"We've gotta help them," The woman says, her eyes welling with tears. "We can't leave them. You gotta do it."

"We'll go with you," you say.

"I'm sorry. I cannot allow you to interfere in the tournament. You three will have to find another way."

"But—but—but—"

"Now," The Red Knight says, putting her hand on her sword.

They turn to leave.

"Just don't forget about us!" Lady Tinsel Mango Lemonsauce says.

They are nothing more than tools. Nothing more than weapons. Just weapons. Nothing more.

They do not care.

The tournament begins.

There are ten contestants.

Ten humans.

Ten gods.

One will emerge the victor.

The judges look over the contestants one by one.

They're all very strong.

But you are not interested.

Not really.

There’s no need to be.

They have no soul.

Not like you and me.

And so you continue on and leave them to their battle.

Your sword is ready.

Your shield is ready.

Your bow is ready.

And it's time to hunt.

You jump on the horse and quickly ride out of the town.

A tear falls from the woman's eye, and lands with a squelch on the dirt below.

"So be it," she says.

"What do we do?" the other two ask.

So why does their master keep trying to force them to care for things? Why does he try so hard to make sure they know what it means to be alive?

The ghost is angry at him.

The ghost won't let him forget what happened.

He knows that the Emperor's plan will fail.

He sees that the Emperor doesn't see it.

And he knows the Emperor is doomed.

They were happy with their job.

When they were young.

Happy.

They had a purpose.

They fulfilled it perfectly, and then his master turned them into something new. And now? They were but tool meant to take life.

To kill.

To maim.

This world is not their home.

They only pretend to be here in an attempt to fulfill their purpose.

Which is?

To kill.

To maim.

To destroy.

To fight.

To kill.

The ghost is quiet for a moment, as if thinking.

It's quiet, now.

They did not like this.

They wanted to be heroes.

They still do.

So be it.

They do not care.

The woman wipes the tear from her eye.

"What now?"

Now, they were angry! They did not agree with this!

No! They would not be made into tools of this man's evil! Not so he could put them to more killing! They would not give him their all for a meaningless cause! They would not give him their souls!

They were angry!

And they were going to war!

You ride through the forest.

The trees hide the sky.

The wind blows through the branches.

The leaves litter the dirt.

You find yourself in the middle of the woods.

You're surrounded by blood-thirsty demons.

And you know the truth.

There is no way out.

This is the end.

You're too weak.

You're a tool.

You're not a hero.

You were never meant to save the world.

You know that these creatures are not meant to be killed.

But what choice did they have?

For they were meer ghosts.

They would not last long if they refused.

They would be hungry.

They would be cold.

They would need to go to the toilet.

Ghosts, with no will of their own.

They would be hunted.

They would be killed.

The trees are bare.

The sky is black.

There is no sun.

There is only the Emperor's will.

You stare at the trio, aghast.

They're nothing.

Just a tool.

No more.

Just tools.

Tools to kill.

And yet, the Ghost has done nothing wrong.

You feel sorry for it.

The Ghost has done nothing wrong.

Not like you.

You look at them.

They stare at you with empty eyes.

They do not see you as a tool.

You stare back.

You will not be used.

A glint in the eye of one of the three tells you all you need to know. When his master asks them to kill, they always obey.

Always.

Yes.

Always.

Every time.

Wither they want to or not.

They did not choose to.

They were made to.

When the Emperor found the truth,

everything changed.

He destroyed the old order of things.

He took the secrets of the gods.

Just a bunch of ghosts.

He made them into tools.

Weapons for his war.

You look at the three.

They're just tools.

Just like you.

You could become one of them.

You look at them.

They look at you.

It's not their fault!

You can't blame them!

They don't know any better!

You have to teach them!

You have to save them!

Ghosts aren't meant to be tools.

Even if it means turning away from something beautiful, something amazing, or something that makes their hearts flutter.

No.

You can't give in. You have a duty to yourself and those around you (Not the same at all).

You're not going to give in.

It's up to you.

Who will you serve?

"The masters have spoken."

The voice is cold.

Distant.

Unfamiliar.

"It is time."

"Yes."

"Time to serve."

"Time to see what kind of power we possess."

These words give you pause.

They look over at the man now, standing next to the woman. He wears a black hoodie and jeans, just like you and you. His hands are shoved in his pockets, but he keeps looking around anxiously.

Because he looks like you.

You stand there, staring at him with a look in your eyes that he will never understand.

He turns away from you.

"See you soon."

You'd recognize that face anywhere.

That scarred face.

This is the man who can start a war.

Or end one.

Do you want to be on the winning side?

Almost, because he doesn’t. You’re not here anymore. But…he still resembles you. A little. Does that mean he'll listen to you? Is that why you're here? To save the world from yourself? If so, you're barking up the wrong tree.

No, you are on the winning side.

Your mind travels back in time.

Oh what a tangled web we weave.

When first we practise to deceive.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

You look back at the other ghost. He has greyish blue skin, almost like yours but paler. Long hair is pulled into a pony tail and it falls down past his shoulders. There are small scars on his face, probably from the times he got into fights. He looks dangerous.

"You there! Stop right there!"

You turn back around to see that the other ghost is now next to you. The woman's voice sounds again.

"I'm not going to kill you," you say to him. "You did nothing wrong. I'm only after the lasagne stealing demons who are trying to bar my people from getting to The Staircase Hotel."

