The Sixth Life: Völlig Enttäuschend
And we're back while the iron is still hot! Thank you to everyone that Reviewed and is still here after all these years.
I now proudly present to you the Sixth and final of Percy's past lives. Staying true to Lou Ellen's word all the way back from Ch. 25, released on Oct. 12, 2017, so almost seven years ago now…wow…the Sixth Life takes place during WW1.
For those that have been here for a while, and for those that have recently caught up, you'll know from my Author's Notes that the Sixth Life has been a struggle to figure out because there aren't any games that deal with WW1 like there have been for the previous Lives. With no material to work with, it's been hard trying to come up with anything. You can kind of read that in-story whenever the Past Lives come up with Lou and she's able to provide information about the first five, but draws a blank for the Sixth.
Well, I've figured it out. I have decided upon Percy's Sixth Life as a Templar, and I even found a lore-accurate way to tie it into how Lou wasn't able to see much of it beyond how it took place during WW1 and Percy was a Templar.
I will give two big hints as to how it goes, the first being the title of this chapter being in German. Go translate it. The second hint can be found in Ch. 24, where Lou Ellen is talking with Annabeth about the nature of her power to see things about people she meets. Lou uses an adjective to describe the "stuff" she knows about people. Find the adjective.
And I guess a third hint, in a way. Percy's life as Templar was written the way it was for ironic reasons.
The best reasons!
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC
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Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity.
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In the Spring of 1896 in Cologne, Germany, Konrad Richter was born to an average family of metalworkers that lived outside the city proper.
When he was four years old, he experienced his first encounter with evil when he watched his drunken mother, having been caught in a depressive state because she found out her husband was cheating on her, something Konrad didn't know about, assault his father and manage to slice his throat with the broken bottle.
Konrad watched from the sliver of the open door in the firelight as his father clutched at his throat, helpless to stop the rush of blackish-red fluid from running through his hands and down his neck to soak into his shirt.
The little boy had no idea what to do, no idea what was even happening, but he just felt in his small core that the best thing to do was to just stand there.
That might have seemed a strange conclusion, a child deciding to just stand there and watch as his father rapidly bled to death on the floor in front of the fireplace, but in Konrad's defense, at this point in his life, he was only operating on one-sixth of a soul. There were bound to be at least a few oddities to him.
Give that this event took place in 1900, Konrad's mother's story that her husband came home drunk, beat her, she defended herself with the bottle, and then drank another bottle to try and settle her nerves over that fact that she'd just killed her husband in self-defense, was accepted by local authorities without much question. Anyone that knew the Richter family pitied the poor widow, offering prayers and comforts like food, blankets, and more spirits.
Konrad's uncle eventually moved in with him and his mother, his uncle's wife and one child having died of fever before Konrad had been born. As the years passed, his uncle became more his father than his biological one, something that was only natural because he spent more time with him.
Konrad's mother became a shrewd and mistrustful woman, her brain forever addled by the alcohol, the guilt of killing her husband, and the guilt she felt for getting away with lying about it. Konrad didn't like being alone with her, and soon began to make excuses to find himself not in her presence. Unfortunately, this drove her even further into madness, her son that she truly did love rejecting her due to her growing mental instability, until she eventually snapped and attacked Konrad when he was seven.
Luckily, his uncle was just outside and heard the commotion. He rushed in and grabbed Konrad's mother, throwing her clean across the room with his brute blacksmith strength. She hit her head and was knocked out, giving the uncle time to alert the authorities. Konrad's mother was committed to an asylum, and the next time he saw her was the last time.
She succumbed to disease due to the poor conditions of the asylum, and they called Konrad and his uncle to give them her body for burial.
They spent the day digging in the dirt outside their house, and this was the first true character-defining moment of Konrad's young life.
"Uncle, is there a better world than this?"
His uncle sighed. "I hope there is, Konrad. I hope there is."
"Because I don't like this one. Mother killed Father, and now Mother is dead because the doctors didn't take care of her."
"I know, Konrad. Your father was my younger brother."
Konrad hummed. "If there's not a better world after this one, can we make this world better?"
"Perhaps. That is what we are told to do, you know? We are charged with being good stewards of this world, good workers of the vineyard, until the Master of the House returns."
