《Malheur aux vaincus - Short stories》 Une journée de routine en garnison au bout du monde connu Les hommes valeureux constituent la meilleure tour de d¨¦fense d''une cit¨¦, Alc¨¦e de Mytil¨¨ne Une journ¨¦e de routine en garnison au bout du monde connu Le soleil au ponant ¨¦clairait de ses derniers feux cette journ¨¦e sanglante. Une nouvelle page de gloire pourrait ¨ºtre grav¨¦e sur notre aigle, si le lendemain elle ¨¦tait encore entre nos mains, ce dont nous doutions fort. Les tribus du septentrion avaient d¨¦ferl¨¦ sans r¨¦pit sur l''oppidum d¨¨s le petit matin. Au m¨¦pris le plus total de la mort, des myriades de barbares peinturlur¨¦s de signes cabalistiques se jet¨¨rent sous nos pieux, galvanis¨¦s par les chants de guerre. Pris au d¨¦pourvu, incapables de contenir une telle mar¨¦e humaine, les hommes ¨¦taient t¨¦tanis¨¦s devant cet ennemi implacable. Devant leurs figures inhumaines et leur t¨¦m¨¦rit¨¦ folle, associ¨¦es ¨¤ leur nombre, m¨ºme les plus intr¨¦pides doutaient. Toutefois, malgr¨¦ le d¨¦sespoir qui mena?ait, leur discipline, fruit d''un entra?nement continuel, leur permit de contenir vaille que vaille le premier assaut. Pour chaque soldat qui tombait, dix adversaires tr¨¦passaient. Le flot humain, s''il ne se tarissait qu''¨¤ peine au fil des heures, encourageait les d¨¦fenseurs. Se ressaisissant apr¨¨s ce mince succ¨¨s, le moral des troupes changea : les solides fortifications qui avaient permis de r¨¦sister ne leur feraient pas d¨¦faut, si tant est qu''ils puissent continuer ¨¤ tout faire pour les tenir. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.C''est ¨¤ cet instant que la deuxi¨¨me vague s''¨¦lan?a, voyant l''¨¦chec de la premi¨¨re. En effet, ces f¨¦roces combattants respectaient une coutume tribale s¨¦culaire : seuls les plus jeunes guerriers, encore gu¨¨re exp¨¦riment¨¦s, participaient aux premi¨¨res passes d''armes, ce qui permettait de les ¨¦cr¨¦mer. Ainsi, des combattants dans la force de l''age, l''honneur de leur peuple, entr¨¨rent dans la bataille alors que les cohortes engag¨¦es sur le rempart guerroyaient sans r¨¦pit depuis l''aube. Soumis ¨¤ une pression intol¨¦rable, le front commen?a ¨¤ plier, certaines poches de barbares prenaient durablement pied sur les murs d''enceinte. Galvanis¨¦s par leur r¨¦ussite, ils tr¨¦pignaient, litt¨¦ralement pris de transe pour atteindre les fantassins hagards qui commen?aient ¨¤ se d¨¦bander. Face ¨¤ une d¨¦faite qui s¡¯annon?ait in¨¦vitable, nous pr?mes la d¨¦cision d¡¯enflammer nos palissades avant qu¡¯elles ne tombent aux mains de l¡¯ennemi, les pertes subies ¨¦tant tellement importantes que le dernier bastion du fort, seule construction de briques suffirait amplement pour les survivants, en esp¨¦rant que ceux-ci ne p¨¦riraient pas ¨¦touff¨¦s par la fum¨¦e d''enfer que produisaient nos d¨¦fenses en feu. Nous avions tenu tout le jour, seule l¡¯arriv¨¦e d¡¯autres garnisons du dispositif d¨¦fensif romain pouvait d¨¦sormais nous sauver, ce que notre feu de joie devait en outre hater, tel ¨¦tait le mince espoir auquel nous nous raccrochions. Sinon, nous aurions toujours la possibilit¨¦ de rejoindre Pluton accompagn¨¦s du plus grand nombre possible d''ennemis, un b?cher fun¨¦raire aussi fastueux ne pouvant que le ravir. Rien de plus quun barbare Flet victus victor interiit : Le conquis pleure, le conqu¨¦rant est perdu Rien de plus qu''un barbare Ilavait¨¦t¨¦litt¨¦ralement pi¨¦tin¨¦, c''est la premi¨¨re chose qui lui vint ¨¤ l''esprit une fois le choc de son r¨¦veil douloureux pass¨¦. Il d¨¦sirait de tout son ¨ºtre se relever. Sescompagnonsd''armes devaient l''attendre avec impatience pour prendre part ¨¤ la d¨¦fense du Mur. Mais le moindre mouvement lui causait une souffrance atroce, coupl¨¦e ¨¤ un mal de crane ¨¦pouvantable. Il savait que les casemates et autres avant-postes fortifi¨¦s des alentours avaient c¨¦d¨¦ les uns apr¨¨s les autres, ils constituaient le dernier rempart de la Cit¨¦ contre les envahisseurs ¨¦trangers. Ceux-ci passaient au fil de l¡¯¨¦p¨¦e chaque homme, chaque femme et chaque enfant de son peuple, et salaient ensuite leurs terres ancestrales apr¨¨s n¡¯avoir laiss¨¦ aucune pierre debout. C¡¯¨¦tait des hommes de pierre et de fer. Incapables de toute piti¨¦ et sans honneur: ne connaissant que la discipline implacable de leur cohortes, ils