, rigged the guns or the ammo to explode when fired. There were three results of this scheme: the dead soldiers on the ground and the rest bleeding out. The last outcome of this scheme was a vulnerable Steven Carson, who now had to rely on himself, which was such a laughable sentence. Steven Carson was like a dependent clause who needed an independent sentence; he could never stand on his own and survive.
"Damnit!"
He whipped his LeMat pistol from his holster but stopped. He thought, "Is this gun rigged too? Will I die if I fire a single shot?" He couldn't take that risk; Steven upholstered his saber and fought desperately for his life. He slashed, stabbed, and sliced the flare zombies, hoping to keep them at bay. Still, he wasn't impervious to injury.
"Gwaahhh!!"
Seconds too late, gunfire permeated the night air again, and the flare zombies were felled. A new group of soldiers was rushing to their ailing King. Their weapons were untampered.
"Sir, we heard gunshots!! We came as fast as possible!"
"Shut up! Help me get in the MRAP! We have to go!"
"But, sir, the people! The base!"
"Fuck them! We have to go while we still have the chance!! That's an ORDER!!!"
Heeding Steven Carson's instructions, they helped him to the MRAP. One soldier grabbed the keys from his fallen comrade, but as he stood back up with the keys in hand, he was immediately shot in the shoulder.
"AuaaAAaahhh!!"
He kneeled onto the ground while clutching his wound, emptying all the air in his lungs to scream. Gathering his composure, he said what all of the men were too afraid to say.
"S-sniper!! GET DOWN!!"
The men scattered like pennies thrown onto the ground, but some made sure to crowd around Steven Carson to protect him. They ran through this cramped parking lot, nestling in between yellow school buses. As they did, Steven Carson realized he was being pushed away farther and farther from his salvation: the MRAP. Steven Carson was a trapped fish trying to escape from the barrel, but his opposition was kept him in.
(Damnit!! We need to push forward!! I don't care how men die, but I need to get into that damn vehicle!!!)
"We go out when I finish counting to ten!! One of you will run out to distract the sniper!"
This was the King's cowardly method to escape. He knew it and his men knew it; if one of them ran out to distract the sniper, they'd die from getting their head penetrated by a bullet. He didn't care, though. A man pushed to his breaking point and filled with desperation will do anything to survive. That's when they stopped being human. Although, perhaps that is what a human was: a desperate creature that used others to live.
"You," Steven said while pointing to one young man, "you'll run out."
"Sir, no! Please!!"
"Shut up and do what I say," Steven seethed. Soon after, he began counting.
"One."
The soldier begged for his life with panic in his eyes.
"Two."
The King's men grew uncomfortable and held grimaces on their faces.
"Three."
Although, they made no objections. Maybe they knew it was futile.
"Four."
Or maybe they were resigned to the fact that some group members must die for others to survive.
"Five."
Just like in the First Scenario.
"Six."
Just like then, they went with the crowd and committed atrocities to live.
"Seven."
Now history repeated itself.
"Eight."
Ah, the reoccurrence of the story. Events repeating themselves with a slight difference that would become the cause, which would birth the effect that'd eventually become the cause once again, leading to an infinite cycle that would repeat for all eternity.
"Nine."
Things would still remain the same, and the end would be no different from any other.
"Ten," a new voice interjected.
But it didn't mean that the journey would remain the same as well.
"What the hell?!"
"It's HIM!!"
Because there was one boy who dearly wanted to create a new story for the conclusion he wished to see.
"We're sandwiched in!!"
"Kill him!!"
He is a young Asian boy who christened himself-
"Watashi wa konton to fukushū no ōdesu."
-the King of Chaos and Revenge.
"I also have another name."
Under the eerie helmet of this strange newcomer, his eyebrows furrowed in rage while he gritted his teeth.
"I am also known as the Lord of Anger."
After such an arrogant and bold declaration, he ignited his Crimson Mana Sword, a seething torch that illuminated the surroundings in red. A torch is an ancient tool used by people to guide their way into darkness. They use it to fight back the night and bring a little bit of the day into the hourly blackness. At the heart of the torch is the flame, which allowed humanity to advance further and further until the present. Fire allowed for cooked food, warmth, and comforting light to exist in this otherwise cruel world. Many poets lovely revered its beneficial qualities. They were not wrong in this aspect, but everything has a negative. Just as fire brought life, it brought destruction. It was used by Nero to burn down Rome. It was used by the U.S. to wage war in Vietnam.
