Monte Grappa
1918 AD

4,436 years since initial death
《━━━━━━━━━━ ♅ ━━━━━━━━━━》

Matteo couldn't speak.

He just stared at her, anxiously studying her appearance to recall where, or when, he had seen her before.

"You remember me, Milton." He hadn't heard that name in centuries, and that put a dent in his thoughts. "Or would you prefer if I call you Marco? Perhaps Michael? If my investigation is correct, you're Matteo now."

He was certain of only one woman from recent memory that must have been immortal. But it didn't explain how she knew his past names. 

"Valerie?" He couldn't recall any other name except for one more in the back of his mind.

She nodded in return. "You could say that, or you could say Violet."

He snapped his fingers and pointed. "Violet?! No, no. You died in Madrid. I confirmed your death, I waited for you!"

"You should have waited longer. By the time I woke up, I briefly saw you ride away on horseback. You were too far to reach, and since then, I've searched the whole world for you."

Matteo reflected on everything, but a thought came to mind. She knew his various names. Something there distracted him.

"Wait. You said you knew me as Marco and Michael." He disregarded the idea that his ancient dead wife was immortal momentarily. "Milton is obvious, and I can understand Michael from London since you're Valerie. But Marco?"

"I was there when Cesare's forces invaded your home in Venice." She lowered her head and frowned.

Matteo glared. "And you said nothing? You let my family suff-"

"A lion pounced on me." She interrupted him, silencing him in the process as he remembered. "I tried to explain everything but you and your furry kitten killed me."

He stood up and walked past her as his mind traced circles. She stayed in place and turned to face him. "I lost you for centuries, Milton. I pursued mercenary work until I met the Spaniards, and it was luck that made you my target. I thought of all the ways I could tell you, but when the contract came, you killed me and disappeared again."

Instead of acknowledging any of it, Matteo thought of his family. He recalled the double-bladed dagger he found in their home and Livia's warning regarding Kara. Valerie in London had the same weapon, and she just confirmed her presence in Italy at that time.

He patted himself down, realizing Valerie had dressed him in plain civilian clothes. His uniform must have burned in the wreckage. But on a wooden table nearby sat a pistol, a Colt M1911. 

His fingers twitched, and he reached for the pistol. To avoid a reaction, he holstered it by his waist.

As he stepped towards the door, she spoke again. "If you're thinking of returning to the war, just leave it be, Milton. You've fought enough, and we both deserve a break. Let the mortals fight it out on their own."

"Your dagger." He kept his back to her. "Where did you find it?"

She hesitated. "I made it. It was my own design back in the Americas over a thousand years ago."

That only worsened his irritation.

"Back in Venice or Florence, did you come across a young woman named Kara?"

Valerie sighed. "I knew she was your daughter. After that failed contract in Venice, I tried to look for you again but found her instead. We spoke a lot about you and we became friends. I gave her my dagger to remember me by. The one I have now is a replica I built. She was a wonderful girl, and I miss her too."

His heart beat rapidly, the pressure within his body overwhelmed him. The ringing in his ears deafened him and his eyes blinked repeatedly.

Meanwhile, Valerie opened her mouth yet again. "Milton? What's the matter? I can explain everything, we have all the time in t-"

He spun and lifted the pistol. His finger pulled the trigger without thinking it over, and she fell to the floor dead with a bullet in her head. Then he shot her again, and again. The pistol clicked empty before his breath returned. 

The ringing stopped. He stared at her and exhaled deeply. His heavy mind lightened, and he turned to leave.

However, three goats blocked the doorway. They were the same ones from London. There was no time to question their appearance. He chucked his pistol at the closest one. 

One of the goats waved its head; its horn deflected the gun aside. He tried to run, but they rammed him down instantly.

All of them trampled him, pounding their hooves against his body. This would have been an embarrassing death, if not for Set manifesting to rescue him. The lion roared mightily, and the goats leapt away. They huddled around Valerie as one of them bit the top of her jacket to drag her back.

Matteo staggered and reached a hand out for Set. The lion however shook his head and stayed put. Furious, Matteo stumbled forward, tripping over himself as he tried to grab him. Set leapt away from him. 

Without wasting any more time, Matteo cursed and ran to exit the cabin. Out in the open, the familiar presence of warfare instantly embraced him. An allied biplane flew directly overhead, heading towards the battlefield.

His rapid footsteps matched the beating of his heart. In the near distance was an Italian motorbike. It must have belonged to Valerie. But that wasn't all. A goat on the opposite end blocked his path.

He sidestepped around it, but the pesky animal locked its horns against his leg. He had to kick it away and leap for the bike. It started instantly and he sped down the valleys. The bike was suited for the terrain, despite it still being a fairly bumpy ride. It was incredible to think of how far humanity had come up to this point. Less than a hundred years ago, this method of transportation would have seemed impossible.

