The Ancestors

The opening was all over the news.

“A new exhibit celebrating the glory of the Ancestors, the Great Deed, and the Descendants.”

I had Andrew get us tickets. The museum stated they weren’t gifting tickets to anyone, Descendant, or mortal. However, my ancestry did give me a discount.

“It’s a shame, Andrew,” I said, staring at the prices of the tickets on the computer screen.

He only nodded, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt.

I shook my head. My Ancestor killed the Tyrant. That should get me more than twenty percent off tickets to a museum in his honor.

Nevertheless, the tickets were paid for and printed, and the day after the Day of the Great Deed, Andrew woke me up early so that we could make it to the opening before the crowd did.

I chose to wear my uniform. Its navy blue jacket and brass buttons won out over the more casual attire that I had considered. Looking at myself in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my reddish-brown hair and straightened my jacket, ensuring my Sword patch was in its proper place.

I couldn’t have anyone mistake me for a common mortal.

Andrew drove us to the museum in my car. As always, he had his wireless earpiece, blue jeans, and black, long-sleeved shirt specially tailored so the sleeves stayed where they needed to be. He drove carefully, as instructed, following the speed limit and keeping his distance from any less-than-careful drivers on the road. We drove the four miles into the city’s metropolitan area as the morning sun peeked through the gaps between the skyscrapers.

“Stop touching your arms, Andrew,” I said. He jerked his hand from his arm and continued driving.

As we turned into the museum parking lot, Andrew rolled down the window to hand our tickets to the man in the booth.

“Names?” the man asked.

“Andrew,” Andrew responded quietly. “Andrew Gardner.”

“And you, sir?” The man asked, turning to me.

“General Fredrick Etris of the Descendant Division. But just call me General,” I responded.

“Well, welcome, General, and thank you for your service,” the man said. He returned the tickets to Andrew and opened the gate, allowing us to drive on.

After parking the car, we joined the small crowd in front of the museum’s entrance. The front of the building was covered in banners showcasing blown-up images of the artifacts held inside the new exhibit. Hanging over the door, under the sign, was a large banner reading:

“The Metropolitan Museum of Divine History presents the Newly Renovated Great Deed Exhibit.”

In front of us was a young boy and his mother. As I watched, the boy pointed up at one of the banners.

“Look, Mommy!” he said. “Look at the skull!”

“Yes, honey,” the mother replied.

I looked at the large human-like skull on the banner, waving over the crowd as if beckoning them closer and closer. My mind was filled with the customary disgust.

“What’s the skull for?” the little boy asked.

“It’s the skull of the Tyrant,” I replied.

The boy turned and looked up at me.

“Ty-rant,” he said. Then, pointing at my badge, he asked, “Are you a soldier?”

“I am a general,” I replied, looking down at him.

“Do you have blessings?” the boy asked, stumbling on the more complicated word.

“I do,” I said, “I can control my body heat and make my skin burning hot.”

I held my hand out for him to touch, keeping it cool enough to not burn but warm enough that he could feel it.

The child touched my hand and then looked at me with disappointment.

“That’s boring.”

I brought my hand away and stared at him.

“David, that was mean.” his mother said, “Say you’re sorry.”

“Sorry,” the child said with a singsong tone, looking back at the banners. The mother nodded at me and moved away into the crowd.

“That was incredibly rude,” I said.

“Well, sir.” Andrew responded, “Children are children.”

“A child that age should have learned respect by now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Andrew crossed his arms and looked towards the front of the museum. He held onto our tickets and my bag as if his life depended on it.

I watched as he fidgeted, glancing around at the others with us in the crowd.

The Museum’s Curator stepped onto a makeshift pedestal in front of the entrance.

“Friends,” he said, the microphone broadcasting his voice across the crowd.

We went silent, allowing him to continue.

“Friends, Family, Descendants,” he said. “We thank you for coming to the opening of our newly renovated Great Deed exhibit. We must remember the Ancestors who freed us from the Tyrant and the Descendants who protect us to this day, and we hope that this exhibit helps preserve that memory for centuries to come.”

Polite applause filled the crowd. I swelled my chest a little, filled once again with the pride of my heritage.

“And without further ado,” The Curator continued,” we will allow the Descendants to come to the front of the line and officially declare the new exhibit open.”

Andrew and I walked forward, with him only moving in front of me to hand our tickets to the man at the window.

“Mr. Etris and Mr. Gardner,” the man said.

“General,” I replied.

“Oh, Generals Etris and—”

“No,” I said, interrupting him, “General Etris and Andrew Gardner.”

