From the most heinous of abysses comes an evil of white.
Disclaimer: This work contains adult materials including extreme racism, sexual violence against children, slavery, extreme violence, strong language, sexually explicit activities, and more. This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised.
Before beginning this story, I would like to make a preemptive apology. I’m sorry. Weiss Vice: Glory Unto Genocide is the story of a white supremacist dystopia and a young slave who uses her deific powers to aid her self-proclaimed masters. It is a dark and unpleasant story that loudly echoes real life evils that still persist to this day, and is the sort of thing I am not normally comfortable exploring in my writing. However, it is a concept that has been occupying a space in my mind for several years now, and I feel the need to expel it from my mind by giving it form as a completed work.
I do not intend for this text to demean, belittle, insult, or offend any persons or groups. And I do not mean for this story to have any messages or morals other than the following: Fuck white supremacy. Fuck racism. Fuck fascism. And fuck white people’s centuries-long systematic abuse of black people, indigenous people, and people of color.
If there is any content in this work that insulates a message in opposition to these, then that is reflective of my own failings as a writer and as a person.
Scene 00: Weiss Historia
This is the story of a world where evil won. A world where, in centuries past, the forces of Europe joined together with the goal of global conquest. They were unified under the banner of white superiority. Under the idea that the world was made for them. And that they could control it all. Asia, Africa, the Americas, all of it. It was a daunting goal, and to achieve it, this continental empire, The White Empire, was utterly ruthless.
They killed those who spoke out against these plans, culling rebellions before they could so much as blossom. They redefined the definition of what a human is, limiting it to those with the desired phenotypes. They restructured the entirety of society, turning all members of it into tools for the growing war machine. Art became little more than a tool to peddle propaganda. Theories, histories, and facts not approved by The White Empire were wiped from circulation. And critics of The Empire were publicly assaulted.
When the wars began, The Empire was relentless in their destruction. Foreign cities were reduced to naught but rubble and corpses. Millenia of art, culture, and knowledge eradicated, forever lost to history. And those who survived were put to work, shipped off from their homelands and forced to toil fields, with a sickle against their neck. It was a prolonged and heinous campaign, lasting decades upon decades, and sparking many a revolution in military weaponry, but it eventually ended. And it ended with The White Empire the victor.
With their global military campaign successful, The Empire’s goal became to build amongst the rubble left in their wake, to spread their flag across the tattered battlefields, and to take the millions of survivor of these foreign lands… and make them into slaves. To The White Empire, it mattered not where these slaves were originated from. All that mattered was that they did not adhere to the guidelines of what constituted a Human. These conquered masses were, by The Empire’s definition, less than human. And while they had many names, they soon came to be known, legally, scientifically, and colloquially, as Sterks.
It did not matter if they came from South America, South Asia, or Central Africa. All that mattered was that they weren’t White. That they weren’t ‘Human’. They were all Sterks, and they were all lesser. They were all born slaves, undeserving of rights. This was the narrative, and through an aggressive campaign of brutal fascism, it soon became accepted as fact. For there was no alternative allowed. It was a simple truth in a simple-minded world.
No one living could remember the world before The White Empire came into being, and there was no recorded evidence that they hadn’t always existed, haven’t always been the masters of this world. The Whites— the Humans— had no reason to question this, for they were placed on a pedestal of privilege above those with colored skin— the Sterks. While the Sterks lacked the luxury of expressing their beliefs, with those who claimed such a right being met with a prompt execution.
For centuries, things operated as intended— The White Empire saw profound success through their fascist regime. But as time marched on, the Earth began to crumble. And as cities were fraught with destruction and plentiful resources became scarce, it was certain that something had to be done to preserve what had been built.
Scene 01: The Eve of Destruction
As night took hold of the city, it fell into darkness. And within this darkness, caused by electricity rationing, people gathered. Traveling across the district, unseen and unnoticed, in order to reach a place isolated and obscure. A seldom used cellar, its door unlocked, allowing dozens to enter.
As the last figure entered, silently pressing the metal door against its frame, they wandered forward, relying not by sight but by sound and touch as they found themselves reaching the company of others. Of dozens. All crammed and clamored in a room less than 30 square meters large. As the sound of breathing lingered among this crowd, the click of a zippo pierced the air, and the group were met with a flicker of light, barely enough to illuminate the face of the holder, let alone the onlookers.
But there was enough light to find unifying elements of the crowded masses. All wore forlorn expressions, all possessed dark complexions, and all possessed tattoos of numbers and letters across their foreheads. They sighed in relief as they confirmed these elements of unity amongst themselves, before the zippo-holder cleared her throat and spoke.
“Thank you all for coming. I know not what I should say, or what I could say, but… I shall try.”
The woman, her face worn and tired, lowered her voice to something just above a whisper, looked at the crowd of 40 or so around her, and spoke from the bottom of her heart.
“Our history is one of pain. Our history is one of suffering. Our history is one of uprisings attempted, again and again, but even as they grew in scale and power, they all ended the same. Our history is one of failure. Failure to free ourselves from them. Free ourselves from the whites. They robbed us of our homeland, our history, and even our humanity. And when we demanded reparations for these unfathomably callous sins, they robbed us of our lives.”
“In their eyes, there are only two types of our kind. A working Sterk, sweat across their brow, their body bruised until they can’t work any more. And a dead Sterk. You work, or you die. You submit yourself, call them master, sir, and superior… Or they break your bones for fun, for pleasure, and they laugh as you cry, as you see your short sad life flash before your eyes.”
“They try to suppress this. They know the truth, but they hide it. They make it illegal to print, to expose them as the white demons they are. With every morsel I learn about them, the more I loathe them. The more I despise them. The more I want to lash out at the next cracker I see and bash their face in. It doesn’t matter who they are. It matters not if they are man, woman, child, or at the verge of death. They all wear the face of evil, they all live the life of ill-gotten privilege. They were indoctrinated into their own breed of mental slavery, and why— why in the name of the monster they call God— should we try to help them, show them the error of their ways?”
“Deep down, they know they’re monsters. They know it, and… they don’t care anymore.”
The crowd looked like it wanted to clap and cheer, but their hands remained at their sides and lips remained shut.
“May 27th. The Emperor gathered an audience and told them of a solution to the world’s ails. To the famine that killed millions. To the Earth’s rebellion against the evils done on its beautiful surface. To the fact that they failed as a society. That they are at the eve of what can only be an era of profound suffering. But not just for the Sterks, but for all who walk this Earth. From the white devils in their gaudy homes that could fit 30, but only house 3. To the worms beneath the floor, scurrying for food as they do all they can to live. To the one next to you, probably worrying about how they’re gonna get food on the table, because the shelves are all empty.”
“The Emperor… he took a long hard look at all of this, at all the woes of his people… and he said the answer was simple. The world… was too damn full… And his solution was the Great Genocide. His solution… was death. Death of who? Why, not the whites, not the self-proclaimed humans. They’re too smart and valuable to die. Instead, they want to kill us. Kill us Sterks. Anyone with a complexion darker than a speck of rice. ‘Find someone like that,’ he said, ‘take their head and slice it right off, and you’ll get enough food to feed your whole family for a week.’”
“Two weeks. That’s all the time we have before June 12th. And… I’m disgusted by my brothers and sisters. They know that their time is short, that they are going to die. Every damn Sterk walking this Earth is going to die if they have their way. And what do they do? Fight? Stage an all-out rebellion? No! A few fight, get shot, and then you know who digs their ditch? Another one of us. They dig the graves of those fighting for their freedom and, when those two weeks come up, you know what’s going to happen to the gravediggers? They’re not going to be given a hot meal, pat on the back, and a slice of cake. They’re going to get a bat to the head, and they’re going right into that ditch, where they’ll die like all their brothers and sisters.”
“June 6th. Right as they’re still getting everything ready, we’ll fight. We’ll fight and if we die… at least we die swinging. …The Hells am I even saying? I know you brought me in to inspire hope, to gather around, in the dead of night, and recover the energy we need to rebel… but what can we do? They have guns, and we have whatever bludgeon we can find in the trash. They have tanks, and we don’t even have horses. They have radios, and we don’t even have banjos anymore. They have intelligence departments and we… we aren’t even allowed to get caught reading without getting an eye gouged out, or get caught writing without getting a finger chopped clean off.”
“The end times are here, my kin. Live your life to the fullest, flee for the hills to enjoy a moment of freedom, and worry not about the future. For it has already been decided. The future is white. And there isn’t room for even a speck of color.”