Konrad stared at his uncle. "What?"
"Your parents never taught you about the Bible?"
"The what?"
Konrad's uncle looked crestfallen, and then he looked hopeful. "I will teach you, then."
"Okay."
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He tried, anyway. Unfortunately, Konrad's uncle wasn't much of an apologist. He read from the Bible the passages of Scripture he thought would benefit Konrad the most following the death of his mother, but he was wholly unable to answer any of Konrad's questions about the Word.
Konrad's teachers at school were of no help, either. They never studied the Bible, only read it and took it at face value. The problem with such an approach became evident when you had people like Konrad who had questions, and the people he asked had no answers, and therefore it appeared to him that these people had no idea what they were talking about and so the Bible wasn't something he put any amount of stock in.
Sure, the good book had some great suggestions on how to live and how to treat people, but as far as everything else went, no.
Konrad had no faith in Jesus of Nazareth, God, or anything else in the Bible.
It was all up to mankind to make their world a better place by punishing the wicked and the evil themselves.
The young man would be able to first put that idea into practice when he was eleven. A pretty standard example, a group of bullies picking on the small kid at recess in the schoolyard, the small kid having to wear a brace on his leg. Konrad looked for the teacher, and saw that he was on the complete opposite side of the yard.
Konrad took matters into his own hands.
Putting things into modern-day colloquial slang, the bullies fucked around, and Konrad made sure they found out. He didn't say a word to them or announce his presence. He just walked right up with a decent rock in his hand, and slammed it into the back of the closest head, and didn't stop swinging until he was the last one standing.
Or at least not running away in tears after having their heads busted by a rock.
"Are you okay?" Konrad asked the kid, extending his non-bloodied hand.
"Y-Yeah, but I think you're in trouble."
Typical of this classic scenario, the teacher only noticed the violence on the playground after all the bullies had been beaten up, and instead of congratulating the young hero on defending the weak and mistreated, he came bearing down on the young hero for not coming to get him so the situation could be resolved in a peaceful and reasonable manner.
Granted, there were two kids knocked out with concussions because of how hard Konrad hit them with the rock, and the others were bleeding.
"Konrad Richter! What is the meaning of this!?"
"These boys were hitting this one because of his leg brace, and you were too far away to notice or to notify. So, I took matters into my own hands."
"These boys are injured! They may require medical treatment!"
Konrad remained unphased and nonplussed. "Good. Then they will have learned a valuable lesson in how to treat others in such a way that putting them in detention or merely spanking them would not have accomplished."
Konrad may not have believed in the Bible, but he did enjoy the dictionary.
The teacher recoiled, utterly appalled by Konrad's sheer lack of concern for the children he had seriously hurt. The teacher got his bearings back and straightened up. "A spanking, you say? I think you're due for a good caning yourself after this stunt."
"For defending someone who couldn't defend themselves?"
"For this massacre!"
"You're going to punish me for punishing these hellions?"
"It is not your authority to dole out punishment, boy! It is mine!"
"What does it matter who doles out the punishment so long as the guilty are punished?"
"These boys might die if they aren't taken to a hospital soon! What you have done is far worse than what they were doing!"
"They were hitting him. I hit them harder."
"Enough of this!"
The teacher made to grab Konrad, but Konrad intercepted his hand, lacing their fingers together as if about to dance. Konrad squeezed.
At eleven years old, the young man was already big. He had a great diet of meat and vegetables, worked with metal alongside his uncle, and had the best genetics anyone could ask for, being the triple helix of the Precursors. The same gene that his spiritual ancestors all had, the one that enabled them to possess almost unnatural strength and stamina, coupled with a definite unnatural sixth sense.
Take all of that and weigh it up against the teacher who wasn't even six inches taller than Konrad, and not even 30 pounds heavier, and it became easy to understand why the teacher was brought to his knees with a sharp gasp and a pained grimace.
"You…" Konrad trailed off, his brain recording every minute detail of this episode, as this was one of those person-defining moments. "…you are part of the problem. A person with authority who fails to use it properly. I saved this boy from being beaten by these bullies, but instead of giving me thanks for my good deed, you would see me punished instead. All because you were not the one to give out punishment. The only reason you're made at me…is because I did a better job at your job than you did."
