Basnai-The Realisation

And now we return to our previous story of deceit and evil, our story of Basnai. Many years had passed since we had met, but tensions were building all over the empire and repercussions were being felt. There were riots in the street, more and more provinces screaming for independence, and there were the southern states.

A collection of wealthy cities tired of being under the jackboot of a corrupt empire, they split off and formed a separate nation, the empire fighting a war in the east, being too busy to deal with a small matter like independence.

The southern states quickly grew in power, and the empire grew nervous. Nobody knows to this day who fired the first shot. Millions were conscripted by either side, machines of destruction were built that could level entire ecosystems and every spare penny plunged into the war effort.

Basnai was taken in the night. As much as my influence was, I couldn't stop it, I couldn't save him. He had the emperors mark branded on his hand and he was sent off to die, fighting an enemy he had never seen.

The sight was legendary, of the millions of young men, taken, armed, broken and sent to be minced apart in foreign fields. They said you could see then from space, but I'm not sure. Basnai crawled through mud and blood and saw more destruction them he had ever seen before. But we aren't talking about all of Basnai's wartime experiences, just one. And one that would change him.

Basnai woke up on the hard stone floor, glad to be clean for once, the mud got everywhere! When they weren't manning the huge artillery pieces outside the fort, they were washing. It was soul rending. The hours of boredom wore you away unroll you were a pitiful shadow of yourself, held together only by spite and hatred.

One of my contacts in the military told me that although Basnai appeared to be coping, the cracks were beginning to show. He was prone to wandering the corridors of the fort talking quietly to himself, screaming at anyone who interrupted his conversations.

I think I now know who he was really talking to.

Then there was that fateful day. The empires orders arrived swiftly, there was to be one last push across the miles of ruined land to take the southern states back or die trying. This ,as you could imagine, did not go down well. Over a hundred brave young men were shot by a firing squad for mutiny.

The mud was thick and shrapnel flew through the air like a deadly storm of glistening metal, the screams of the dying were everywhere as Basnai clambered over the bodies and wrecks of machines. His body shook every time an explosive shell landed, shaking his already fragmented mind. The smell was akin to the doors of hell itself, decay, blood and fire. Basnai couldn't see if he ever killed anyone, nor if any of his comrades were shot, but he pressed on.

He saw it. The wonderful sight. The border, he would claim the victory for the empire, and would be forever remembered a hero. But as Basnai took a step forward, he felt a huge fist smashing into him, puncturing his fragile body and punching a hole in him.

As he fell towards the ground, a colossal energy built up inside him. In a moment of desperation, he released it.

...

...

...

And in that moment, he knew everything. About Corporal Johnson, about enemy positions, about a million dreams that would never be fulfilled. And all around him, the bodies began to rise.

The southern states never knew what hit them. An army of the dead, unkillable, unstoppable, uncountable millions of them. As more and more fell to the tide of destruction, their numbers only seemed to grow. The border forts were destroyed, thousands were killed and an army of the dead disappeared without a trace.

...

...

...

I saw Basnai in the bookshop again. Even keeping my distance, I could tell that he was a changed person, aged beyond his years, with an injury that could never be healed. I felt his pain, and empathized with him. Strange, to think that through all the years I knew him, we never shared a single word