Somewhere, deep down below in an ocean, lies your kingdom.
And there you are - seated on a throne made of stones, ornaments of all kinds carved into it. What lies before you is a long corridor adorned with seats, made out of the same materials. Less great than yours, but no less grand.
It is devoid of any humans, including your army. Your hair floats in the warm water surrounding you, bubbles rising around your form. The distant Sun barely filters through the floor-to-ceiling walls, athough your sight has long accustomed to the never-ending darkness.
All is well, all feels peaceful...
[[Until ...]]Until the french door bursts open and one of your soldiers slides into the massive corridor. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, pupils blown wide with shock.
It seems as though whatever happened it made the soldier not to care about what is polite, for he grips the doorframe as if he was scared he would disappear the moment he let go. His tall, bulky frame is doubled over, his free hand splayed across his abdomen.
His uniform - usually so pristine - is dishvelled, wrinkled at the collar.
You arch a brow, your voice firm. If he were to strain his ears, he could hear the undertone of worry in your voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He straightens up instantly as your voice echoes through the emptiness, one hand dropping to his side while the other rises up in a salute, "A soldier of the same unit as I reported sighting of a disguised enemy. She said they wore a dark cloak to hide their features, albeit she caught the green glow of their eyes."
[[...]]The green glow of their eyes. The statement repeats over and over in your brain, poisoning your vision with pure red. The enemy kingdom. The same kingdom that attacked yours a decade ago, leaving behind nothing more but rubble, crushed bones of your beloved civilians, their organs and severed limbs strewn around what had once been calm streets. The same kingdom that poisoned the wombs of the female population with their seed, many victims opting to carve the ´infection´ out before it could fully take root.
You grip the armrests of your throne, knuckles whitening. The soldier´s lips move, but the ringing in your ears drowns his voice out. That is, until, the breathy tone rises to a yell, "Your Highness, please! What shall we do? It is just a rumour, but if the rumour proves to be true..."
Your mind fills in the unfinished sentence. Another tragedy would strike. ''Will'' strike if you let it.
But what if the person is nothing more but a wandering soul? What if the distant sunbeams caught the natural colour of their eyes and turned it //''green''//?
Having made your decision, you deeply inhale in a futile attempt to calm your nerves.
[[Trail the stranger. Eliminate if proven to be a threat.]]
[[Let it go. Surely, it is nothing more but a mistake.]]The soldier frantically nods, his towering frame turning sharply to walk out the doors, "As you wish, Your Highness."
The door closes behind him with a ''bang'', leaving you all alone once again. With a heavy sigh, you slump into your seat, your grip loosening on the armrests. A knot of unease and anxiety forms low in your gut even as your veins sing with something bright:
//''Hope.''//
Barely half an hour later, the soldier marches right back in with the female soldier in tow. Their features are set in a grimace, though determination glints in the depths of their eyes.
It is as the soldier reported - an enemy spy. They eliminated the threat as discreetly as possible before sending out a search party to ensure there were no more.
What they saw was their army retreating, a glow of green engulfing their marching frames.
Green. The colour of the parasite that clouds their judgement. The colour of the parasite that controls their every move, every interaction, every decision...
No matter how many times you or any other underwater kingdom kill, the threat remains. All you can do is eliminate them.
Again.
//''And again.''//
-- ENDING: The Monarch That Avoided A Crisis --The soldier blinks once, a flash of unease and surprise flashing across his features. He forces his expression to be one of neutrality before he swiftly nods, "As you wish, Your Highness."
He bows before you, leaving you to your devices. You loosen your grip on the armrests, a hand reaching up to rub down your face. The haze of rage is ebbing away, the same unease that flashed your best soldier´s face coiling low and tight in your gut, queasiness washing over you in pulsing waves.
Your eyelids flutter close, your chest expanding and shrinking in a steady rhythm. The nausea slowly disappears out of your system. The knot remains though, rooted in your gut like a parasite.
Surely, the decision was a good one, right?
They wouldn´t be so silly to repeat an attack, would they?
They wouldn´t risk you to make alliances with the neighbouring kingdoms and wreck them with sanctions.
[[!?]]A sharp crash of broken glass echoes through, the sound as loud as the ringing in your ears from before.
You yank your hand away from your face, assessing the threat - and there they are. The same person your soldier described. Their hood lowers, revealing the greeny glow of their eyes, sharp teeth glinting like stars. Before you have a chance to react, metal gleams, bubbles swirling around the thrown daggers.
A sharp bolt of agony wrecks your body, your back arching in response. The dagger splits the skin of your shin open, furrowing deep in the firm muscle. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, you jump out of your seat, limping toward the intruder.
[[Grab them by their wrists]]
[[Reach for their eyes]]Your fingers wrap around their wrist, feeling the rapid flutter of their pulse. Their breath hitches, a scowl forms on their hideous features.
They recover - //too soon//, //''too soon''// - and their forehead crashes into yours, another jolt of pain racing down your spine. Your breath is knocked out of your lungs, fingers uncurl, your knees threaten to buckle. Your ears catch the first rounds of gunfire, panicked and pained screams of your people.
In a split of a second, you regain your footing and aim to dig your nails into the thin skin of their wrist - only to let their strong frame to shove yours down. The Monarch of a powerful kingdom crumbles - the same wreckage their kingdom underwent ten years ago.
They loom above you, cruelty gleaming in the depths of the glow, and their daggers find their targets in a rapid fire.
-- ENDING: The Story Of A Fallen Monarch --With a roar tearing from your throat, your nails dig into the glowing sockets. They gasp, daggers falling like metal rain. The ''thunk'' echoes, shaking the very foundation of your castle. You curl your fingers, blinding them, your body following their as they fall to the ground.
The distant sound of gunfire reaches you, your head snaps toward the sound. The screaming - equal parts horrified and agonising - follows a second later. The person, their broad back flushed with the water-soaked tiles, groans, their limbs flail.
//''Schlickt.''// You extract your blood-soaked fingers, the scarlet liquid colours the clean water. The metallic tang of it fills your lungs, nostrils flare with each shaky inhale.
//''CRUNCH!''// The heel of your right shou meets their head - once, twice, thrice - the same rage from before overwhelms your body. You don´t stop until your mind snaps to the presence, until blood spills freely across what once were pristine tiles. Until your ears //''ache''// from the cacophony outside.
And as you stride to the french door, cruel determination sings in your veins.
''//End. Them. All.//''
And you do.
--ENDING: The Story Of A Monarch Who Did Everything To Protect Their Kingdom--