"L-Let me go, you h-heathen!"
Konrad delivered a haymaker to the teacher's lower jaw using his rock. There was an audible crack as the teacher's head snapped to the side, his jaw now sitting funny on his face, and exactly two teeth went flying out of his mouth. Konrad let go of the man's hand and let fall to the ground, out like a light.
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To no one's surprise, Konrad was expelled for that one. Beating up so many of his classmates in such a way that they required stays at the hospital, and assaulting a teacher in such a way that he also required hospital time. However, though expelled for assault and battery, Konrad faced no other consequences for his actions, because he explained the situation from his point of view:
He saw a classmate being bullied, deemed the teacher was too far away to reach in time, and so, in accordance with what he had been taught and raised to do, help others that couldn't help themselves, he took action. The crippled boy vouched for him, hamming it up a little saying that he had feared for his life, but was not at all hamming it up when he said that those boys had been picking on him for a while. The parents were mad, of course, but there was nothing they could legally do. Even in 1907, schools had insurance to cover student injuries.
As for assaulting the teacher, the tail was easily spun that he had wanted to cane Konrad despite his bravery in taking on so many other boys, and that the man was just jealous that his authority had been usurped. He was fired from the school, which led down an alcoholic path that ended when he tried to kill Konrad in a drunken stupor almost a year later.
Konrad was twelve when he took his first life.
A back alley when he had noticed his old teacher following him. A simple ambush from behind a dumpster with his knife that he forged himself in the shop. There was an investigation, of course, and what helped Konrad's case was that the teacher had a blade of his own on his person, and the teacher's neighbors reported erratic and manic behavior from the man ever since he got fired.
Between his assault of the schoolyard bullies and the killing of his old teacher, and how he got off more or less scot-free each time, shaped Konrad into becoming one of the worst kinds of people imaginable: the kind of person that was always right, and everyone around him was always wrong, and this was why they were wrong, and this is why they should never, ever question him on anything again, and because he was always right and everyone was always wrong, he should always be the one who's in charge, and if he wasn't in charge, then everything was going to go wrong because the person who was actually in charge was an incompetent idiot, and when things inevitably went wrong, it was proof and justification that he was right, as he always was.
In short, Konrad was a holier-than-thou asshole with authority issues.
And as you might expect, it made his life very difficult.
Especially when he tried to join the Cologne police after lying about his age when he was sixteen in 1912. Konrad wanted to join the police because they were the best organization he knew of that was meant to uphold peace and order, and dispense justice to the guilty and wicked. Naturally, a person like Konrad, who took it upon himself to beat up his classmates with a rock in order to save a crippled boy, and killed his teacher in a back alley, fit in rather well with the young and passionate members of the force who saw themselves as the bastions of society, but often found himself butting heads with his superiors over conduct violations.
For example:
"That man will be paralyzed for life!" the sergeant yelled in Konrad's face from the other side of his desk.
Konrad's expression remained unchanged, but the light in his eyes shifted when he looked the man in his own eyes. "Interesting. I was actually aiming for his head to kill him. I apparently aimed a little too low if the recoil changed the trajectory to his neck."
"My God, man! You don't even feel an ounce of remorse or guilt!"
"For shooting a child rapist that tried to flee his house out the back window after we broke down his door and caught him in the middle of having sex with the anus of a six-year-old girl that he kidnapped? No."
"And that's the other thing! You broke down a man's door with no warrant! Only hearsay as your evidence. You're lucky that it was the right man. Do you have any idea how much trouble this department would be in if you had broken into the home of the wrong person?"
"Much, I am sure."
Well, in Konrad's defense, it wasn't just hearsay, but it's not like he could say something like, I have a sixth sense that allows me to track people of interest. I went to that pub and looked for the child rapist, found him glowing bright gold, and followed him to his house where I was able to see through the walls him fucking little kids. I decided action was immediately required.
A blood vessel bulged on the sergeant's temple. "I ought to have you whipped, boy. You are reckless, impulsive, disobedient, undisciplined-"
"I get results," Konrad interrupted, his expression finally shifting into what was almost a snarl. "Your rules, procedures, due process—your ways are inefficient. My ways are better. Already, after only five months here, crime has dropped by a calculated 27%. I do what needs to be done when it needs to be done. If more people acted like I did, the world would be a better place."