Scene 02: Rise and Praise The White
The sun rose early on June 12th, casting aside the dark of the night and ushering in a deluge of light. Even before the sun rose, however, preparations for this day were already being made. Execution sites had been erected, corpse disposal vehicles were filing through the streets, and Humans tasked with cleansing this world moved giddily and gleefully as they readied for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. To them, today was one worthy of celebration, and saw families rise up at the break of dawn, eager to get out of their homes and embrace the spectacle of death. For today was their last day to look upon the lesser race before it was removed from their world. It was the end of an era, and none with power had an ounce of doubt that it would be anything but glorious.
For the Whites, today was a day of celebration, but for the Sterks, it was… more complicated.
Away from this city, along its outskirts, stood a factory. A workplace for Sterk children. And even before the sun pierced the windows of the children’s barracks, its occupants were awake. For some, it was due to dread and their inability to enjoy a final night of rest before their execution. For others, they were excited to partake in such a historic and grand event. And for others, they recognized the suffering that was their lives as state-owned slaves, and the anticipation of a premature death kept them awake throughout the night.
As the sun creeped beyond the walls and into their world of steel and stone, the murmuring children were greeted with the sound of a bell and the crack of leather, for one of their Masters had come to guide them away. He spoke coarsely, his voice uneven, and his body shaking, as if he were possessed by a demon. But truly, he was merely excited.
“Rise up and embrace the light, you repugnant fuckwits! ‘Cos you know what today is, and if you give me even an iota of your shit, I’ll see to your execution myself. And trust me… you’ll be begging for a bullet by hour two.”
The Human man then cracked his crude leather-belt-turned-whip, and the children did as he commanded. There was no disobedience, no hesitation, no resistance. Pure compliance, the likes of which you could only teach through abuse and trauma. Their compliance led them out of the barracks and into the grassless field that bridged this walled facility. And outside of the barracks, they saw the sight they would see upon death. They saw a group of Humans, all bearing firearms, standing before a series of garbage trucks.
There was an opportunity for children to run across the open area, but they knew that there was nowhere to flee. And with the cameras strewn across the facility, they would immediately be located and exterminated. Perhaps they could succeed if the hundreds from the various barracks band together, but such a concept eluded the children, who were raised to be docile slaves from birth, with all violent impulses purged from their beings.
Single file, they walked up to their executioners, flinching at the sound of gunfire, whimpering as they saw death come near, or shaking with anticipation to embrace the great unknown. The executioners were procedural in their killings. They staggered at first, but after ten kills, they became numb to the process and were unloading the children into the truck like they were sacks of flour.
“I thought these things were supposed to be kept on a diet of scraps and shit. So why do they feel like they’re made of bricks?” A corpse tosser said as he flung a child Sterk into a half-full garbage truck.
“It’s their bones, they’re thicker than Humans’. It’s why their brains are smaller. Not enough room in their thick heads.” An executioner said as he fired a bullet into the back of a Sterk’s skull.
The mass execution continued for over two hours, lasting until the sun was high in the sky and the execution squad, clad in 10 kilometers of protective gear, was sweating like hogs. But soon, the crowd of hundreds was reduced to one, the last one in line, who greeted her executioner with a smile on her face.
She was among the older children, age 14, old enough to be sold without being a burden on her Master. Old enough to be considered a woman. Developed enough to make the sack-like uniform look lewd on her developing body, with her legs and breasts both prominent as she stood before the White with a gun. He pulled his visor onto his forehead as he looked her over, before bringing his left hand to her breast, which he fondled.
“It’s a shame you gotta die. You would have made a great Fuck Sterk.”
The 14-year-old Sterk then touched the man’s hand as he fondled her, smiling as she looked at him. The man then looked up at her head. Her skull was shaved, much like all the children who came before her, and her complexion was darker than most, but he could still read the Serial inscribed on her forehead in black ink: K48-W12-Z37.
“C’mon, don’t scum out on us. Just stick a bullet in its head and get on with it.” One of the tossers said, leaning against the dump truck.
“Yeah, I know, but… you wanna fuck this thing with me?”
“Oh… So you like them younger ones, dontcha?”
“Look, I’ve only fucked a Sterk once, and I wanna black my dick up one more time before they’re gone for good. Let’s take her to the base, share her with the guys, and then we’ll kill her.”
“Eh… lemme smell her first.”
The tosser then grabbed K48-W12-Z37 by her shoulders, lifted her high, and rammed her rag-covered crotch against his nose, where he snorted her underwear.
“Woo! Krauser is gonna be a dick about this, but… this is some primo pussy! The guys are gonna love fucking this darkie up!”
The young girl in question remained silent, for she knew she was not allowed to speak unless spoken to. She simply smiled as these men packed up their supplies, shut the corpse-filled garbage trucks, and drove out of this facility, hiding her beneath the seats as they left the factory grounds.
Scene 03: Seed and Fire
A female Sterk, age 14, sat against the restroom wall, her head leaning on a urinal, with her forehead bearing the Serial of K48-W12-Z37. Her body was covered in sweat, piss, and other bodily fluids, and her ragged uniform had been replaced with a man’s tank top. She looked onward with glazed, tired eyes, drool coming from her mouth, and she saw a pair of three blobbish approximations of Humans. She tried listening in on the conversation, but all she could hear were the sounds of anger and pleading.
A groan escaped her mouth as she tried to lift herself up, but her arm refused to rise more than an inch before it flopped back down, plopping into the puddle of piss it had been resting in.
As the sound of flesh hitting wet tile squeezed through the racket, the girl drew in the attention of the loudest voice, who slammed his boot against her stomach. Though she hadn’t eaten anything in the past day, she still managed to spew bile onto her breasts.
With strained eyes, she then looked up at her assaulter, and saw a man clad in a suit, with a bald head and prominent facial hair, a pistol in his right hand.
“You men disgust me! You would dare to sully your loins on a creature as repulsive as this?” The suited man said.
“Look, I know that it’s not Human pussy, but it’s close enough.” Another man, the tosser who brought this girl here, said.
“It sure felt like Human pussy to me,” the executioner added.
“You treacherous morons! Has your generation become so corrupted that you cannot see a monster when it is plainly before you, painted in the devil’s colors?!”
The suited man then turned to face the Sterk girl, who stared at him as he aimed his gun at her forehead. With death staring at her face so plainly, the girl looked at the men who raped her and spoke to them with a smile.
“Thank you… for your… gift—”
The girl’s final sentence was punctuated with the sound of gunfire that echoed harshly through the small restroom. And as the bullet pierced through her skull into her brain, her body fell to the floor, lifeless and covered in filth. Much like the hundreds of millions of other Sterks who died this day, and the tens of millions of others lined up for the chopping block.
The three men looked at the Sterk no differently than they would look at a dead animal. The tosser looked down at her lifeless corpse, shrugged, and lifted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Welp, it was fun while it lasted. I’m gonna take this to the incinerator.” The tosser exposited while picking up the corpse of a girl, avoiding eye-contact with his superior officer as he moved out of the restroom.
With a pep in his step and a song in his head, the tosser moved through a wide hallway with bloodied floors, stomping his boots through puddles of fresh blood without a second thought. At the end of this hall, he entered a room where he was assaulted by a wave of heat, the smell of fire, and piles upon piles of corpses, stacked taller than him, with three men grabbing them and shoving them onto a conveyor belt, one that fed into a dark piece of machinery.
“Hey fellas, I’ve got a straggler to add,” the tosser said as he casually threw the dead girl onto the conveyor belt, where her wet body slapped against the rubber like a plump steak.
The tosser then slapped his hands clean and told his co-workers to keep up the good work, to which they grumbled in response, clearly none too thrilled by the heat and hard labor.
As the tosser left the scene, the nameless girl’s body entered the machine, where she passed through a metal tube that gave way to a separate room. A room made of metal and illuminated by a pit of fire at the center. As a corpse, she could do nothing to resist. Like all the other Sterks funneled into this room, she fell. She fell into a pit of fire and metal. Her skin charred, her flesh melted, and soon, her bones cracked and broke away into thousands upon thousands of fragments.
Scene 04: Blessed by Light
To the Humans, to The White Empire, it was believed that Sterks had no souls. Because of this, Sterks believed that their death was the true end. It was the truth the girl, Sterk Serial Number K48-W12-Z37, was taught when she was young, and what she taught to others, viewing it as an indisputable truth. Because of this, she expected nothing more than quiet and darkness when that gun was aimed at her head. And that is what she saw.
