Ozymandias; or, Ramses
Summary: Years after she had engineered the fall of Saint Isidore, the warlord known as Ayaka Kamiji contemplated the meaning of immortality as she read a poem in its library. She would not be Ozymandias: she would be Ramses.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Irony was always something Ayaka Kamiji enjoyed very much.
Ayaka had become many a thing over the course of her still relatively young life. A survivor of the Outbreak, the second in command of the Melee Fight Crew, the leader of her own nation, a mother: but above all she was a conqueror, both greatly respected and greatly feared.
After the collapse of the Fight Crew and that fateful moment she had activated the campus alarms, Ayaka was on her own, no longer restrained by rules or morality. Sure enough, she found herself right at home with raiders. Others like her who found themselves at peace with the loss of all order. People like her who were chosen and thrived in this new, horrifying new world. But ultimately, problems arose.
They were foolish.
They were stupid.
True, Ayaka was no danger in indulging in her own murderous whims (she smiled as she remembered Akira's murder, that young man who patrolled so often with her), but always thinking of the consequences. They lived one day at a time, never thinking of tomorrow: it was inevitable until Ayaka's own existence would be in danger of being dragged down with them.
Nobody really know how their leader had become infected, but nobody objected to Ayaka's claim to leadership.
(That wasn't true. Several had. They too became infected. But in the newborn's empire history, Ayaka's claim to power had been truly unopposed.)
The endeavors were harsh and brutal as Ayaka took her people, her fellow chosen, and re-organized it from the ground up once her absolute power had been consolidated. The raids were no longer random. Only certain amounts of food and luxury were looted from pre-Outbreak buildings, so they could return to claim more as necessary. Raid victims who chose to submit were now enlisted into their ranks instead of simply being killed unless it amused the group.
And then the abandoned JSDF military warehouse had been discovered, and the weapons manufacturing plant restored to working condition. And immediately, Ayaka began to think in the long-term.
Honestly, it had been such a wonderfully cool and exciting experience. It would've been a lie to say she hadn't enjoyed every second of it. The sight of seeing entire settlements blazing, it almost was as grand and marvelous at the time she first killed the zombies. Almost equal to the thrill she had felt when mur
Now, the whole of Hokkaido was undeniably hers. And slowly they pushed into mainland Japan. "From Hokkaido to Kyushu!" was the campaign's unofficial slogan. Sometimes settlements peacefully surrendered. At other times, they were conquered or razed to the ground.
Killer Queen was a name often attributed to her. Hokkaido's Devil was another. Ayaka Kamiji was many things: depending on your point of view. Warlord, unifier. Hope, despair. Tyrant, leader. Monster, savior. Empress, dictator.
But most people agreed on one thing: she was seemingly invincible. Just as she had thought to herself as she stared at Saint Isidore's graveyard all those years ago, after speaking with Hikarizato. Love or hate her, her army marched and destroyed all opposition in their way.
Undeniably, to live in her borders was to live a relatively peaceful life with little to fear from the roaming dead that still far outnumbered mankind: at the cost of strict laws and horrific punishments for those who disobeyed the laws of the land. Ayaka chuckled as she remembered some of the rumors that surrounded her: that she was a demon who had come to Earth along with the virus. That her jacket (her old university jacket now long since replaced)'s leather was formed from the flesh of her enemies. That she was truly a zombie and ate her enemies. Others praised her, hailing her as the great unifier that would make Japan whole once more, to restore civilization to this fearsome new world. That while brutal and unforgiving, she was the only light of hope in this world: even if that light shone through a blood-covered flashlight, tinting red at the populace.
Feared and respected. But she was known. She was confident enough to say thus: "Not a single soul in all of Japan doesn't know my name," no place had ever been able to challenge the claim. And while she could not predict the future (perfectly, anyways. More often than not, her calculations were spot-on), she was sure of this: she had cemented her place into history. Assuming the world was not destroyed by this apocalypse, that they were not the final generation of humanity, she would be remembered for generations to come into Japanese history.
Would she be remembered as a victor or a loser, however, is what she often wondered.
Once more, she stood in her old university. Where she had been when the Outbreak happened. Where she had helped lead the Melee Fight Crew. Where she had come into conflict with Dekuchi and those children from all those years ago.
(Were they alive? Were they dead? Where are they, if they were alive? Ayaka sometimes wondered these things to herself, before shaking her head. In the grand scheme of things, they wouldn't even be remembered in history. It was like they never existed.)
She sat in the library that Rize had called her home all those years ago: the library she refused to abandoned, electing to ignore the chaotic outside. The books, while caked in dust, were still in otherwise good conditions. Even as she thought to herself, most were being collected to be taken back to Hokkaido, so to be determined which books should be burned and which continued to be produced.
