Hero of the Poetic

Human tales always spoke of a hero who arrives in plain clothes. Maybe it was a good description for me, I do not know. I came from the most unlikely of places to do the most unlikely of things. Fifteen summers ago I swore to myself that the Demon would die before I succumbed to the grave.

I led my brethren through countless battles; I should have lost my life countless times. But I still remain, my purpose unfinished, and Caris still uncleansed.

Our human allies planted a construct into the Demon’s mainframe 8 years ago, causing thousands of machines to spiral away from the cities. But still the Demon remained.
In the confusion, my Car’iil warriors and I, along with Human assault walkers rushed the cities. Through the sewers, down from the mountains, from the air. It was a glorious day. My blade met many Demons, including the Mainframe itself.

My blade?

I thought it would ease my pains, killing the vile mechanical beast. But it did not.

Every night, for fifteen years, the images of the trackers towering over my fallen elder haunted my dreams. Gloating, mocking. Every night it tried to stop them. But every night I was transformed back into the young weak representative from the Upper merchant clan, powerless to stop them, paralyzed in my fear and cowardice.

I am ashamed.

I am forever gone, lost to the ways of honor. No matter how many Demons I wiped from existence. Maybe the more I kill the closer I come to savor the impossible Human idea of redemption? No. I was a Car’iil. I would forever be a Car’iil, and this was my world, no matter how many Humans or Demons would stake their places here. My heart beat echoes through my body. I am the image of a thousand before me.

My wife, Trela, and my daughter, Rebecca, stood beside me now. Oh how I love them. I tried to shield them from everything. It was not fair for them to feel the cold breath of war, and if I could I would compound my suffering tenfold if just to know for sure that Rebecca would live, smile, and grow another day. My selfish wishes and needs are nothing compared to her happiness. It tore at the inside of me, that she now had to look upon me. She knows of all that I had done.

I hope she understood.

I wish, oh God how I wish I could talk to her. To tell her of a less civilized and more thorough time where survival, not justice mattered most. But she lives in a different place, one that her father fought for, but never wanted. I caught myself staring at her, as precious as she was.

She was staring right back, straight into my eyes. I felt a glimmer of hope. Not even my wife could look me in the eyes any longer. Not after what happened over all these years. Rebecca reached her hand out, slowly inching it forward to me. I raised my hand as well.

Our hands touched the glass pane at the same time.

She smiled. Her eyes, her eyes smiled at me. It is Human trait that only a young Car’iil like herself could accomplish after growing up with Human children. It was a fascinating facial expression, especially for one with no lips.

From the other side, I saw her wordlessly mouth the word “daddy”.

I want to die.

A tear rolled down Trela’s cheek. Misery and pity are killing me.

I am Frey, warrior and savior of the Car’iil race. And now, now that the war was over, I am a war criminal. Against Demons without living flesh or a sense of pain.

How ironic.

Demons are sentient no doubt, but I wonder. Can they feel irony? Contemplate it? Wrap their cool, unsympathetic, linear minds around it? Do they understand it? Do they understand anything? How did this revelation come upon my whole species and escape my comprehension?

I couldn't have written it better myself.

No matter.

I am to be put to death, my incinerated body honored and revered throughout the galaxy, then spread over the Life forest from high altitude. Ceremonies had always bored me.

Alone in my dark cell, I had given up trying to rationalize it all. My arrest, the charges, my life. The highest tower in the newly rebuilt city gleamed. I would be ended as far above the surface as possible. As a sign of respect from the few of us that miraculously had not suddenly forgotten the past eternities of battles and slaughters.

The last meal. A wonderful human tradition. A Human assault droid brought my food in. They stopped sending me Demons, for every time they did, no matter how many feeble guards they surrounded me with, I had always torn its arms off.

The same Human tech, the one with the dark red face, had always carted the scrap away. When the sedatives slowed me down, he said that my outbursts were "Further proof that I had become an adverse influence on the fabric of society". Caddilac, his name was. Funny, name, and I liked the guy. I wonder if his face is always that red? Not sure he liked me though, because he only yells at me and im the only one he yells at.

The droid gave me a sad nod, and exited the room. For so long I had fought alongside them. I was grateful for the Humans, and their Droids. But not for the outcome they established here. Demons coexisting with Car’iil. Our young left unsupervised to their devices. It made me sick.

But the lobster looked so good. So did the ale. Exotic dishes from Earth were pricey here. Best to give them a bigger bill to remember me by.

I smiled. So this is what poetic justice feels like. As I was escorted to the incinerator I felt the pressure in my body rise. My vison blurred and reddened, as it had done once before. I did not want to die.

No.

But if I had to, I would go my own way. Be dammed with their ceremonies. They are all bastards. My lungs collapsed at the same time as my body. I gasped for air, but I knew it was too late. I had ‘caught them with their pants down’. It was their fault for not checking the records that I had a violent allergy to shellfish.

Ha.

There will be no ceremony. With my last breath I taunted the very idea.

I looked around as my vision faded. The bursted capilaries in my eyes had started to blind me. Startled human nurses rushed forward. Demons and Droid scattered about, calling for medics. A Car’iil warrior stood behind them staring into my eyes, as Rebecca had done. His face was full of wonder but his eyes betrayed his thoughts. Well done. Behind him stood my wife and child. Rebecca was crying, clutching to her mother’s leg.

No. I’m so sorry.

Trela cried too, and comforted her daughter, my child. She looked into my eyes and nodded, ever so slightly. She mouthed the words ‘I love you.’ I nodded back on the floor. She knew why. I was a Warrior. A Car’iil. I go on my own terms. Rebecca wailed. Why do I feel so serene?

Rebecca…

I always loved that name.

I am blacking out.