Now, it was being used by someone else. Pure, unbridled heat was concentrating into this single crimson blade, now being used by Ethan Nakamura.
"Agh!!"
"Stop!!"
"No!!"
A person who forgot he declared himself to be the most evil thing in this world.
***
(I can't hear their thoughts when you rant on and on, Fraggy.)
I used Omniscient Stage One to hear the thoughts of my adversaries, anticipating their movements and attacks. I even used two new skills I recently purchased to block the incoming bullets.
[Geometrical Trajectory Measurement Lv. 1]
[Enhanced Optic Nerves Lv. 1]
The first skill would allow my mind to execute mental mathematical equations to see the trajectory of a moving object. The second skill would increase the speed of the electrical neuron signals sent from my eyes to the occipital lobe. Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint Stage One allowed me to read simple actions; I effectively read thoughts. When the trio of skills were used in conjunction, I would have the ability to block attacks before they could even reach me. I was no different than a Force User from Star Wars.
Aside from that, did I really call myself the most evil person in the world? God, that's cringe; what the hell was I smoking when I said that? Edge-lord grass rolled into a joint?
(Damnit, need to focus.)
I cut one man's arm off and thrust my sword into his throat. He couldn't even scream out.
"Move!!"
I saw the man with the flag shouting at his men. Hm, Fraggy identified them as a Steven Dixon Carson. They must've been the racist prick. With ruthless efficiency, I proceeded and killed the soldiers in my way. I felt like Kylo Ren at the Battle of Takodana, especially as he crept towards Rey in the rock formation and the forest. Minus the romantic subtext, though. I blocked bullet fire, my saber grazed the metal buses, and I advanced like a dark shadow born from the night.
I did it until all of the troops were out in the open.
-!BANG!-
With a precise shot, the King had his right knee blown out by a bullet. The bones from the kneecap exploded from the exit point with a splattering of blood. Hilariously, he fell onto his injured leg, which caused him to cry out further.
-!Bzzt!-
"Red Warrior, hold your fire. I'll deal with the rest of them."
"Roger."
"Deal with this, you son of bitch!!"
As I heard this, a notification popped up in my vision.
[Someone has used Lynching Lv. 8 against you!]
(This fucking skill again...)
As I rose, I heard the hateful remarks of the soldier who stood on the roof of the bus.
"Jewie or wetback, you can't survive this."
I rose higher and higher, but it wasn't due to the rope pulling on my neck. I was coming closer to him, ascending on the Air Steps I conjured. Once the soldier saw this, he backed away from fear, letting the noose go. If I had a soundboard, I would save that "Bruh" audio and play it right now. For this man, this was a certified "bruh moment." I should make Herald buy one. Sound effects would increase our audience attention rate.
Alas, having no soundboard, I had to use my mouth to create my sound effects, which was pretty easy, considering I used to do that as I child when I played with my toys.
"Surprise, motherfucker."
After saying my shit-post status sentence, I deactivated my mana sword, dashed forward, and cinched the noose around HIS neck. Pushing this damn taller man down, he was now below my eye level.
"Ah, sweet revenge."
I then proceeded to pull the rope so tight his head went purple-red in an instant. I proceeded until I heard bones cracking in his neck. After his tongue rolled out of his mouth and the eyes of his head rolled back, I let the man fall.
[A Constellation loves that brutal death!]
[You have been sponsored 400 coins!]
Now having the high ground, I looked down at the pathetic soldiers looking up at me.
[Character "Steven Dixon Carson" is using their skill "Racial Profiling" Lv. 9 on you!]
[Character "Steven Dixon Carson" is discovering your racial identity!]
"W-wha the hell is this...?"
-!Kssshhhhh!-
I jumped down. I bent my knees on the landing while keeping my eyes trained on the enemy. What proceeded next was a slaughter. It's too boring to describe because the soldiers were no different Minecraft zombies; they were loud, annoying, and easy to kill. These soldiers were nothing but weeds being pruned by a florist.
As I increased my kill count, the King trembled in rage and did what every toxic gamer did. Insult his opponent.
