Penguins of Anarchy IV: Endgame

Fifteen

Omniscion grimaced at the darkness of the sky through the window.  The rain only partially drowned out the sound of hundreds of his own soldiers screaming for him to come out of his command center and speak to them directly.  All of his home country was infuriated by the Purge, by the loss of so many comrades simply due to Omniscion's blind impulsivity.

Omniscion squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears as he pressed his mutilated head against the wall.  Anxiety and frustration were his only companions now.  Everyone who had once loved him, who had once seen him as a god, now utterly despised him.  His rage had made him blind and reckless, but he wasn't blind anymore.  He clearly saw the oncoming apocalypse.  He knew all the survivors of the Purge would soon be breaking down his door to kill him, to avenge their countless losses.

No!  Omniscion wouldn't lose everything.  He had decimated the lands he had conquered and incinerated nearly all of his enemies, and over half of his loyal followers.  Even so, he had regained his focus, and was once again calculating how best to survive.

Then again, what was the point of surviving anymore?  He couldn't possibly last long; no one remained who was loyal to him.  He had resolved back when he had betrayed Greeney and his brothers that no one could possibly kill him, that he was the most powerful soldier who had ever lived.  Could he still believe that?  Yes; look at all he had accomplished in the past year and a half.  Never would he let it all be for nothing.

A gleam caught Omniscion's eye.  A picture sitting on a small table had reflected the gloomy light of the sky into his eyes.  He picked up the photo, framed in gold, and saw it was a picture of himself, his wife, and his precious son, Vek.  Omniscion didn't hold back the tears anymore.  He saw clearly now.  He had started all of this for them; he had created the Martial Alliance in order to ensure they had a better future.  He had created the contingency plan known as the Purge because he knew there was a chance they wouldn't live to see that future, and if they couldn't see it, no one would—not even himself.  But now, he understood that he had been mistaken.  Rasoma and Vek would have wanted him to be happy, as happy as he could possibly be without them.  They had adored him, had always admired his strength and resolve even when Rasoma didn't approve of his methods.  They would have wanted him to create as good of a future for all of his followers who remained as possible.  So that's what he would do.

Omniscion looked out the window at his indignant, screaming followers.  He had never fully appreciated them like he should have.  They had won him the entire world, and it was time he returned the favor by leading them as they defended their home from the inevitable attack.  He wouldn't let them down this time.  He had already lost his family; he wasn't about to lose his home.

Dreemo's head hung low as he listened to the conversation around him.  Drake, Camo, Gostt, and Amphylon were arguing over their next course of action.  "If they already cleared out everything west of us, there won't be anything left intact to broadcast with!" Amphylon insisted.

"Then what do we do?" Drake asked anxiously.  "We obviously can't stay here any longer.  There's no point in heading back east, even further into the middle of nowhere.  If we're going to rally the other survivors, we have to find a way to reach them!"

"It's like we discussed before: We don't even know if most of them would have the means of receiving our transmission!" Amphylon argued.

"So what, we just sit down and give up?" Gostt asked incredulously.  "We've already ruled that out.  Whatever it takes, we'll do it."

"What if nothing we do will be enough?" Amphylon asked.  "What if there just isn't a right answer?"

"Hey!" Camo barked.  "We are going to figure this out, we are going to muster an army, and we are going to bring the Alliance down!"