Greetings.

I wrote this story a few months ago in a Nietzschean fever dream. I was reading On the Genealogy of Morality at the time and suddenly all this unfolded in my mind's eye. I hope you enjoy it.

Spring was coming, the birds were chirping incessantly, and the onset of the beautiful season lifted the hearts of the young schoolgirls. Nike, alone in her room, had just got up, washed her pretty face, threw on her white robe and went down on her knees to put on her sandals. She was a young girl of just over twenty. With her blue eyes and blonde hair, she stood out from her Mediterranean classmates. As she was fastening the last straps with a small silver buckle on her ankle, she was overcome with the thought that today she would be sitting in class with Sappho again. Sappho, that beautiful girl... the thought of her made the butterflies in her stomach dance.

The school was located on a small Greek island, where girls of wealthy families were taught fine arts, philosophy, religion, and manners by experienced ladies. The college was set up in an old, ruined fortress on a small hill. Further down was the village and harbour, inhabited by the peaceful islanders. The landscape was beautiful, the weather almost always sunny, the Aegean pleasantly warm.

The only man present was Hiereus, an old priest who oversaw religious education. Thus, all the virgins were among themselves, and it occurred again and again that the girls began to desire each other for lack of alternatives.

Today's lessons were led by Hiereus and had morals and religion as their theme. The lessons were usually held in the open air. In a kind of small amphitheatre, the girls sat close together on the lowest ranks. The teacher sat opposite them and taught through lecture or dialogue. The girls listened to his wise words and noted down the most important points on small wax tablets.

Hiereus spoke: "My dear ones, all people, all children of the earth, are the sheep of the gods. And all those who obey their laws will receive their love and grace. And if not in this life, then in the next. The gods love the weak, the gentle, the tender, for they are the truly good. They will be granted the kingdom of heaven. And should the strong strike at your heads, endure it with equanimity, for in the next life it will be they who will be punished. Oh, I tell you, my sheep, weakness is the true merit. Do not seek retribution, for retribution is for the gods alone. And remember if you doubt the divine providence: you beat the dogs you like best. Bow before the gods in humility, therein lies your salvation! The birds of prey are evil, so he is best who is least bird of prey."

Nike paid no attention to the old man's speeches. She sat one row to the left above Sappho, who seemed to be listening to Hiereu's lecture. She scanned with her gaze everything of Sappho that was not hidden under her light blue dress. Her black hair, her beautiful sun-tanned face, her uncovered arms and hands, her feet in her leather sandals that protruded from under her dress. It was so wonderful to be enchanted by her beauty, but at the same time so unbearable that she didn't dare to speak to her.

Nike was jolted out of her daydreams when Hiereus announced that it was now lunch time. Some girls sat down and talked, others ate, and still others went to their rooms. Nike did the latter, went to her room, washed her face with cool water and looked at herself in the mirror.

There was a knock at the door. Nike opened it and was startled. In front of her stood Sappho.

Her eyes... The treasures they promised.

"May I come in?" she asked kindly.

"Uh... uh... yes, well... of course..." stuttered Nike.

She let the girl in, closed the door again, and turned to face her. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart racing wildly. But before Nike could say anything, Sappho stepped up to her and kissed her right on the mouth. It was overwhelming. She had never felt anything like it before. They fell onto the bed and showered each other with kisses.

What neither of the two lovers knew was that at that moment a ship was approaching the harbour. On board was Arius, the king's son, with forty of the best of his polis. It was the finest selection of aristocratic warriorship. All on board were blond, with blue or green eyes, muscular, slim, tall, and from noble families. Arius would have trusted his life to any of his comrades, without hesitation, and they felt the same toward him. The men had donned their armour, each with his weapons and his specially painted shield at the ready. They had come to prey. Arius put on his helmet with red plume and had his eyes on the coast. The ship was heading straight for the harbour.

The villagers, unaware of the foreign sail, gazed at the ship. As it approached, they recognized the shining armour and weapons of the men on board. Quickly panic broke out and everything set out to flee. But it was too late. In the next moment the warriors had landed. Immediately, one half of the men set about slaughtering everyone in their path. They ravished every woman they could get their hands on, gathered up all the valuables and burned the houses. Some of them started to run after the fleeing who were running into the woods and massacred everyone they could get their hands on. No one had expected them and yet they had appeared, as the personification of fate. They came like lightning, too terrible, too sudden.

