The Interloper

The white road streched on, the pale man's destination forever in the distance and just beyond his vision. A gentle breeze blew, shifting the white sand beneath his feet. Soon though, he would make his first stop.

The pale man walked endlessly, thinking of naught but his final destination. A voice called out to him, from the side of the road.

"The three are one, and one is you."

Startled, he jumped and jerked toward the unfamiliar and unexpected greeting.

"Blood and death, yet your grass is green. Nothing more will you ever be." The voice came from a tall man whose robes absorbed all light, and reflected none yet he himself was as ivory skinned as the pale man. His blue eyes locked on the pale man's black, and they both stared for a long moment, before this figure spoke again. "I am gone, but you are mine. Forever so, til the end of time." The pale man could feel something he had not felt in a very long time, stirring from deep within him. Rage, hatred. This pallid fleshed interloper drew nothing from the pale man but the darkest of him.

"Victory and conquest is all that is behind me, wicked one. That, too, is all that I see before me. You are nothing, wicked one; nothing more than a weak apparition of what could be."

The pale man stood proudly, his head held high. The interloper shuffled from foot to foot, sizing up the pale man. "You are foolish, and you are weak. You leave behind nothing but wars you could not win." The interloper smirked smugly, gaze still locked upon the pale man.

The pale man blinked in shock. Surely, that was not his legacy? He did not want to believe that there had been nothing more than defeat and death at the start of the white road. "That is right, MUZUNGU. You are nothing, and all you will ever be is mine. You are a pitiful soldier and you have no place. Your kind will not want you, nor will any living soul. You are a nameless, soulless husk. MUZUNGU, is all you are."

The rage flared up once again, fire in the eyes of the pale man. He lept upon the interloper, and in the glistening green grass they fought. Through every punch, every kick, every bite, gore, and grapple, the interloper taunted the pale man. Through their injuries, they did not bleed and they did not feel pain. The pale man did not know even if the interloper felt anything, save for his disdain for what the pale man had accomplished. The tussle concluded with the interloper upon the grass, the pale man's heavy foot against his neck.

"It is you who are a meaningless husk, wicked one. You are weak and you have lost on all fronts. The wars behind me are not wars that I have lost. I knew victory and strength until you, wicked one, it is YOUR war that was lost, and so YOU are the failure. I nearly knew freedom twice, wicked one, and you took it from me both times. You will not do so again." The pale man snarled at the interloper, bloodlust in his eyes.

A moment of hesitation.

"This place, this white sand and green grass; they will not be soiled by your death, wicked one. You will stay here forever and know only that YOU have left nothing behind you. YOU have destroyed all that would ever love you. YOU are nothing but your own." He grimaced, and spat upon the interloper. He stepped back, shaking his head. The interloper lost animation, soon becoming but an area of negativity where he once was. The pale man tried to dissipate this cloud of darkness, but it clung in the air like thick smoke. The pale man realized, with some sadness, that the interloper would always exist, even as nothing but what he left behind.

The pale man stared for a moment, then shook his head. Back on the white sand path, he continued forward toward in quiet contemplation.