[Character "Steven Dixon Carson" has activated their skill "Self-esteem Belittling" Lv. 10!]
[Character "Steven Dixon Carson" has activated their skill "Racial Insult" Lv. 10!]
"You slanty-eyed Jap bast-!!"
-!!THWACK!!-
"KwAaOOohhh!!!"
Not giving one crap concerning his bullshit, I kicked him so hard in the stomach he flew and slammed into a bus opposite from us. He laid there on the hard cement, writhing from the pain of being unable to breathe. I literally took the breath out from under him.
As I advanced, stray thoughts entered my mind - possibilities, philosophical beliefs, etc. One of them was this: what happened if I were a slave here? Concerning my skin tone, I was the same as the rest of the people here. I was just a "brown boy." If I was a slave, I would've been put to work for ungodly hours. What would've happened if I had gone to this school? What would've happened if the scenarios didn't start when I was in the comfort of my own home? How lucky was I?
I didn't know the answers to these questions. These were the type that could never be answered due to their theoretical nature. Although, from this entire situation, I did know one thing. Humans are not the united race they think they are. Whenever I thought about Apocalypse scenarios in my youth, I inherently knew that humans would create minor factions and consolidate their own power. They would filter and segregate by culture, age, race, and religion. People would divide, and it's not only the Caucasian people but Africans, Asians, etc. They would all do the same.
It appears cliché in novels, but I once again realized it. The human imagination was cliché, yet real humans were more cliché than the imagination.
(Hm, sounds like something I've thought of before.)
I walked closer to this pathetic King. He was a contributing factor to what was wrong with this world. How could the gap created by the older generations be bridged when people like him exist? How could we advance towards the future when the unwanted luggage of the past plagued us? How could humanity fully connect when people such as him widen the divide?
There was a childish answer to this thought-provoking question: murder.
I looked down at this sorry excuse of a human. I let him catch his breath so he could speak. For the Constellations, this moment is a great sweet potato before introducing the cider. Still, many of them had a sweet tooth.
[Some Constellations want you to kill the king and get it over it!]
[Some Constellations want you to torture the king!]
[Some altruistic Constellations want you to show mercy!]
[All Constellations of #HE-2020 await your next narrative decision!]
I looked up, hopefully at a Star Stream camera. Herald better be maintaining the proper POV.
"Hey, don't the Constellations know you have to let your dying enemies talk and give exposition before they croak? It's in all the anime these days. Yo, douchebag. Talk. I need filler content."
"P-please, don't kill me. Sp-spare me."
"God, do all you bastards beg for your life? I bet you were in the same situation as me. I bet you spared no one. What else do you have to say?"
With great effort, the man pushed himself onto his knees, clasped his hands together and bowed his head. He began speaking with a quiver in his voice.
"P-please, I'll give you the flag. I-I'll repent. I'll m-make up f-for it. I'll become a slave and do whatever you want... please... don't kill me!!"
God, I hate it when they beg. Not because it stimulates my sympathy, it's because it's one of the most pathetic things to watch. I knelt to his eye level until he was forced to stare into my mask. Right now, I was a monster to him. I wasn't even human. Considering his beliefs, he probably didn't consider Asians to be human anyway.
"I don't want slaves."
The man's face grew sweatier in the night air.
"I don't want prisoners."
As if it wasn't enough, more fear settled into his expression. Grabbing my Crimson Mana Blade with both hands, I entered a thrusting stance, the same stance Palpatine used in Revenge of the Sith when the Jedi attacked him.
"I want trophies."
-Wroooom!-
As the point of my blade accelerated towards him, he spoke his last sentences.
"Please, don't kill my wi-!!"
-!!Kriiisshhhkrakkuksshhh!!-
I thrust the point of my Crimson Mana Blade deeper into his mouth. His lips were torn off and eradicated; his teeth were melted, shattered, and forced deeper into his gullet. The flesh binding his jawline ripped and peeled from the heat until the lower half of his head was unhinged. The melodic humming of my weapon drowned his little gasping noises, and his tears were evaporating from the heat.
As his mind went into shock, I decided to add insult to injury as he was about to die. I wouldn't call him something normal in English, such as a "fucker" or a "son of bitch." When insulting someone, don't stoop to their level. Go a level above theirs.
"Sayonara, kichigai. Jigoku ni iku."
