Alliance of Heroes

Prologue - Foresight

Alliance of Heroes

"A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles."

                                                                                                                ­-Christopher Reeve

 

"When the will defies fear, when duty throws the gauntlet down to fate, when honour scorns to compromise with death - that is heroism."

                                                                                                                -Robert Green Ingersoll

"The ordinary man is involved in action, the hero acts. An immense difference."

                                                                                                                -Henry Miller

 Prologue - Foresight

Someone once told me a hero is not truly a hero unless he is willing to sacrifice everything for his people - including his life.

                Those words, those immortal, resonating words, flew through his head. The sky was red, as was the ground, stained with the blood of millions.

                The only thing the man lying on the battlefield could smell was sweat, blood, smoke and ash. A dull ringing pounded an endless rhythm in his ears, and his limbs were numb.

                He opened his eyes and slowly got to his hands and knees, surveying his surroundings carefully. Men and women of all ages were sprinting past him, brandishing blood-stained weapons and shouting incoherent phrases.

                Glancing down at his hands, he saw his reflection in the blade of the gleaming weapon his hand. A face full of despair, shadowed eyes and streams of blood. For a moment he was sure he was seeing someone else, but no, when he licked his lips the despairing face did the same, looking as though it was struggling not to be sick.

                The man pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling ahead with the people surrounding him, the surge pushing him forwards. Hands clapped him on the back, voices whispering encouragement and cheering him on.

                Not having the slightest clue who they were or why they were doing this, the man obliged to their wishes and continued forward, up a rocky ridge.

A screeching sound alerted him to several shapes flying up in the sky, monstrous wings spread wide. From this distance, they perhaps could be mistaken for birds of some kind.

Then suddenly a larger shape burst through the clouds above, a huge black mess of convoluted and bulbous shapes, appearing to be some sort of quivering organ of the most disgusting creature in existence. It shot forward, speeding out of his vision in the blink of an eye.

Finally, the man reached the top of the ridge, a hand stretched out and waiting for him, a hand that was white and delicate, yet stained black and scarlet.

He grasped it and was pulled up, where several people waited, perched on top, watching the scene below. Bodies littered the ground ahead, so much so that they would have outnumbered grass in a field. Red rivers flowed freely, sharp gleaming weapons as the stones on the shore.

Hell didn't even begin to describe it.

And in that one second, the one staring view of the scene of destruction, his brain was pierced with the knowledge he had been trying to deny, the knowledge of everything that had occurred thus far.

He felt the pain, the agonizing, drawn-out pain of the dying, the stench of the corpses and the anxiety of the many more dead yet to come. The weapon in his hand clattered onto the rocks and he fell onto his knees, his eyes wide, wanting to watch and realise how many had died.

Have you realised it yet?

The words burned themselves into his brain, thin, white, spidery letters imprinted on a black screen. The man heard people saying his name, calling out for him to get up, grabbing him and shouting, but ignored all of it. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his eyes stared blankly ahead.

One factor burned itself into his brain at that moment, something he had tried to deny, but now could not escape from. One single thing, which they had all known and hated from the very beginning.

He was responsible for all of it.