“Y-yes, sir,” the man said, taking our tickets, “Enjoy the exhibit.”

Nodding, I turned and walked away from the window, Andrew hurrying behind me.

“Mr. Etris,” I muttered, “You’d hope people would have more respect.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it, sir,” Andrew stammered. I glanced at him, and he quickly gripped his arms, apologizing.

I sighed and followed the signs toward the new exhibit.

The first thing I saw when entering were the four faceless statues in the center of the room surrounded by a thin silver wire, no doubt tied to an alarm system. They were dressed in traditional robes and stood surrounding a white box embedded in the floor. Each figure held a weapon in front of them: a bow, a spear, an axe, and a sword, each almost glowing in the light emanating from the box.

At the figure’s feet, in the box, surrounded by lights and white fabric, was a 10-foot tall, human-like skeleton, yellowed with age, with empty eye sockets staring blankly at the arching ceiling above it.

A plaque at the skeleton’s feet read, “The Ancestors standing over the body of the Tyrant. The Tyrant’s body was found in the Year of the Ancestors 75. It was preserved to remember the Great Deed, when humanity was freed from its reign and the Ancestors stole its blessings to pass down to the Descendants. The skeletal remains were donated by a private collector in 2015 Y.A.”

Andrew and I stood at the skeleton’s feet, looking down at it.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” I asked.

All he could do was nod. I understood what he was feeling. It was overwhelming for a common mortal to see something as powerful as the thing lying at our feet. No matter how old or antiquated it was, it radiated with the power it once possessed, striking awe into the hearts of those not used to its strength.

However, for people like me, who possessed the blessings it once carried, it was just an ordinary body.

I continued walking, crossing over the thick glass as I moved deeper into the exhibit. Andrew looked at me before going around the display and meeting me on the other side.

Across the far wall of the hall, there was a large painting standing above a display case. The painting depicted four faceless people, weapons in hand, standing across from a tall figure shrouded in a white light. The four figures held their weapons up as if ready to attack. My eyes were drawn to the red-haired man in the right corner of the painting. Holding the Sword at the ready, he stared up at the Tyrant, his missing face no doubt twisted in determination for what he was about to achieve.

Below the painting, the four weapons sat on a table covered by a glass enclosure, each under the image of their respective wielder. Rusted and cracked with age, the Tools of the Great Deed were nothing but shadows of their former selves. However, they were still awe-inspiring to look upon.

My eyes were drawn to the ancient Sword. Putting my hand on the glass, I stared at the cracked, ornate wood of the handle and the broken, rusted blade. The plaque below the weapon read, “The Sword: Carried by the leader of the Ancestors, the Sword dealt the final blow of The Great Deed, piercing the heart of the Tyrant. Traditional legends taught that because of this blow, the leader of the Ancestors gained the Tyrant’s immortality. However, study of the Descendant’s Blessings shows no trace of such a gift. The Sword was donated by a private collector in 1946 Y.A.”

Andrew silently watched as I admired the relic. Its image mirrored on the badge pinned to my chest.

“It’s strange being tied to something so powerful,” I said. “The burden of responsibility on my shoulders, all laid on me by something so small and trivial.”

Andrew nodded solemnly. He would never understand. No Mortal could.

I stood silently for a short time, hand on the glass separating me from my Ancestor.

It was my duty to uphold the name created for me by this Sword. My rightful place, enshrined by the shadows of the Great Deed, protecting the common mortals from anyone who wished to follow in the Tyrant’s footsteps.

Almost on cue, I heard the growing roar of the common mortals as they entered the exhibit. While Andrew and I had entered with the proper awe and respect for such a sacred sight, they came in like schoolchildren being let out for recess. I felt my palms grow warm as I clenched them into fists. The moment with my Ancestor had been ruined.

“Sir?” Andrew asked.

“What is it?”

“Would you like your earplugs?”

Despite the situation, I smiled. Andrew had improved at recognizing my discomforts over the years and doing his best to mitigate them. While he often got it wrong, I had to appreciate the sentiment.

“No, Andrew,” I said. “I am simply disappointed in their lack of respect.”

“Yes, sir.” Andrew responded, “With artifacts such as His skeleton and the wea—”

“Not their respect for the artifacts!” I said, facing him, “Their respect for me!”

Andrew stepped back, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms over his torso.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

I sighed and turned back to the Sword. People had begun crowding me from every angle, gawking and staring at the relics. I turned on my heel and walked away, gesturing to Andrew. Who followed behind me as I tried to make my way through the crowd. I tried to enjoy some of the other artifacts: carved idols of The Tyrant, remains from long-gone temples, and more images of the Ancestors.