restaient indiff¨¦rents aux serments pr¨ºt¨¦s, ¨¤ toute forme de diplomatie ainsi qu¡¯aux dieux autres que leur sanguinaire Mithra1venu des confins de l¡¯Orient. Ils ne d¨¦siraient sa terre que pour son or. Pour eux ses habitants ¨¦taient une g¨ºne ¨¤ exterminer pour faire place nette et proc¨¦der ¨¤ son exploitation. Face ¨¤ ce genre d¡¯ennemis l¡¯unique solution restait la guerre. Une guerre que les Cit¨¦s coalis¨¦es avaient vaillamment men¨¦e, avec l¡¯aide des Dieux. Trois des formations arm¨¦es de l¡¯envahisseur et non des moindres, avaient ¨¦t¨¦ annihil¨¦es. La c¨¦l¨¨bre Legio IV Adiutrix s¡¯¨¦tait aventur¨¦e dans les Monts Embrum¨¦s, une terre sacr¨¦e depuis des temps imm¨¦moriaux. Le courroux des divinit¨¦s des montagnes ne se fit donc pas attendre. Avec leur b¨¦n¨¦diction les Mordoriens avaient contre toute logique ¨¦cras¨¦ cette l¨¦gion renomm¨¦e, qui n¡¯avait jusqu¡¯alors fait que voler de victoires en victoires.Les embuscades d¨¦vastatrices qu¡¯ils subissaient ¨¤ r¨¦p¨¦tition dans une r¨¦gion qui leur ¨¦tait inconnue vinrent ¨¤ bout de leur r¨¦sistance.Changeant en retraite organis¨¦e ce qui devenait une d¨¦route pure et simple, ces combattants renomm¨¦s se repli¨¨rent vers la seule issue qui leur restait.Au c?ur des montagnes, les bien-nomm¨¦s Mar¨¦cages de l¡¯Oubli, o¨´ nichaient bon nombre de cr¨¦atures qui hantaient nos l¨¦gendes ancestrales.Evidemmentpersonne n¡¯en entendit plus parler. L¡¯app¨¦tit de sang des dieux et des hommes fut ainsi ¨¦veill¨¦, et le moral d¨¦faillant de ceux-ci retourna ¨¤ son z¨¦nith. Pour combler cette soif il ne fallut rien de moins que la destruction des forces de soutien de l''Empire dans la province, la Legio VI Ferrata. Constitu¨¦e de bless¨¦s du front et de commer?ants mobilis¨¦s, cette derni¨¨re ¨¦tait terriblement efficace dans le r?le qui lui ¨¦tait d¨¦volu, mais incapables de tenir contre les forces coalis¨¦es de son peuple. Celles-ci continu¨¨rent ainsi jusqu¡¯aux territoires que l¡¯Empire avait commenc¨¦ ¨¤ annexer et mirent en d¨¦route la faible garnison en place, la Colonia Vocontil qui ¨¦tait d¨¦j¨¤ plus ou moins d¨¦mobilis¨¦e. Apr¨¨s cette s¨¦rie de victoires cons¨¦cutive ¨¤ la col¨¨re des dieux que les l¨¦gions avaient attir¨¦ sur leurs t¨ºtes il y eut certes une p¨¦riode festive, mais l¡¯euphorie ne dura qu¡¯un temps. Tout le monde savait que si l¡¯Empire avait une qualit¨¦, c¡¯¨¦tait la pers¨¦v¨¦rance. Les forces d¨¦tach¨¦es pour vaincre la derni¨¨re l¨¦gion d¡¯envahisseurs encore pr¨¦sents, la Legio V Gallic, avaient ¨¦t¨¦ d¨¦faites. Par ailleurs une seconde vague d¡¯assaut ¨¦tait en route, alors que son peuple avait d¨¦j¨¤ engag¨¦ jusqu¡¯au dernier de ses hommes dans les combats. Le Galion I Augusta fra?chement arriv¨¦ ¨¤ bon port mettait ¨¤ feu et ¨¤ sang leurs c?tes. Pendant ce temps la Legio V, soutenue par la nouvellement form¨¦e Legio VIII Claudia rempla?ant la Ferrata, regagnait irr¨¦pressiblement le terrain perdu et s¡¯enfon?ait dans les terres encore vierges de pr¨¦sence romaine. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. C¡¯est ainsi que sa propre cit¨¦ finit par ¨ºtre assi¨¦g¨¦e, alors que les divinit¨¦s semblaient les avoir abandonn¨¦s ¨¤ leur sort. La derni¨¨re fois qu¡¯il ¨¦tait en pleine possession de ses facult¨¦s, le Galion maintenait un blocus autour de la ville en profitant de ses engins de guerre pour laisser peser une pression continuelle sur les d¨¦fenseurs. Les deux autres l¨¦gions sur la terre ferme se pr¨¦paraient ¨¤ monter ¨¤ l¡¯assaut du mur ext¨¦rieur. Tous savaient qu¡¯aucun habitant n¡¯en r¨¦chapperait s¡¯il tombait, c¡¯est pourquoi ils s¡¯¨¦taient r¨¦solus ¨¤ se battre jusqu¡¯¨¤ la mort, et au-del¨¤ si le Seigneur Souterrain leur en offrait la possibilit¨¦. Maintenant que sa m¨¦moire lointaine ¨¦tait clairement revenue, des bribes de souvenirs, des ¨¦clairs d¡¯images vives de son pass¨¦ r¨¦cent commen?aient ¨¤ prendre place dans son esprit : les premi¨¨res attaques ennemies repouss¨¦es et les sentiments de gloire ¨¦ternelle qui aur¨¦olaient alors tous ses actes, concourant ¨¤ lui donner une tenace impression d¡¯invincibilit¨¦ et ¨¤ prendre les risques les plus fous, lui qu¡¯on surnommait Danse-avec-la-Mort. Puis la lassitude qui vint ensuite, le ressenti que ses membres cotonneux ¨¦taient environn¨¦s de brouillard, quand