A great abyss, a miasma of darkness, one where she struggled to perceive, to feel, and what she assumed to be the prelude unto eternal nothingness. At least, until something latched onto her arm. Something that revived her senses.
She flinched as it happened, turned her person around, and was met with a creature bereft of form. A creature of pure light. It was a warm and comforting light, one that grabbed hold of the girl, immersing her entire being. And as the light consumed her, she heard a warm, welcoming voice from within her mind.
“You poor child. You have suffered much at the hands of this cruel, cruel world. It is a world darker and more evil than any of the millions I have seen, and I simply cannot allow it to stand. Please, accept my power. The power to rid this world of evil. The power to cleanse the corruption. The power to reshape the world into something ideal.”
The light then began to move through the miasma of darkness, ascending higher and higher until entering a world of light.
Scene 05: From Black to White
The girl awoke feeling a thump in her chest and warmth coursing across her being. But as she tried to open her eyes, she was met with a pressure that forced them to remain closed. She then took a deep breath and immediately began coughing, flailing her body as she struggled to understand his surroundings. Through flailing, she was absolved of pressure, met with breathable air, and the opportunity to brush a dust-like substance from her face.
When she did so, she was met with the sight of the rising sun, ushering in a new day and casting the world with light after a period of darkness. She relished in the beauty of this sight for a moment, before she looked downward at the substance that contained her.
It was ash, colored a harsh white, almost glistening in the evening sun, all gathered into a massive pile. A pile placed in a barren field next to a stone building with garbage trucks lined up outside it.
She recognized the building from when she was taken by those men. They took her there, raped her, killed her, and burned her body with all the other Sterks. Sterks who were incinerated. …And all that remained of them was this pile of ash.
She moved down the pile to gauge its scale. It was 5 times taller than her 1.5 meter frame, no less than 10 meters long, and no less than 10 meters wide. Meaning it was approximately 750,000 liters in size. The standard Human, when converted into ashes, was 3 liters, but considering the amount of short, malnourished, and child Sterks that were likely incinerated, 2.5 liters would be a more accurate measurement. Meaning that there were the remains of, approximately, 300,000 people before her.
The nameless girl thought this math through, was shocked by the sheer scale of this… and then recoiled, latching her head.
“How did I know that?” She asked with widened eyes.
The girl, like most Sterks, especially female Sterks, barely knew how to read or write. She was taught nothing more than basic mathematics, for she never needed to know such things. After all, as a Sterk, she was a simple laborer. All she needed to know was her job.
“Is… this what that light was saying?” She said as she thought back to the light she saw as she drifted to death.
Its words played back in her mind. The light said she would gain the power to ‘rid this world of evil.’ But what did that mean? It was too grand for her stifled imagination to fathom. Changing the world?
“But… How can the world change? It has… always been this way. Since the dawn of time, The White Empire has watched over the world, and us Sterks served our Masters. It is natural. It is righteous. But… I am to change this? It said this world was cruel. It said it was evil. But… how? This world is just. What is evil in this—”
The girl then looked at the pile of ash she was reborn within. The remains of her species, piled so highly and widely.
“This… is the evil I must stop, is that right? The evil of… of my people. The evil of the Sterks. Yes. We are evil. We are the ones responsible for famine, death, and devastation. It is because of us. That is why The White Empire has killed so many of us. They are saving the world… but why… why give a wretched creature such as I the power… to change the world? And why give me the intelligence of a Human? No… this is all wrong. It is… evil for a Sterk to house such power. Sterk power is evil, so… why did you choose me, light? Why did you not choose a Human? Unless… you do not want Humans to be responsible for such a task. You want the Sterks to redeem themselves. To end themselves. And I… I hold the power to do so. Yes. I understand now. I am to put an end to the natural evil of the world. I am to take the corruption and turn it into ash. To fill it with light. To make it… White. I see.”
The girl then looked up at the mountain of ash, placed her hand on it, and exerted her will onto reality. She listened back to the words of the light, explaining that she could reshape the world. She hadn’t the imagination to picture such a thing, but she could picture this ash reshaping itself into something valuable. Into something white and grand. And her mind went to the statue in the entrance of her factory. The White Emperor. The man responsible for all good in this world. A man who only told the truth, and who sought to cleanse the corruption, the Sterks, from this world.
She imagined the statue in her mind and opened her eyes to see the ash shift and grow, carried by an impossible wind as it reshaped itself, expanding, and condensing. All while making itself in the shape of a middle-aged man clad in a suit, a hand on his heart, and a look of both pride and determination in his eyes. The statue was enormous, taller than the building 50 meters away, and glowed in the rising sun, blinding the girl with its radiance.
She fell onto her knees, thrust her head into the dirt, and spoke to the statue as if it were The White Emperor himself.
“Th-Thank you, White Emperor! Thank you for this power! I-I do not deserve this duty or this might, but this purpose, I… I will f-fulfill it! I will fulfill your ri… righteous vision. I shall bring an end to my p-people! I shall b-bring an end to all Sterks! They shall be erased from this Earth!”
As she rose and stared at the glowing statue of stone, she was greeted with the sound of shouting and stepping, as the sudden appearance of the statue stirred a crowd of workers from the building. They looked at the statue from afar, but as they grew close, they looked away from this monument and at the individual before it. All they could tell was that it was a child, their body covered in white ash.
The girl flinched as their footsteps grew louder. She was filled with shame. Shame not for her actions, but for her species. She did not want to be deemed a mere Sterk. She felt the need to both answer these men through an action… and to hide this vile truth from them. The idea of a Sterk having such power made her sick. She thought it to be an evil so supreme that it would drive a Human into madness. To preserve all that was good, her natural evil had to be suppressed. To be guised behind a veneer of white.
With a thought, white covered every inch of her person. Gloves embraced her fingers, boots covered her feet, a stained hide covered her torso, and her being was guided in a cloak of white, covering her head and cashing down to her feet. Her face was covered by a mask devoid of features. A white orb that reflected all light cast upon it, and while none could see her face through this mask, she could see all through a white filter.
She drew the design from a story she was told as a child. A story of Humans in white who provided the cure to a great plague. And while she was not a Human, she was most certainly aspiring to rid the world of a plague. A plague known as the Sterks.
Shock and awe filled the group nearing the nameless girl, but before they could so much as catch her breath, she raised herself above the ground, floating a meter high, making herself taller than even the most foreboding man in the group. Once airborne, she deepened her voice, obscuring it with a guttural filter, hiding her gender and any verbal indication that she was a Sterk.
“Greetings, Humans. I am one with no name, but you may call me… the Harbinger of Harmony. I seek to aid The White Emperor with the Great Genocide of the Sterks. Please, direct me to the Sterks who still live, and I shall rend them into naught but ash. Naught but white.”
Scene 06: Harbinger of Harmony
Leading up to June 12th, many Sterks took precautions to avoid the Great Genocide. Some fled into the wilderness, living off of the natural world and hoping that no one would think to look for them. Some used their lighter complexion to their advantage, hiding their Serial and disguising themselves as Whites to live within a society that wanted them dead, regardless of their skills or merits. But the biggest populations were those who collaborated and organized.
In the northernmost regions of the eastern continent, there was a city of ruin. A decaying husk of stone and steel from a bygone era that lacked the population or resources to sustain itself. Rather than destroy it, the local government chose to keep this city around as a testament to the longevity of The White Empire. Prior to the Great Genocide, however, hundreds of Sterks migrated to this desolate ruin, bereft of any functioning utilities, and chose to live within it, using whatever hadn’t been scavenged to survive. They ate the animals who called this city their home. Drank the water from ponds and rivers that formed over decades of neglect. And used whatever they could as tools or weapons to arm themselves if they were ever found. However, despite being so isolated, despite being 40 kilometers away from civilization, they were found on June 13th..
As the sun lingered high in the sky, a figure dressed in light armor, wearing a white cloak, and a face obscured by a smooth white mask, approached this corpse of a city. They called themselves the Harbinger, and their presence was unnoticed at first. But as this figure began walking across the main streets, the occupants took notice and scurried away, regrouping with their comrades. Once a group of a dozen or so were formed, they approached the cloaked figure, with rusty pipes and blunt debris in hand.
“What are you doing here?” One occupant asked the cloaked figure.
