Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-45912997-20200526190636/@comment-37843592-20200530083218

"About fucking time..."

The charcoal-skinned man who sat all by his lonesome on a rickety wooden crate finally stood up from his seat with a slow clapping mockery of applause. A pair of glowing yellow eyes peered underneath the wide iron hat with utter disdain toward the two opposing forces between him. To those with better sight, it could have been mistaken as pure arrogance coming from him. An impatient man eager to make fools around those who greatly outnumber him. A false sense of bravado hiding the burgeoning death that awaited him.

A foolish man, no doubt.

But to him, it didn't matter. Deep inside his mind, great armies such as these did not even moved him. Not from what happened during his constant raids against the two forces with an impartial gaze. Not from the cruelty he inflicted upon them as they begged for mercy when he knew they would have done unto him or any poor soul the same way had the tables been turned around. Not even around the time the eyesore of a city 'Lescatie' got invaded by the Demon Lord's lust-filled army led by her fourth daugther during his final escapade of robbing the nobles and clergymen blind while the attack distracted everyone. The city was damned, one way or another, when most of its poorer inhabitants and dedicated 'heroes' under the yoke of the ruling class would have turned against their masters even if the threat of the Demon army were nonexistent.

A twisted smile slowly formed on his face as he drew the large blade from its sheathe behind his back and hefted the crude hacker sword to rest on his right shoulder. None of it ever mattered to him. The humans. The monsters. The deities living on some faraway fairy tale land. Nothing. Whatever local plight he heard or saw was merely background noises to him. It didn't mean that he did not care. He was still him the last time he checked. He just couldn't bring himself to care after what they took from him.

His friends. His only family. Gone. Taken or killed to the last just for being themselves. Homes can be rebuilt from the bottom up. People, however, were gone forever.

And for what reasons of that. Fear? Hate? Vanity?

What morbid reasons did it ever lead to have both sides take from him his clan under the impression in the first place? Why did they do this to him? Why were they taken from their world only to be brought to this foreign one?

They had no ill-intent toward the two main players in the beginning right after they were unknowingly transported from their continent a long time ago. Some mild disagreements over the beliefs and constant violation of common sense, but it was just trivial wash to the clan. Order could have left them be without a fuss. The Demon Lord could have been reasonable during first contact. Such idealistic notion was unrealistic, of course.

Their answers wouldn't have mattered anyway as soon as he was done leaving his message.

They did this to the clan. To him.

He tried playing nice, but all words fell deaf as both demanded compliance of unreasonable depths.

None of this would have happened if they had just left them alone. None of this would have been done by his hands if they had at least compromised an agreement and let them stay out of the lasting conflict.

None of this would have mattered at all if they had only FUCKING LISTENED in the first place.

But then again, it was only a matter of time before the factions came after them. Great powers were never great listeners to begin with. He knew that lesson quite well in his heart while the armies of the Chief God and Demon Lord advanced upon his position. This land was no different than the land he came from. The desert made him brittle and coarse the moment he was borned. The ground was always covered with many things, blood most importantly.

All he was traded with was one hell for another. A familiar setting, despite the overflowing naivety and innocence, but everyone was guilty all the same.

The people here spoke of legends and heroism. Of daring and dashing plots. The only difference is that anyone could be a hero.

But not him.

He knew better than that. He was no hero. Not some chosen one of some vague mythological legends. Not a great and powerful person of high standards. Not the center of the universe nor special in anyway.

Not unless he worked for it. Even so, the man was a nobody. Enigmatic, but a passing figure nevertheless.

Because at the end of the day, people either live or die.

Might as well make sure the people fighting him die first.