"Shut up!!"

The blow was swift and brutal, dislocating her already bloodied jaw. Blood ran down her nose and mouth and dripped on the hard, cold stone floor. Hands tied cruelly tight behind her back, she had no way of defending herself. Her tormentors and the room itself swam in and out of focus, as she slid down the wall at her back and collapsed in a heap at the man's feet, her face in a pool of her own blood. Dimly, she heard the soldier say something in a smug, cruel voice, but she didn't hear him. He then spoke to the other man in the room, and she heard a door open and shut. Next, someone cut the ropes on her wrists, leaving her fingers bound to each other. She was pulled roughly into a semi-erect posture, her arms stretched wide above her head and fastened to manacles attached to the dungeon wall. Then she seemed to be left in peace for a while. Peace? This was not peace. She doubted whether she would ever live to experience peace again. Not that she had long to live anyway, she thought grimly. She had been so close to unconsciousness when she was on the floor, but being pulled upright again had wrenched that blissful state from her grasp. Soon, too soon, the pain started to subside, or perhaps she was simply becoming accustomed to it; she was no stranger to pain. Now she longed for a distraction, wished that her tormentor wold return to beat her again, anything rather than be left alone with her thoughts, her memories. She despised herself; she hated herself. Her one consolation was that soon she would no longer have to live with herself. She was to die at dawn tomorrow. She had no idea what time it was, but dawn could not come too soon to suit her. Then, she could finally forget, forget her past, forget the fact that she was lower than dirt, forget that she was nothing but an accursed traitor. She remembered what he had given her. He had given her everything, her home, her power. He had made her who she was. He had loved her, cared for her like his own daughter. And she had spit in his face; she had become everything she had ever despised and fought against. Such were her thoughts, but somewhere deep inside her heart, she knew that she had done the right thing. But she could not simply forget everything that she had been told her whole life long. Deep down, she knew that she had been told nothing but lies from the cradle, that in truth she had been brainwashed. But she could not make herself feel this. And even though it told her she had been right to betray her adopted father, she received little consolation from her heart. When she looked into her heart, she saw, not a traitor, but a plunderer, a witch, a murderer. Her heart despised, not what she had become, but who she used to be. Either way she looked at herself, she hated what she saw. There was no relief, and she simply could not stop her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried. She threw her head back against the hard wall, causing her vision to swim again. She did it again. And again. And again. She was trying to knock herself senseless. But somehow the comforting blackness refused to come. Exhausted, she gave up, instead trying to concentrate on the throbbing in the back of her head and the sticky wetness seeping through her golden hair. Her masochism at first seemed to be working. She was still thinking, but it was becoming less distinct, less logical, dream-like. Soon, she was not thinking, she was seeing. A town, that town, appeared before her eyes, as clear as when she saw it for the first time. Again she was squinting through binoculars. Again she looked at her written orders:

General,

Our intel shows that Maranda has indeed been harboring Returners. Take the town, using any means you deem necessary to ensure that its people never again betray Us. The rebels are to be brought back to the capital for questioning. Execute the town leaders.

"General Chere." She looked up from the telegraph. It was Colonel Garrett, her second-in-command.

"Yes, Colonel. What is it?"

"What are our orders?"

She handed him the note.

A smile slid across his face as he finished his perusal. "And what 'means' do you intend to use? What do you plan to do to the town?" asked Garrett.

She considered a moment, gazing into the distance at the beautiful, quiet little village.

"Burn it."

The town was a peaceful one, with a small military. Therefore, the Emperor had only given her a small regiment, about 50 men. It was more than necessary, she thought. Nothing could withstand the Empire's new magitek armor. The suits were huge: 15 feet tall, weighing two tons. A single blast from one of their guns was strong enough to blow a hole through a foot-thick wall of solid rock. Celes Chere, however, never used them. Their one disadvantage was speed; their top speed was two miles an hour, and it took 30 seconds just to make an 180 degree-turn in one. Celes liked to be free. Besides, she didn't need them.

