UPDATE: I am fixing up grammar and explaining some more vague things I did not adequately explain the first time and changing certain words. I will do the same for the other chapters as well. Expect this to be done in probably a few hours. At most a day.
"What if... What if you're siblings catche us, Mendaci? Or worse, you're Father?" I put on a sweet, disarming smile as I softened my eyes. I took her small, smooth hand into my own, gripping it with enough tightness as to imply confidence. Confidence breeds trust and admiration. Trust can be extremely useful. Especially in circumstances as this. Especially when they are so prone to lies like her.
"Don't worry, Verita. My Father left hours ago to go drinking with his friends. My siblings won't disturb us. Don't think of me as a fool, please." It's useful to imply that you're acquaintances don't trust you. It causes them to feel shame and guilt - makes them susceptible to further... suggestions. Of course I will never fall so low as to take suggestions form others. After all: I am so much smarter then anyone I've ever met. Smarter then my peers. Smarter then my teachers. Why would I need anyone to help me? I'm so much better then they are. Smarter, faster, better looking, stronger. More ambitious.
She looked away from me, her mouth turning into a deep frown as she closed her eyes. Good. She's feeling ashamed for assuming that I would be so foolish as to not prepare for our... "date". I will never understand why people always feel such things as shame. Why? Is it not natural to assume you're the most capable person in the room? Perhaps she's simply too stupid to realize all that she could do with her Father's wealth and just a little bit of vision. After all, she'd simply have to hire a assassin or slip a poison into his daily tea. It'd be so easy...
I once brought up this subject. She had been horrified and disgusted by my suggestion. She had said she'd never talk to me again. Obviously I managed to convince her into believing it was nothing more then a morbid joke. I've always been good at things like that. I can talk almost anyone into doing what I want. To give me what I deserve. Cretins, they all are. How do they not realize just how much I'm using them? I would never fall prey to a few fancy words. But they all do.
A compliment here. A smile there. Maybe even a gift or a promise to seal the deal, and everyone is wrapped around my finger. Even my own Father. Such a incompetent, weak fool as him could never control me. How could he? With violence? Pain and wounds are purely physical. They will heal. With hurtful words about how I'm a "mistake"? Or about how he never "loved" me? Maybe to others that would work, but not on me. Love does not exist. Not in me, at least.
"I'm... sorry, Mendaci. It's just... you know we could get into serious trouble meeting up like this. I mean... my Father's a business man, and your's is a factory worker. My Father would kill me if he found out..." Verita turned her sapphire colored eyes upon me. Why is she so weak? In order to amount to anything of note, one must take risks. Least they become forgotten like all of the other useless fools that have plagued this world for millennias. Fear is natural, yes, but power is well worth the risk.
I cocked my head, putting on what I believe is a reassuring expression, and I pulled her into a hug. She likes hugs. Something about them calms her nerves. Perhaps it's the belief that if she's caught, I'll sink with her? I don't know. I personally despise making hysical contact. Thusly I will do what is necessary and no less. To touch someone so weak and free of ambition... sickens me. Only those I deam worhty may touch me. But touching her will bring me closer to her Father, and eventually, a good opportunity to kill him. And once she inherits all of his wealth, we will marry. I'll have to wait a few years for any suspicions to fade away, but eventually a opportunity to claim her future wealth for myself by destroying either her reputation or her life will present itself. And here I will be: a good, sympathetic, noble man who had just suffered the loss of his wife or the realization the his wife is a monster. Yes, that will garner sympathy, and with that sympathy I will go into politics. Eventually I will be... I'm not entirely sure. A Senator? A Headmaster? Perhaps a member of the council? Or... more... Maybe... a...
"Mendaci?" I hide my rage from her before it could even show, and pull back from our disgusting hug, smiling that smile so many have fallen for. I've heard others call it "cute" or "sweet" or some such nonsense. But being "cute" or "sweet" will always provide me a angle to make myself look like a kind, caring, and intelligent young man. Someone whose intrest is in what is good, fair and just. Haha... there is no such thing as true justice. Justice is a fabrication created by those who control the world to remove radical or dangerous elements.
