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What does being human mean?
What does being a monster mean?
A human loves. A human feels, a human perceives and endures. There’s no such thing as an empty human, a pathetically, irrevocably hollow human, whose mind isn’t tortured by the chaotic amalgamation that is the torrent of emotions. Yet it is said that even those who feel can be deemed as monsters, for even common suffering isn't proof of one’s humanity.
Actually, the more you suffer, the more you are prone to become one of those monsters.
Those beings chained to endless torture. Those who can’t free themselves from the weight of the past, from their utter, overwhelming desires. Those who long to know peace but invoke chaos upon themselves instead.
Those whose hands smell of rancid blood.
There are quite a few of them, wandering around the coldest places on earth. It is not hard to recognize them, as they have no facial features. Hidden behind the pitch-black mask that conceals their atrocious pain, they seek nothing but prey, someone to kill, some blood to shed. They kill to soothe their pain, but the assuagement only lasts for an instant before it fades away, leaving nothing but infected wounds on the severed hearts of those monsters.
The more they kill, the less content they feel. Many of them used to be soldiers, warriors, servants of rulers and gods. While the weakest are lucky enough to die on the field, the rest has to live with the grief and terror that war brought along, a grief as dreadful as poison, which devors one’s body and mind until they understand that they shall remember the taste of blood until the end of time.
Just like an addiction, they go back to this blood they used to despise, only to starve it to death. They start killing again, more and more, until they forget the reason why they even fought in the first place.
One of those monsters was particularly famous.
The one they used to call ‘The Captain’.
A glorious, powerful general. A model of strength and devotion, an inspiration for every soldier out there. Everyone longed to be at his service, everyone desired nothing but to die by his side on the battlefield, for it was an honor to fight with him, for him. He was the symbol of diligence, and had known nothing but victory.
However… As those endless battles kept consuming him, he eventually started to doubt himself. What am I fighting for? Do I have a reason to keep fighting? Isn’t war meaningless…?
One day, he left the battlefield.
He left everything behind. His title, his soldiers, his god. He wouldn’t serve any deity, any purpose anymore, for everything seemed meaningless to him. The only thing that kept him alive was the idea of killing, again and again, until his heart would be satisfied.
But this day never came.
He kept wandering through those endless snowfields. In the end, he earned the name of monster, and started to hide his face, that face he couldn’t afford to look at anymore. Those eyes, those lips, those traits… He couldn’t bear to face the reflection of what he had become. Yet, deep down, there was still a voice begging to be heard, the pleading voice of the human he used to be.
May I find a purpose again.
Tonight, he was hunting again. Preys usually weren’t rare after midnight, yet no one decided to show up. For once, the Captain couldn’t find anyone, and was left alone with the icy wind caressing his cheeks. As frustration was starting to take over him, however, he eventually stopped walking, and took a look at his hands.
Hidden under thick, black gloves, they were still visible through the holes that had formed after so many battles. There were some burns here and there, some wounds, and remains of past confrontations. Yet the first thing one could notice was the amount of blood that was now covering those gloves.
The fabric was soaked in blood, thus letting drops fall from time to time and color the snow brightly. Part of it was old and dry; the other was still fresh.
The Captain, however, wasn't alarmed by such a worrisome amount. In fact, he thought this was rather disappointing; how could he even hope to get satisfied? Until the blood would cover his clothes and armor entirely, until it would leave stains all over the ground and follow his dark, grisly gait, he couldn't afford to put his hunt to an end.
No matter the raging snow, no matter the cold, no matter the dangers that lurked in the dark, he had to go on. He had to swing this weapon of his once again, to pierce through any flesh with this ancient, rusty blade of his, whose edges were now decaying rapidly.
And so, just when this realization hit him, he could smell it.
The smell of fresh, pure blood.
He let out a deep, incomprehensible groan, similar to that of an animal. He was solely driven by his instincts, and followed the path dictated by his unquenchable thirst. Only gods know for how long he walked that way, silently, his weapon loosely marking the ground as he progressed in the snow. His feet buried deep into the ground, he could only go on slowly, lifting his knees with some difficulty before he could even reach the next step.
