The End

In a future time, just a little closer than you think, the world has decended to tribal bickering. In the distance, the vista's overwheming color shows the beauty of a nuclear winter, and on the crumbly remnant of a once flourishing continent, the last vestiges of humanity stand against one another, shield and sword.

General John Carter sits lonely in his tent, manipulating wooden depictions of two great armies, his mind locked in a trace. A company of bowmen move quickly from the rear, the tear through the front lines and distract the incoming hammar-masters. Carter's swordsmen lurch forward to intercept the divided enemy. The ballistas fire. Chaos erupts.

Suddenly he stops. He had been rehearsing for ages. The sun rose around him, and the pleasant sound of crickets no longer filled the stiff air. He stands and dawns his armor. The time has come.

Outside the meagre tent, two thousand mighty men rub sleep from their eyes. Most of those eyes look eagerly on to the looming castle just a mile towards the horizon.

"Form up! The time has come. In this final hour, we will prove ourselves men, or we will be erased."

The men jump into formation. They begin the march.

5 miles away, the barbarians await, bows taught and drenched with beaded sweat. The sun shines dimly through the celestial canopy.

By midday, the battle ensued, both sides throwing themselves religously into danger. Carter and his cadre of elite shock troops break through a weakness in the castle's fortification. They sneak cautiously through the castles moldy chambers. Finally, they reach a great hall.

It was a trap. Enemy troops line the sides of the caverous space. They glare intensely at Carter and his men. A shadowy figure calls loudly over gasps of suprise, "order your men to stand down, Carter. Or you will see the last of them."

Carter surrenders his men, in furious consternation. Abigol speaks.

"You see Carter, you and your men have been double-crossed. We have known of your coming for weeks. We are well-prepared to defend ourselves. But before you ask how, I will answer why.

The habit of man has always been to procrastinate. Man breeds profusely. He pollutes. He devises ever more ingenious methods of doing these things. And he devises ever more ingenious ways of killing himself. Yet he never considers the consequences of his actions until the time has passed when his errors might be remedied.

The Age of Unreason has come to an end. We must put humanity on the right path. We have been studying the artifacts of our past, the words of science and the principles of mathematics. And we have reconstructed the atomic bomb.

We will, with this unbeatable power, rule over humanity for the greater good. We must stop humanity from killing itself.

But you may be wondering, just who is it who betrayed you? Your king? A treasonous captain?"

Abigol looks around at his soldiers.

"I informed you of our coming."

Carter speaks again.

"We agreed that the world must be controlled, that humanity cannot be left to govern itself. We are to be demi-gods of this blasted rock. We will create paradise."

"Yes, that is what we agreed, isn't it? Guards, kill General Carter."

"What? No. You cannot betray me. We must guide humanity. It is our destiny."

"No, Carter. It is my destiny."

The guards swiftly decend on Carter and his men. Within minutes, they are a bloody heap littering the great hall's stoney floor. Abigol smiles. He is the supreme ruler of the known world. The entire 1 million acres are his to command.

Abigol's general returns from the fight victorious. In his arms, he carries a bundled package. He absent-mindedly steps over the corpses strewn before his king and declares, "I have the head of general Carter!"

Abigol sneers. "You cannot have his head. That it his lying close beside your left boot. Although, I commend you for a job well-done."

The general unwraps his package, revealing a powerful nuclear weapon.

"That will not be necessary, Abigol. From now on, you answer to me."

Abigol looks furious. He shouts suddenly, "Guards!"

The general smiles. "You will find they are most unresponsive. I think you will find that they take orders much more readily from the man who holds their destruction in his hands. Guards, stand down."

The guards look at the nuclear weapon. They lower their weapons.

"Good. Now kill the king. Kill Abigol."

The guards look uncertain, but they tentatively obey.

The general sits on his newly conquered throne. His face shows a look of immese satisfaction.

Not five mintutes later, the bomb flickers red. The general panics. In a mad shifting of his eyes, he notices the kings thumb, which presses softly against a small device. It had been hidden deep in Abigol's robe.  The king's fingers are not yet locked with rigor mortis. Suddenly there is nothing.