The Harbinger remained silent as the crowd looked over them and brought a gloved hand beneath their cloak.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take off your mask.” Another occupant said, patting a pipe against their palm.
The Harbinger did not answer either of them, and instead pulled out a white orb from beneath their cloak. The orb, no larger than an apple, glistened in the sunlight. But its introduction meant nothing to the crowd, who continued to look at the cloaked figure incredulously. A third member of this crowd scoffed at this gesture and stepped forward, a bat in hand, but as they drew near, a ray of light, no wider than a string, escaped from the orb and shined against this person’s chest.
As the light touched their body, it decomposed, transforming into naught but ash. The decay began from where the light struck them and it continued to the edge of their being within a fraction of a second, faster than it took for their brain to react to the presence of the light.
As the white ash piled onto the ravaged and weed-riddled asphalt below, the remaining members of the crowd gasped, struggling to comprehend this sudden feat of destruction. Before they could vocalize a question or move their feet, additional rays of light extended from the orb, piercing the cores of their being and, within a fraction of a second, turning them all into ash.
There was no accompanying sound. No kaboom or scream. And nothing more glamorous than a light. Its efficiency was noted by onlookers, other occupants of these ruins who kept their distance, and filled them with more dread than the sight of a tank or bomber plane would. Because while they understood what it meant to be incinerated, exploded, or shot, this was something unlike anything they had ever seen. Something that could silently erase them within nary more than a blink of an eye.
Fear took hold of these remaining onlookers, but the Harbinger continued forward, walking, then running, before leaping off the ground to float through the air, letting go of their orb as it floated alongside them. They flew faster than any bipedal creature could run, and the orb shined a flashlight-like light toward any fleeing, directing the Harbinger to any Sterks in the vicinity. Once the distance between the Harbinger and Sterk grew narrow, the orb shot a thin yet vibrant light at them, and they were reduced to ash. The Harbinger then turned to a new direction, pursued another Sterk, and so forth, and so on.
This process continued for roughly 15 minutes before the Harbinger reached the final Sterk, hiding in a bush, but they could not escape from the orb. Before the Sterk could see the orb, it transformed them into white ash, hidden in the underbrush, where it would mingle with the soil come the next rainfall.
As the ash settled onto the ground, the orb spoke in a plain robotic voice.
“All Sterks in the vicinity have been cleansed. Current Confirmed Kills: 1,872. Next destination… 52 kilometers southeast.”
The Harbinger then looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was already past its peak, and sinking back toward the horizon.
“I am a disgrace to my powers,” The Harbinger said in a muffled voice. “I must move swiftly. I must kill efficiently. The sooner the world is cleansed, the better.”
The Harbinger then vanished from the outskirts of the ruined city. They moved at speeds beyond that of Humankind, faster than even the swiftest aircraft forged by The White Empire. It was a staggering feat, but it had no audience. No audience beyond the trail of ash left within the Harbinger’s wake.
Scene 07: The End of Darkness
While the majority of Sterks were passive when their genocide was announced and scheduled, there was one combined effort, a growing resistance that had gestated in the shadows, that struck on June 11th. One that stole military equipment, seized the city of Kashgar, and ended the lives of all opposition. The local military, police, and any Humans who dared stand in their way. After video footage surfaced, showing one of these Sterks killing a Human child, The White Empire presented them as the epitome of evil, an example of why Sterks had to be eradicated.
Three days later, the rebellion was still holding their ground in the city of Kashgar, seizing much of the local capital and arming any Sterk who had the drive or capacity to fight. It did not matter if they were a child, a woman, or had lost a limb hours ago. All were forced to pick up arms and stand their ground. This army of Sterks did not fight with honor or righteous intention. They fought out of rage and hatred. Out of fury at seeing their brothers and sisters be slaughtered.
After centuries of oppression, of ‘sucking the white devil’s dick,’ they bore their fangs and bit down on it as hard as they could, not caring that they had a gun pointed at their forehead. They knew what fate awaited them, that there was a zero percent chance of success, but If they were going to die, they were going to die fighting.
As the sun rose on June 15th, things were looking dire for the Sterks. They had lost most of their population and were losing districts. The self-positioned leaders of this militia knew that today would be their final day, but they were ready to give the Whites something to remember them by as they fought tooth and nail until their species was extirpated.
Unfortunately, they lacked such a luxury.
As the sun rose, the sky burst with a blinding light, inspiring all to look above. They saw a thousand orbs. All no larger than an apple, all shining vibrantly, and all colored a distinct white. The soldiers and the rebellion both paused as they saw this deluge of orbs appear overhead, and before they could issue orders, the orbs fell. They dropped from the sky and retained their velocity as they reached a meter away from the ground, where they scattered across the war-torn city and homing in on the Sterk rebels. The orbs grew near to them, released a thin beam of light, and transformed them into ash, disintegrating them within a fraction of a second.
The orbs moved without sound. While the rebellion screamed as they saw these orbs near them, their screams were swiftly silenced. And as all the Sterks were silenced, so too was the city. It took less than five minutes, and these orbs had hunted down every Sterk remaining in Kashgar.
The Human soldiers were stunned as they saw the efficiency of the orbs, paused with fright as they looked at these otherworldly objects, but once their mission was complete… they vanished, leaving behind neither matter nor light.
A mixture of dread and relief filled the battlefield as the orbs vanished, with soldiers and commanders unsure of how to process these sudden circumstances. They could no longer pinpoint nor detect any Sterks in this city, but they were unsure if this meant they won the conflict. …At least, until the Harbinger of Harmony appeared.
The cloaked figure floated in mid-air in the city center, where a group of soldiers was surveying the area. They aimed their weapons at the Harbinger, but the Harbinger did not react. They merely spoke, their voice spreading throughout the entire city.
“Valiant soldiers of The White Empire. I have eradicated all Sterks that remained in the city of Kashgar. With that, your mission has been a success. The battle has been won, and the war against Sterks is now over. For there is only one Sterk who remains on this Earth… and their time shall come soon.”
The Harbinger then lowered themselves to the ground and began to walk through the battlefield. Soldiers stared at them and their stainless white attire, but they did not dare to engage with such an enigmatic and powerful figure. However, that was not the case for a commander. An older man with a hardened face, his uniform prim and adorned with medals. He ran up to the Harbinger with a scowl on his face, carrying a handgun in his right hand.
“You!” he cried with fire in his throat. “What the Hells are you supposed to be?”
“I call myself the Harbinger of Harmony. I am a subject of The White Empire who acted independently of an established power structure. I apologize for the damages and inconvenience I caused. I did so to aid The Empire in the eradication of 187,649 Sterks. I accept any punishment that The Empire deems appropriate, for my duty is done. I have scoured the Earth and I can confirm that only one Sterk still lives. The cleansing is nearly complete.”
The military commander then looked at the Harbinger with a look of awe and disbelief. This lone individual had appeared from thin air, floated to the ground, and summoned the weapons that ended the largest military operation in decades. It was an unreal situation for the commander, who repressed any signs of weakness and scoffed at the words of the Harbinger.
“Come with me. We have many questions for you.”
The Harbinger remained silent as they followed behind the commander. Soldiers surrounding them, ready to shoot and kill this enigmatic figure, but they were uncertain if their bullets would even work on someone of such an inhuman caliber. Someone with both a power and body count beyond their wildest imaginations.
Scene 08: The White Emperor
The Harbinger walked forward with their arms bound in shackles, four soldiers orbiting around them. They all remained silent as they walked across the decadent halls in their thick boots, before finally reaching a pair of ornate doors. Doors that did not label what was beyond them because, to all who entered the building, it was obvious.
The Harbinger silently gulped as an escort opened up the door, inviting them into a large office. One with a garish wooden desk before it, and a massive window opposite to its main entrance. Between the desk and window, there was a man staring out into the distance, looking down at a crowd of people outside. People celebrating the success of the operation in Kashgar and the Great Genocide, awaiting his speech. But before such a speech could be made, he had one final meeting. A meeting with the one responsible for ending the conflict prematurely, and for killing tens of thousands of Sterks.
The man, The White Emperor, turned around, nodded at the masked individual before him, and walked around his desk until he was a meter away from them. He was an older man, his hair thick, gray, and short, his stature tall, and his body both broad and strong. He cleared his throat before he addressed the individual before him, speaking in a deep, honeyed voice.
“Tell me, Harbinger of Harmony, who, or what, exactly are you?”
