Charlestown

4,293 years since initial death
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"Fire!"

The order came through, and the Americans obeyed.

British soldiers began to fall, taking heavy casualties as they continued to march. Despite the front line being completely wiped out, the rest of them continued, barely flinching and keeping their rifles by their sides. They feared nothing as they witnessed their own men die in front of them, only to continue the current march over the hill.

Michael was able to pull his rifle's trigger. A slight hesitation got the better of him for a second, but he knew his mission. Every life he takes will only save another man's life in return. He could watch as the British soldier he shot had fallen to the grass. He couldn't help but feel sympathetic and horrible for his own actions.

Once the British appeared closer, they finally aimed their weapons back at the colonials and opened fire. But it was to no avail, the colonials had cover to hide behind, while the British were left in open fields of grass. Their battalions melted and suffered tremendously before they were finally ordered to retreat.

Luckily, the colonials received aid from snipers perched atop of rooftops in Charlestown, overlooking the battle. While their positions were soon compromised and naval fleets opened cannon fire, they remained stationary and continued to provide supporting fire for the troops on the ground.

The British deployed their artillery, taking aim and opening fire. However, what resulted next was a catastrophe on their end as a few of their artillery burst into flames and were destroyed. A few regulars were wounded but no casualties were suffered. Upon investigation, the artillery had been accidentally supplied with the wrong type of ammunition.

Their other attack was delayed, forcing them back to regroup. Eventually, they were ready to send more companies back up the hills. Just as the previous attempt, each company of troops was destroyed by gunfire and only a few soldiers remained standing as they had to navigate the field over the bodies of the previously fallen men.

Sir Robert Pigot, an army officer for the British Empire stood by, watching his men fall before even reaching the hilltops. As he watched, one of the soldiers ran to him, giving him news of the attack. "Sir! Most of our grenadiers and light-infantry, the moment of presenting themselves lost three-fourths, and many nine-tenths of their men. Some had only eight or nine men a company left."

Pigot sighed, he could clearly see their plan was failing. Already, they had suffered hundreds of deaths while the colonials barely encountered any casualties. "Regroup once more! We cannot afford any more embarrassment. Rise once again towards the hill in our third and final attack, send them the full might of our king's Empire! They cannot possibly stand any longer."

The retreat was called and each company returned. Before another attack could occur, the Continental Army began to have problems of their own. Despite suffering few casualties compared to the British, many of the colonials attempted to retreat from the battle.

John Chester, the Connecticut Captain, noticed this betrayal and act of cowardice. He turned towards his own troops before signaling them to raise their muskets. "Fire onto the deserters' surroundings! Kill them not, rather aim for their fear so they may return and face the enemy. Take aim, open fire!"

Gunshots echoed throughout the hill, catching the attention of every other battalion station across the hill. The deserters were stopped in their tracks, witnessing pellets striking the ground beneath their feet. None of them were shot and killed, but they all agreed to turn back. No matter how fearsome the Empire was, they couldn't turn their backs against their own people.

Warren and the other commanders prepared for the third attack, but their ammunition was terribly low. "We're lacking gunpowder here, does anyone have any spare ammunition?" Warren was left unanswered, as every colonial turned to a state of panic.

Suddenly, a new British ship emerged from the horizon. It sailed from Boston carrying hundreds of reinforcements. This was enough to kill any hope the colonials had of surviving another attack.

Without warning, the third and final attack had begun. It was far worse than the patriots could have imagined. Instead of a few companies at a time, it seemed the entire British effort began marching. Their cannons were loaded and hauled forth with the dozens of battalions, correctly supplied with the right ammunition this time. Even the officers of the Empire rode atop their horses and wielded their swords, signaling their final ascent.

Among them was the British lieutenant, Lord Rawdon, taking the opportunity to advance forwards. Every single colonial clenched their muskets and watched in utter horror, this was single handedly the largest frontal assault in the war. Michael took a deep breath, he had to remember his former adviser's words to remain fearless. But just looking at the forces ahead, he felt his stomach drop.