(Ayaka had once made a speech for class that the burning of books was amongst the most deprived, evilest forms of censorship imaginable for a class in highschool. She wondered if she had ever truly thought such a thing, or if she had only said as such for the sake of getting a grade. Regardless, it was an A, as always: it still served it's purpose.)
And so she read a book containing a collection of poems by Percy Bysshe Shelley, a woman she recognized as the author of Frankenstein. It was in its original English still, and it took her a few moments to brush up on the language she hadn't spoken or read in years. But there was one that caught her attention in particular: Ozymandias. This one she remembered reading when she was younger, having once done a short paper on it.
She knew that Ozymandias was the Greek name of Ramses II, the greatest and most powerful of the Pharaohs of Egypt's history. Thousands of years had passed, and still his accomplishments were known.
It made reading the poem quite a treat, honestly. Even when she was little, it had made her giggle when thinking about it. It was a poem speaking of decay. Of the collapse of empires. There was no such thing as a nation that lasted forever. Japan had tried to hold out after the Outbreak, but she had discovered that all remnants of the former government had fallen. And even then? It was certainly not the Empire of Japan that attempted to conquer the whole of Asia, or the shogunates that preceded it.
Even though the geography remains, empires died, as did their leaders. She thought of Germany: The First Reich known as the Holy Roman Empire, the Second Reich as the German Empire, and the Third Reich known as Nazi Germany.
But still, they were remembered. The nations themselves had long since died, but their memories still long persevered. Were their civilizations that had been completely annihilated without even a single memory? Well, Ayaka certainly wouldn't have known. She would not have been surprised, though.
Ayaka knew immortality was impossible. Nothing could live forever. All humans had to rot and decay in time, and all nations had to fall and have new countries built over the old's ruins. Even if any pre-existing nations had survived the Outbreak, they would fall in time. If not for the zombie apocalypse, for something else. It was actually quite funny to her: the idea of a nation somehow surviving this, only to be destroyed by a revolution or economic crisis. But it was inevitable. Even her new Japan would have to fall in time. As the poem spoke: nothing beside would remain of her empire but decay.
But her memory could live on. Her nation's memory could live on.
Immortality existed, Ayaka Kamiji mused, just not in the physical sense.
To be remembered into memory for all of human history was a form of immortality, she thought. She thought of that ancient Egyptian king, still known long after the fall of his empire. He was long since dead and so was his mighty nation: but not it's memory. Thousands of years, and still, he lived on in human memory. Every last human who had lived in his time was dead, but the historians had preserved his memory for all of humanity to remember.
It wasn't just leaders, though. She looked at the book in her hand: Mary Shelley. Frankenstein was forever a classic, even though she had died at only 53. She was no dictator, no queen or ruler. But with her legendary novel and her poems, she had been cemented into immortality. Hundreds of years after her death, and she was still remembered. To write a great work, a classic to persist for hundreds of years... that too was surely immortality.
But only a few select in history became immortal. Most people were not extraordinary. They were not chosen. They lived their lives then died their deaths. Maybe they were good people, maybe they were bad. But they were forgotten. It was a truly terrifying thought to Ayaka: the idea of just being forgotten. But even without the Outbreak, that was the fate of most people.
You grew up. You ate. You slept. You smiled. You loved. You despaired. Eventually, you died. And when you did? The only people that would remember you were the people who had lived with you: your friends and your family. Maybe you'd survive a generation or two (maybe three if you were lucky) in memory as your friends and family kept you dear in their hearts.
But ultimately, they would die as well. One by one, the ones who loved and cared for you would die, one by one. Until everyone who knew you was dead. And then your memory, your legacy, would truly be lost: all that would remain would have been any descendants you passed on. And in time, even they would forget their ancestors.
To go quietly into the night known as the abyss of time. Completely, utterly forgotten in every sense of the word. That had always been the fate of most humans. It was not a fate Ayaka wished to share. Mark her words, her rule would be remembered for years to come. She had given her all to build this nation from nothing: she would not let it be such a pathetic nation that it's memory would fade to time.
She would be remembered for as long as humanity persevered, she vowed. She was chosen. Invincible. It didn't matter that the monuments (of which there were now many) to her might crumble in time: as long as the future generations remembered she once ruled with an iron fist. Killer Queen, Hokkaido's Devil, whatever they wanted to call her. Even if her true name was forgotten, the legacy of Ayaka Kamji was one she would ensure would persevere into the future.
Yes. I will not fall.
Her memory would not go quietly into the night, like the weak and the worthless. She would be one of the chosen who would be remembered as long as there was a human race. She did not need to be known in all four corners of the world: as long as she brutally carved her way into the history of Japan.
Immortality was not a guarantee of a good memory, after all. She thought of World War II: Winston Churchill was a man who would forever be remembered as a champion of the free world. Adolf Hitler on the other hand would probably forever be remembered as the most evil man in human history. But as she dwelled on it, immortality was immortality, one way or another.