ses blessures r¨¦clam¨¨rent le tribut de cette t¨¦m¨¦rit¨¦ ¨¤ son corps ¨¦reint¨¦. Lui, un ¨¦p¨¦iste de renom, finit par tenir son arme d¡¯une main malhabile et un l¨¦gionnaire plus consciencieux que dou¨¦ ne manqua pas d¡¯¨¦craser proprement son casque d¡¯un coup de glaive. Apr¨¨s cela plus rien, le trou noir. A ce moment-l¨¤ le soleil se couchait sur une journ¨¦e d¡¯horreur de plus. Cela en faisait trois qu¡¯il ferraillait presque sans relache et l¡¯espoir de voir une nouvelle aube l¡¯avait lentement quitt¨¦. Or, contre toute attente il devaits?rement¨ºtre en vie. A travers ses paupi¨¨res ¨¤ demi coll¨¦es par du sang coagul¨¦ il pouvait m¨ºme deviner une lueur ¨¦clatante, intense. Si intense m¨ºme qu¡¯il se dit que les flammes des Enfers seraient tout aussi accueillantes. D¡¯ailleurs, par dessus l¡¯odeur omnipr¨¦sente de la mort semblait appara?tre une autre senteur, un d¨¦licat fumet de viande grill¨¦e. Apr¨¨s aussi longtemps sans rien avaler, m¨ºme environn¨¦ de cadavres il sentait avec insistance les affres de la faim. Par un effort surhumain, il r¨¦ussit ¨¤ entrouvrir un ?il et ¨¤ d¨¦placer sa t¨ºte imperceptiblement vers la source de son d¨¦sir. Cet infime mouvement n¡¯en fut pas moins accompagn¨¦ d¡¯un rale de douleur, et un voile rouge oblit¨¦ra sa vision quelques instants. De nouveau ma?tre de ses yeux, la seule chose dont il avait encore r¨¦ellement le contr?le, il ne put manquer ce qu¡¯il prenait candidement pour une grillade, un gigantesque monceau en cadavres en flammes. Malgr¨¦ leur atrocit¨¦, le bruit et l¡¯effluve que d¨¦gageaient la chair gr¨¦sillante continuaient ¨¤ lui mettre l¡¯eau ¨¤ la bouche. Toutefois, alert¨¦s par son cri deux l¨¦gionnaires, qui parcouraient les amas de corps ¨¤ enfourner dans le brasier, vinrent dans sa direction et l¡¯un d¡¯eux lui sectionna machinalement la gorge de son pugio 2, mettant fin ¨¤ ses souffrances. ?¡ªAh, regarde-le celui-ci, encore vivant et pourtant quand j''ai voulu le tirer par son casque la moiti¨¦ de la cervelle est venue avec ! ¡ªPire que du chiendent cette engeance-l¨¤, heureusement que nous avons l''habitude de ce genre demauvaisesherbes. ? 1 Mithra = Divinit¨¦ Perse adopt¨¦e par les arm¨¦es et certains empereurs romains. 2 Pugio = Poignard traditionnel de l¡¯¨¦quipement du l¨¦gionnaire. The humming of the bleeding sun The humming of the bleeding sun A being taller than any man was walking on the highway to Hell, a smile on his face, his heart full of joy for the first time in ages. It was his duty, as a member of the House of the Raising Sun, to always be the spearhead of Good, whatever his real feelings. The truth was that he was tired of being a role model and always play this same role. Lead the good fight when needed, die heroically when not necessary anymore, rinse and repeat? That had been well and good for a time, but he had long become numb to it, going through the motions to the point that faking it was all that remained. At what point did being the perfect hypocrite became his definition of goodness? So he had made a choice. He would reroll the dice of fate, in a way that broke the immemorial frame that always gave him the same definite path. He had searched across multiple lives, whenever he could find free time between his heroic quests to save various places which couldn¡¯t bother to save themselves and found more practical to subcontract the work. A drawn-out quest, with a scope the like of which mortals couldn¡¯t even apprehend. Seeking the thinnest clues, and finally learning about an artifact so obscure even immortals had forgotten about it. And he had found it. Well, to be more precise, he had found where it was, but that was already something undreamt of. And now, in a time of peace between mortalincarnations, he was on his way to take it.