One such image caught my eye. Tucked in the back corner of the exhibit, temporarily safe from the hordes of mortals, was a stone carving. It depicted a man kneeling before a ruler on his throne. Beside the bowing figure was a sword. The face of the man was missing, as if someone had taken a hammer and carved it away.

The plaque next to the carving read, “The False Bow (Carved 23 B.A.): After the divine purge, the Tyrant, now alone in his power, is drawn into a false sense of security by the leader of the Ancestors. The carving was removed from the ruins of the Temple of Gaz around 150 Y.A. The face of the Ancestor was Ceremonially removed in 300. The carving was donated by a private collector in 1899 Y.A.”

Looking at the faceless man, I felt the familiar swell of pride. My Ancestor knelt before the Tyrant, no doubt plotting his death. The leader of the Ancestors, who received the most praise

In my contemplation, I didn’t notice a person come up behind me. Stepping next to me, he smiled.

“I’ve always hated the description they give this one.”

Startled, I looked at the intruder.

“Who are you?”

He turned to me and looked me in the eyes. He was a red-haired, green-eyed man with a youthful but strangely sad face.

“My name doesn’t matter,” he said. “You are Fredrick, right? From the Descendant Division? I saw you on T.V.”

I looked at him, shocked and disgusted.

“I am General Etris of the Descendant Division, and I would appreciate it if you used my title.”

The man nodded, a smile still on his face.

“Well, Fredrick, the description here is all wrong,” the man said. “It wasn’t a false bow. It was genuine. This carving was displayed in one of His temples until the ‘Great Deed.’”

Andrew looked between us with growing concern as I faced the man.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“What? The Great Deed?” he responded. “I just find it sad.”

My hands grew hotter.

“Sad?”

“The Ancestors fought to free themselves from His temples, Fredrick. That’s what the ‘Great Deed’ was,” he said, stepping closer. “It was a promise of freedom from Him. Yet you picked up His chains and reforged them, binding yourselves to the image of who you thought the ‘Ancestors’ were. They tore down temples, so you built museums.”

Andrew stepped next to me.

“Sir?” he said. “M-maybe it’s better if we just went somewhere—”

Before he finished the sentence, I pushed him aside. He cried out as his black shirt burned and his flesh sizzled under my palm. Turning my attention back to the man who challenged me, I spoke.

“My name is General Etris, and we do not worship the Tyrant or any of the Ancestors.”

He grinned.

“Liar. You wear their weapons on your chest as symbols of status, like priests wearing the symbol of their god.” He turned and looked at the carving again. Following his gaze, I saw the eye pendant hanging from the neck of the faceless Ancestor.

“The Tyrant is dead,” I said through clenched teeth. Next to me, I heard Andrew whimper and scoot away, leaving the poor man before me to his fate.

“I know He is,” the man said. “But still, call Him by His real title, Fredrick.”

“This is your only warning,” I said, hand twitching as I felt my skin boil.

He smiled and leaned in, inches away from my face.

“Call. Him. God.”

I slapped him across the face, hearing the hiss as my hand made contact with his cheek, like a hot iron against flesh.

He cried out, stumbling back and clutching his wound. Suddenly, Andrew was at my side again.

“Sir, please don’t make a scene.”

I looked at the crowd throughout the exhibit. Most of them were staring at the three of us, with only the furthest, or stupidest, still busying themselves with the relics. Several mortals had pulled out their phones. I smiled at them and turned back to Andrew.

“It won’t kill him, but it will leave a nasty scar,” I said.

The man stood and looked at me again, the damned smile still on his burned face.

“You worship the power the Ancestors gave you. You worship the abilities they were cursed with,” he said.

“The gifts tied to the Ancestors’ bloodlines are blessings,” I said. “I’m sorry you can’t understand that.”

“Oh, I understand it.” the man said, “the curses of the Tyrant are always seen as blessings at first. But over time, the power, the strength.”

He glanced at the carving again.

“Even Immortality loses its shine.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am a man who has made many mistakes, Fredrick, more than any other man on this earth.”

He clenched his fist and looked at me with a sad smile.

“It is my sacred duty to fix them.”

Then, he punched me in the nose.

Gasps rose from the crowd as I stepped back, stunned. Growling, my hands turned white hot, and I began swinging. The man jumped back and stared at me, still smiling sadly.

“Let me teach you something, Fredrick,” he said. “You were not blessed with those powers. You were cursed; the Ancestors tried to free humanity from gods but failed. What resulted was the worst possible outcome for all of mankind.”