"Yes, my dear?" Her eyes became more bright with those words. She played with her long, brown hair - a nervous tick. What now? Does she want more of my haplessly-in-love act? Or perhaps a tour of my room? She's rather fond of the latter. Most ladies who are lucky enough to enter my personal room are more then happy with what I present them. How amusing that sex is considered such a pure form of love between two intimate individuals - the ultimate form of affection. And yet it is so easy to use the allure of sexual pleasure to make the women in my life succumb to my demands. It's so ridiculous how easily they cave. Sure, most of them thought they were my first, but they all eventually learned the truth. Most of them now despise me and believe me to he little more then a beast pursuing his urges. Fools. All of them are fools. Sex is like a tool: If you know how to use it properly, very little is beyond your reach. And almost nothing is beyond my hands... nothing.
"What do you think about children? More specifically... us having children?" Children dren? Genuine shock takes over for a moment - and only a moment - before I hide it under a expression of joy.
"I would be honored to be the father of you're children, of course. But why ask that now?" I hate children. They're revolting, ugly, annoying and stupid. Too many of those pesky things are running around. If I had the opportunity to do so, I would eliminate them all. Or only allow enough to live so as to ensure that I have a world filled with enough people to rule so as to not be a ruler of dead rock and monsters. Verita steps back, lowering an arm to her stomach as she smiles. Her eyes tear up. Why? Did I not give her the reaction she desired? What more does she want me to do? Pump one of those nasty cretins into her right now?
"I... nothing. Just a question." I recognize the nervous twitch in her left hand. The way she moved her right to scratch her nose, and how she kept trying to look me in the eyes. There's something in there... something in her tiny, weak little mind she isn't telling me. No matter. It doesn't concern me in the slightest. Not now, at least. I nod, take her hand in mine and lead her deeper into the forests surrounding my Father's home. She comments on how "beautiful" the moon is tonight. About all the "cute" little animals. About the "peace" of the wild. Ridicules. The forest is noisy, distracting, annoying, and dangerous to those who don't know her rules. But I do. Not only do I know the rules of the forest, but I respect the purity of them. The weak die and the strong survive. That is how the world should be. The weak ruled by the strong. The weak ruled by me. And me alone.
Eventually we broke into a clearing that happened to be lit very will by the moonlight. Emerald grass was wet from the morning dew. Strange how they call it morning dew yet it occurs at the dead of night. Ironic, even. Small bugs flew about, making their way too and throw. I led her towards a particularly large rock, and I sat first. She seated second, though opting to use my lap as chair. What a disrespectful little sphynx. I can't wait until the day arrives where I can finally kill her and replace her with someone far, far more suitable for my ambitions. Or at least someone who actually has any traces of ambition. Why? In truth it is so I can repeat with that future individual what I will do to my dear.
"I love moments like these, Mendaci. The night air, the moonlight, the woods, just us... it's all so romantic." Romance is such a puzzling mystery to me. What even is romance? Some higher form of affection? Is it related to "love"? I don't know. But I do know what's expected of someone such as I during "romance". I'm suppose to say something incredibly moronic, make her laugh, maybe kiss. Rinse and repeat until she grows bored of it.
"Ya know, I heard a story once a long, long time ago," I started, tilting my head to my right so her back didn't block my sight of the moon above, "it goes something like this: When the world was young and before the man was born from dust, there were two immortals. One a man, and the other a woman. One cursed by the Gods for defying them, the other blessed by the same Gods for obeying. It goes that these two immortals clashed, which resulted in the destruction of the moon." I don't believe that fable. Most likely a group of ancient savages made it up to explain away something that unnerved them. Gods, immortals... nonsense, all of it. Gods are not real. Immortality is a fantasy. The only true power in this world is through politics. Control... THAT is true power. The only power worth risking everything for.
"That's... where'd you hear it?" She whispered as though intrigued in my words. She isn't. Not really. For those words are not real, for they were spoken by a man who doesn't truly exist. Mendaci is fake. Or, at least, the Mendaci she knows. My real name is... I'm not quite sure yet. I want a name that strikes fear into those around me. A name that demands loyalty and respect. A name that is powerful. Not the name my pathetic Mother gave me. I despise that woman. Every time Father becomes upset, she starts screaming and crying like the miserable excuse for a woman she is. She's weak and unworthy of my attention.
"I read it in a book once," I said, "A book about ancient myths and legends." A book filled with foolish beliefs. When I inevitably become the most powerful man on Remnant, I'll have all such books destroyed. Religion and myths are weak. The byproduct of weak minds that desperately want their lives to have some form of meaning. But the only purpose they'll ever have is to be ruled over by the powerful. To be ruled over by me.