The sergeant stared at him, gaping, and then he started to laugh. "My God….Never before in my life have I met someone as delusional as you, Konrad Richter. We have rules and procedures for a reason. They are what separate us from the animals God gave us authority to rule over. They-"
"Are holding us back," Konrad once again interrupted his superior officer. "God gave mankind very clear examples of what he considered to be evil and wicked behavior, and gave his people permission to execute these villains. They are our example, yes? If God said it was okay to kill a person for certain reasons, then it is not just okay, but expected of us to kill these kinds of people today, yes? That is what I am doing. I am following the example that God set for us in how to deal with criminal scum."
"You think you are God?" the sergeant asked in utter disbelief. "That you can know the hearts and minds and souls of men and determine that they are guilty without question or investigation?"
"Yes. All the people I have killed in my five months were proven guilty of their crimes after their homes were searched and the evidence was found to be conclusive."
They glow gold whenever I look for them.
"Nothing but sheer, dumb luck!"
"For five months straight? How many instances of success do their need to be in order for the idea to go from mere luck to superior skill?"
The sergeant slammed his hand upon his desk. "I have almost had it with you, Richter!"
Konrad stepped closer to the desk, setting his hands down upon it as he leaned down closer to the sergeant's height. Indeed, the reincarnate young man was an imposing specimen of 6'3 and over 230 pounds of solid muscle. Compared to the sergeant who was only 5'9 and weighed 180 purely because of his belly and flabby limbs.
"Why?" Konrad asked, deadly quiet and calm. "I have lowered crime in this city by over a quarter. I have never killed an innocent man or accidentally shot someone through a wall or in a crowd. Other than not adhering to 'the book,' my record is spotless and perfect, and my results inarguable. What are you really mad at? The fact that I'm more successful than you at this job despite how long you've been here, or the fact that I'm more successful by not doing things in accordance with your flawed rules."
A bead of sweat rolled down the side of the sergeant's face. After swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he said in a steely voice, "Hand me your badge. You're done here."
Konrad answered, "No. You're going to hand me your badge. People like you are the reason why this world suffers the way it does. People like you who are so focused on rules and doing things the 'right way,' that you fail to do what needs to be done in order to make sure justice is actually served. And so, I'm going to retire you now…"
And Konrad was literally, actually, well and truly about to kill the sergeant right there in his own office in the middle of the Cologne police station. He had the story all prepped and ready to go, and most of the force's support in the first place. In fact, Konrad had already arranged a small coup, telling his supporters to be ready to fight if things got messy with the sergeant.
A timely knock at the door saved the sergeant's life and prevented Konrad from biting off way more than he could chew.
A finely dressed man in his prime years entered of his volition, raising the pressing question of how he got a key to the sergeant's office.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said in a professional, business-like manner. "Officer Richter, this is for you."
He handed Konrad a fine piece of paper.
"What is this?" Konrad demanded, his blood still running hot.
"Opportunity."
"And just who the held are you?" the sergeant demanded.
He was ignored in favor of staring silently at Konrad as he read the paper. When the young man was done, his head snapped up to look the messenger in the eye. "Let's go."
"After you, then."
Konrad took one step, then he paused, removed his badge, dropped it on the floor, and left the station.
It would be the last time anyone of the Cologne police would ever see Konrad Richter.
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Two years later, in 1914, the great conflict called the War to End All Wars began, and Konrad had spent those two years in the service of the Templar Order.
He flourished under them, as they were everything he considered to be perfect. The Templars were educated, wealthy, powerful, and they didn't use that power for their own selfish ends like certain people did across Europe. They used their considerable resources for the betterment of mankind and the world, fueling industry, medicine, science, and more, and the part that appealed to Konrad the most, their sense of justice.
The Templars did not shy away from getting their hands dirty. They firmly punished the guilty, and their idea of what constituted guilt aligned perfectly with Konrad's own ideals. As such, he well and truly felt he found his calling, especially because he was given a position of command and authority within the Order, enabling him to finally put his philosophy into practice with little to no reprimand.
