The Remaining History of The Remaining
Charles Hammond missed the old days. The days of destruction, of free roam, of being able to kill without injuring himself, of being able to use magic. He missed the days of The War. He had never much liked Mevolent as such, but he had liked the Sanctuary even less, with their absurd laws they had in place to prevent anything and everything Hammond enjoyed doing even less. These things were mostly torturing and killing, but mainly the killing. As such, he had sided with Mevolent during The War. Siding with Mevolent meant that he could kill freely. Siding with Mevolent meant that he could hurt the people he wanted to hurt and kill the people he wanted to kill without consequences, for everyone around him was doing exactly the same thing.
Hammond did not believe in The Faceless Ones. He did not believe they existed. He was yet to see proof and such was not going to hold faith in what was currently seen to him as a myth. A legend. Hammond did not believe in legends. Hammond wanted to hurt people, torture his enemies, and then unceremoniously murder them in a thoroughly painful way. Painful for them, that is. Hammond did not like pain. Hammond had had enough pain in his days to last him for the rest of his life.
Hammond was a warlock, the only warlock he had known to ever take a side in The War. Hammond had heard the whispers of people guessing how the forces of Mevolent had managed to get him to join a side. He had never told anyone the real reason he had joined Mevolent, had never spoken of the fact that he had not taken a side in interest of the intended outcome. He had taken a side because of an outcome, but not the outcome that either side had been aiming for: Mevolent: a so-called ‘perfect world’ overruled by The Faceless Ones, the rebels; a world free of death, destruction and Mevolent and his lackey’s Gods. Hammond had joined a side because he could reach the near-destruction of the world’s population easier, quicker and more efficiently with Mevolent’s assistance.
So, Hammond joined Mevolent’s side and was accepted by his followers in Australia warmly after he had displayed his power against the rebellion. The times Hammond had after that was some of the best times he had ever had in his life. Hammond brought destruction everywhere he went and left death in his wake. He demolished battle-fields and he loved every moment of it. His powers were amazing and it wasn’t long before Hammond became a feared and powerful general among Mevolent’s ranks in Australia. Hammond’s reputation rose quickly in not just Australia, but other countries too. He didn’t bother with alliances or friendships with other fighters. It wasn’t necessary. He was powerful enough, Hammond didn’t need to worry about his own health. Or so he had thought.
He had been in the war for a few decades when he was captured. Hammond had become reckless, far too reckless, and with his recklessness came over-confidence and his over-confidence led to his misjudgement. He had become overwhelmed and abandoned and then he was captured and before he knew what was going on, Hammond had been thrown into a cell.
He had not self-destructed, as he had expected. Hammond did not exactly know what had happened. Warlocks were meant to self-destruct once their magic was bound. And yet he did not.
Hammond did not know how long he had been sentenced to prison for. He had not been paying attention when they told him and he had not been bothered to ask once he had gotten there. He had thought, for a few decades, that he would count the years as they went by, but he had ended up losing count somewhere around the ninety-four mark.
For hundreds of years he had been locked away in his little cell, his magic robbed from him, no longer there, no longer serving. It was maddening. He had not needed food, nor water, nor needed to dispose of any waste. He had even begun to age after a while. Hammond did not like aging…
He liked killing. But that was not happening anymore.
Hammond had not expected to get out of prison. He actually begun to suspect that he had been given a life sentence, and he probably had. If he had indeed been given a life sentence, however, Hammond had not needed to see it through to the end, for he had been broken out of prison a mere three months previously.
The prison had been infiltrated, surrounded, and his cell was destroyed by the people who had come. They broke him out, and left the prison with him before anyone could work out what had happened. Hammond himself had not actually known what had happened, but he most certainly had not objected when they broke apart his cell and offered him the chance to leave with them. These people were the organisation known was The Remaining, the organisation that Hammond now ran.
He was briefed, once they had gotten back to their base. The Remaining wanted to restart The War. Some of them were devout Faceless Ones followers; others were just like Hammond and merely sought destruction. They had broken Hammond out of prison for one purpose only; to lead them to victory; to restart the spark of war.
Hammond, once powerful, recently free and utterly void of magic ability, agreed to lead their organisation for one reason. He needed to get his magic back and he had absolutely no idea how to do it. If there was any chance in getting his magic back, Hammond figured it rested in his abilities to restart The War and to lead The Remaining. He wasn’t sure if it was even possible, but if it was, he was going to do it.
Hammond later discovered that the people who wanted destruction alone simply wanted to restart The War simply because it was the most destructive thing they had ever witnessed, or, in some cases, heard of. The people who were Faceless Ones followers and wanted The War to restart for the original purposes that Mevolent had intended; to bring back their dark Gods. Hammond, changed though he might during his many years in prison, had not changed his views on the Faceless Ones. He still did not trust in their existence. He did not mind, however. They could believe what they wanted. He didn’t care. Hammond would not, however, waste his time as the leader of The Remaining in seeking out ways to bring back Gods who did not exist.
Of course, back then The Remaining did not have a name. They were simply there. Simply it, just a group. Hammond had soon decided that they needed a name. A name that was defining, but not something that was so dark as to be mistaken as a cliché of sorts. The Remaining’, he had finally decided; meant to give meaning to how few of them there were now compared to how many fighters that sought destruction and dominance in the days of war and battle, of wreck and bliss. And yet also to show how powerful they still were, within their current numbers of position, now.
Hammond liked that name. Hammond liked his new leadership. Hammond liked being free. Hammond burned for revenged. Hammond still burned for global destruction. Hammond was putting his current power over The Remaining to good use. He had then, and he still was now.
The current ‘good use’ happened to take the form of Phase Two. And Phase Two was now operational and set to go. If he was lucky, then it would also be put into effect fairly soon. The operative was currently positioned in the place as planned when Hammond had originally organised Phase Two and all was going according to plan in Australia. At least it was going to plan somewhere. Apparently the reports still were not any good from England and now their progress in America, their only other major country infiltration, had been delayed as well. But Hammond had decided he was not going to bother with them for now; they were finally getting a move on here in Australia and so he was going to focus on their work here before he worried about things happening elsewhere in the world.
However, while things were improving in terms of plans, Clousdina was most certainly not become any less annoying.
“I had another dream last night,” his niece said for the third time that day.
“Did you, now?” Hammond asked in an irritable voice again, for the third time that day.
“I did,” Clousdina nodded, for the third time that day. “It was about-”
“No, please,” Hammond said in mock protest, cutting her off sharply, glaring down at his paperwork. “Let me guess, my dear niece. Was it, by any chance, about transforming donkeys that told you in Japanese that you had to buy a new bike?”
“It was actually,” Clousdina said, frowning at Hammond. “How did you know?”
And then, without waiting for an answer, Clousdina began talking about French fries, completely forgetting about Hammond and their previous conversation, looking as though she was either talking to herself or the desk.
Yes, Hammond reflected privately as he returned to the paperwork he was currently filling out on his desk, he definitely needed to kill someone soon…