"That's... interesting. Do you believe in destiny?" Verita asked in a quiet whisper. I took a moment to respond, pretending to ponder on such a foolish question.
"No. My fate is my own, dear," I feel the need to add more, if only to explain myself, "If it did exist, I wouldn't have the ability to think. I wouldn't be able to lift up my arms or open my hands or speak as I so chose. To believe otherwise is to believe that everything you do is not what you truly want to do. It would mean we are all merely drones. I know for a fact that I am not a drone." Of course, how could someone like me be a drone? I am far too intelligent. Far too much... me to ever be one of those lesser beings. No. I am important. I am powerful. I will never be a drone.
"Maybe. I believe in destiny. I believe that everyone is fated to do whatever it is they do. Good or evil. I guess it sounds kinda stupid saying it out loud..." good or evil? Why is someone good for saving another life? Why is someone evil for killing? What's the difference? From my experience, there isn't one. It's a matter of perspective. For example: the late and not-so-great King of Vale. To us humans he was a hero, and the greatest military leader to have ever lived. To the Faunus he was a Demon of Hell. A monster born to ensure humanity will be the dominant species. It's all a matter of perspective.
"Mendaci, about earlier... I..." Verita seemed to have a difficult time speaking. She shifted uncomfortably on my lap, before turning to look me in the eyes. Her sapphire orbs seemed fearful yet happy at once. Why? Who would experience both such emotions at once? Are they not contradictory? Perhaps something is wrong with her? What did we talk about earlier? I find it difficult to remember what weak fools told me.
"Mendaci, I'm... pregnant."
"What is thy bidding, my Master?" I opened my eyes as Lord Vader's mechanical wheezing filled the vacuous room. Before me is a circular glass window overlooking the vastness of space. Star Destroyers would either exist Hyperspace or enter it. Those that were arriving carried soldiers, officers, materials, and Droids. Good. All is proceeding as I have foreseen. My Battle Station won't take much longer.
"Rise, my friend," I said without turning to face him, "we have much to speak about." From the clanking of his mechanical limbs I could hear Lord Vader rising into a standing position. He did not speak. He knows better than to disturb my thoughts without a good reason.
"My old friend, what is the meaning of a conqueror when he has nothing left to conquer?" For several moments all he did was breath. He's contemplating my words, thinking about how I want him to respond. It is good that my "friend" knows his place as my servant.
"To rule." He eventually responded. From a certain perspective that is true, certainly. But I want more. Why rule one Galaxy when I could rule a hundred? Or a thousand? Or all of them? Why settle for one superweapon when I could replace every single soldier with a Death Star? Why be a simple Emperor when I could become a God? Ah, but such things take time. Time my frail, aging body doesn't possess...
"My friend, what would you say if I told you I was dying?" Silence reigned supreme amongst us. He knew. Of course Lord Vader knows I am dying. He knew this since I first took it upon myself to use a cane. He's waiting for me to die. He has been for years now.
"I would believe that it is a test, Master." Ah, the generic response he always gives when he doesn't want to truthfully answer my questions. I don't blame him. If my Master had told me he was dying I'd have responded the same way. Ah, Plaugeis the Wise... how foolish you were in your final moments. Yet it is ironic that I now find myself in the same position all these year later. Almost amusing.
"My friend, prepare you're personal flagship. We're going to my homeworld." It is there. I have foreseen it. The only thing that may extend what little life I have left. It is home... I can still remember it. The sickeningly sweet smell of berries in the morning. The annoying tweeting of birds. The infuriatingly fake smiles of my weak family. Yes, I will come home. I will truly make it a world fit for the greatest Sith Lord to ever live. I will do to it as I have done to Biss. Or as the ancient Sith have done to Korriban. Yes, these thoughts please me.
"As you command, my Master " Lord Vader's footsteps vanished as he entered the elevator and left. Silence replaced him. I will go home. I wonder what became of my siblings? Are there descendants? Are they all dead? What has come of the Kingdoms? Of those Faunus? All of these things... are there still Demons? Hunters? Maybe they've all destroyed each other in some world destroying war. I hope not. I want them to see what has become of me. I want all of those who thought I'd amount to nothing to see just how powerful I have become. To see how far I've risen. To see the face of their future Emperor. Maybe even God? Not yet, however. I am still mortal. But that won't last forever...
"Hahahahahahahaha!"