Though, obviously, the Order came first, and its secrecy second.
That was no real problem for Konrad. Since he and the Templars were in perfect synch, he had no thoughts along the lines of, They're doing it wrong. I need to take matters into my own hands. He didn't so much as submit to them, but happily worked alongside them to further their goals. His goals were their goals, after all: a better future for all mankind.
Of course, the Great War did make things very busy, but it also gave the Templars plenty of opportunity to influence things from the shadows and use the war to propel their agents into positions of great influence and power, along with using the fog of war to cover their other activities.
What this specifically meant for Konrad was that he and his team were assigned to serve as protection for a spy network the Templars had organized to "serve" the German Kaiser from within London itself.
In the Spring of 1916, at 20 years old, Konrad found himself in a building as guns blazed all around due to the German planes and the English boats in the Thames having been outfitted with anti-air guns thanks to Churchill.
"My Beloved…my Beloved…" muttered the man Konrad had come to consider a raving lunatic. Mismatched eyes and a very ugly mustache. His name was Hans, which wasn't even his real name.
Konrad growled. "Will you shut up, man? We're fine."
"No!" Hans shouted. "The Assassins are here! They killed the Night Nurse and her twin brother the Watcher, and they killed Magpie right after he escaped his cell, and they've crippled my spy network throughout London! Hopton's, the Clarence Stock House, and at 17 Walpole Lane!"
"All of which would've been avoided if you had let me take over," Konrad almost snarled. "I know how to handle the Assassins."
Indeed, in his four years as a Templar, he had run across a number of Assassins. Their tactics were simple, yet effective, yet predictable. They liked to keep things quiet, so they looked for infiltration opportunities and quick, easy kills in ways that didn't cause commotion. They stuck to the shadows and had an affinity for blades.
Not that they couldn't use guns or handle themselves in a fight, though. Konrad had three scars on his body from tangling with the Assassins in melee combat.
"Oh, do you?" Hans asked rhetorically. "Is that why-"
"That's why every window and door to this place has been locked and reinforced," Konrad interrupted. "There is only one entrance, and it's on the ground floor, and each level has armed guards, hand-picked by me. The Assassins will have to mount a full assault to take this place, and even if they do make it to this floor, we are hidden, and we have an escape route just in case they manage to get the better of us. Now clam down, relax, and shut the fuck up."
The anger coming off Konrad, like he might kill Hans himself and blame it on the Assassins, caused the spymaster to cool his nerves.
"Y-Yes, of course. Thank you for your efforts, Lieutenant Richter."
Konrad nodded. Indeed, after four years of loyal and dutiful service, Konrad had achieved the rank of lieutenant within the Order. Maybe another two years at the pace he was setting, and he'd be a Master, with his own territory somewhere on the planet. Truth be told, though, he had his sights set on the highest rank of the Templars: General of the Cross.
The position of ultimate authority. Nothing major happened within the Order without the General's say so. He had the final word in all matters. Though, the freakiest part about the General was that no one knew who he even was or where he was based. It was for security reasons, of course, because if that information was known, then the Assassins would somehow get a hold of it, and even within the Order there were dangers.
Traitors, cutthroats, snakes with agendas, the embittered whose proposals were rejected by the General, or were passed up for promotion by the General, etc.
No, Konrad was nowhere near naïve enough to believe that everyone within the Order actually shared the same goal and vision, and certainly not the same ideals on how to accomplish them. That was why he wanted to be the Black Cross before he became the General. Rooting out corruption within the Order to make it truly perfect was something that Konrad couldn't deny he felt a calling towards.
But that was a long way off. He was only 20, with only four years of tenure in the Order.
The gunfire continued outside as the planes and boats shot at each other about the Thames.
"Who do you think will win this war?" Hans asked Konrad.
"We will, obviously. Regardless if the Allies or Central Powers win the war, the Templars will be the true victors."
"What makes you so sure."
"We are better," Konrad answered. "Our philosophy, our ideals, our resources and connections, the men and women that make up our Order. We transcend the boundaries of sex, race, religion, and lines on a map. The things that hold mankind back from putting their differences aside and unifying as a species don't apply to us. Because we can do that, and because we're superior to the Assassins who think that hiding in the shadows and killing a person here or there will have any meaningful impact, we will win. We will always win."