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The guardian of the treasure didn¡¯t even know what he had in his hands. In a way, it was typical of them, keeping the most wonderful tools locked to gather dust, in fear of change, of anything to break the natural order of things that their side had created in the past. After all, that was their specialty, to neutralize the tools they didn¡¯t understand. And to do it, they needed a special kind of ignorance, a willful blindness to their working. That was why he went to the most important fight of his existence with only the clothes on his back and his metaphorical spear of hope ¨C let them try to figure out how to neutralize that. Whatever the result, he had no regrets. That was his way, always going forwards, that was part of him from the beginning and what made him special. So, was it so surprising if that was also the reason he would put an end to the established order? This day, the sun would bleed with the loss, one way or another, of a prominent meber of its house. While causing this upheaval, the less he could do was enjoying the fight to the fullest, he thought to himself while kicking open the door to Heaven - or was it Hell ? - while humming ¡®Happy birthday to you¡¯. Heaven, Hell, wasn¡¯t the only difference one of perspective? Ravings of a drunk About time and money Our modern society and its capitalist system come from 18th century British Philosophers** and their conception of work: people¡¯s time is worth something, and the more qualified and uncommon you are, the more your time is worth something ¨C pretty logical until there isn¡¯t it? But the problem lies in the second part of this conception: resources¡¯ worth is determined by their rarity and the ease to access them on one hand, and how much they are sought after on the other hand ¨C that¡¯s all. In other words, by the law of supply and demand. Thus, the price of something is the cost of the way to get it, or of the difficulty to get it: it has no value itself. Do you begin to see the problem? In the 18th century, a lot of people believed that natural resources were more or less infinite. Pretty asinine already if you ask me, but as they say, hindsight is 20/20. Moreover, they had legitimate justifications at the time: we need to keep in mind that it was in the context of the dawn of the industrial revolution and of the vast expanses of colonial empires. Additionally, it was a philosophical construct: mistakes and limits of the theory when tried practically are expected. Furthermore, in a short-term point of view, in a limited society, it worked really well. That conception is not the problem: the problem is that at some point we seem to have lost the ability to think critically about it.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. But today we still live by this conception when we know without a doubt that resources aren¡¯t infinite and that the waste produced as a byproduct of work has a negative value, often even quantified, on the world we live in, and so on us. We just choose to keep it out of mind. To use it in a world as populated as ours is, and as a long-term position, is either crazy or suicidal, pick your choice. Thus, the worth we give money seems to be wrong from an objective point of view. So, knowing that, how can we keep taking money seriously? It is only a collective delusion, (worst than an imaginary representation applied to a complex reality as a theory to explain the world, because we know its limits and why it¡¯s wrong: it¡¯s like we were still believing the Earth is flat while at the same time knowing it¡¯s not), a delusion which keeps going because enough people believe in it. That¡¯s why ecology is all about money, and the environmentalist struggle can only be won one way: through education, and its main enemy is willful ignorance. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ *Marx ** I¡¯m principally thinking about Adam Smith here, but I could tell 16th century over even 15th with the understanding that the theory of capitalism is built on Locke and Hobbes before it. What time is it? I was surprisingly well rested, from what had certainly been the most restful sleep of my life.However when I woke up, there was something out of place about my surroundings, at the same time familiar and different. Something strange had happened, I was sure of it. But what ? Atsecond glance around me, I realized that everything was older that what I was used to. Not in the meaning that it had been replaced by older equivalent objects, but that things had aged. Modern applicances no longer worked and only the more robust staples of life and furnituresremained unchanged. To understand what was going on, if maybe I was dreaming and there was just a power outage, I decided