One. Two. Five. Six.
How many wounds did it take for them to be certain I was dead? Not that I could blame them.
Rain blurred my vision as I stared at the group before me—teens, adults, young men, and women. Or so I thought; the downpour and darkness made their faces hard to see. All I could remember were their wrathful expressions, burning with determination. Their movements were wild and desperate, like cornered beasts. With every wound I inflicted, their fury only grew—as if pain itself gave them strength.
I laughed bitterly in my head.
My bitterness deepened as I glanced up. Even the stars had abandoned me tonight, their usual brilliance smothered by clouds. In the end, not even the stars accompanied me. Only my shadow remained—my longest companion.
The silence after I was impaled stretched on, heavy and absolute, as if the world wanted me to hear my defeat. Though we stood on the rooftop, the sounds of battle still reached me: the cries of soldiers and the collapse of buildings. All of them had risen against me. I was their king, their leader, their ruler. I had worn the crown, felt its weight, tried to carry its burden. Now, that weight had brought me to my knees—or maybe it was just the blood I'd lost from all the swords.
My vision blurred further, but I fixed my gaze on the crowd. They were all pale, thin, and malnourished. Their clothes hung in tatters, casualties of the fighting. Their eyes, devoid of compassion, stared at me without pity. One man stepped forward. I remembered him—he had been there when I was first crowned. How fitting that he would witness my end as well.
"You rose to power because you fought for the common people, for the less privileged. We fought for you! Some laid down their bodies as stepping stones for you to rise, including your friends! Was it all a lie? Did the crown corrupt you? Or was this your true self?"
I parted my lips, desperate to explain, but only blood dripped down my chin. My words drowned in crimson. Maybe it was better that I said nothing; anything I uttered would sound like an excuse. I did try to do good, for the sake of everyone who helped me, especially my friends. Their faces flashed through my mind, memories of better days replaying in my head. What would they think if they saw me now? They would be disappointed. No, I would never have become like this if they were here. They would have shared the burden of the crown. Each hard decision would not have been mine alone to bear. Best of all, I would never have become this-a dictator whom the people feared.
It doesn't matter anymore, I thought. I was going to die. I stared at the man. Perhaps they would have a better chance at ruling this ruined place. After all, since World War III ninety years ago, this planet has not known peace. I failed to bring it, but maybe these people could. That thought brought a small measure of comfort. The man before me straightened, and I watched him with what little life I had left.
"You might not remember me, but I was there when you were crowned King of Kings. Now I will be here for your dethroning."
He stepped aside, allowing another to drive their sword into my heart. It felt as if my heart burst like a balloon. Then it was over. Everything went black. My senses vanished in an instant. My body extinguished, but my mind lingered for a few final moments.
I'd always heard that, in the end, your life flashes before your eyes. But for me, it was different. My life didn't replay. Instead, a single question echoed in my mind—one posed by an ancient scholar:
Is it better to be loved or feared?