She calmly raised her hand palm-outwards in the direction of the two guards who used their spears to block the front gate of the town. She closed her eyes, moving first her fingers and then her wrist until the back of her hand faced out and she seemed to be holding something loosely. For a brief moment, a light shone under her fingers and then her whole body seemed to glow with a piercing blue aura. A sudden gust of wind swirled about her, flapping her pure white cape behind her and causing her long hair to stand almost on end. She opened her eyes, and the glow left her form. Immediately, the light flew from her hand, blasting the two guards off their feet. The moment the light hit them, a blue-white color spread quickly, engulfing their entire bodies, looks of horror frozen unto their faces. When they hit the ground, they shattered like glass into a thousand pieces. They had been turned into blocks of ice. Celes glanced up and sideways to Colonel Garrett, whose lips were again twisted upwards. He nodded and immediately pulled a lever on his armor, causing the monstrosity to raise a gun the size of a rottweiler. The weapon powered up for a moment, seeming to pull the energy from everything nearby into itself before shooting a beam at the gates, which were blown off their hinges. A shock wave of the released energy was emitted in every direction, knocking Celes slightly off-balance. She led her men forward, her boots crunching on the shards of ice. She barely noticed the fact that some of the larger pieces were still recognizable as human hands, human faces.

The town was caught completely unprepared for the attack. Celes had waited until cover of darkness to move her troops from the hill upon which she had spied out the city. It was still two hours before dawn. Everyone was awakened by the explosion of the gate, but before anyone was even out to see what had caused the noise, Celes' men were methodically going to every house, knocking down the doors, rounding up those few people, men and women, whom they found hiding in a couple of the basements. All soldiers and any who attempted to hinder them were immediately shot down. While her men were thus occupied, Celes went to the governor's mansion. She found the governor, surrounded by a dozen or so police officers with drawn swords. She drew her own weapon.

"Come with me, Governor Reathe," she said simply.

The governor was young, barely in his thirties. What Celes mainly noticed about him were his eyes. They were a clear, almost emerald green, and they were devoid of the terror she expected. This angered her. He did not move.

"Why?" he asked. "Why is Emperor Gestahl attacking Maranda? We are at peace with the Empire!"

"You fool!" She spat. "Did you honestly believe your treachery would escape the all-seeing eyes of the Empire? We know you have been harboring Returners!"

His eyes widened, but to his credit he did not try to deny it.

She continued. "I repeat, come with me freely, or watch your guards die."

One of the officers spoke up. "We will never allow you to take our Governor, you imperial witch!"

Celes shrugged. She had been planning to kill them anyway, along with all the military personnel in the town. This way, they would simply die in battle instead of by execution. It mattered not. She raised her blade and attacked. Though outnumbered 12 to one, Celes did not doubt that she would be the victor. She was too quick and agile for them to surround her, none of them could equal her skill with the sword, and her magic tipped the scale in her favor. Within minutes, Governor Reathe found himself surrounded by a wall of bodies. He looked at them with profound sorrow and pity before raising his eyes to look into the icy-blue eyes of this woman, who was barely even breathing heavily. He came quietly.

Too quietly. For Celes was able to hear the gentle crying, emanating from a closet behind her.

"Don't move," she commanded, and then went to the closet and opened it. Shoving aside some coats, she found a young woman, scarcely older than herself, crouched against the back wall. She held an infant in her arms, somehow sleeping peacefully, and the cause of the noise that had alerted Celes to their presence, a boy of two or three years, was sobbing into her nightgown. The woman was trembling.

"Mrs. Reathe, I presume," said Celes. "Please, join us."

She motioned with her sword for the woman to join her husband. When she reached his side, he wrapped his arms around her and the infant for a moment, and then reached down and swung the boy into his arms. "Don't cry, Michael. Everything will be alright."

Celes emerged from the mansion, the Reathes walking in front with her sword at the Governor's back. Her troops had gathered the group of Returners, seven men and two women in front of a wooden platform in the center of the town, in front of the Governor's mansion, apparently used for making speeches. Standing on top of the platform were three other town leaders: the Governor's assistant, the chief of police, and the head of the town council.

