"At a conservative estimate, I've killed sixty-one billion, sterilized ninety planets, completely demoralized five-hundred others. I've wiped out the followers of forty religions."
Emperor Paul I Atreides
Jihad
When I was young, I lived in a citadel of stone.
Reaching to the heavens, from the sacred sands of Dune.
Overlooking seas of sand, ancient, if not unchanging.
The fragrance of spice within the air, on lands as far as the horizon.
An ever-clear blue sky, that some would compare to an ocean.
A mythical body of water, free from the body.
Water beyond the blue, forever out of reach.
The sky, never our friend, for its light sought to steal our water.
Beyond the sky, outsiders in great ships.
Beyond the blue. From the black. Black of heart and mind, black of deed.
The citadel erased, the spice taken.
New journeys, made across the sand, which swallowed those that could no longer walk.
Great machines, churning through our dry ocean, with the might of worms, if not their grace.
Wretched machines lifted into wretched sky, as the worms themselves came, as if to defend the world. As if enacting the will of Shai-Hulud.
Across the sand, sought solace on more distant land. Hand in hand, under sun's fury.
Ten times a thousand years, as footsteps faded, water was stored, and the sun remained indifferent.
Legends spread, and hope festered. The one thing that might grow on Dune, yet ever be cut down by the grinding of machines.
"Muad'Dib," we would whisper. "Muad'Dib."
Muad'Dib. The desert rat that fears us, as we too fear the larger predators that have made Dune their hunting grounds.
Muad'Dib. The second moon of Dune. Her silver light cutting through the dark, reflecting in our ever-blue eyes. Forever out of reach, and airless - like the ocean, to our lungs.
Muad'Dib. The arrangement of stars seen by those same eyes. Where the hunters of Dune have come from? The hunters have changed over the passage of time, but the methods remain the same.
Muad'Dib. Dune's messiah.
Long we pray. And eventually, prayers are answered.
"Muad'Dib," we cry, upon the arrival of new hunters, who bear the sigil of the hawk. "Muad'Dib!"
There are cries of joy and fear alike. Cries, lost in the winds of Dune. We store water, but not voice.
"Muad'Dib!" We cry, as the hunted become hunters. "Muad'Dib!"
Great worms to bear upon the citadel of the enemy. Great vengeance in our hearts. As they destroyed, we shall destroy in turn.
"Muad'Dib!"
We are mighty. We are unstoppable.
"Muad'Dib!"
A prophet guides us. The wind is at our back, and we are above the sand.
"Muad'Dib! Muad'Dib!"
We are children of the sand.
We are above the sand.
We are beyond the sand.
Entire worlds, in turn, reduced to sand.
"Muad'Dib! Muad'Dib!"
No water taken from the bodies of the fallen. Blood and bodies left to rot.
"Muad'Dib! Muad'Dib!"
We fight for the emperor, the prophet, the god of Dune.
"Muad'Dib! Atreidies!"
The war is the same, if not our cries.
"For the emperor!"
The cries of our foes remain the same. Pleas. Begging.
False idols and false citadels are torn down. The desert spreads across the Known Universe.
"Muad'Dib!"
Water spreads across Dune. We have breached the sky.
"Muad'Dib!"
We have gained our freedom. We bring the prophet's word.
"Muad'Dib! Atreidies! Emperor!"
And in doing so, unleash damnation upon the stars.