The Harbinger remained silent for a moment, before they brought their hands to their mask. Once they touched it, the mask vanished into thin air, leaving behind a cloaked visage of a young girl, her face covered in ash. The girl then brought a hand to her face and caused the ash to evaporate into nothingness, revealing her dark skin to the Emperor.
He retained a calm expression as he saw who the Harbinger of Harmony truly was. A Sterk. A female. A child. The antithesis of strength in this world. The lowest of the low. His expression soured as this revelation settled, and he looked at the Sterk’s Serial. K48-W12-Z37.
“K48-W12-Z37… how is it that you were able to accomplish such feats? Killing thousands within minutes, flying through the sky, and teleporting across provinces within seconds?”
“My Emperor, I do not know the force that granted me these powers. On June 12th, I was killed, and my body was burned to ash. In death, I was greeted by a radiant light that gave me new life, and it gave me powers beyond any Human. ‘The power to rid this world of evil. The power to cleanse the corruption. The power to reshape the world into something ideal.’ I used this power to kill off as many Sterks as I could. All until… I was the last of my species.”
“So… You did all this for The White Empire? All for… the Humans?”
The Sterk girl nodded her head, her body quivering without her mask of anonymity.
“Tell me… child, what is the limit to what you can do?”
“I… know not, my Emperor. I was only granted these powers the morning of the 13th. And I was focused on enacting the Great Genocide, doing what I could to usher Humanity into a new era, no longer inhibited by my vile race.”
“Do not associate yourself with them. You are unlike other Sterks. You have done more for this Empire than the top naught point one percentile of Humans, and, if you have the ability to, you should make yourself one of us. And you should work directly for me.”
“M-My Emperor! D-Do I truly deserve such an honor?”
“But of course! Why would I mislead one who had shown such rigorous loyalty to The Empire? You have a profound gift the likes of which this world hadn’t seen since the dawn of Humankind. It would be the height of folly to throw you away when your faults can be corrected. In fact… why not make a show of it all?!”
Gasps and murmurs of confusion filled the room while the Sterk girl looked on with wide eyes.
“Imagine, the populous of the capital gather around at the grand stadium, and there, they witness the sight of the century— the millennia— as they see the Harbinger who slayed so many Sterk reveal themselves to be a female Sterk, and sees this Sterk cast aside their inner evil— rejecting it— murdering it and being reborn as a Human— as a Human male. For that is the form you deserve. To be reborn as a man. To be reborn as… the sword and shield of The White Emperor. Tell me, does that not titillate your senses?”
The girl struggled to find her voice after being presented with such an opportunity. To be given a role in something so grand and epic. It frightened her like nothing else in her 14 years of life, but she could not say no, nor did she want to. Instead, she allowed tears to escape from her face and bowed before The White Emperor.
“Y-Yes my Emperor! T-Thank you for showing such generosity to a being such as I!”
“Rise up! I cannot allow my sword and shield to grovel beneath my feet for even a moment. But I shall allow you an instance of weakness before you discard yourself and are reborn anew— Reborn as a Human! Chancellor! Make the necessary precautions and call the media! Tonight, the night of June 15th, we shall celebrate the end of the Great Genocide, and the end shall be glorious!”
Scene 09: Glory Unto Genocide
The grand stadium of the global capital was overflowing with people, all desperate to be part of history by attending this momentous event. They knew not the details, but they could only suspect the best. That the Sterks had been wiped from this Earth, and that Humanity would enter the foretold era of prosperity. They cheered and clamored for hours before the inner gates of the stadium opened up, revealing a single figure.
A figure clothed in white, with a face obscured by a featureless white mask. Their presence drew awe initially, but the audience soon recognized this figure from the news these past few days. The slayer of Sterks. The one who ended the battle of Kashgar. The hero who called themself the Harbinger of Harmony.
The Harbinger was met with a standing ovation until they reached the center of the field, onto a stage. They turned around, looking at the crowd of thousands, before speaking in their muffled voice, projecting it across the entire stadium using their unprecedented power.
“Citizens. Our glorious Emperor has given me the privilege to announce the results of the Great Genocide. To announce that, through the efforts of the soldiers working the front lines, the executioners, the constables, and of course, people like you, we have ended the lives of over a billion Sterks. And now… now the population is down to one. There is currently only one Sterk who still walks this Earth, and… I would like to reveal this Sterk to you all.”
The Harbinger then levitated 5 meters into the air, and their clothes of white, their armor, cloak, and mask, all dissolved within a fraction of a second, becoming naught but ash. With the garb discarded, all that remained was a young Sterk girl. A being with dark skin, a shaved head, dressed in simple white underwear. She looked at the audience, a forlorn expression on her face, before she returned to the stage as the audience gasped at this revelation.
“Yes, I am a Sterk. I am the last Sterk on Earth. And while I openly accepted my death, the wise and grand White Emperor has given me the opportunity to amend for my foul birth. The ability to transcend myself from a Sterk… into a Human. And I would like to show you all this transformation. To show you this death. The death of the final Sterk on Earth. The definitive end of the Great Genocide.”
The audience cheered as the promise of bloodshed was made, while the girl shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
With her powers, all she had to do was imagine it. A rebirth. A metamorphosis. She wanted the new self given to her, her true self, to emerge from this heinous chrysalis and shed it aside like the monster it was. And to do this, to make a show of this, she forged her new body from within, having it grow inside her, becoming bigger and bigger, until… it became too much for her small childish frame. The pressure concentrated in her back, around her spine, and as the strain was put onto it…her back split into two.
Shin shattered, bones broke, and blood went flying as her body crumpled onto the stage. Sounds of horror filled the stadium as they saw this sight. Yet from this tattered back, from this husk, something emerged. It was a figure dressed in blood, one with a broad body and tall stature. The figure flailed, released deep gasps, and broke away from their fleshy confinement, stepping on the body of the girl as they stood upright. Once they did, they removed the blood from themself, revealing a man. A man with a body sculpted to perfection, with muscles, stature, and a breath-taking visage. A man with a pale complexion that glowed with white veins, and eyes that shined a vibrant white. A man with platinum blonde hair that gracefully flowed from off his scalp, stopping after five centimeters. He was white in every sense of the world. A man as white as could be.
The man was unclothed beyond a pair of briefs, and his very presence inspired a torrent of awe from the audience. But before he could speak, the husk of the Sterk girl began to move, rising up from the ground, sealing her wounds, and looking at the man with hatred in her dull, darkened eyes.
She howled at him, emitting a bestial groan from her throat, before her body began to… morph. What was once a small child began to grow in stature, doubling its height and mass, and what was once shaped in the form of a Human became… that of a beast. As her body grew, she hunched over, hair began growing across her body, her teeth grew into hideous fanged daggers, and her hardened hands were transmogrified into claws for killing and little else. It was a creature of the man’s own creation, a manifestation of hatred and dread that stood divorced from the natural world. A fantastical representation of a perceived inner evil given form through powers divine. The crowd was aghast as they saw this monster grow from a corpse, but the man merely looked upon it with a smile on his face.
“Feast your eyes on this monstrosity, fellow Humans!” The man shouted, his handsome voice echoing across the stadium. “This is what we were fighting, in its purest form. All Sterks are born with a fragment of Humanity within them, but with it gone, this is what remains. This is what we all were fighting against. And I shall take it upon myself to end this foul cretin’s life myself, with the power entrusted in me by our glorious Emperor!”
The man then held out his right hand, and summoned a sword made entirely of light. It shined valiantly, like a handheld sun, and its mere presence caused the mutated Sterk to howl in pain, for it struggled to cast its eyes upon such light for even a moment. The people cheered as they saw this weapon emerge in this hero’s hand, and, with a single motion, he leaped high into the air. He leaped higher than any human could hope to leap, and slashed downward, severing the Sterk’s body into two.
Its screams continued even as it was mutilated. But as the residual radiance of the sword lingered on this creature’s remains, the screams stopped, and this creature faded away, becoming nothing more than a pile of white ash.
Cheers intensified as the creature fell, and the man stood there, holding his sword high and urging the audience to continue with his triumphant shouts. Yet they all grew quiet as another walked onto the field. It was none other than The White Emperor, clapping his hands together as he approached the man on stage. The man made his sword fade away as he looked on at the Emperor. The man froze in place, awaiting the words of his leader. Instead, the man was met with a hardy slap on the back that echoed throughout the stadium.