He punched me again, driving me closer to the crowd.

“What resulted was you, Fredrick. Descendants, worse than the Tyrant Himself.”

“Shut up!” I cried.

I threw another punch.

He caught my fist.

“It’s my curse, my duty, to free Humanity once again.”

My stomach dropped as I heard his flesh sizzle. He gripped my burning hand in his own. His face remained static as if frozen in that sad, icy smile. He grabbed my wrist and flipped me over his shoulder, leaving me on my back on the cold concrete floor.

I stared wide-eyed at the figure above me.

“Y-you’re a descendant too.”

The smile faded from his face, and he shook his head.

“I wish it was that simple,” he said.

I rolled over and sprung to my feet. The crowd cheered as I straightened my uniform and put my hands up again.

“Well, no matter what you are, I’m not scared of anyone,” I said.

“And you’re not scared for anyone either,” he responded.

He gestured to the crowd around us, watching us with phones out. Andrew had disappeared into the mass of mortals.

“They’ll find their way out,” I said, taking another swing at him. He dodged and kicked me in the stomach, driving me backward. The crowds parted around us as he forced me back towards the exhibit’s center.

“Oh, come on, Fredrick,” he said, taking another swing at me, “Descendants are supposed to keep the people of the world safe! Especially you. Or are you just in it for the title?”

I glared at him, feeling dozens of eyes and cameras focused on me.

“As far as I can tell, you’re only interested in me. They’re safe.”

The man laughed. Taking a step back, he looked at me with a smile.

“I chose to be equal to these people, Fredrick. I live out decades side by side with the people of the world. The only thing I cannot stand with them on is the veneration of people like you.”

He waved at one of the mortals’ phones.

“Which is why I’m here, showing them the truth. The Ancestors killed god in his own temple.”

I charged at him, fists blazing with my rage. He stepped to the side and held his arm out, clotheslining me. As I stumbled, he punched the side of my head, sending me sprawling onto the floor.

“Isn’t it fitting that you meet the same fate in the same place?”

I struggled to my feet, rubbing my jaw.

“This is not a temple to the descendants,” I muttered.

“But you walk around as though you’re the tyrant these people are bowing to,” the man replied. “You act as though your name carries the same weight as His once did, hiding it behind titles to protect their minds. Yet now they all can see how weak you are, even with the ‘blessings’ you stole from Him.”

He grabbed me by the front of my uniform and hit me in the face again. As I stumbled back, he took the opportunity to beat me with his fists. With horror, I saw blood fly from my mouth. The mortals stood with mouths agape, watching me get beaten senseless by a Tyrant apologist. I pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp. Punching him in the nose, I sent him staggering back and charged the crowd. I grabbed one of the mortal’s phones and melted it before his eyes.

“Don’t stand there and record me, you ungrateful assholes. Go get another Descendant to help!” I yelled at the crowd.

I threw the melted metal and plastic into the crowd and glared as they fled toward the exit.

As they ran, the man grabbed me from behind, putting me in a chokehold. Struggling, I tried to breathe in as he squeezed my throat.

“Brave and noble,” he said. “I’m sure you look like the hero.”

I clung to his arm, hands scalding his skin, but he kept his hold on me.

“You see, Fredrick,” he continued, “I could kill you. It would be easy.”

Blackness danced at the corners of my vision. I felt my hands cool as I lost control of my blessing. In the growing darkness, I saw a familiar figure lit up by the skeleton’s encasement a few feet away.

“Andrew,” I choked out, “Help.”

Surprised, he looked at me, and then a smile spread across his face. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the burns that ran up and down his arms.

“Don’t you think you deserve death?” the man said.

The faceless figures moved in my dancing vision, raising their weapons. They turned to me, surrounding Andrew, who stared, smiling and holding out his burned arms. The Tyrant’s encasement seemed to glow brighter, obscuring them in the blinding light.

“Ancestors,” I gasped.

The man leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “They’re ashamed of you, Fredrick. They fought to protect humanity. You fought to suppress them and force them into servitude.”

My hands slipped from his arms, the faceless figures raised their weapons, and Andrew vanished in the white glow.

“Just as the Tyrant did.”

I looked up at his sad face. Over his shoulder, I could see the painting above the relics. The red-haired, faceless Ancestor stared up at the Tyrant, Sword in hand.

“Who are you?” I gasped.

The man smiled and looked at the statues of the Ancestors.

“I’m a god-killer, Fredrick, finishing the job.”

He let go, and the world around me went dark as I slipped to the floor.