Each company now had far more soldiers joining in on the fight. Instead of a mere hundred or two, it was nearly two thousand marching from every available side, with far more soldiers marching in each company. Additional naval warships arrived from southern Charlestown. With dozens of cannons aboard and snipers positioned on each ship, it was impossible for the colonials to stop this attack.

With the colonials frightened, they aimed their rifles and waited. Every single company approached them at once, appearing on their left, center and right. There were far too many of them. Once again, the patriots opened fire. But it was to no avail, they were out of ammo. Instead of melting through the companies like butter, only a few handful of regulars fell. The rest however took aim with their rifles and returned the counterattack.

It was devastating. Even behind cover, the colonials were brutally assaulted. They were severely outnumbered now, worse than the start of the battle. The death toll was rising significantly on their side. With far too many British regulars opening fire, none of the colonials could even poke their heads out for a second. This allowed the British to continue their march over the hill.

Sure enough, they were able to reach the top with minimal resistance. The battle turned into close-quarter combat. None of the colonials were given a chance to prepare for this, most of them had already been shot and killed before the real struggle could begin inside their fort atop the hill.

"We can't stay here, our forces have been wiped!" One of the colonials screamed, there was mass panic among them all.

Warren readied his last round in his musket, spitting towards the ground. "These fellows say we won't fight!" He looked around him, noticing just how terrified his own men had become.

"By Heaven, I hope I shall die up to my knees in blood!" His final shot was fired. Nobody could deny his bravery.

Michael and a few others had resorted to supplying their rifles with nails, anything they could lay their hands on. While it seemed to work, they didn't have enough supplies and time. The British were finally here, and most of the gunfire now was targeted towards the colonials.

The British carried bayonets on their rifles, allowing them to use their guns as spears. The whole bunker was invaded, covered in smoke. Many of the colonists had started falling back and retreating from the battle entirely. The rest that stayed were butchered and killed by the overwhelming force of the British.

Cannon fire rained down upon the retreating men, with naval fleets joining in on the bombardment as well. Some colonists were struck by cannonballs during their retreat, combusting in the process. Michael had already gotten stabbed lightly, but was still in the spirit to fight until his last breath. Aided by Warren, the two held their ground and fought back the British as best they could, but not even they stood much of a chance.

The naval fleet continued its bombardment. Michael could recognize one of the British ships that rained hellfire over them. It was named Somerset, the very place he had defended with his life over a thousand years ago. To be attacked by a ship that carried its name was heartbreaking and quite frustrating.

"Damn that false ship!" Michael yelled as he tried to push the British back. "Arthur died not for this betrayal!"

The situation had started to worsen. More British soldiers swarmed the hill and invaded the bunker. Men screamed as explosions and gunfire deafened them. Dirt and other forms of debris blinded the rest. Despite their best attempts at holding their ground, it became too much for any of them to handle. As Michael was pushed back against the edge of the bunker, he watched as Warren became outnumbered.

That was until the British lieutenant, Lord Rawdon appeared up top. He aimed his rifle towards Warren. With no ammunition left, Michael could do nothing to stop him. 

One bullet to the head instantly killed Joseph Warren as he fell backwards to the ground below. Michael screamed his name at the top of his lungs. There was nothing he could do to save him, it was far too late. He could only watch as his closest ally collapsed on his back and lost consciousness permanently, never to reawaken.

That did it.

Michael's wrath had been yearning to escape his internal confinement for so long. Watching his one and only ally crumble to the mud and dirt with a soulless thud was enough to break him yet again.

He stared at Warren, ever so slightly lowering his jaw. During those first few seconds, it was shock that got to him. But the longer he looks, the worse it becomes. His eyebrows sharply lower and his teeth grit against each other. He can no longer resist the cry of nature.

With a darkened expression and fists clenched harder than before, he unleashed his war cry. His wrath didn't control him, rather it now aided him. Picking up his musket, he continued to shout as he charged the British.

