[ WP ] `` You either die a villain , or you live long enough to see yourself become the hero . ''

**First post here, please be gentle. Also how do I do the divider lines. ** 
 
 I knew the world would hate me. 
 
 I made it easy enough for them to do so too - by annexing half the continent and killing an tenth of it there were few people that did n't associate my name with despair or hatred, or perhaps both. Countless thousands fell before my armies, trampled underfoot by a demonic war machine. My soldiers pillaged villages and razed cities to the ground, capturing those that did not resist and sent them into forced labor camps, where they toiled away tirelessly to construct the very same siege machines that brought down their city walls mere days earlier. Every day those that lived in the bordering lands woke up in cold sweat, glancing over at the horizons in fear of seeing the objects of their nightmares approaching, while those that lived in zones not yet familiar with the touch of my tyranny dreaded the day where they, too, would be conquered. By spear and stone my men advanced, winning battle after battle as my enemies - headed by portly grandfathers and untested youths - rose and fell with every daybreak, indistinguishable in death to the common man. 
 
 It was only when half the continent was under my grasp that my armies encountered any significant resistance. A single weathered veteran, bastard son of his king, well-versed in both war and words alike rallied the survivors, merging six countries into one alliance that stood against the encroaching evils. For the first time in a decade, my soldiers experienced defeat. Bitter, bitter defeat. 
 
 But through defeat their spirit was renewed, and through my words they thirsted for vengeance. Revenge, for the fallen brothers and sisters slain by the Alliance under the guise of nightfall, having been weakened first by poison, and later, swords. As talk of public beheadings for the soldiers captured by the Alliance spread amongst my ranks like wildfire, my nation, who had been forced backwards by a single step, advanced thrice that in their fury. 
 
 The Alliance started to fall then - by assaulting them in staggered marches spread across the entirety of the contested borders, their frontline forts were the first to crumble. The border cities followed, their mercenaries chosing between death or service, to which most chose the latter. One by one the kingdoms surrendered, with the final nation resisting my hold until their hero, the weathered veteran, drew his last on the battlefield. He was cremated alongside his comrades, and with the whole continent unified, the war ended. 
 
 With the end of the war came peace and prosperity. Resources long deemed unobtainable by my people were made available to the masses, as the streets of my cities slowly took on the look of a multi-cultured mosaic. Soldiers were welcomed home with honor and respect, and for the first time since it's founding my nation stood unbeatable. 
 
 The world had hated me for what I had done. But this world - *my world*, with my people, hailed me as a king. 
 
 A hero.
