The rebellion against the wise and just King Argentis was still small, but was slowly gaining ground, and that could not be tolerated. As His Majesty's most trusted man, it was the Thunder General's job to quash all threats to the kingdom, whether they came from outside or inside. He rode across the countryside toward a rural village, accompanied by a squad of soldiers, to do just that.
The Thunder General- for that was the only name by which he was known- towered over most of his men. He wore armor that completely covered his body, even a mask over his face. There were rumors that no enemy of the kingdom who saw his face lived to tell about it. The rumors weren't quite true, but if they struck fear into their enemies, he was happy to let them stand. Charged crystals shone from two magical relics he wore, blue-white at his left shoulder and yellow at his right wrist. The one at his left created the armor he wore, upgraded over the course of many years until it covered him completely. The one at his right summoned a metal spear, which he used not only as a weapon, but a means to direct his lightning.
This power over lightning was the reason for his name. It was something he'd been born with. At first, he could only generate small charges. But the king had been wise enough to see the usefulness of this small spark of ability, to recognize the potential to use the ancient relics he now wore. Now, he could call down bolts of lightning from the sky, even on a clear day. With his spear in his hand, he could direct his lightning at any target, either through the ground or through the air. It had taken years of sacrifice and training to get to this point. He'd bonded so strongly with the magic in the crystals that they'd become a part of him, something that would have been dangerous for most. But he'd been happy- honored, even- to do it. He was now able to protect his country and his king, repay them for what they'd done for him.
Today, they were headed to a village that had been identified as rebel sympathizers. The rebel movement had taken hold mostly in the rural farming villages, far from the royal palace. It couldn't be allowed to spread to the larger cities. A stand must be made here and now, by making an example of the villages that turned again the king. They must be shown that this way leads to nothing but death and destruction. He'd sent a contingent of men on ahead, to take stock of what kind of weaponry and manpower this stronghold had. They hadn't yet returned, which didn't bode well. Perhaps the rebels had them pinned down and unable to escape. Whatever the rebel scum had, they would still be outnumbered and outmatched, but he liked to be prepared, anyway.
When he came over the hill that marked the boundary of the village, he was shocked by what he saw in the valley below. His men weren't trapped, the battle was already over. The rebel forces had been gathered in the street before the village. He smiled to himself. Of course the royal forces were superior. The rebels would soon learn this, whether they wanted to or not.
But as he got closer, the group he saw there didn't look like any rebel forces he'd ever seen. “These people?” he asked one of the soldiers already there, confused.
“Yes, General!” the man replied, hastily saluting. There was no confusion in his voice.
But surely, the Thunder General thought, the man was wrong. These looked not like combatants, but like... like ordinary villagers. Children, oldsters, priests, a girl who looked to be pregnant. The adults in the group looked hungry and sick, hardly strong enough to plow their fields, much less take up arms and fight. And where were the arms? The closest thing to a weapon was a pitchfork that had been abandoned in the street. The atmosphere was one of fear, not defiance.
“These... are the rebels,” he asked again.
“Yes, sir. Rebel scum, every one,” said the soldier.
He had to remember, the rebels were pernicious and devious. This was not the first rebel stronghold he'd been sent to. The others had been somewhat like this. Sure, they'd looked like simple farmers, but they were able-bodied and strong, able to fight. Of course, they'd denied being involved with the rebellion, but that was to be expected. Traitors didn't suddenly develop a love of truth, just because they'd lost. His Majesty, King Argentis, had determined they were rebel sympathizers, and His Majesty was wise. The General was not going to second-guess his king. He had had no doubts in his mind about what he did.
But here, it felt... different. The supposed farmers had faced their punishment bravely, as would be expected of soldiers. Here, children cried in their parents' arms. The priests tried to offer comfort, or knelt with their hands folded in prayer. No one even tried to get to the abandoned pitchfork to defend themselves.
This was wrong. It felt wrong. The rebels were misguided traitors, but they fought for a cause, and he'd thought that gave them at least some rudimentary kind of honor. No soldier with any honor would recruit children or force priests to break their vows. No army of any kind would put a pregnant woman on the front lines like this. Had he been wrong about the rebels? Were they really as savage and barbaric as the invading hordes?
“How long did it take to subdue them?” he asked another nearby soldier. Of course there would have been a fight. There must have been. They were unarmed now because his soldiers had quickly disarmed them before he got there.
“No time at all. They didn't even put up a fight,” the man responded, a smug smile on his face, “Rebel cowards!”