The other group, led by Arius, charged up the mountain toward the ancient fortress. It was surprising how nimbly they took the heights in their heavy armour. It was almost like a race. Each wanted to be the first to drive his spear into the flesh of the enemy.

The screams and columns of smoke from the village did not pass unnoticed by the women in the boarding school. Nike and Sappho also wondered about the distant noise, looked out of the window and were terrified when they recognized the crowd of rabid blond beasts heading straight for them. The path they took was the only one to the fortress. Everywhere else, deep, steep slopes led down. Anyone who dropped down there would plunge into the Aegean Sea and to their death.

At that moment their door was pushed open. One of the teachers quickly shouted to them, "Lock the door, hide!" and closed the door again. Sappho and Nike did as she said and locked the door.

Meanwhile, the warriors had arrived at the fortress. The ridiculous portal posed no obstacle, was broken through, and the first to rush through the gateway into the large entrance hall was Elias. A frightened girl, not knowing what happened to her, was immediately speared by him and fell dead to the ground. The rest of the men poured in. Arius quickly realized that no resistance was to be expected here. Except for the girl, the entrance hall was empty. So he could let his warriors go out to plunder without worry.

Cries of victory pervaded the troop of wild young men who immediately swarmed into all the premises and very soon found out the true purpose of this place. They wreaked an orgy of unequalled cruelty. Hidden girls were found in every place, their clothes were torn from their bodies and they were impaled by the lances of the warriors. In the eyes of the blond beasts glowed the lust of Eros, the bloodthirst of Ares and Dionysian intoxication.

So without further consideration, let's admit to ourselves how up to this point every higher culture on earth has started!

Cleitus began to play a cheerful music on the aulos, while the men tried to outdo each other in their cruelties.

Leon dragged Daphne, the beautiful daughter of a merchant, from behind a curtain, tore off her clothes, threw her to the ground and inserted his shaft between her legs. After discharging himself inside her, he drew his sword and decapitated the girl kneeling in front of him with a quick wave of his hand. Daphne's head fell from her young neck while her beheaded body collapsed.

People with a still natural nature, barbarians in every dreadful sense of the word, predatory men still in possession of an unbroken power of the will and a desire for power,...

Andreas chased the pretty Sofia, who wore only her bracelets on her hands and sandals on her feet, laughing through the corridors. She fled to the terrace where the class had been held earlier. There he got hold of her, threw her onto the stone steps, and began to fuck her. After having had his fun with the girl, he called his friend Aristidis over. The one grabbed the unfortunate by the hands, the other by the feet, and so they carried her towards the parapet. She knew what was in store for her, kicked and screamed, but she could not defend herself. They stopped at the parapet, grinning at each other, and Aristidis called out to the friend, "On three!"

"No!" the girl screamed in terror, but the men knew no mercy. They rocked her once, twice, and finally, the third time, their strong hands released her slender wrists and ankles. Sofia was thrown far over the parapet and fell screaming and wriggling to her death.

The two did not even look after her. They just laughed at their misdeed as if they had pulled off a harmless student trick.

…threw themselves on weaker, more civilized, more peaceful, perhaps trading or cattle-raising races, or on old, worn cultures, in which at that very moment the final forces of life were flaring up in a dazzling fireworks display of spirit and corruption.

Kleanthis had captured the twenty-two-year-old Diana, put a noose around her neck, tied her hands behind her back, and blindfolded her. He threw the rope over one of the high roof beams in the entrance hall and began pulling Diana up. Three of his friends cheered him on. His muscles tensed wonderfully as he kept pulling on the gallows rope. Diana felt the rope wrap tightly around her neck. Her feet left the ground and immediately she began to kick. She couldn't see. She couldn't scream. She couldn't breathe. Only the cheering of the men in her ears. She tried to find the ground, any foothold, but there was nothing. Diana realized she was running out of time.  She had to find the ground, somewhere. The girl yanked at the bonds, but the knots were too tight. In her agony, she gritted her teeth, kicking like a madwoman, just to somehow breathe again.

Slowly her wriggling died away. Finally, she hung motionless. Kleanthis tied the rope tight and enjoyed his muscles, which were nicely pumped up after the strain. The men laughed and immediately set off for a new game. The hanged girl dangled lifelessly from the roof beam.

At the start the noble caste has always been the barbarian caste:

Hiereus crawled on all fours through the carnage, stretching up his hands and shouting, "O gods, crush these fiends! I have served you so long, now descend and save me!"