A bullet whizzed through the window and took off half of Konrad's head, killing him instantly.
He wasn't the only one, either, as dozens of bullets ripped through the whole building from the other side of the street, the bullets being fired towards the Thames side of things so as to not accidentally strike civilians. Theoretically, anyway.
After a good few minutes of nonstop shooting, British soldiers stormed the building from the ground floor. Anyone they found that wasn't dead, was shot until they died, and anyone that was dead, they shot once more to make sure they were dead. Including Konrad.
The bodies were rounded up and taken away for cremation.
Later, the man in charge of the small operation reported to Churchill. "All is clear, sir! All the spies inside are confirmed to be dead."
Winston lit the cigar he was holding in the corner of his mouth. "Excellent work, sergeant. Carry on, then."
"Sir!"
The sergeant left.
Churchill looked up to the rafters only a few feet above him in his makeshift command center of London Bridge. He nodded to Lydia Frye, granddaughter of Jacob Frye, who nodded back before she left out the window and swan-dived into the Thames from a few hundred feet up.
Lydia had done a great job casing the Templar hideout, and after determining that there was no way for her to sneak in, and that there were too many Templars inside for her to take out, either stealthily or through fighting, she went back to Churchill and asked if he could sanction a quick domestic operation to send some soldiers to lay siege to the hideout.
Obviously, Churchill agreed.
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Konrad blinked when he found himself standing before a set of gates in a place that was entirely too bright.
"What is this? Where am I? What's going on?" he asked of no one that he could presently see.
"It is done."
Konrad whipped around to see a robed man who looked vaguely amused but decidedly grave. "Who are you?"
"It is finished now. Finally. You are complete, my friend."
"Friend? I've never met you before. I'll ask you again-"
"Be silent, fool. I only speak through you, not to you. Now, quiet: When you wake, aid your father. Secure the oceans. Then return to camp. Head into the forest, alone, and do not stop until you find me. I will speak more with you there."
The robed man made a motion with his hand, and Konrad was just barely able to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a hole in his palm. Then everything went blindly bright, and Konrad knew no more.
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You're actually in luck. I put more effort into Konrad's story than I originally intended to. At first, he was just going to be a no-name Blighter NPC that you killed as Lydia and didn't even remember doing it because it was so routine. Instead, you got this.
Underwhelming, right? That was the point. This what I consider to be "poetic irony." All of Percy's past Assassin lives were powerful figures in the Brotherhood in some way. Faris being the younger brother of Altaïr, and savior of CHB from the Templar Baron von Wolff. Virgil Cavaliere being one of the greatest Mentors the Brotherhood ever saw, and husband of Claudia, the sister of Ezio. Jake Swallow having sailed with all three Kenway men, becoming such a legendary figure in the Revolution as to be called the Grandfather of America. Cheyenne Nightshade, granddaughter of Shay, holding the record of youngest Master ever at 19, being the wife of Zoë, and also being the chief reason the Templars were able to become so powerful since her death led to Arno and Zoë wiping out the French Brotherhood in a grief-fueled rage over how the Assassins treated her growing up, with Bellec having raped her when she was 14. And Peter Frye, while not the most prolific, did lay the groundwork that enabled Jacob and Evie to overthrow Starrick's machine, and was the younger brother of the Frye twins.
Then there's Konrad Richter. Just some lieutenant in the Order that had no impact whatsoever, was mostly an asshole, and had unrealistic expectations regarding life. Barely more than a slightly important NPC.
Like I said: poetic.
Great Assassins, to nobody Templar.
As for something along the lines of "You missed a great opportunity to show the Templar side of things!" Well, no, not really. Jake had great insight to the Templars, and Cheyenne said herself that the only reason she wasn't a Templar was because she was a slave to the Assassins. Percy himself understands the Templar POV well, and has had plenty of things to say about it in his own life.
So, not really. No need to rehash what I've already said.
Now that we have that out of the way, we now move into the final arc of this story. Spanning all five books over the course of seven years, we have finally made it to the Last Olympian.
Things will be getting Biblical in this arc.
I hope you enjoy it!
In the meantime, please Fav, Follow, and Review!