“No time at all...,” the General repeated. Why hadn't they fought? Looking out at the group again, he saw that none of them were wearing scabbards. No knife sheaths. No fallen arrows or empty quivers. If they'd been disarmed, where were their weapons? Perhaps they'd been disposed of, already. Surely, they wouldn't have faced the royal army unarmed, like civilians. This felt so wrong. Why did this feel wrong? He wasn't some traitorous malcontent who would question His Majesty's judgement...
Unarmed, like civilians...
No, it didn't matter! He had his orders, and it wasn't his place to question them! His Majesty had sent him here for good reason! He stepped forward, activating the crystal on his right arm. The huge metal spear he used to direct lightning materialized in his hand. Gasps and quiet cries swept through the gathered crowd. In the back, the pregnant girl clutched her belly.
And seeing that, what was left of the Thunder General's nerve broke. He couldn't do this. These weren't rebel soldiers, no matter what His Majesty had said. This wasn't a battle, or even an execution. It wasn't justice or retaliation. It was murder. He was a soldier, not a monster! Not a mass-murderer!
But the king's orders were clear, and it was his obligation to follow them. He didn't have a choice in the matter. This village has sided with the rebels. Civilians or not, they had to be punished. An example had to be made. And he was a monster, every bit. Was there anyone in this country who would say the Thunder General was anything but that? He'd become one, willingly, to protect this country and its people from the barbaric Irmondei and Arkharians who threatened it from without, and these misguided rebels who threatened it from within. This was necessary, just like the others. The king was just and fair- he would not have ordered any of this if it were not necessary. He had to do this.
The pregnant girl had fallen to her knees, sobbing, probably mourning the life of the baby she would never meet.
He couldn't bring himself to move. The hand holding the spear was almost trembling. He had to do this. He had to...
Shouts rang out from behind the hills. Rebels. Actual ones. He almost felt relieved at this. Soldiers started shouting themselves, wanting to know what their General wanted them to do.
“Go!” he ordered, “Stop them before they get here. I'll take care of this.” The ones he'd brought with him started toward the noise. He turned to the ones guarding the group of villagers. “All of you. Go!” They reluctantly followed.
As he watched them disappear over the hill, chills went down his back and his chest tightened as he realized what he was actually going to do, once all the soldiers were gone. The audacity of it, the betrayal...
Once they had gone, he turned back to the gathered villagers. “His Royal Majesty, King Argentis, has ordered that this village be destroyed,” he said, in a voice loud enough for all the group to hear, but hopefully not loud enough to carry over the hills, “And that is what I must do.”
More cries from the villagers.
“However,” he continued, trying to not to let his nerves make his voice shake, “it will take time to to build up the power required.”
He turned his back to them, and planted his spear in the ground. “It will take time. A few minutes, at least...”
The tightness in his chest was making it harder to breathe and keep his voice steady. What was he doing? What was he doing? Good god...
He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe, willing his hands not to shake, and hoped the villagers would understand what he meant. If he didn't specifically tell them what he wanted them to do, he wouldn't have betrayed the king's orders. He was telling the truth about the power buildup, after all. Maybe it didn't take quite as long as this, but there was no point in rushing things and coming up short. After a few moments, he heard footsteps in the street behind him, getting softer. Soon, more and more footsteps joined in. He didn't turn to look. If he didn't see them leave, he could say they hadn't escaped, and he wouldn't really be lying. He wasn't betraying the king, not technically. But that didn't stop the chills down his back.
He waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before he turned around. The street was now empty. Surely, they'd fled into their homes or barns and were hiding there. They hadn't escaped, of course. There was a flicker of movement over the top of the far hill, quickly disappearing behind it. Probably an animal. Some of the livestock must have wandered away. Nothing he needed to be concerned with.
He raised his spear, gathering the energy he'd built up. Electricity crackled around the spear and down his arms as he reached into the sky for what he needed. He could generate electricity himself, but this needed to be done quickly, and that alone would not be enough. The clouds overhead began to merge together and darken, lightning sparking between them as the giant cloud grew. Once enough forced had been gathered, he drove the spear into the ground. Bright bolts of lightning shot down, striking the ground with enough force that he thought he felt the ground shake. When they cleared, nothing but rubble and ashes were left of the village. The monster that was the Thunder General had destroyed another rebel stronghold.
He turned and climbed the hill to join his men. The village was destroyed, just as the king had ordered. He'd done exactly what he'd been ordered to.
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