Savior or devil, she would leave one mark into Japan. Perhaps in time she would be remembered as the great unifier of Japan, perhaps simply a testament to mankind's evil in the collapse of order. She thought of the great irony of Ozymandias and smiled once more. It was a truly well known poem. And that's what she loved it so much.
Even if all of history was erased and only this form of literature existed, as long as it persisted, so did the memory of King Ramses II. Even if his real name was forgotten, humans would read this poem and know even if his empire had long collapsed, he was the king of kings. Unspeakably powerful, his memory still stretching into infinity. Ayaka wondered if Mary Shelley had ever realized this irony. In her poem that was a testament to mankind's hubris and debris, about how everything fades, she had contributed to Ramses II's memory for years and years to come. She had helped further cement him into immortality.
Ozymandias was a poem of a king who's accomplishments had long since faded into history. King Ramses II was absolutely no such king. And in her hands, she realized she held onto the fates of the immortality of three people.
The titular Ozymandias, the knowledge of his true name, and Mary Shelley. She saw no reason to not continue the publication of Frankenstein into the future. If anything, it would serve as a warning for trifling with nature: like the Outbreak itself. She could even picture teachers using it to describe the Outbreak itself, the perversion of life. But what of Ozymandias and Ramses II?
There was no true lesson to be gained from the story itself. She would never fall. And what use did the memory of Ramses II have to the Japanese, anyways? Sure, they had countless history books preserved to be mass produced again one day, but it was still Ayaka's choice.
There was no reason for world history to be part of the new Japanese school curriculum. There was no reason to know about Ramses II. She could erase them without consequences. Burn this poem, burn his memory, from Japanese history. Her society's history. And should enough in the outside world share her sentiment, send Ramses into the cold abyss of eternity alone. The internet had long since disappeared: what was once considered the truest way to preserve information for all time.
("Even with the internet, we must preserve physical copies of books," Ayaka, age sixteen had spoken to her classroom. "The internet can still be censored. But a book, once written, remains forever.")
"Masumi, come here."
Ayaka's young daughter, only ten, set down her own book to come to her mother. "Yes, mother?"
"What are we, Masumi-chan?"
Masumi blinked, but she knew the answer: simply surprised at how sudden the question was. "We are chosen. We are mighty," this was the girl who would one day inherit all she had built, and all she had destroyed as well. She could not be stupid and weak: Ayaka refused to allow her to be that way.
"Do you know why you no longer have a father?"
"Because he was weak. He was unworthy," she never knew him, and never felt bad for speaking ill of him as a result.
"All who knew him except me are dead, Masumi. Do you understand the significance of this?"
("Books are the only true way to preserve thoughts and history for all time. To destroy books is more than to destroy paper and ink: it is to destroy ideas itself. It is to destroy expression, to destroy free thought. It is to try to control the train of human thought itself!")
"… I'm sorry, but I don't, mother."
"When I die, nobody will remember him, Masumi. He has no family left. No friends. In fact, I won't even tell you his name, Ayaka said, making her way over to a window. The sun was rising over the distance, heading into a cloudy sky: nobody would see the sun this day except those who were awake at this moment. And so she reached for it with her hand, pretending to grasp the sun with her own right hand. "He will be utterly forgotten. He will disappear into the annals of history with absolutely nothing to show for his existence, except for you. Now do you understand what this means?"
"… Yes, mother. It means if we are not strong, if we are not chosen, we are forgotten. If we're not going to be forgotten, we can't be weak. We can't be pathetic."
"… You learn so fast, Masumi. I am proud. These books, too, are much the same. If they are not printed anymore, they will be forgotten. Every ounce of thought and passion put into them will be destroyed forever. And those who wrote them will be completely forgotten. Only special people like you and me have the power to decide who will be remembered and who will be forgotten. Do you understand?"
The sun was still rising into those rainy clouds. It was going to be a miserable day.
"Yes, mother."
The window was opened, holding the book of poems outside of it, under the lighter she always carried on her.
"Don't ever forget it."
The book caught fire, and Ayaka allowed it to crawl towards her before finally dropping it out the window. A very short fire began, before the drizzle came down, extinguishing the now ruined book. And so Ayaka stared out at the sun until it disappeared into the black sky as the downpour began. And Ayaka knew even if she were to be remembered as the most despicable, most evil person in history, she would still be remembered.
Ayaka had already committed the poem to memory, thinking to herself the words yet again as Masumi returned to reading her book.
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.' Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare...
Ayaka would not be Ozymandias. She would be Ramses.
I won't lie, this is my first time writing something that wasn't roleplaying or a drabble (for said roleplaying) in a very long time.
I write an Ayaka Kamiji roleplaying blog on tumblr (nightmareofisidore), and this is one route I've contemplated on doing as a potential verse: one where she survives the University arc (... assuming she doesn't in canon) and takes control of her own raider group. This is simply a far off oneshot based on that idea.
Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this, have a wonderful day!