“I didn’t tell them to do this. The city is taken. Why…”
War is chaos and filth and blood. The very concept is insane. Clucking like a disappointed hen, Nacht watched the three priests. Those aren’t Geisteskranken. These are your sane. We’re a flawed species.
“I could have taken the city with my Gefahrgeist power, couldn’t I?”
Probably, Nacht agreed.
“I’ll never listen to you again.”
You will. Unbrauchbar might fall to your pathetic need for worship— “I don’t need worship.”
Where do you think your Gefahrgeist power comes from?
“My followers believe I can—”
Come now, you don’t really believe that. Konig fed you that shite to keep you from questioning. He was probably afraid of facing the truth himself.
“The faithful of Selbsthass define—”
They define the delusions you suffer.
“No, I—”
You’ve had no real interaction with the people who worship you. You have no idea what they believe. Think of this in their terms: Who has power? Geisteskranken. If they believe you have power, you must also be Geisteskranken.
Was Nacht right? Did his followers worship a god they believed insane? That made no sense. Who would follow a mad god? But the philosophers claimed all gods were deranged. Even the ancient gods—those who were supposed to have hallucinated humanity into existence—were insane. Humanity was not only willing to worship mad gods, but it seemed to be a prerequisite for devotion.
You understand, said Nacht.
“I crave worship. I am a Gefahrgeist.”
You’re a Slaver.
Morgen wanted to argue but he remembered the rush of robbing General Misserfolg of all choice and will. He thought back to how good it felt to crush Konig to the floor.
That’s just the beginning, said Nacht. You’re also a powerful Hassebrand, Mirrorist, and Halluzin. There is no delusion you can’t manifest. There is nothing your followers don’t believe you capable of.
But that meant he was completely insane!
And your belief you can create perfection from madness is the crowning proof.
Turning his back on the rape, Morgen faced his Reflection. “So that’s what you’re doing! You want me to give up!”
Nacht laughed, boyish face open and honest. No, not at all.
“The mirror ever lies.”
Of course. But there are so many ways to lie. I don’t want you to give up.
“Then what?”
You’re not ready yet.
Not ready? Morgen thought back to the garrison at the border, how Nacht asked him to wait before crossing the bridge. “You wanted me to see the destruction my soldiers left behind.”
Nacht shrugged, dirty face stretched in a carefree grin.
“Why didn’t you want me to take Unbrauchbar with my Gefahrgeist power?” Gods, the lives he could have saved. There would have been none of this.
I told you we wouldn’t reach Gottlos. At least not this time. If you took Unbrauchbar any other way, you wouldn’t have seen the truth of war. Thinking that playing with your toy soldiers is anything like war is purest delusion. Nacht eyed him. Or purest stupidity.
“This changes nothing.”
Only because you haven’t seen everything I want to show you. Remember, you kept back your cadres of the deranged. There are no Geborene Geisteskranken within the city. Nacht laughed again, smirking. Can you imagine what this place would look like with a few score psychotics running rampant?
“You think I can’t make sanity from madness, but I can. I will. This world is flawed. People are suffering. I can help them.”
Nacht blinked in disbelief. You can help them?
“I want what’s best for humanity.”
Horse shite. You don’t care about humanity. Three men—three of your priests—are raping a woman not ten feet from you and you’ve done nothing to stop it.
Morgen pulled the shard of glass from the shattered window and stared down at his Reflection.
They are nothing to you, said Nacht. You’re a god.
The Geborene god threw the glass to the street, grinding it under his heel.
Morgen found General Misserfolg and commanded the man to form up the troops beyond the city walls. When they marched south they left behind a scene of utter devastation, a city on fire. He had no idea how many citizens lay dead, but according to Misserfolg, the Geborene lost fewer than two-hundred. Half of that to fighting amongst themselves.