Chapter Text
The situation was quite poor, to say the least. Right after losing the last field kitchen Baruch Bridge has, we just had to lose Flight Control on top of that. Just as the situation was seeming to spiral out of control...
"We've received a message from general staff in an encrypted long-range transmission."
What wonderful news, we can finally pull out of this meatgrinder. With the muddy season coming early we have the excuse to retreat, though a retreat back to the front lines is not much of a retreat at all. We can’t afford to let the enemy know how badly this strike has damaged the Empire’s mage forces, so we must return to regular operations to keep up the illusion of a functional military.
Before that though, we need to actually return to the front. With how exhausted everyone is from the severe sleep deprivation, our field kitchen destroyed, that railway gun and the encroaching Federation troops, we can’t afford to stay and recuperate. Despite that, political concerns demand we make a showy exit, we can’t have the enemy thinking we’re finished even if it costs us another chunk of the remaining mages. All that said, it’s time to head out and celebrate our “victory”.
A whistling sound, the railway gun that had been poking the trenches for hours. It seemed a bit closer this time, though my hearing isn't very sharp by now. But the sound of the explosion didn't come. The world went gray.
“Being X, what the hell do you want now? This isn’t a life or death moment or anything like it, come to whine about me delaying what should’ve been the end?”
This is quite a surprise, the bastard hasn’t appeared to me directly in a very long time. Clearly he hasn’t grown bored enough to forget about me, that would’ve been nice. Considering how infrequently he does this, I expect he’s about to somehow ruin everything I’ve just fixed, temporary as it is. Maybe he found some faithful amongst the godless commies to make our return trip even worse than it’s already bound to be.
An old looking man appeared, long beard, white robes, an incredibly stereotypical image of God. His face showed little of his mood, quite contrary to his voice.
“Before there was a sliver of hope, of time left wherein you could change. There was still an opportunity to make you come to the faith. You’re too far in now, too committed to this country that you know is dying. It’s strange to me that you developed this mindset considering how long you were attempting to escape, to “find new employment” elsewhere. It is clear now that I cannot change you, I would see the same resistance you now show to the communists. I give up, and so I am going to make you someone else’s problem.” Being X said, seeming despondent and yet a bit happy at the same time.
Well then, I’d be panicking if he hadn’t said the end wasn’t the end again. But this bastard is ruining all my effort just because he got tired, what kind of reasoning is that?
I honestly don’t know whether to look at this as a gift or a curse, the Empire is finished, anyone of importance has known that for years now. My career is gone, crushed by the weight of falsifying orders for an entire theater, even if it did save the Empire. I have the connections I’ve built, said falsified orders while damaging my official position certainly strengthened those. However, how likely is it that any of them have any influence after the war? The best I could hope for is one of them having a business I could help with, or being recruited for a political campaign. That said, I have no idea who and what I have to deal with next.
“You should’ve come to this conclusion sooner, you call yourself God and yet don’t have the observational skills necessary to tell who can and can’t find faith in religion?” Left unsaid was that I may come to wish this came later.
“Managing billions upon billions of humans across multiple different worlds does not leave much time for individual study, the time spent with you however has aided me in that, for that and nothing else do I thank you.” Being X said with sincerity.
One redeemable benefit from our exchange, high praise from the self-proclaimed god. “You’ve said your piece and I have already insulted you in every way I could think of before this, so get on with it. What exactly are you going to have me deal with next, after you let me have my freedom?”
Hopefully this time a more detailed description, I expect little but I suppose I dictated the conditions he chose last time. Perhaps he is capable of speaking coherently when it isn’t related to faith.
“I am a benevolent god, so I will not be condemning you to eternal punishment or what not. Which is why I am sending you to someone who may or may not do so. I know very little about them, only that they are an evil god, and this point is supported by many of my colleagues. With some digging, however, I found they are ever in search of entertainment. Your new role in life is to be that entertainment.”
I doubt there is anything he could say other than “I am sending you to hell” that is worse than what he just said. Considering what Being X considers “just” includes mind control I highly doubt his estimation of evil, when it does not involve a lack of faith, is anything to scoff at. I am, much like the Empire was so recently, on the precipice. All I can do now is hope that I get lucky with this fate. There is no convincing Being X to relent. I stayed silent.
“I’ve worked out a deal with that evil god. In exchange for a record of your second life, and your soul, she will remove you from the worlds I oversee. There is but one part left to this, removing the soul from the body. I am going to enjoy watching you get obliterated by a railway gun shell.” This he said with much joy.
Time resumed, but it was not at the speed it should be. Being X was forcing me to run reflex formulas, he must be trying to make this especially slow for me. Of course he couldn’t give up the chance to torment me one last time.
The concrete of the command bunker cracked and then, a moment later, I lost consciousness.