The only thing that descended on him from above was the sword of Lysander, which split his skull. He had not seen it coming.

its superiority has lain not primarily in physical might but in spiritual power - it has been a matter of more complete human beings (which at every level also means "more complete beasts").

Arius stood in the midst of all this, rejoicing from the depths of his soul at the fun his comrades were having. The sight of these young, delighted monsters plummeting back to the innocence of predators before his eyes was a real pleasure. It was his friend Hector who roused him from his reverie.

"Come on, old friend, we'll find some too!"

So the two of them set out to look for diversion themselves. They found a door and were about to step through it. It was locked. From the inside. The two grinned at each other and kicked the door in without further ado. They walked straight into Nike's room and found the two girls, arm in arm, cowering in the corner. Deadly fear overcame the two lovers as the large men in weapons and armour strode toward them. Arius took off his helmet. It revealed a striking young face with green eyes and short blond hair. Leaning his spear and shield against the wall, he moved toward them, gently took Nike's chin in his hand and looked into her sky-blue eyes.

The girl felt his fingers on her chin. A shiver ran through her. It gave her goose bumps. From the touch she felt pure strength, pure masculinity, the pure will to power.

Why was this happening to her? Just this morning she had finally been able to unite with the girl she loved so much, finally she had kissed her, their hearts had beaten together and now they were kneeling before these bloodthirsty heroes who could kill them just like that. It would be as easy for them as blowing out a candle.

Arius enjoyed holding this little life in his hand. To know that her young heart was beating only because he allowed it.

Then he said to Hector, "I like this blonde girl. I think Tiziana will be pleased with her too. I will give this one to her. Do what you want with the other one."

Hector, who by now had also shed his helmet and revealed his chiselled face, grabbed Sappho, tore off her robe, and threw her on the bed. She begged for mercy. Nike watched in shock as Arius tied her hands behind her back with a rope and placed a leather collar, which he carried for that purpose, around her neck. Attached to the collar was a leash.

Hector impaled Sappho with his phallus. She screamed in pain at her sudden defloration. Tears streamed down her face. Arius, meanwhile, picked up his weapons again, grabbed the leash, and led Nike out of the room. He had complete control over her. With her hands tied behind her back, the gril had to be careful not to trip. She looked back at Sappho one last time, tears in her eyes. Their gazes met. She, lying on her stomach in bed, the blond warrior on top of her, all his muscles tensed, deeply penetrating her. His sword flashed and before Nike understood what had happened, Hector had slit Sappho's throat. An unending stream of blood poured from her neck across the white sheets. Nike's face was the last thing she saw in this world.

The men finally moved down from the mountain to their comrades in the village. They carried with them all the valuables they had been able to find. Among them were the lavish purses and expensive robes of the well-heeled girls. Besides Nike, a handful of other prisoners were taken from the boarding school. All the others were dead, had met a terrible end. Why it was just them who were still alive, while all the others had lost their lives, the young women did not know. It was a quirk of fate. And neither did they know whether their friends were better off in the afterlife than they were.

Leisurely the warrior troop moved down, satiated, satisfied, proud. The birds chirped sweetly from the trees, as if celebrating the triumphant procession and mocking the condemned girls. The sun laughed down contentedly on the wild boys.

In the village, parts of which had already been burned down, the comrades met. Victory cries went through their ranks and they told each other about their deeds while they loaded the booty onto the ship. They had no casualties, not even wounded, and had made a fat haul. They stowed the slave girls with the booty in the hold. Then they cast off and headed out into the open sea.

The men were in no hurry. They were drunk with victory and satisfied, their souls in absolute equilibrium. Their hearts beat less and less wildly, their pulses calmed. Their muscles still burned pleasantly from the exertion before. They saw themselves and realized: it is we, the good, the noble, the powerful, the beautiful, the happy, the darlings of the gods. And in this view, they only saw themselves strengthened when they looked at the miserable victims of their weapons. The weak, the helpless, whom they had killed, abused, expelled and carried off. They needed no book, no holy scripture to tell them that they were the good ones. Each one of them felt like a lion, contented and satisfied, slumbering the sleep of the righteous beside a killed antelope.

Now the noble warriors were looking forward to their beloved wives and children, whom they would shower with gifts, their relatives and friends, to whom they would tell about their deeds. They longed for the fields and mountains, rivers and forests that were home to them.