Along with the groans, however, the sound of his clinging chains would sometimes resonate through the echoes of the night.
After a while, he eventually noticed some lights from afar. They looked particularly warm, but just like he had lost all of his senses, he was now unable to differentiate the comforting warmth of a house and the biting cold of death. To him, lights only meant one thing: he had found his prey.
As he slowly reached for the place, he realized it was quite big, and actually resembled one of these ancient churches. Surprisingly enough, it was standing alone, right in the middle of nowhere, making it seem strange that someone would even visit this place so late at night.
If someone was there, the Captain knew for sure they were either completely stupid or very courageous. Perhaps even both, but such things didn’t matter, as they would perish under the weight of his blade.
He slowly pushed the door, a creak resonating across the main room of the church. As he started walking on the wooden floor, his boots hitting the ground loudly, he noticed the place was rather empty and dilapidated. The chairs were all broken, the stained glass cracked, and the holy statue standing graciously in the back had lost its right arm, along with the wings that used to elevate it to higher grounds.
Just like his faith, all divine traces had shattered within this once sacred place.
Yet the building wasn’t all forsaken. After a few minutes, the Captain finally noticed someone before the statue, a tall figure dressed in black. This mysterious man, who seemed to have been lighting candles around the altar for a while now, looked both noble and menacing at the same time. His moves were gracious, mannered, he wouldn’t light the candles abruptly, yet there was something strange about him, a certain strength and mischief emanating from him, to the point the Captain thought he had recognized another soldier.
This surprising contrast was enough to confuse him, and so he stopped walking, contemplating the scene before him with a certain fascination. For a man that had known nothing but plain emptiness, he found himself drawn in this observation, unable to let his eyes derive from this stranger. His black, wavy hair, along with his pale face and closed eyes were somehow hypnotizing, and gently, the Captain was put into a state of calmness. He didn’t feel at peace, yet for a moment his pulsions seemed to calm down, allowing him to recollect some of his past memories.
Those memories were still blurry, yet managed to soothe something deep inside, perhaps the pain lying under that heavy armor.
“Ah… There you are. It’s been a while, Captain.”
The reason why he knew his name didn’t matter. The Captain wasn’t particularly surprised either, however the short mention of it was enough to keep him captivated, too captivated to allow him to speak.
“You don’t seem to remember me, how unfortunate. I suppose you’ve come to kill me? Well then, I’m here, just another prey on the bloody path you follow.”
The strange man turned around, and slowly spread his arms, as if imitating the form of a cross. His chest was now completely exposed, yet the Captain couldn’t pierce right through it. While this odd person was welcoming death right into his arm, a pure, honest smile lighting his pale face, the Captain was caught in spiraling thoughts, lost before this person he seemed to know but couldn’t recall, confused by his complete calmness.
All he had seen in his victims’ eyes were fear and plea. He was used to screams, cries and supplications, he was used to being called a monster, not a captain. He was used to being seen as a demon, not as an old acquaintance. And so all of his senses were interfered, perturbed by what he was supposed to be and what he used to be.
He stared at the man for a few minutes, before his chapped lips managed to let out a few words. His voice was broken, but it hadn’t lost its power and presence.
“... Who are you?”
The man’s smile widened slightly.
“So you can speak.”
“Who are you?”
“Telling you would be cheating, don’t you think? I want you to guess it by yourself. If you remember me, then perhaps it’ll be worth having a conversation. Otherwise… I want you to kill me, just like you killed all those people on your way.”
No matter how much he insisted on wanting to die by the Captain’s hand, the one we called a monster was unable to act, to commit such a simple and usual thing to him. He had done this countless times, killing was part of his work, of his identity as a whole, and never in this era had he questioned his actions. The need to shed blood was always stronger than any reasonable comprehension, stronger than any feeling and resentment. Yet, he was now facing how banal such a behavior had become to him, the last spark of humanity in his being was starting to shine again, preventing him from killing this person.
