“I’ve walked everywhere in Arcadia it feels like. Tracked the mud on my boots from Olympus to the Red Light and down below to the Groves. Truth be told, I feel like I’ve not just seen it all, but seen it all ten times over.”
Drewitt looks out over an empty level, a single cabin still stood in the center of it. With a huff he walks forwards, stepping onto the front porch.
“And the one thing that I’ve never seen change in these journeys? War.”
The door creaks open, revealing the remnants of a terrible scene. Two bodies lay on the floor, a knife in one’s chest, a bullet in one’s skull. Blood and brain matter paint the cabin walls as Drewitt trudges almost callously over them.
“These two men despised one another for one simple reason; they both wanted the land this cabin sits on. Neither felt that the other deserved it, that their mere presence tainted the land itself. They couldn’t live in harmony, so they did what all foolish men do. They went to war.”
War kneels down between the two of them, examining their corpses.
“They fought to cleanse this land of the other, killing their kin, demolishing their homes. But, despite their intentions, the level wasn’t cleaned, it wasn’t purged. Because War isn’t a broom to sweep away your foes, nor a mop to wash away their lives. It’s a big bottle of wine splattering across the carpet.”
He glances at the blood and bone on the walls.
“The loser dies, and the winner gets to look at the mess they made, and live with a stain that will never go away.”
With a heavy sigh Drewitt takes a seat at the nearby table, tapping his fingers on the wood.
“You want to clean up Arcadia, don’t you, Kleen? You and the ACA have gone out of your way to wage war on the Kingdom. And for what? Because you think they’re dirtying up the land that’s shared beneath your feet? Going out of your way to butcher them in their own domain, crushing their skulls and staining the levels with their blood?”
A small chuckle escapes his throat.
“None the wiser that you’re doing the exact opposite of what you had hoped. War isn’t a tool of cleanliness, Kleen. It’s messy, bloody, and leaves stains that will never go away. No matter how much you scrub after you butcher the Kingdom, no matter how many gallons of bleach you pour, nothing can wash away your sins. Arcadia will never forget, the carpet will never be white ever again.”
“But, if you want War, then I’m happy to give it to you. Because unlike you, I understand what War is meant for, what it leaves you with. Let me spill some blood from your skull, let me stain my hands with your soul. And once it’s done?”
Drewitt rises, taking his leave from the cabin.
“You can tell me if what you’re doing is worth it. Your War won’t clean Arcadia, Kleen.”
“Because as I said. War? War never changes.”