Some would call him brave, others would say he was a fool. But Michael was neither; he was mad. His ungodly rage knew no bounds whatsoever as the boiling wrath inside him was unleashed. Despite being outmatched and outgunned, he would offer a resistance unlike anything this Empire has ever seen before.

His bayonet speared a soldier in the guts as he pulled it back. Using the blunt end of his musket, each British man that approached him was met with an overwhelmingly powerful strike to the head. When it seemed his weapon couldn't handle anymore blunt force, he stabbed another soldier's neck and let go of it.

Grabbing a dagger that he kept close, he continued his assault. A few of the soldiers tried to penetrate him with their bayonets, but his speed was unmatched. He often stepped to the side and grabbed their rifles, only to deliver a devastating killing blow to their sides or heads.

There was an uproar of gunfire, all of which had missed him in close-quarters. His movements were quick and unpredictable as he grabbed another fallen musket and fired back, executing one man in the head.

He noticed some of the British troops had started aiming right at him again. In a quick motion, he grabbed the nearest soldier and held him in front. In a moment, every shot was fired. The soldier used as a human shield performed his job well as Michael remained unharmed.

The ground was littered with corpses. It was impossible to step on solid grass by this point. "Kill the bloody savage already!" One of the soldiers yelled. Michael had lost no stamina, he was nothing but a bloodthirsty beast. His own anger blinded him, but it also kept him alive. The adrenaline pumping into him, his heart beating faster than ever before.

However, despite his incredible feats during the fight, he was still just a man. He was no god. Therefore, one shot from the side finally struck him down. He felt the excruciating pain as he fell to his knees. Despite how many times he's become accustomed to this agony, he couldn't help but scream. But he wasn't dead just yet. As he tried to stand back, a second shot flew directly through his torso. Then a third near his neck.

Dropping his dagger, he accepted his fate as he felt his mind return back to normal. While he fought well, the battle still remained lost. Although he was still somehow alive, it wouldn't last long as he was met with a bayonet to his chest. The killing blow was delivered, and he finally died as his eyes closed. Some of the British had confirmed his death, continuing to stab his body as payback for the slaughter.

Despite their powerful defense, the colonials had lost the battle. Before the end of the day, the British took control over the entire peninsula, driving out the final colonists from Charlestown. The British had suffered the most casualties, losing over a third of their entire arsenal, but they still overcame and turned the fight around.

The war continued for several more years afterwards, but only a year after the battle of Bunker Hill, the Declaration of Independence was formed and signed. Soon after, the United Colonies were renamed into the United States of America, and as their first elected president, George Washington was inaugurated and brought into office.

Michael continued to aid them and stayed until the very end in 1783, the year that the Revolutionary War finally came to an end in favor of the colonists. The British had lost the war and were forced to withdraw their entire fleet back to England. America had gained its independence, liberty, justice and freedom away from British rule.

Now, Michael's time in America is temporarily over. Although he wanted to stay considering the nation was finally free from warfare for some time, he couldn't. His mission was to secure independence for the United Colonies, and he had accomplished it with everything he had. Therefore, his work here was finished. However, before leaving, he swore to return here one day in the future. He would return to the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

Traveling back to Europe, he avoided England for some time for obvious reasons. Instead, he wandered across Europe in hopes of finding new adventures. For the first time, in a long time at least, he felt proud to be alive. Despite his numerous attempts at ending his fateful curse in the past, he felt happy that he lasted this long. Granted, he still wanted his immortality to end eventually, but for once he actually managed to enjoy his life.

It was the prime moment of his everlasting life.

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Historical Notes:

Major General John Stark led the colonials' retreat from Bunker Hill. Despite the retreat signaling a defeat, it was covered with bravery and military skill, as described by the British General, John Burgoyne.

The British lost over a thousand men in this battle alone, marking it the greatest loss the British would ever suffer in the entire war. A few more battles such as Bunker Hill would have been enough to topple all British control in America.

The majority of colonial deaths occurred during their retreat. The highest ranking colonial officer to have died during the retreat was Major Andrew McClary, after a cannonball had struck him dead-on.

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