Slowly, old memories rose again, and the Captain found himself recalling his glorious battles. He thought of his armies, of his soldiers, of his pride and determination. He thought of his god, of his faith, and all those things, those once hollow yet atrociously human things awakened in him again, painfully taking over his heart.
He could hear the sounds of blades on the battlefield. He could still feel the raging snow on his armor, he could smell the warm blood on his face and hear the voices of his peers. Fear, pride, devotion, compassion, trust, loyalty… They were all revived, for a short time of course, but intensely enough, thus making the Captain fall on his knees.
Slowly, his hands reached for his helmet. His head hurt, yet this pain was as good as it was atrocious. He felt human again, as if this purpose he was longing to find could be grasped at last. The bittersweet memories of it all lasted for a moment, during which the strange man didn’t speak at all. He simply looked at his old acquaintance, his face as neutral as ever.
When his torments finally calmed down, when all the feelings held inside his being were finally allowed to burn, the Captain took a last look at this man he was ready to call a friend.
Slowly, his hand reached for him, almost grasping the weak remains of their relationship.
“... Pan… Pantalone…?”
The man smiled, an ounce of satisfaction on his face. As the Captain pronounced his name, he slowly came closer, almost reaching that hand of his, that severed, bloody hand. However, he couldn’t grab it yet, for there were still too many things he needed him to remember.
Yet even though he couldn’t show it, hearing him pronounce his name had already filled him with great relief.
“You managed to remember my name, I’m impressed. Truth be told, I thought you were a lost cause, my dear colleague. Tell me, do you happen to remember anything else?”
The Captain stared at Pantalone for a while. He studied all the details of his face, from his hair to his lips, from his chin to his hands. He took a look at his glasses, at his rings, his fancy fabrics and clothes, his closed eyes… He tried to print them all into his mind, but nothing would come. Nothing, but a strange feeling growing in his chest.
The more he looked at him, the more this sensation grew, until it consumed his heart entirely. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was warm, as warm as a fire in winter, as comforting as the light of life, the same light as that of the church. It felt as if Pantalone’s presence was comforting, relieving, just like a home to which he would come back after war.
There was nothing else he could remember about him, nothing but a feeling of pure happiness.
“You’ve been staring at me for a while now, Captain… Haven’t you grown tired of looking at the silhouette of your old friend?”
“I could never grow tired of looking at you, I fear.”
Pantalone remained silent, astonished by such a bold, sudden statement. The Captain wouldn’t stop there, as he felt embarrassed to have left his friend in such a state, therefore he explained his thoughts further, letting even his quietest reflections reach him.
“I didn’t attend to embarrass you, my friend… I apologize if that’s the case, however allow me to admit, Pantalone, that even though I cannot remember anything about you, I certainly remember that I appreciated you a lot. My heart feels warm at your sight, and your presence is enough to put my tormented mind at peace… No matter what happened, I’d rather remember this, and cherish that feeling I had long forgotten before you came back to me.”
Though he wanted to answer, his face now all confused, he was quickly stopped by the Captain, who finally grabbed his hand. One was enjoying the bliss of calmness; the other was trying to remain collected, though a flow of emotions was taking over him as he slowly recognized the man his friend used to be.
Naturally they got closer, reaching for each other’s body. In the end they wouldn’t even speak, they would simply follow what those long-lost memories still left in them, sparkles of affection and respect, that still awakened as they looked at each other.
Eventually, the Captain wrapped his arms around his friend’s figure, softly, but firmly enough to express how much his presence was soothing him. As he did so, Pantalone let out a laugh, before he mentioned the Captain’s sudden and unusual affection.
“Since when have you become so bold, Captain? Everyone speaks of you as a monster, and there you are, embracing me, telling me how much you appreciate me, even though you can’t remember anything about me…”
“Do I really need to remember?”
“... I wish you remembered.”
This quiet tone was strange coming from Pantalone. Slowly, Capitano took a look at his face, only to realize he had lowered his usual mask to show a certain sadness. For how long had he been searching for his friend? Why exactly was he in this church in the first place?
