Oxymoron, the hero chosen as the paladin of the Kingdom of Secrets, has embarked on a secret mission to an undisclosed location. All he knows is that they refer to themselves as the Unique tribe. He rallies his crew and gives a motivational speech, preaching confidence and imposingness. Oxymoron, referred to as General Moron the Proud, believes it is imperative to look big and scary to enemies. He is a man of consistency, who never wavers in times of doubt. After his speech, General Moron's crew members, all under 5 '5 feet tall, cheer and praise General Moron for his brilliance and persuasiveness. His crew of 20 men sharpened and ready their blades for battle. General Moron pumps out his chest and practices his angry gaze, adjusting the plates of metal that stick out at awkward angles.
He brushes a load of dust off his chest plate as their ship steadily approaches the shore of the island of the Unique tribe.
General Moron exclaims, “Men! Plunder them of gold, food, and shelter! And remember...” he pauses. His crew shouts with him: “THE BIGGER THE BETTER!!!”.
The anchor is released as the group departs with haste. General Moron leads the pack and comes upon a forest with lush trees. He breaks through them and comes out on the other side. He is confused to find the barren wasteland. Meters in front of him stand a couple dozen small huts protruding from the sand. The group confidently enters the village to find very few people. A muscular man walks around them, adorned in big golden armor with a long velvet cape, studded with diamonds and jewels. He has handsome features and silky smooth red hair. Behind him, a parade of guards follow in his wake, equally fitted in shining silver-plated armor, with crimson feathers poking from the crest of their masks.
“Men! Do not be alarmed! We shall take what is theirs and make it ours in due time!” General Moron says, instinctively pumping out his chest. He turns to his men and is shocked to see the enamored faces of his comrades. “ Look at their armor!” one says. “And his cape!” adds another. “His face could render any army powerless!” a man says, astounded. “ My eyes! He shines so brightly!” a person says, shielding their eyes. “Can I try on their armor?” one guy ponders.
Oxymoron stands eerily still, mouth hung agape. He is rendered speechless. The once loyal men have turned over a new, uncharacteristic leaf.
“That guy is much more handsome than Moron!” someone says pointedly. "I thought Moron was rich, but he looks poor now,” and “I like their armor more than mine!”. The old leader only wished it would all end and go back to how it used to be; the following line was the straw that broke the camel's back. A voice emerged from the crowd and said, “I want to join them”.
For a brief moment, there was a silence that rang in the Oxymoron's ears. The words split his conscience like a hot knife, disintegrating his proud facade. He thought he could see it drifting away in the soft wind. His men slowly but surely make their way around his motionless body. He refuses to look at them any longer and violently shuts his eyes. He clamps his shaky hands over his ears to avoid hearing their continued words of admiration and fascination towards the shiny soldiers. He reflects on the joyful memories and hearty meals shared between him and his men. How many times he saved them from imminent peril and escaped by the skin of their teeth? How they mourned, cried, and screamed at the death of their comrades. How it all disappeared within the blink of an eye. Oxymoron lay in the sand, bawled up, crying his eyes out over the loss of his crew, pride, and reason for life.