Tedere: Untold

[milku3459]

He couldn't explain it. He couldn't rationalise his way around it. But somehow, a scrappy master-sergeant had managed to claw his way back from the edge of defeat, and now, it was he, Tedere12, struggling to balance on the knife-edge between victory and ignominious loss. Cold beads of sweat rolled off his chin and onto his keyboard as he leaned in, inches away from his monitor in concentration. Slowly, his units melted away in the decisive engagement, the match point he had hoped would avert a humiliating rout. Nothing was left now for him but the mortification of capitulation. He closed his eyes, clicked the resign button and winced as the music of defeat mocked him through the headphones.

Tedere slumped backwards in his chair, like his spine had suddenly been wrenched out. How had this debacle come to pass? It was supposed to be a foregone conclusion, a free win, the experienced captain fighting a green master sergeant, yet, here he was, staring at the stark white words on his screen "You Abandoned Your Colony". He spun his chair round to gaze at the framed picture on a small table, surrounded by candles and fruit. The grinning face of His Grace, Lord Mankle, stared back at him in the soft glow of the candles.

Suddenly, something snapped within Tedere. Why had His Grace allowed such a thing to happen to a loyal servant? He had made the necessary libations at the shrine, he only watched games where His Grace was victorious, he took care never to malign his name. Yet here he was, punch-drunk, reeling from the knockout blow of a player he'd never heard of while Lord Mankle mocked him with his frozen grin. He had allowed this to happen. Tedere rushed over to the little table and swept everything onto the floor with a blow of his hand, snatching the framed picture and smashing it through with his fist before hurling it on the ground, stamping on it with a foot in his rage.

Like a spring storm, his berserk ended as suddenly as it had started. The crumpled, distorted face of His Grace leered at him now through the broken glass, the frame on fire from the upended candles, no longer mocking, but malignant and baleful. Tedere gasped and staggered backwards into his chair, his mind frantically attempting to grasp what he had done in his fit. What consequences would ensue from this violence upon His Grace's image? He spun his chair around to face the computer screen again, trying to stuff away his panic into the corners of his mind, if only for the moment. Just then, a message came through from his victorious opponent. "GG", it said laconically. Tedere stared at this message for a few moments, striving to weigh the consequences of the plan that was taking shape in his mind, one that made every single warning bell and whistle in his head go off in shrill alarm.

Tedere sprang up from his seat and rushed to the stairs, hoping that a moment of decisive action would distract him from the repercussions that could ensue. For as long as he could remember, his parents and grandparents had prayed to His Grace for victory. Now he would break with that tradition. Running up the dark attic stairs, his heart pounding within him, scaring himself with the depth of his rebellious thoughts, he scrabbled for the attic door at the top of the stairs, throwing it open and half leaping, half falling into the darkness within. Crawling on the floor like a wild beast, he scrambled toward a black chest, grasping at its lid with his cold, clammy hands like some desperate spider and throwing it open, rifling through it's contents until he found what he wanted--a thin, rectangular object, wrapped in black cloth. He rushed back downstairs to his game room, kicking the still-smoldering remnants of the image of His Grace into the corner and carefully unwrapping the new picture frame and placing it on the floor, arranging the scattered flowers and bruised fruit around it with trembling hands. As he gazed into his new master's eyes and felt his dark power, Tedere felt his nervousness and panic disappear, replaced by a newfound sense of pride and confidence. With every candle he reset and relit, he could feel his fingers strengthening, quickening in speed and swiftness, as he bowed low, new strategies and micro-abilities coursing through his brain. He rose with an confident smile. It was time to put his time of defeat and humiliation behind, those days were over. He couldn't wait for the next chance to face an opponent in battle, to coldly and systematically crush and subdue his spirit into the dust. As he walked back to his computer, he contemplated the true ramifications of his new allegiance. First, he served Mankle. Now he would praise his new Dark Lord Caria. An evil grin spread across his face as he typed a laconic message into the chat.

GG.

Garja is Great.

[KINGofOsmane]

long live the G

[gibson]

people who think its actually tedere

[deleted_user]

Tedere

[Aykin Haraka]

the new T

[BrookG]

May the Garja be with us. Long live the will of G.

[Laurence Drake]

great writing, subbed +1