Those questions ought to be asked at last.
“My friend… What happened? I remember leaving the battlefield after years of war, but I can’t remember what happened afterwards… Were you looking for me? Is that why you were waiting in this church?”
Pantalone remained quiet for a moment. The Captain sensed this question was hard to answer, and so he waited patiently for him to feel ready. Sometimes he would caress his head softly, sometimes he would take his hand. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Pantalone knew, deep down, that he had missed such softness.
“After you departed… Our queen wondered where you had left. No one could find you, so I decided to cross the lands in search of my friend. I heard those rumors about a certain monster wandering aimlessly in the snowfields, looking for some fresh blood at night. I thought it could have been you, and followed your bloody path in order to meet you again. I was convinced you had lost your mind, but… I’m not one to underestimate my dearest friends, and so I wanted to test you. I wanted to see if you truly had become a monster.”
He took a deep breath, relieved to have finally let it all out. The Captain finally understood what had happened, that his god had looked for him, and that his friend had been worried enough to cross those cold lands with little to no clue of his whereabouts. Somehow, it was the highest proof of their past relationship, a relationship he seemed to cherish more than ever before.
Hearing those words reconnected him to his humanity even more, to the point he felt the monster in him die for a moment. He was no longer the bloody murderer that wandered the lands without any purpose, but he was no longer the Captain either. He felt both light and calm, more than he had ever felt. Somehow his mind had left everything behind, but this emptiness wasn’t painful, for it was still bringing him a sense of comfort.
Somehow, he felt like a soul leaving the world peacefully.
“... I miss you.”
Capitano removed his hand from Pantalone’s hair, and looked at him more carefully. Since they had met again, he had never seen his friend show so many emotions. Though they were still hidden behind his usually mischievous expression, he could still notice them, and the more sorrowful he looked, the more the Captain’s heart ached.
Yet those words sounded odd, almost out of place
Why would he still miss him, when he was just there?
“I’m right here, Pantalone.”
But those words almost vanished as he spoke.
Gently, the warmth of Pantalone’s body seemed more distant, as if he was too far to sense it. The more he felt relieved, the more he felt detached from this land he had been wandering. Confused, he simply looked at his friend a few seconds more, only for him to realize that the candles surrounding his figure were starting to die. Their flame disappeared as a soft light slowly reached through the stained glass, and his friend, now illuminated by the grace of the dawn, showed a pure and honest smile.
“I’m glad I got to see you again, my friend… I always feared that those battles would leave your soul unrestful, yet now I can let you go at peace, knowing that you've experienced all those great feelings anew."
"Pantalone…"
"And, at least… I managed to keep my promise."
The sun rose as they spoke, blessing the lands and washing away the blood the wandering warrior had spread. As the last traces of infamy were now leaving his body, other memories striked again. In the end, he finally understood how his purpose had faded, why he had lost himself in the dreads of war.
Right before his eyes, he felt like he could witness his own body lying in the snow quietly. His palms were loose, almost reaching the hands of other soldiers. Piles of men were lying by his side, resting on dry blood and freezing ice. No sight was more horrifying than that of a lost battle, of lost lives and shattered dreams. No hope could resist the baneful vision of the death of devotion, that same devotion that was once said to survive even the most painful demise.
There, as the Captain saw the broken blade that pierced through his chest, his heart sank, reminding him of the pain that he experienced once he lost. The hideous pain of the glorious warrior whose pride vanishes along with the iron cutting his skin. The indescribable fear of losing, for just a second, the taste of victory.
But along with this terrifying realization came another one. A realization that left a doubt in his heart, for it was both glorious and lonely.
The Captain had never left the battlefield.
He used to believe there was no better death than the one that served a soldier’s god. There was no more idealizable glory than that of dying on the lands one defended, and every warrior, every servant dreamed to leave this world along with their unwavering worship. Yet the soldier who dies on the field never returns home.
Many warriors have no home.
For a long time, the Captain thought he had none either.
That was until he set his eyes on his old friend again.