to venture out. The strangeness of thevicinity was even more obvious. The streets were the same, and the infrastructure may have been moved about, but remained essentially identical. What gave me pause were two out of place elements, the appearance of the cars and the fashion sense of the people. Everyone around me was in baggy clothing, like something taken right out of the nineties. But the cars! That was the real surprise. Each was more silent than the other, more streamined that I was used to, and while squinting I saw lines of water drops instead of four wheeled drives going around. I was gawking like a country bumpkin in the city for the first time, to the point that someone stopped before me and offered his help. I was gobsmacked. An honest to God good Samaritan! In the city! Where had the world gone to? I mumbled to myself "Toto, you''re not in Kansas anymore". "Yip gee! All''s copathetic ''n yo''r groove?" said the man, rather nondescript except for his large sweatshirt which stole all the attention about him, black with an incredibly lifelike scintillating red dragon breathing fire on its centre.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The link between us caused by a common cultural subtext was apparently next to inexistant, so even if I understood the words, I only had a vague idea of what he meant. "No, everything isn''t cool, I think I am going crazy." "How you speaks shows, cuz''! Hospital this way!" He indicated the direction with his arm then continued on his walk, turning his head to glance at me regularly, as if I could begin to foam at the mouth anytime. Well, it could have gone better, even if I still gained someinformation. From this pretty limited sample, people looked more health-conscious than ever around here. At least the idea was familiar. This encounter encouraged me to observe more attentively thefine specimen of mankindaround me. I noticed that nobody had any device in their hands fighting for attention with their environment. On the other hand, the stares of most passersby were empty, or they were rapidly blinking their eyes. Had the time come for retina implants? Neural interfaces? Was I not in a weird version of reality but in a science-fiction story? Or had I underestimated the time that seemed to have passed, and this was a distant future from my period, when not so much had changed in terms of appearance, but the underworking of society had significantely evolved? Wanting answers to my questions, I approached another person - after all the previous one had begun more helpful than normal for someone in the streets. I chose anelderly woman, for our common points could be more numerous if my first hypothesis (that a few decades had passed without my knowledge) was correct, and asked her for the date. She wasamongst the people zoning out, and gave a start when I talked to her. She answered: "We''re on the --------------, you''re even more out of whack than me young man. As you''re, it won''t hurt - want a toke?" Well, thatresolved a lot of my questions at once! Futuristic technologies or drugs? Occam''s razor had answered. Two contrasting breathing styles (poetry) The Hunt The excitement of the chase makes me jittery For a time still as a wild cat ready to pounce There is no obstacle around me Only boons: the rocks hiding places to sweep Stepping stones to jump The ferns mask my presenceIf you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Their rustling a sign of thrills to come The thirst grows as I feel movement A prey? All is speed on the trail. Is it a hare? Nothing matters until there is blood on my breath Winded, I lick my chops The game is won, the prize assured A morsel, true, but a success nonetheless Who will be next? The forlorn stargazing robot Scarlet dawn, lonely view Trail of stars vanishing behind you Company is near but you do not pursue You dramatize the circumstances But life is not a song With heroic figures taking stances For or against great causes. The throng Is in sight, even all around The lonesome island but an illusion Loneliness is a state of the mind As the world goes round Each cog moves through the motions Though emptiness is all there is behind Only instinct and mechanism In aching need of a schism Animal or machine Is there nothing in between?