War and Conquest is a dark, mature story, that covers a lot of mature and dark themings.
Trigger Warnings for:
Drug Use
Alcoholism
Domestic Violence
Self Harm / Suicidal Ideology
Mentions of past non/con
Extreme Violence and Gore
"Hey! Come back here young man!" A young child runs around a corner, squealing in delight from a good game of chase. His feet propel him forward on the gold-decorated deep red carpet. His shoes were removed after his last capture, where he received the ultimate torture: tickling. Thankfully, his current state of barefoot-ness gives him an advantage of speed, as he thought his shoes were much too stuffy and formal for playing, anyway.
"Oh, excuse me, sorry, I'm just trying to get that rascal." The sweet voice of his former captor floated down the hall, passing all the elaborate portraits. The child giggled as he dodged the people and chairs that blocked his path to freedom.
"I'm going to count to three! If you don't come back here right now you'll be in big trouble!" She laughed, like a sweet bell as she continued to chase after him. "It was so rude of you to run out on your tutor like that! Why I-" She slows down in her chase to think. "I did the same thing at his age, so who am I to be annoyed." She grinned, picked up her long skirt, kicked off her shoes and continued chase.
The people she passed gasped in shock at the sight of her running barefoot down the hall, but she didn't care. To her, she felt as if she was having a much needed breath of fresh air, and all the side looks and whispers in the world wouldn't stop her. Picking up speed, she almost trips over her skirt as she calls out to her son.
"I'm gonna get you!"
The boy glanced over his shoulder to see his mother catching up to him. She's much faster than he is, and sure to catch up soon. Thankfully, she didn't seem angry about his tutor, because he didn't like that old bat one bit! He didn't understand what 'war' and 'conquest' meant, but they didn't sound like 'toy' and 'playtime' so what's to care about? He rounded a corner and spotted an endpoint, the courtyard! Lots of bushes and trees to hide from her there. As well as the lush flower garden, with the soft soil beds to lie on in the sunshine.
"You'll never ever catch me!" He shrieked as he bounded down the hallway. His mother laughed as she ran down the hall after him.
"Oh, I will! It'll be tickle time for you, mister!" He glanced back at her, beaming at the joy in her face, and how funny she looked hoisting up that long red dress as she ran down the hallway. Her blue eyes sparkled from the little chandeliers hanging from the ceiling as she ran. Ahead of him, the creaking of a heavy wooden door opening echoed through the hallway. As he began to turn around, the child saw his mother's smile drop from her face as she slowed down. Then, he ran straight into a pair of legs standing in his way. He bounced backwards onto the floor, rubbing his palms painfully into the carpeted floor.
"You know, I've had it up to here with this nonsense." A dark, unhappy voice growled into the stark silence in the hallway. "You continuously run off on your tutors, disrupt my office when I am having-"
"He was just playing." The woman had caught up, leaning down and gently placing her hand on her son's right shoulder. Her husband scowled at her.
"Shut up, Meva! You should've been keeping him in his place. I should've known that you were in no position to look after him. And you!" He turns his position to glare at his son, who tries desperately to sink into the folds of his mother's soft dress. "One day, you're supposed to take over for me, and this is how you act?"
"He'll be taking over for me, and he's just a child-"
"I said, Shut up! Was I talking to you?" The entire hall is almost empty, with anyone left silently leaving the area. Meva shrinks back, and holds her son close. Her husband sighs with disgust and curls his hands into fists.
"Sorry Meva, look, something needed to be done. I made arrangements for him. I'm sending him to a… military school of sorts. Something to really make him ready for his future in life, as these tutors are clearly having no effect on him."
"Milletery?" the boy whispers. "I don't want milletery. I wanna be a builder."
"It's military you idiot." His father hisses at him.
"Don't speak to him like that!" Meva admonishes.
"Don't you tell me what to do. Know your place." He growls.
"I think you should know yours." Her husband takes a threatening step forward.
"I know my place, and it's most certainly above you. Now come on." He reaches forward and yanks his son with him, away from the doors that led to the garden. "It's going to be good for you." The child struggles against his grip, kicking his feet against the ground.
"Stop! Stop it! Leave him alone!" Meva shrieks with desperation as she yanks her husband away from their son.
"Get your hands off me!" He yells, backhanding her to the floor. He picked up his son, and continues down the hall.
"Mama! Mama!" His son cries and struggles in his arms, unable to escape his father's grip. He gazes helplessly as his mother struggles to get up, her cheek darkened where he struck her.
"Stop crying! Stop it! She's making you soft." He grumbles as he withstands the little feet kicking against his stomach. Thank god for the thick dark robes he wears every day.
"This school will make you a powerful man, Zim. Just like your father." He hands his son to a general waiting with a craft, and walks back into the house, not looking back once.