Enemy, Emperor

Getting over my writer's block and procrastinating. Have a piece inspired by the complete lack of truly sympathetic villains in video games. There's like, 2-3. Seriously. And most games don't even TRY to make sympathetic enemy rulers. Or they do, but fail horribly. This is saddening. Ergo, here's my attempt. Placed within some generic fantasy world. Because video game heroes are hypocrites and what really constitutes a hero anyways?

He makes no motion to turn around when he hears the door explode inward. He does not wince when he hears the dying scream of a loyal knight. He does not spare a glance when he hears loud clanking footsteps on the cold stone floor.

Instead, he stares outside, where the normally muddy-gray sky has turned scarlet-hued, the omnipresent groaning of the mills replaced by the creaking of collapsing homes and the cries of his beloved children. He does not turn around to face his intruders, who, he thinks, must be thinking of what nefarious plot he has conjured, what deception lies behind his unfacing back.

How quaint.

"Turn around, villainous emperor! Turn around, and face judgment for all the crimes you have committed!"

Villain. Criminal. Emperor. What... hopelessly idealistic concepts.

But he complies. He turns around to meet the eyes of his would-be slayer, the young untested hero whose charisma led an entire nation to rebellion, led a band of rebels to his capital, defeated his elite knights and slew the greatest servants of the Empire. The young, untested hero who knew naught of true leadership, of true sacrifice, who knew of only white and black and not of the shades between.

"Tell me, what do you think my death will bring?"

His question brings much confusion to the hero's allies. But he is rashly answered, abruptly and firmly with a deepset conviction. "Peace. Your death shall mark the end of an era of evil, and we will have our lands back once more!"

He snorts. "A hopelessly naive answer. And what will happen to this nation, the land of your conquerers? Will it be freed from my 'villainous' rule, incorporated into your new kingdom of 'peace and prosperity'?"

The hero looks a bit out of his element, he bemuses, but the hardened glint in the eye bespoke of unwavering confidence, unwavering determination. "I don't know why you're asking these questions or why they're relevant! But, your rule has caused agony and pain! There are people within your empire that are better suited to rule than you! You have dabbled in the forbidden magics, led your people to war and annihilated ours, and for that, you must pay!"

He blinks, for a moment, completely stunned. Then, he laughs. Not simply a chuckling laugh, but a deep-set booming laugh that has him clutching his ornate breastplate made of the finest steel for support, almost bending over in his sardonic mirth. He doesn't even need to look up to see the completely confused expressions of his enemies. The hero cuts in with an angry, but slightly confused "Why are you laughing? Do you think your crimes are humorous, you monster?!"

He straightens himself, still chuckling. And then, he changes. No longer is he the diplomat. His stance falls from the regal posture that exuded an aura of power to one of battle preparedness and lurking danger. The massive sword that is the sacred treasure of his kingdom finds its hilt in his hand, mirth completely flees from his face as pure wrath and anger affixes itself to his expression. His enemies note the changing of his stance and raise their weapons.

"I don't need to hear anything further to know that talk is useless. You know nothing of rulership, of the workings of this world, and I will not entrust my empire to you!"

With that, he lets loose a fierce battle cry and bounds forward, his sacred claymore crashing down to meet the equally stalwart blade of his nemesis. But his will is unmatched, his power unstoppable, and the hero is sent flying backwards. A hailstorm of magic and arrows rain upon him, and he sees the scurrying form of a healer rushing to attend to the hero behind the onrushing two melee fighters that seek to hold him at bay. He hefts his claymore and shadowy magic bursts out of his rune-engraved hand to envelop it.

"Blasphemy incarnate, the forbidden art!" And he swings, a torrent of shadowy energy arcing threw the air and utterly consuming all in its way before crashing on the hastily conjured shields of the enemy mages. At the apex of his swing, he lunges forward, dodging the swift stab of a rapier and rams the swordsman with his shoulder. He is like a ferocious beast, unstoppable in a bout of primal, berserker rage. His blade is arcing death, his magic the stifling shadows of the infinite abyss.

Blade meets blade. "You bastard, I'll make you pay for what you did to my homeland!"

'You know nothing, child, if you think I'm going to apologize for that. Your country, full of the rich and prosperous, of resources beholden to my people... while we wallowed in endless poverty, our children raised in the grime of our refuse, food more belonging to livestock... And your king, your noble saintly ruler that subjugated us with taxes and sycophant excuses for regents...'

A nimble sidestep and a lunging rapier stab. "You monster... I'm going to make you pay for all I've sacrificed...Brother, this is for you!"

'You think you understand sacrifice? You don't understand that what was sacrificed for the prosperity of your kingdom was the happiness of my people! Your kingdom gorged itself on the bodies of OUR brothers, OUR people...!'

Claymore crashes upon a stout shield. "This is for the brighter future! Die, monster!"

'What brighter future can be had...! You've killed the finest minds of the Empire, culled the bravest and noblest of our young generations... all in the name of your so-called justice. My death brings an end to leadership, to order... an end to the people that know what sacrifices must be made for the people! What people are still left... you've razed my cities, killed my children, destroyed our future!'

A burst of fire collides on a hastily conjured barrier of shadow. "Delving into the forbidden magics... You are truly depraved, fallen Emperor!"

'If I'm depraved for using this power to conquer other nations, for bringing food and jobs and resources to my people, then I'll be depraved and proud of it! If I'm depraved for using this power in order to save my people, then let me be depraved! If you think I could ignore my innate talent for the forbidden arts, this wellspring of power that has granted me the strength to protect, to lead my people, then I want no part of your ideals!'

A spear thrusts, batted away reluctantly by a glimmering claymore. "Why, my Emperor...! You were a hero, and led us to prosperity once!"

'And I've never stopped, my foolish misguided child... If I am deemed a villain for my acts, for all I've done to secure the happiness of my people, then I will bear the name. What does being a hero mean, if I cannot ensure my people's happiness! What does being idealistic, being good mean, if I can't feed my people!"

But he doesn't voice these thoughts. He lets his rage fuel his arms, empower his blows. His wrath is his fuel, his anger his drive. The blurring steel juggernaut that is the Emperor doesn't stop. Not when flame ignites his face. Not when steel embeds itself within his arm. Not when a spear thrust gores him through the stomach. Not when a hammer crushes his shoulder plate and pulverizes bone. Not even when the shining edge of his foe's sword neatly bisects his struggling form. Even in the end, he never stops moving, never stops resisting, never stops fighting.

Because... even as he lies on the cold floor stone, crimson life bleeding onto gray earth, he does not care if he is hated by the rest of the world, does not even care if he is hated by his own people.

Because... everything I did was for my people.