Tricks and Treats

1 - A War Worth Fighting

Tommy was 11, but he felt like he was much older.

It was the first battle Tommy fought on his own. His netherite blade was soaked with blood as people- soldiers from the DREAM SMP- groaned around Tommy's feet. They cried out for mercy. Tommy didn't pay them any mind. Either they would die or the SMP medics would save them. It didn't matter to Tommy. The soldiers were incapacitated. They could no longer fight. That was a win for L'Manberg, and a costly loss for the SMP.

Tommy turned around, stepping between the bodies littered on the ground. Some reached out to him, others remained still. Tommy didn't look at them as he marched back to the base. He felt empty. During his first few battles, Tommy was scared and crying like a baby. Soon, however, he grew used to it. The gore and death of war didn't faze him. Tommy wondered if it should have. Tommy knew a part of him should have felt guilt. Tommy looked at his sword. Maybe he had killed that part of himself, just like some of the men on that battlefield.

Tommy found himself looking up. The sky was blue but it wasn't pretty. It was a mundane color that didn't speak to Tommy. It didn't make him feel happy or sad or hopeful or wistful. The sky didn't remind Tommy of his past. For a brief second, however, Tommy wondered if his father, Philza, was looking up at the same sky.

His father. It wasn't a touchy subject for Tommy. His father was a man who raised him. Tommy was the youngest. He was often overlooked. Philza was there physically, but often his head was in the clouds. Tommy never minded. Philza may not have been perfect, but he was someone was stayed, unlike Tommy's mother.

Now, she was a sore spot. That woman never failed to make Tommy feel something, even though she was long gone. Tommy remembered her silver hair that gleamed like stainless steel, and her blue eyes that seemed almost white, like cubed ice. Freya had ice-cold pure white skin that Tommy remembered cuddling into whenever sleep wouldn't find him. Freya would rock her son back and forth until he faded into dreams. She was there one day, and suddenly, she was gone. Tommy would sit for hours at the window, waiting for a woman that disappeared into the snow.

Tommy blinked again. Now wasn't the time for memories. Tommy's older brother, Wilbur, was waiting for him. Wilbur was the commander of the L'Manberg military, he was the self appointed dictator. Tommy had followed Wilbur into war, and now Tommy followed Wilbur's commands. The once chaotic and brash child had been tamed by war. That was what everyone whispered behind Tommy's back.

Tommy wondered if they remembered how old he was. Sometimes, Tommy wasn't so sure himself. He looked nine. He was short and skinny, and the blood and dirt on his features took away any age distinctness. He talked like a baby. Tommy rarely said a word, and when he did, it was rarely a fully formatted sentence. He acted like someone much, much older. He acted like a machine. Tommy took orders and followed through. He fought like he had seen a million wars, watched billions of faces fall onto the bloodied ground. He slept like a baby. He woke up at random hours crying and sometimes screaming. In those late hours, Tommy remembered that he was 11, and that he had killed so many people.

Tommy made it back to the base. It didn't matter when faces followed him, searching his eyes for remorse over the battle, checking his form for wounds buried beneath dried blood and caked earth. Tommy didn't stop until he stood before Wilbur, who wore his signature beanie. Wilbur looked up from his talk with Fundy, a fox hybrid who was Wilbur's son, to stare down at Tommy. The blonde gave a salute, "Mission accomplished. Forces neutralized."

Wilbur smiled brightly, pulling Tommy into a hug. The blonde blinked before returning the hug, some of his old personality flaring where cracks in Tommy's persona formed. Wilbur turned to his army, hands lifted high above his head. "That is a win, my friends!" Tommy heard their cheers. This is why he fought. To hear the happy cries of L'Manberg, Tommy's home. Wilbur continued, "We strike at dawn! This next battle will decide the end of this war, and I refuse to let this opportunity go to waste! We will have our independence! For L'Manberg!"

"For L'Manberg!" A battle cry that made Tommy smile brightly. Despite the ghosts of those he killed haunting him, Tommy reached his little hands into the sky, cheering with the masses. They would win tomorrow. L'Manberg would be free. Tommy would be free. His homeland that he fought for would rise up to take independence.