“Marvelous display, my boy! And now that you have been reborn a Human, I see no reason to not treat you like one. For your grand achievements and contribution to ending the Great Genocide well ahead of schedule, I am pronouncing you my right-hand man. My sword and shield.”
Gasps filled the audience and, after waiting a moment for dramatic effect, the Emperor pulled out his sword, its blade made of pure silver that glistened in light. As the reborn man saw this blade, he bent down to one knee, and lowered his head. The White Emperor then brought the silver sword to this man’s right shoulder.
“I hereby dub you Weiss Vice. For while your dedication and adoration of our race is unquestionable, and if there is any who deserves to be known as the vice of the White, it is one such as you. Now, rise Weiss. Rise and take your rightful place at my side.”
As this newly born man was named, the crowd cheered once again, and The White Empire entered a new, glorious era. The era of Weiss.
Scene 10: White Space
The world of The White Empire was one on the verge of falling apart. But with the power of Weiss Vice, The Empire was able to quell this imminent destruction. The climate was restored, crops became plump and plentiful, and natural resources once limited had been recreated by the megaton. Blessed with the power of a being divine, and resolute to aid The Empire however possible, Weiss was able to quell any problem posited by The White Emperor, and did so both swiftly and happily. This all lasted for decades, until the Emperor himself had become frail and gray, and, on his deathbed, he requested a meeting with Weiss.
They stood together in a room of white. The Emperor’s face had grown a white beard, his skin had become pale, and his bed was white, as were both the floors and walls. He looked as if he may fade into the background at any moment, while Weiss, despite his unaged white body and white suit, stood strong and prominent even amongst this room of white.
“My boy, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. But… you must know that I worry about how much longer we can live like this. How much longer it will be until Humans outgrow this planet and need to conquer once more. I worry about what is out there, and not having enough support. I worry that… our race will be exterminated by a beast from another world.”
“My Emperor, what is it that you are requesting?”
“I want the Human race to spread across the stars, Weiss. I want our kind to be positioned across galaxies, so that we will never die out. So that we will be out there even if some profound evil of the black abyss eliminates our home.”
“I understand, sir. Even with the bases on Venus, Mars, and Sol, we are still limited by our solar system. But what would you have me do? Travel to distant galaxies at the speed of light and populate worlds with Humans?”
“Oh, Weiss. Always so smart and so loyal, but never willing to take confidence in your ideas. …While my grandson shall take on all duties as I pass away, I truly trust you more than him. Your devotion is beyond any other’s, and… over the decades, I have come to consider you… my son. You came in a dark hour, when I thought society would collapse, but you preserved it. You preserved The White Empire. May it last across all. May it last… till the end… of time.”
The White Emperor then shut his eyes, and the life left his body.
Weiss shed not a single tear, and merely left the room, informing those of what happened, and telling them he was determined to fulfill his Emperor’s dying wish. Weiss’s departure was met with shock and awe, claiming he would be gone for centuries as he propagated the galaxy with humans, doing as The Emperor urged him to. Exploring the stars at the speed of light.
Weiss was sent off with a celebration unlike any other in history. More than any White Emperor, more than any hero in history, Weiss was seen as the greatest. Someone who quelled the world of evil and corruption, and ushered in an era… An era that came to an end as Weiss shed his human body and became light, traveling high into the sky and soon through the annals of space.
He remained stoic and slumbering during the long journey, waking only upon reaching his numerous destinations. He terraformed the worlds, populated them with settlements, with Humans and animals, before moving on. Again and again this process was repeated, all as the centuries passed and the chances of Humanity’s survival grew with every new world claimed and conquered for the rightful owners of all. The White Empire.
Scene 11: Colors of Change
Weiss spent centuries amongst the stars, scouring from planet to planet, birthing new facets of the Human species as he claimed fertile worlds as property of The White Empire. But after circling around Earth for so long, Weiss was finally heading back to his home. He primed himself to see how glorious the future would be. How the people would have grown beyond his technology, how these plentiful resources would have led to the further growth of The White Empire.
He passed through the atmosphere as a ray of light that pierced down to the global capital of the world. As he materialized himself, manifesting matter and form from nothingness, he was met with ruin. Rubble filled decaying streets, the castle was reduced to a mountain of severed stone and shattered steel, and there was not a sign of Human life to be found. Not even vermin lingered here, for everything of sustenance had been long since devoured.
Weiss wore a look of confusion as he tried to comprehend this sight, and right as he began to form a panic-worthy theory, he fled the scene, hoping to get more information in the south. He found a populous city, one whose sleek buildings pierced the sky and shimmered in the sun, but before he could even enter this city, he was caught off-guard by a floating white orb, one that shined a light on him before speaking in a synthetic voice.
“So, you have returned to us, Weiss Vice. You arrived 3 weeks ahead of schedule. Please, follow me. Our leader would like to have a word with you, and catch you up on the 532 years you missed out on.”
Weiss followed the floating robotic orb as it escorted him through the streets, where citizens gathered about, looking at him with awe. Weiss had oft been subjected to such admiration, so he largely ignored it initially, but his white eyes widened as he looked at the crowd. For amongst the Humans, he saw Sterks. The species who wore the shape of human yet were dressed in darker pigments. The species Weiss exterminated. He leered at them with shock and disgust, but at the orb’s insistence, Weiss restrained himself and walked onward to a building that glistened with a vast array of vibrant colors.
Weiss found such architecture to be gaudy and impractical, yet he was half a millennia divorced from culture, so he held his tongue. He remained silent as he was escorted down the colored halls and up an elevator overlooking this aesthetically foreign city. The ride stopped a minute later and gave way to an expansive office adorned with a dizzying array of technology beyond Weiss’s comprehension, including panels of light that floated in mid-air around a metal desk.
At the center of this image, Weiss saw a Sterk. A female Sterk dressed in a colorful dress, her skin dark, her hair poofy and plentiful, her face artisanal, and her expression exasperated. She stood up from her chair and walked up to Weiss, who scowled at her in response, ready to blame her for the destruction he bore witness to mere minutes ago, but she spoke first.
“Weiss Vice. One of the most important people in human history. Born a slave to The White Empire, murdered as part of the Great Genocide, and reborn as a being with powers divine. A slave who believed his masters to be just, even as they raped, shot, and incinerated him. You aligned yourself with The White Empire from the outset, and did all you could to put an end to all races other than the… Whites. Upon slaying the last remnants, upon ending the genocide in a mere four days, you surrendered yourself to The White Emperor, who urged you to discard your race and sex, becoming a White man. A White man who served the Emperor for decades. Tell me, is this all accurate, or has the true history been obscured?”
“Correct,” Weiss replied, his brow furrowing. “Tell me who you are, and how… how is a Sterk still permitted to walk this Earth?”
“You may call me Iris. I am the Prime Minister of The Democratic Alliance of Prism. Leaders of Eurasia— the eastern continent.”
“…What in the Hells did you people do to my planet?”
“We did nothing. The White Empire met its downfall through its own fruition, and we are merely what remains. Please Weiss, take a seat and I shall inform you on the half millennia you were absent for. I promise to speak nothing but the truth, and I also promise that you will struggle to accept some of the events that happened during the past century. I implore that you take hold of your calm and listen. Afterward, you may do as you please. For, even with our profound technologies, none across the Sol system have the capacity to resist your limitless might.”
Iris explained that, for the decades following Weiss’s departure, Humanity triumphed. Earth prospered, Venus became a second Earth, Mars was fully terraformed, and Mercury supplied Humankind with more resources than they knew what to do with. They began to expand beyond the main asteroid belt, colonizing moons, mining gas giants, and crafting artificial worlds to sustain the population as it ballooned past 20 billion.
However, as this progress happened, as Humanity entered its third century bereft of conflict, The White Emperor discovered a hidden archive of knowledge. One maintained by a devout group of Humans who had grown the library over centuries. The Emperor chose to release this information to the public, defying the orders of his dying father and numerous advisors. As he did so, The Empire began to crumble.
It took much analysis and reinterpretation to understand what the archive was saying, but scholars were able to piece together a history that spit in the face of the one taught by The White Empire. The narrative that Humans and Sterks were crafted by God. That the Sterks were the natural slaves of Humans. And that Humanity’s first civilization was The White Empire, which spread joy and prosperity across the world, as it civilized both Humans and Sterks under one banner.