Soon enough, the drastic scenes of war could be seen in the horizon. The battle had finally reached its climax as explosions covered the blue sky and craters were left scattered across the fields. The Central Powers (Austro-Hungarians), had finally launched their final offensive. It was an all-out frontal assault.

The Italian defense still held strong, attempting to advance through the caves below and the fields above. Everything was at stake here if they failed to defend these mountains. If the Central Powers succeeded and took Monte Grappa, then the whole region would become theirs and the Italian army would topple once and for all.

Along the way, he found a few fallen Italian soldiers. Given that Valerie replaced his clothes, he stripped a few of the corpses to find the right size that fit him. His adrenaline didn't give him the chance to question if this was ethical. Once he reacquired his uniform, he snatched a bolt-action rifle and a loaded pistol from the bloodied grass.

He had made it just in time to witness the last wave of the battle. Italian infantry charged through the mountain range and climbed over rocks in the way or used them as cover. Cobblestone walls also proved to be useful when ducking from enemy fire. Peeking from the walls, they could fire a few shots before taking cover again, as the fight continued its heavy constant hellfire.

Matteo exited the trenches along with a handful of allies, but he stood frozen in his track. The muffled cries of goats echoed in the distance. Everywhere he looked, a goat or two stood in the fog.

He raised his gun and aimed for one of the closest goats. The bullet should have entered its skull and killed it, but the animal somehow deflected it with its horns. That should have been impossible. 

Whistles blew and stray shots sprayed all around the foggy air. Smoke bombs entered the scene and worsened his vision until it faded. 

If there was one thing about war that never changed, it was the scream of a man. Whether it be in fear or bravery, death or victory, it remained the same. But one particular scream from the fog sounded different. It was one of raw, unfiltered anger. As if one's life depended on their final breath, the smoke cleared only to reveal an Austrian soldier rush forward with his rifle's bayonet.

It pierced Matteo's torso. The soldier kept the charge until they both fell into the trench behind. The Austrian collapsed beside him, and Matteo remained still with the rifle protruding out of him.

He reached for his waist and grabbed his pistol. His head gently turned to look at the soldier who would take his life. But with his weapon aimed at the Austrian's head, he lost the will to pull the trigger. Not when he saw the face of his enemy. The soldier appeared to be no older than sixteen years old. He was merely a child.

That was the harsh reality he had to face, for even teenagers found themselves on the front lines. He heard stories of kids who would lie about their age to get recruited, knowing the army was desperate to enlist any man who can fight. The battlefield was full of young souls.

Matteo took a deep breath. His gun remained fixed on the boy. The Austrian struggled to stand with a frightened look on his face. His hands turned upwards, and they shared a moment of silence.

Although anger had clouded his judgement, Matteo felt relaxed. His hand steadied, still aiming the gun for the child's head. A part of him felt he should pull the trigger to end the kid's misery. Even if he were to escape alive, these memories would scar him. Nobody deserved to live with such trauma.

Yet the longer he stared at his enemy, the less inclined he felt to kill him. Just when the boy was able to stand, Matteo decided to speak in German. "Stay."

That got the kid's attention, and he continued. "If you run out there, you'll die. Whether we fire upon you, or your allies mistake you for an enemy in the fog, the risk isn't worth it."

Matteo dropped his pistol and looked back at the rifle stuck in his chest. He sighed and stared up at the sky just as the Austrian sat back down.

They stayed in the trench until the distant gunfire finally fell silent.

《━━━━━━━━━━ ♅ ━━━━━━━━━━》
Historical Notes:

Colt M1911

Trench warfare became a staple of WWI, with armies spending months digging trenches. These were often muddy and infested with rats, forcing hundreds soldiers to be cramped together in these maze-like structures for days at a time. Trench massacres were common when an enemy side invades, resulting in the mass slaughter of hundreds easily that could form a river of blood in the trenches.

WWI saw the usage of chemical warfare in the frontlines. Mustard and chlorine gas were the most common, causing widespread suffering and death to thousands of soldiers.

A notable but controversial fact about the war relates to a story in 1918 at the French village of Marcoing. A British soldier named Henry Tandey encountered a lone German at night walking towards the English trench. Tandey lifted his rifle, and the German finally realized his mistake. However, Tandey lowered his weapon and let the German escape unharmed, to which the German nodded with gratitude.

That German is widely believed to be Adolf Hitler, as even Hitler himself confirmed the story around twenty years later. Hitler even went as far as learning the name of the soldier who spared him (Henry Tandey) and wanted to phone him to thank him personally in 1938.

Some historians however believe the German wasn't actually Hitler, as it occurred on September 28th, during which Hitler should have been in Germany under his second military leave that also ended on the 28th. Though historians believe that Hitler did in fact face a near-death experience and was spared during the war according to his accounts, they doubt it had anything to do with Henry Tandey.

《━━━━━━━━━━ ♅ ━━━━━━━━━━》