"... Pantalone…"
His voice was growing weaker as he spoke, and the face of his friend was disappearing before the statue of the church. Yet he still recognized his warmth, and realized that's what he had always been looking for.
War is an ephemeral purpose, and once the winner stands tall, victorious before the atrocities of countless battles, there is always a place where all fights end, a place where all of this somehow doesn't matter, if not for the fact true repose comes after dark times.
The Captain was perhaps glorious, to have died on the battlefield. But the pain of not returning home is what had forsaken him, for he had lost himself in the tumult of war, for he had died soaked in blood, and not in the comfort of a small, welcoming home.
His soul had never known peace at last, until it found its home again, its home that lay right where his love remained as well.
In the end, his soul had returned home as soon as he had reached Pantalone's arms.
"... Farewell, my love…"
The Captain couldn't know if his friend had heard those words. All he could hear was a muffled sob before the church crashed down entirely, making all the remains of his past life disappear along with the rise of the sun.
It was all white, all blissful. It was calm, quiet. Just like he had imagined, he now felt like falling asleep, and witnessed the figure of his beloved once again. It was now distant, standing in the midst of this pure, immaculate place. Too far to be reached, too close to not be seen.
However, that didn't prevent the Captain from trying to reach him. He started walking, slowly, yet it felt as if he wasn't walking at all. He was simply heading towards his friend, his arm stretched, his eyes wet. He was so focused on him he couldn't even notice the blood on his gloves had disappeared.
As he progressed, voices echoed from afar, remnants of past conversations he couldn't remember back in the church, when he could still touch his friend.
"... Pantalone, tell me. What will you do, if I never come back?"
"Don't act stupid, you know you can't lose. There's no war you'd not return from, no battle you'd die in, for you could not afford to fail your queen."
No matter how loud they sounded, it was as if the Captain couldn't hear those voices.
"But what if that happens?"
"... What's going on, Captain? That's not like you to speak such words. Now, you sound so different… Has our relationship made you more sensitive?"
He was too absorbed by that figure of his.
"Answer me, what's going on with you?"
Too lost in the seducing depths of love.
"If I disappear… Do you promise you'll be searching for me?"
"I don't even need to promise you that. I could never afford to let you disappear just like that. But why this question?"
For the first time, he seemed to come closer. His hand could almost reach his shoulder.
"Every soldier fights for someone. Just like I fight for our queen, others fight for their god. But deep down, every soldier also has someone they wish to return to once the war is won."
His hand reached his shoulder at once, and eventually, Pantalone turned around, his arms welcoming the Captain to his new home.
The home of eternal rest.
"As for me, Pantalone…"
"My true home… is in your arms."
…
…
In the middle of nowhere stood a church, the domain of ancient, abandoned gods. This place knew no name, no visitors, no inhabitants, as it simply hid a broken statue, along with dozens of candles. However, some lucky travelers, who happened to find the church in the midst of their despair, did mention the presence of two people, two men remaining at the bottom of the altar.
One of them was said to wear heavy, dark armor. Covered in black, he brought nothing but fear to the guests of the building, and repulsed them as he showed no face, no expression. Dead or not, it didn't matter; he inspired nothing but the most hideous of blasphemy, and the severed blade he still held in his hands acted as a warning for whoever would dare to approach the altar.
Next to him, however, lay a man dressed in black, whose face was said to show nothing but a complete, absolute peace. The glasses on his face were all broken, and his clothes had long been torn. Yet the travelers mostly talked about the wound on his chest, the deep, rotten wound that seemed to have been drawn by the large blade of his peer.
Just like young lovers, they still held each other tightly, and not even the course of time seemed to alter their position.
No one could really guess what had happened between them, yet most of them agreed on one thing, that the man in the dark armor must have slaughtered his peer. Perhaps an unfortunate visitor, perhaps a friend, perhaps even more.
But why would he kill another man? Who could commit such a crime, if not a monster? Who could do it with such intentions, if not a human? And so the question remained unanswered, for the old Captain wouldn’t be there to tell the truth.
To admit that all he ever wanted…
… Was to remain in his lover’s arms forever.