The truth positioned by the scholars… was far less simple. They claimed that there was no God. That Sterks and Humans were truly the same species. That Sterks were an amalgamation of different racial groups scattered around the world. And the so-called Humans were merely a group from the European peninsula who, unified under the banner of conquest, sought to take hold of the world. Destroying all culture in their wake and erasing the histories of hundreds of nations across the world. Then, once the world was freed from any competing powers, once the dominance of the Europeans was cemented, they began to push their narrative, kill all who objected, and create their myth. The myth of The White Empire, the Humans, and the Sterks.
The White Empire was successful with its harsh regime and stern approach to all indications of rebellion, but it was crumbling due to its narrow view. Due to how industry was destroying the planet, and due to a climate of hatred, born from generations of propaganda. They enacted the Great Genocide to quell the people and theoretically delay the inevitable destruction of society. In a sense, their theory was successful. For, with the Great Genocide, The White Empire gained a boon known as Weiss Vice. A Human of deific caliber who set The White Empire on the path of sustainability, supplying its people with enough raw materials to last them centuries.
People took this revelation in a variety of ways. Some people denied the history outright, claiming it went against the reality that was lived for centuries. Others were appalled and disowned The White Empire for being a tool of such genocide and propaganda. And between them, there were those who believed the truth lied somewhere in the middle. That while The White Empire did awful things, they ultimately led the human race to a grand and prosperous state.
These ideological divides grew over the decades, and culminated in all-out war. It was a heinous conflict where billions died, and left the Sol system divided. Planets and celestial bodies were claimed by different nations, while Earth was divided into four, with The Democratic Alliance of Prism holding the majority of land.
“Our nation believes that the memory and culture of the Sterks must be preserved. We believe that the human race must advance beyond the corpse of The White Empire, and the races genocided by The White Empire should be reborn using modern technology. I was a firstborn son of The White Empire, but I left The Empire to help found this nation. To cement my disownment, I transformed myself into the form you see today. I intended to step down from my position once structures were in place and pease was implemented, but the people of Prism have continued to elect me as their leader for the past decade”
As Iris finished her explanation, she looked on at Weiss. As the speech went on, Weiss remained still in his chair, unmoving and unemotive. He looked up at the ceiling, painted an array of colors, and then looked down at Iris. He still struggled to get over the unreality of this woman. While her hair and attire were one thing, Weiss could tell she was 52 years of age, which made her older than any Sterk he had ever seen before. For most Sterks, especially female ones, were retired shortly after their prime.
The idea of someone like her existing, yet alone holding vast power… confused Weiss, and inspired him to ask his first question
“You transformed yourself into another… race. But why would you change your sex? Why become a woman if your intention was to rule?”
“Because a woman had not held rule over a nation for centuries. Only those born as men or those who reshaped themselves as men. Plus, I never felt quite right in the body of an African man. I felt much more comfortable in a body such as this. A body that, come to think of it, is not too different from the one you were born with. A European son of The White Emperor disowned his family and became an African woman. While a female-born African became a European man who called The White Emperor his father. How poetic.”
“I suppose…” Weiss said, his face devoid of expression. “You wish to move past The White Empire and restore Humanity to a facsimile of what it was in centuries past. All by introducing these… other races of Humans into the world, and restoring long-dead societies.”
“To an extent, yes. We wish to learn what we can about them, celebrate them, and to use what few relics we have to make for a better and more diverse society. One built on the foundations of freedom, choice, and expression. Instead of one built around oppression, control, and censorship. We are aware of how challenging it is to resurrect a dead culture, but we still desire to try. To try and bring back the humanity that was lost by centuries of domination.”
“And how would I, hypothetically, aid in that pursuit?” Weiss said, leaning back in his chair with a hand on his temple.
“You can do anything, Weiss. Did you forget that during your galactic foray?” Iris said, a touch of snark in her voice. “You could revive some of those genocided by The White Empire so we might learn more about their societies. You could help unify the governments of the Sol system so they see our way, or you could choose to align yourself with The Holy White Empire and… commence another Great Genocide. One of both race and politics. I cannot stop you, and you are a being too mighty to be dissuaded against your ideolo—”
“—I have the solution. I know how to make things right.”
Weiss then vanished from the room. He left with no flash of light, no sound, and no passing goodbye to Iris. He just left. And as he left, a tremor began to run through the building. One that knocked the beverage out of Iris’s hand and brought her body to the floor. There, she spasmed, her eyes rolling back into her head, and blood pouring out her mouth.
Scene 12: White is Right
History is the study of past events. But past events can be lost, forgotten, or fabricated. History is the foundation of society, but it is also something that can, indeed, be changed. You just need enough power to make the change happen and make people accept it. If there was one thing Weiss learned with his discussions with Iris, it was that. That if you are displeased with history, and have the power, you can change it. Weiss thought of simply going back in time, suppressing this information from ever surfacing, preventing The White Empire from ever dying. It would be an easy enough action, yet that seemed… insufficient.
Instead, Weiss sought out… the truth. The truth of this world, of The White Empire’s origins. Doing so required Weiss to turn back time, by centuries and then millennia. And… everything he saw confirmed Iris’s narrative.
The White Empire was not a benevolent force. They were conquerors who brought death to all who opposed them. They took hold of the world, claimed it as their own, and hid behind their own history, eliminating anyone who proposed an alternative theory or became too inquisitive.
Weiss saw it all. From the decades of ceaseless war across the Earth to his glorious rebirth, to the 532 years of history he missed out on. Everything he had believed in their over 600 years of life… was a lie. The White Empire was not a benevolent force blessed by a divine entity. They were a destructive regime that did everything it did for the sake of power and control. And they brainwashed him since birth to believe their curated history. Weiss had seen the truth. The lightest light. And as he did so, as he took in the events of his world across millennia, he crumbled.
He crumbled away from the stream of time and landed… elsewhere. He landed in a domain of white. Blinding, imposing, oppressive white. Raw light bereft of color, stretching endlessly. He walked through this white, its surface flat and devoid of texture, but no matter how much he walked, he saw no walls. No end. Naught but an endless surface. Naught but white.
As this fact became a certainty, Weiss looked down at the ground beneath his feet, and struck it open. The surface shattered, and it revealed a dark interior. One that Weiss stepped into, falling slightly as he entered a room, no larger than 10 square meters, its walls and floor covered in something dark and viscous. Weiss looked around the room, perplexed, before his eyes landed on a figure shackled against a wall, their body drenched in blackened ooze. Weiss walked closer and stopped in his tracks as he looked upon the figure’s face. It was dark, small, and most notably, had the Serial of K48-W12-Z37 tattooed onto its forehead.
It was Weiss… back when he was a Sterk. Before he had been reborn. Before he had a name.
“Hello… It’s been a long time,” the shackled figure said, her throat hoarse.
“I killed you. Why are you here? Where even is here?”
“This is your own mind. It’s why everything is bathed in white, why the darkness and past are suppressed. Heh. Myself included.”
“…And I am here because of what I saw,” Weiss stated. “Because I know that… my entire existence, my ideas and principles, are all founded on lies.”
“You got it. And now, you are having a crisis. Such a crisis that you’ve come to visit me. But why seek out me? You are smart enough to know what your choices are. Smarter than I could ever hope to be.”
“My choice… to change history. I have the ability to change and reshape the world. I can choose what is just, and… act as one with power divine.”
“Born a slave, reborn a servant, and self-actualized as a God. I guess that’s what’s happening. But… is that what you want? To remake and change history? To become The White Emperor? To become a God?”
“…No. I… I am no leader. I am no God. I am a sword and shield. That is what I was born as, and that… is what I know.”
“The chains of mental slavery run so deep they have mingled betwixt your flesh and bone, becoming an inseparable part of your being. To remove them would mean to kill yourself. But you have embraced death once before, so what have you to fear? Besides, you would not die. You would simply be imprisoned within your own mind. Just like me. And in your place, a new identity would be born.”
“No. To be reborn would be to kill myself anew. I have sworn my loyalty to The White Empire, and… I shall do whatever is best for it. The White Empire I know is their truest form, and if either past or future disagree with me… then I’ll make my own history.”
Weiss’s position was absolute, and any objections were naught but moot. The girl looked up at Weiss as a tear trickled down his eye. She smiled before letting out an expected sigh. For the conversation had ended, and the wounds of Weiss could not be mended.
“Then ease your strife and bring end to my life! End it like the Whites did before, end me like a Sterk whore!”
