Fanfiction: Beyond Good And Evil

The freshly dug graves that were numerously scattered across the once lush forests were a grim reminder of the war which barely won, at the cost of the blood which stained the hands of those who fought. Or so, at least, it seemed to him.

He was one of the Heroes who led the final charge towards the ‘seat of Evil’, the Frozen Throne itself. He was one of the Heroes who dealt a crippling blow towards the ‘mindless Evil’ when he defeated his opponent, the treacherous Terrorblade in mortal combat. He was one of the Heroes whose valor and glory shall always be remembered in songs and legends, for he was a champion of Good.

He was also the brother of his slain foe, Magina, and he was also one who has murdered his kin.

He could only stare at the bloodied moonblades, at the deep gaping wound that almost severed his brother’s body into two, at the deluge of crimson blood which poured onto the forsaken earth, at his dying brother, blood bubbling at his lips, his life slowly ebbing away. And it was then that he knew that he had just killed his brother.

It is simple to see the world in white and black, he thought, as his bloodied fingers scrabbled against the rotting earth as he dug stolidly. Good and Evil to be viewed as constants and as long as you fought for the side of Good, no matter the odds, Good shall prevail. For Good is good, and that alone is enough.

It was clear who held the advantage. His dexterous attacks were augmented with the enchanted blade the Butterfly he carried with him, allowing him to swiftly dodge his brother’s heavier and slower slashes. He danced the dance of death, pressing home his advantage and soon had his sibling cornered. And he moved in for the kill. Blinking ahead of Terrorblade, he evaded a clumsy and desperate attack, before channeling all his strength and slashing the former’s abdomen apart.

But, as his fingers sunk into the loamy earth which was watered with the blood spilt, what is Good? What is Evil? What separates these two faces of the same coin, leading to all these rifts and fighting?

His brother stood imperiously in front of him, identical moonblades glimmering in the pale moonlight. “It looks like it’s time to settle old scores, brother.” The hideous face which was contorted by the blood he had drawn created a twisted gargoyle; it was not the brother he knew. He charged forward.

What is the cause of all this fighting? Why was anyone willing to sacrifice their lives for such a goal? He asked himself as he continued with his task. What did all those who died fought for? Was it worth it?

The final attack was a chaotic rout. With their commanding General, the Lord of Avernus indisposed by Purist, the Scourge were leaderless and without morale. His troops easily broke through the left and right flanks, joining the bulk of the army in the middle, swiftly trampling over whatever reserves the Scourge could muster. Nevertheless, there, the vanguard faltered, falling to the deadly moonblades of his brother. He stepped forward. This was his fight.

What about the loved ones these ‘martyrs’ left? Was it worth it to them? Did they find any solace in that the death of their loved ones helped procure a new world for them? He was sure that somehow, some way, Evil ‘loved’ as well.

And what of those who had to kill in order not to be killed? Need they live the rest of their lives with the guilt bearing down upon them, that they had to kill for their future? Will he? He glanced at the body of his enemy, his brother, his friend. Picking the huge body up, he laid it gently into the grave he dug. And he slowly filled it up with dirt back.

The night skies gave way into the purplish dawn he knew so well. The sun was breaking. A new day was beginning. He lifted a large slab of rock and placed it at the head of the grave. Picking up his blood-encrusted moon blades for the last time, he took time to inscribe a fitting eulogy for his fallen brother before finally disposing of the blades for the last time.

Perhaps there will never be answers to all the questions. Or maybe, perhaps, the answers have always been there, only no one is brave enough to sift truly into oneself. He will never know, except for the fact that he fought for reasons he thought Good against that of those he thought Evil. And perhaps his brother fought for the exact same reason.

The shimmering rays of sunlight that broke through the clouds grew. He turned away, leaving the grave, towards the new horizon. Towards a new tomorrow.

And leaving behind a grave whose tombstone simply read, “My brother, a Hero.”

Sometimes, the boundaries between Good and Evil simply do not exist.