"Governor, up there." She motioned for him to join the group on the platform. "You. Stay here," She commanded to the woman. She left Reathe in the care of five of her soldiers. Colonel Garrett was waiting for her there.

"General. We've searched every building; these are the only rebel scum we could find. We found some foreigners in the inn. They are from Doma; they claim to be here in order to establish an alliance between Maranda and Doma. What should we do with them?"

Celes hesitated for a brief moment.

"Do not harm them. We are not at war with Doma, and the Emperor has given us no orders to begin one. I am sure that the news they will bring back to their king will make him hesitant to challenge the Empire."

She mounted the steps of the wooden platform. By now, it seemed every inhabitant of the village was gathered in the square, awaiting their unknown fate.

"Speech time," she thought.

She raised her voice to a shout. "People of Maranda. For a year now has the mighty Empire of Gestahl, the Beneficent, been at peace with you. He has protected you, brought order and peace, not only to your town, but to this entire continent. And this, THIS is how you repay him!" She pointed an accusing finger down at the group of rebels. "By aiding and abetting this group of known terrorists and revolutionaries, these vermin who would give their lives to end Gestahl's reign of order, and plunge the land into chaos. As much as it grieves him to do it, the Emperor must punish such undeserved treachery, for the sake of the thousands of innocents who depend on him for his protection. The perpetrators of treason must die, and today, you will witness their execution. Remember, you have brought this fate upon yourselves."

Celes drew a knife from her belt, and nodded at two soldiers who held the chief of police. They brought him in front of her and forced him to his knees at her feet. She did not waste anymore words; she saw little point in offering last requests. All they really accomplished was to draw out the suffering of the one to be executed. She pulled his head back by the hair, and sliced the knife across the tender skin. A gurgle rose in his throat, screams and weeping from the crowd. She released him and he collapsed to the floor of the platform. One by one, she did the same to the head of the town council and the governor's assistant. When the governor was walked to her, he did not struggle. She again looked in his eyes, and still the terror she looked for was absent. He had a defiant look in his eyes. Before he knelt, he spoke. He addressed her, but he spoke so that the whole village could hear.

"Soon the people of the world will not stand for the Empire's 'benevolence' any longer. You speak of peace and order. Your Emperor will not have peace until he is the sole wielder of power, the world is bathed in the blood of his enemies, and whoever is left alive are brought to their knees before him. Your order is nothing more than his domineering will imposed over innocent people. And these revolutionaries are the only ones with the sense to see the Empire for what it is and the courage to fight for the freedom of the world. You may kill me and my compatriots, but soon your day will come. The Empire shall fall."

Silence greeted his words; fear for their beloved leader quelling the cheers that rose in the throats of the citizens of Maranda. Women stilled their weeping and held their breath. Celes hesitated. His words had struck fear into her fearless heart. She wondered if he spoke the truth. She was afraid not so much for his prediction of the fall of her Empire, but for what he said the Empire stood for. The Empire seemed to her not so glorious as she had always believed it to be. She wondered in her heart when the war would finally be over. How long had she been fighting, obeying every wish of her adopted father? She could not remember a time before she was a soldier. Violence was all she knew. For the first time, she doubted. What was she fighting for? She shook herself. The moment had passed, and she was again General Chere, pride of the empire, and favorite of Emperor Gestahl. She again saw, not a prophet, but an enemy, a traitor. And there was nothing, not even the Returners, that she hated more than traitors. She herself forced him to his knees, and pressed the dagger to his throat.

"No!" screamed a voice from the crowd. Celes glanced down, and her eyes met those of the governor's wife, still clutching the babe in her arms. The woman knelt to the ground, silently begging for the life of her beloved. Celes gazed into her soft eyes, filled with tears, eyes torn with pain, but still pleading, searching for any sign of pity from the cold General. Celes looked into those eyes and it was as if she saw glimpses in them of the brief years of happiness the woman had had with her husband. The tenderness of their first kiss. The shared joy and pride at the birth of their first-born son. The dreams of a long life together in a peaceful world. Dreams shattered forever as Celes closed her eyes and drew the blade across his throat.