A Cruel Hope

Regretful hatred

Regretful hatred

Darkness enveloped the dreamer.
Cruel darkness surrounded him.

"What is this..."
"This silence."
"It's frightening, maddening, painful."
"I can't breathe, yet I live."
Moments pass, a realization struck the figure, who is currently laying on the now fully massacred battlefield.
"Ah, this again?"
"A dream, a nightmare."
The dreaming figure awakes, and thus, a day of sorrow passes and another one follows.

Looking around the battlefield, no memory of the battle is regained, he knew not who he fought, nor was there a reason to. He remembered only hate, and hate is what he delivered.
Mortals, gods, and ascended beings, it didn't matter, he soared wings of death, and those foolish enough to challenge fell, like all others before.

On the one hand, he knew that all this was justified, he was betrayed, hated, tarnished, and lastly, abandoned before the enemy.
Once a noble godlike hero of war, now reduced to a genocidal madman, not even a shadow of his former self.
Memories hit him like a bullet, from time to time. None were desirable.
"The enemy, who is the enemy?"
"Am I the villain? The abyss that I gazed into so long ago, was it me gazing to it? Or did I see a reflection of myself."

Movement interrupted his mumbling, he looked to the left and saw a boy, not even past 20, the boy looked scared, afraid and unaware of the situation at hand. The boy knew the figure he was staring at, and so, a mortal's basic instinct took control.
Fleeing.

This was out of the ordinary. He never let anyone leave alive, and yet, he's watching this boy run.
The child looked so pathetic.
Not even kill worthy, not worth of this blade.
Perhaps letting him live, was the correct choice.

That would what he would have thought before he lost all sense.
Putting the sword down on the ground, he leaped to the boy, the youth slipped and looked at the opposing figure.
"P-Please." The youth begged on the ground. The stories he was told as a child to scare him existed, the beast existed, it was before him.
"I beg of thee, beast, I-I have children." An obvious lie, all hope was lost.
The so-called 'beast' took the kid by the neck, lifting him well above ground.
"Tell me, how are you still alive?" The oppressor demanded.
The boy couldn't reply, how could he? He was frightened, too afraid for his own good.
"You dared to beg to a 'beast', but there are beasts so fierce that know some touch of pity, though I know none, and therefore, am no beast.

He crushed the youth's throat, popping the eyes out of the body and blood gushed out of the throat, ending his life instantly.
The figure put the boy's body on the ground and muttered.
"I have no goodness left, it was taken from me, stolen. I am oblivion.
I am, Aatrox."
It would be a lie if he said that there wasn't a sign of pity in his eyes, so many years ahead of the boy, taken away in a second.

Finally, Aatrox moves on. He looked at his sword from afar, which was lying on a pool of blood. A faint, red glow then emanates from the blade, the fallen god looked at the sword delightfully.
And then he spoke.
"Ah, right, how could I forget, you were at my side, all along."
Aatrox picks up the sword, observing its unmerciful splendor.
He felt something, something strange, unknown...
This feeling was new, he felt regret, after many years, he finally felt it again.
But...
His hatred far outgrew his regret.
"I shall not feel regret, nor let myself be wielded as a tool again! I am damned, but I will slaughter all and everything!"

He lifted his sword and looked upon the horizon.
But still, the feeling of regret never left his cruel mind.

"We march on, anew."