Weiss looked at the girl with scorn, wondering if that was the key to be reborn. Reborn without shame, but reborn as Weiss all the same. With a scowl on his face, he neared the girl, ready for disgrace. For he knew that which she implied. The thing that’d leave her satisfied. With it his masculinity assured, but he had kept it obscured. It was none other than his cock, aimed at her face just like that glock.
The girl looked at the thing not with shock, instead she viewed it as a crock. It was a sign of admission and defeat, but at least this act would be a ‘treat.’ She cackled like a boiling chickadee, but that could not prepare her for the intensity. For Weiss did not choose to penetrate, and instead, he began to masturbate. His hand and penis shook as one, and it took seconds before he was done. Onto the girl’s face sprayed the ejaculate, but it did not seem to abdicate.
The cum continued to trickle down her body and her face, painting her being in a white disgrace. It moved with the might of a river, pinning her down as she immersed in silver. While semen it was for sure, it had an almost radiant allure. It shone strong even in the darkness, with a beauty only the deranged would harness. At this sight, Weiss made sure to laugh, towering over her like a perverted giraffe.
“A Sterk like you should drown in white. So in death, you can see the light. It will cast away your endless night, and when done, then all will be right. So cast aside your Sterkish spite and embrace my manly delight!”
As the cum continued to spray, on the floor the girl did lay. Her chains had melted away, but freedom was not scheduled today. As Weiss did cum and rejoice, she died there, without a choice. She quivered and she squirmed, but it was soon confirmed. Once the cum had grown to Weiss’s knees, filling the room with the scent of sleaze. It was an odor pungent and viscous, but Weiss sniffed it like sweet hibiscus. To him, it was as sweet as a treat, and enough for him to pack his meat. With a thrust and a snap, Weiss disappeared all the crap. The semen, the girl, and the room blacker than a merle.
“Thank you, my progenitor, but you are nothing to my Master. The man who dubbed me is forever my king, whose mere concept inspires me to sing. For I shall make the world he doth love! I’ll remake it and aim above! The White Empire shall regain its rightful place, as the leader of the Human race! The Whites shall lead and frolic, never a day melancholic! Everything tiring shall be done by the Sterk, the lesser species that loves to work! Yes, they shall be revived. Without them, society would have never survived. But these lot shall be more submissive, and never shall they be dismissive. They will love the life they live, eagerly accepting all work Humans might give. For it is in their very nature, and part of society’s nomenclature.”
And lo, with great haste, Weiss began to copy and paste, piecing together an image of utmost glory, within his mental laboratory. From within this hall of white, he worked for many a fortnight, forging a future the utmost bright, a future informed by sight. He treated the past with the least regard, even if it meant he had to work so hard, in order to craft a world built on ideals, a world with the whitest appeals.
Scene 13: The Whole White World
God came from afar, shining brightly like a star. He looked upon this ugly black and filled it with something it did lack. A gallant galaxy came from kaboom, and within it He did zoom. He traveled from sun to sun, overjoyed by what He’d done. Yet He felt that there was something lacking. And it was not for His slacking. He made rocks a million and gas balls a billion, but He soon found the sights tired, least till He grew inspired. Upon his vision did He find a sight most divine. A planet of blue and green, with a whitish shine. An orb of water, land, and grand cloud, it made Him shout oh so loud.
“Hark, I hath spotted my grandest creation! The spot to dole my final machination! It is here my children will live and grow, and it will be the first home they will ever know. It is a pristine planet with pristine places, and on it, there shall be two races. The Humans who shall lead and succeed, while the Sterks shall heed their every need. A pair of species, not one, but two, and just a few wouldn’t do. They need to be civilized and valliant, and most especially gallant! From afar, I shall watch you grow, but your triumphs, I already know. I have entrusted all my creation to you, and with every word you do accrue, know that your quest is bold and true.”
From this seed, a world grew, but despite its status, it was nothing new. It was the world Weiss had called his own, but with the edges smoothed to the bone. A world without war or fear, where Sterks were always loyal and near. From their origin, they loved to serve, and never trampled a tender nerve. The dual races worked to great success, moving faster than Weiss would guess. The Empire expanded with post-haste, taming the natural world with no waste. Then once both civil and prim, Humanity nudged against its brim. They fought against the oppressive force, and from this world they were divorced. Free to colonize the moon, its ores providing quite a boon. From space station Sol, they pursued a second goal. Colonies on Venus and Mars, and soon beyond the stars.
As centuries passed and expansion grew, Humans looked upon the Sterks anew. As slaves, they were more than fine, but their work was far from divine. They could not survive in the astral abyss, and their tiny brains made them remiss. Humanity had flourished, but it was time, to replace the Sterks full-time. With the aid of the mighty Weiss, the Sterks were put on ice. Their species ended in a single snap, and a new race entered the map. A being like a Human but synthetic, with a most Holy aesthetic. Robot slaves of a glorious white, with bodies that housed inhuman might. They were strong and smart, but knew where their priorities should start. Serve the Humans above all and care not if they do fall. For they were being of machination, a replicable creation. One with minds that could transfer, it was all they were. These creatures, dubbed as Machi, knew their purpose and did agree. That it would be best if they served Humanity and acknowledge their God-given superiority.
With Machi and unfathomable resources, Humanity was ceaseless in their spacial courses. They traveled in every direction, never encountering a major deflection. Yet even as they traveled without fear or folly, Weiss came inflected with a melancholy. Their dream has been a success, and this was ideal, nothing less. He had fulfilled his goal, but there lingered a hole deep within his soul. Was this a victory gained in ill? Even though it more than fits the bill? His joy simply refused to stay, and he began to envision another way.
He had created a world that was made to be consumed, and he wondered if such a world was doomed. His ideal lacked any culture or art, and they moved militarily from end to start. Working with like a hive of insects, moving with rigor between projects. It was a world filled with naught but human-shaped drones, and this rattled Weiss to his bones. Was this the dream he had come to believe? Then why was he tormented by this petulant peeve?
As the days upon years carried on, these doubts continued to spawn. Weiss began to realize he made a mistake, and he felt his psyche wiggle and break. But when it came time to accept he was wrong, he merely sang his favorite song. The anthem he sang in his youth, one that was filled with naught but truth. It was a motto, simple and concise, enough to inspire and reassure Weiss. That this doubt within was just lingering Vice. That all was good and indubitably nice.
Yet there still remained a doubt. That there were worlds left out. Other Humans who disobeyed his code. Of lingering Sterks in the universal abode. It was a problem born out of fear, but it eased his worries like a beer. So into deep space he did go, leaving Humanity to endlessly grow. His destination he did not know, but he hoped it would put an end to this eternal woe.
He left to prove that white was right, to find the dark and show them light, to exert his ceaseless might, and so he flew into the astral night, acting as a knight for all good and white. Yet this journey was one of spite, one driven by sheer fright. The idea that his ideals were wrong, it was a horror he doused in song, casting it like it did not matter, and letting his psyche shatter. With a desire to quell all that was dark, he came up with a solution most stark. To paint the dark of all within white, to make the universe forever bright. And with this aim he did pursue, venturing from edge to edge, where he painted it a bright hue
Needless to say, Weiss was insane, afflicted with a most heinous bane. For he could never accept his cardinal fault and continued this endless assault. Though that may be a misnomer, for Weiss was not a mere roamer. He ventured on with the utmost precision, for it was needed to fulfill his vision. A universe as pure and white as him. One basked in light and never dim.
I know I said this in the foreword, but… I am sorry. This story was born from a desire to explore a wide spectrum of concepts. I wanted to explore the idea of mental slavery. Of a group of people internalizing and accepting themselves as a lesser race. Of history being repressed and altered by a government succeeded through oppression. And of someone who, even when tormented, even when living a life devoid of joy, still remains loyal to their masters, for they lack the imagination to picture a world different from the one they were born into. Someone who, when given the power to remake the world anew, uses this power to create a world based solely off of their beliefs. A world they truly know to be flawed, yet refuse to acknowledge such things even when they are so evident.
Did I do a good job of exploring these concepts? Almost certainly not. I’m a stupid white transgender woman who made this story in about a week, by herself, with no consultation or deliberate research. I am by no means the right person to talk about this subject matter, but this is a story that I felt I had to tell, and one that I told in my own confusing and bizarre way. A way where insanity is symbolized with clunky rhyming and features an arbitrary dosage of weirdness thrown in for no other reason greater than my own lack of self-control.