How long had he dreamed of this day since he lost everything? His name. Legacy. Family. And everything he stood for. Nothing mattered anymore as the day of reckoning had arrived. His unwaveringly frightening glare, empowered by his dark thoughts, remained fixated upon the man who betrayed him. Drunk on vengeance, he felt his sanity slipping away for the very moment he could sink his rod into–

  “How could it not be me in the flesh? It sounds as though you do not want to believe it. Judging from your expression, I believe I’m not welcome in your version of reality, Captain Graves. That pathetic lie you forced upon yourself to justify your existence. If only you could see your reflection right now. What a pathetic man who dares wear that rank.”

  “If you were alive, you should have told us!”

  “Don’t make me laugh! We all know. And I know. That damned project did not account for any survivors. Those who lived only survived out of luck. Like yourself, who ran away when we needed you most. You only had one simple order to follow, yet, you decided on another.”

  “We thought you were dead! We tried looking for you.”

  Andrew squinted his eyes. Out of honouring his promise not to utilise his abilities in this manner, he chose silence.

  “You do not believe me?”

  “You don’t have to lie, Troy. I understand you. I finally did, after so long. Funny, I only came across the ultimate truth when I opened my eyes. Who benefitted from this the most? You know the answer to that question…”

  Jabbing his lightning rod forward, his understudy, the betrayer, stood in its crosshairs.

  "...Troy, was it worth it?"

  “Sir–”

  That was the last straw.

  “Don’t you dare call me that, you coward!”

  The Ascended’s scream echoed like a strong gust of wind, sweeping the crimson fields where two former allies finally reunited in the most tragic way possible. Only two remained alive in this section of the world, where the remnants of the departed coloured its surroundings in a shiny crimson-blood-red dye.

  “I can’t…accept this. No, you stop it. Stop it now!”

  Troy compartmentalised his cowardice within his feeble heart, summoning the false bravado to break the long silence. To an outsider, it appeared he was talking to himself.

  “...Accept what?”

  “This is unacceptable behaviour,” A feeling of duty engulfed Troy as he stood in the face of someone masquerading as his officially KIA’d upper study. “Whoever you are, please stop with this ridiculous act. This is a warning! Or else…!”

  "Or else what?"

  "I won't hesitate to have the relevant authorities deal with you!"

  Andrew was almost speechless.

  "Surrender now!"

  “...What a joke. Can you even hear yourself?” Andrew spat mockingly, for this clown of a soldier who somehow attained the rank of Captain, a title he held before death, is now going through an astronomical case of mental gymnastics. “I can’t believe it. You truly are a piece of filth, Troy Graves. The lengths you would go to…”

  The truth.

  “...No wonder everyone under your command…and those who trusted you…all perished for your benefit.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Watch your language, criminal!"

  With one hand, Troy released the safety mechanism. With his other hand, he placed it on the trigger. Raising the rifle to enter a firing position, Troy fired one round at the man who stole the identity of his fallen ally.

  “I will have your tongue for that, filthy terrorist!”

  The bullet escaped the chamber of Troy’s rifle, travelling at a lightning-fast speed beyond a human’s standard vision.

  “Foolish. So, so foolish. That will never work. Yet, you still try. I must commend you for that A+ attempt. I did not want to do this but you leave me no choice.”

  The bullet's immaculately homing sound silenced the profound, regretful moan from the other end. However, Troy had ignored the fact that this “identity thief” wasn’t just any human.

  “A fool like you never learns from their mistake.”

  A flash of white.

  “What…?!”

  Troy gasped in shock as a steak of lightning engulfed the invisible bullet, unsure of the sequence of events that rendered his weapon obsolete.

  “That’s all you got? I thought you would show me a technique you have learned. I expected a new trick in your arsenal, considering I haven't seen you for so long.”

  Even as Andrew wanted to punish his understudy for his cowardice, he still harboured sympathy for his student, wanting to make him look presentable in an unwinnable duel.

  “Funny. You already know the outcome but still choose otherwise. You’re committing yourself to perfection in this role, Troy. Your complacency has led to your downfall. It reminds me of the Swan Contingent’s volunteers years ago. Nothing has changed. Absolutely nothing.” Andrew pointed at the puny weapon Troy held in his trembling hands. He wanted to laugh but suppressed that unneeded gesture. “You honestly think that is going to work on me? At least have a sniper hiding somewhere where I can’t see!” He shook his head, knowing that since the day he last saw Troy, the Federation had done nothing to improve the standards of their soldiers. “That would make even a toddler from the Drazen bloodline laugh.”

  The Federation had chosen the path of least resistance instead of establishing friendly ties with the Empire. This act by the President had every semblance of treason, an act that could become grounds for stripping the President of his title. The newly christened UAFAF had no place where the survivors only wanted peace. The survivors had embraced an era of nationalisation, for globalisation pushed by North Atlantea had ended in a glorious heap of mechanical scrap buried deep within the heart of the Tribal Chiefdom.

  Why, Janus, why did you choose this instead of–

  Andrew suspected the reason, but there were no grounds for his accusations. He could only theorise until he was proven right again. As he contemplated the reasons for the commander-in-chief’s action, Troy's exaggeratedly brave voice cut through his thoughts.

  “Don’t you dare disgrace the memory of my commander, you thief!”

  With his head tilted slightly upwards, Andrew sighed softly. “You’re remarkably irredeemable.”

  Even if this man standing before him was the real deal, Troy couldn’t let him live. He had to rationalise a way to end this person’s life before the truth got out. He couldn't, by any means, allow him to exist, for he remembered the words of the President–

  “Soldier.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Those words ignited a spark in him to carry out his duties–no matter what it took.

  “Soldier, you must ensure the past remains in the past forever.”

  “Pretender, I will have your tongue!”

  He remembered the esoteric skills and techniques his mentor passed down to him. Even though he had lived in peace for a decade, not showcasing these skills except for recreational purposes, Troy knew that this combat style gave him an unparalleled advantage on the battlefield. With a warcry that sounded like a man auditioning for an action movie, Troy executed his offensive. He knew this decisive manoeuvre was unlike anything his foe had ever seen.

  “Die!!!”

  “The President…?” With a deep, prolonged sigh Zeus knew what he had to do. “I must commend you for this stellar act, Troy. At least you’re pivoting. I must commend you where commendation is due.”

  Zeus intentionally laughed loudly so his cowardly understudy could hear. His words transformed into a whisper in the wind as the coward had assumed this trick–the fighting style his sworn brother had perfected in his life and graciously passed down to soldiers beneath him in rank–could be used in this shameful manner.

  Nobody could execute this technique as he knew the originator had crafted it in an era where physical combat had become cast to the wayside for modern warfare. Since humanity could use weapons of all forms, the need to use one’s body as a weapon didn’t fit in this era. Humans could try, but their physical prowess lacked the aptitude and strength. He stashed the rods at his waist, readied his fists, swinging his legs backwards to enter a sparring stance.

  “Hand-to-hand combat? You’ll regret this.”

  The lightning prison changed in formation by switching its bouncing route and transforming into a squared circle–a wrestling ring-lookalike–where professional wrestlers would entertain their audience before the Singularity War ended the status quo. With the crowd’s roar, wrestlers would enter a momentous dance with one another. They would showcase the art of otherworldly movements that defy gravity to stimulate the vision of their audience, ending it with a showcase of finishing manoeuvres to end the performance at a high.

  Unfortunately, there would be no audience for this fight. It was a public execution.