"That's not how it is!" he says to you. "The Empire is using us as pawns to get to the stairs. We aren't the ones who are trying to kill the gods!"

You look back at the ghost that resembles you.

But he doesn't see you.

He's looking off to the side, like he's waiting for something.

He is wearing red.

He looks very familiar. Familiar like a human I've seen before, or familiar like a demon?

He looks like a demon.

"I know you," you say to him.

"I know you do," he says.

You look around, trying to find who this man is. He's not here. You look back at the ghosts, and try to remember where you've seen him. Nothing comes to mind.

You turn to look at the woman again. She stands there, watching her companion. Her eyes are sharp and cold, staring straight ahead. The man glances at the ground and tries not to appear nervous.

"Who are you?" you ask. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here to help you," he says.

"Why?" you ask.

The world is in trouble.

And it's your fault.

Because if you weren't trying to find who this man is, then you would've noticed the glint of the blade coming straight for your throat.

"I guess I'll just have to remember you," you say, drawing your sword. "Take this."

The man jumps back with a yelp.

"What are you?" you ask.

She is also a ghost, you realize. Unlike the others, she isn’t wearing any armour or weapons. She is wearing a skirt, which falls down to mid thigh, and boots covered by a long-sleeved shirt. It’s a plain white shirt, tucked into some dark jeans. There are also rings on both of her fingers.

"I'm not the one you should be fighting," she says.

You turn around to face her.

"I'm not trying to kill the gods, I'm trying to kill the Emperor."

The woman you're supposed to save.

The woman whose photograph you've had printed in every newspaper and on every TV news channel in the country.

But, she's dead. She's a ghost. You are too late to save her.

The glint of the blade comes again.

"No!" you yell, blocking the attack.

The blade bites deep into your flesh, but you manage to pull it out before the damage is done.

You try to dodge, but it's too late. The pain explodes in your mind and you feel your soul drawn into the sword.

You look down.

"Who are you?" you ask, staring directly at her.

She stares back.

"My name is Tinsel Mango Lemonsauce." She says.

"It's a nice name."

"Thanks."

"I've seen you."

"Have you now? And what have you seen?"

"You."

"What about me?"

Her hand reaches up and rubs the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. You wonder if maybe she is a little tired. It wouldn’t surprise you, if that was the case. Ghosts can only go through one day after all.

"You were there...in the throne room."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I was there."

"What. You were there, you..."

"I was there when the Dark Gods invaded and killed everyone."

"No, that was the last time. You have to be wrong."

That might be the reason she’s so exhausted. You think it must be. If you were being honest, you’d say she looked about ready to drop dead. Not even her friend would blame her if she wanted a break.

"I got your picture from the files."

"Yeah, I know. I saw you."

"What, you don't remember?"

"No. How could I? It's been five years."

You decide to ask her what she’s doing out here all alone.

No one else is around.

Maybe she didn’t want company? You remember how you used to be the type of person who didn't like to be alone, but that was a lifetime ago.

"Are you lost?" You ask.

"Do I look lost?"

"Well, you don't have a home, and you're..."

She stood silent, hovering a few feet over the ground, as ghosts often do.

"Are you looking for someone?" you say.

"Yes. Are you him?"

"No. I'm me."

"Yes, and I'm Lady Tinsel Mango Lemonsauce."

"Are you sure?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"Well...no. I guess not."

She smiles, before sighing slowly.

"It must be lonely being a ghost."

"Why?"

"No one to talk to. No one to..."

She stops, before smiling again.

After all, you’re probably pretty lonely yourself at the moment, if not worse. You glance towards your companion, who seems to be lost in thought.

"It was nice meeting you." You say, extending your hand, which she takes and shakes firmly.

"I'm glad to hear it, and I'm sure I'll see you again sooner or later."

As you watched her float away you wondered why it was a ghost had a corporeal body. The thought came as a complete surprise to you, and the thought itself surprised you.

After all, ghosts are generally incorporeal.

You sigh and turn your horse into the direction of... wait... what direction were you heading? You glance around and suddenly realize you're not quite sure what direction home is. You can't remember the exact location of it, only that it's somewhere in the northern parts.

Well, if you go back to where you came from, you'll probably get lost again. The sky above is a bright blue and clouds are rolling across its surface. It's beautiful, the kind of day when every last inch of you feels happy about something or other. But as you stare up at it, you wonder if there will be any sort of rain today. Or even snow.

You frown. Winter might be coming sooner than you think! That could be bad, depending on which side you come from. You should try and head north, maybe. Even though you don’t want to risk being caught between two opposing sides, it’s safer to take advantage of the weather than to spend days trekking through the woods, searching for an inn. You’re still pretty far off from the city, so it won’t hurt to rest here for just one night before continuing onward.

After tying up your mount, you set about setting up camp. You gather branches and twigs to make a small fire, then start digging out some food you’d managed to pack earlier.

By the time you've cooked the meat and vegetables into a simple stew, you’ve got plenty to eat. You eat quietly. You've never been one for eating around others, but right now you have little choice. You can't very well go wandering through the woods in search of somewhere to stay if you don't even know where you are. So you sit by the campfire and eat. You do it because it's cold out and no sense wasting food, but you also don't really care all that much.

The wind howls, blowing snow down on the campfire and blowing more snow out of your hair, but you don't even notice.

It's quiet and peaceful.

You're almost asleep when someone clears their throat behind you. When you spin round, you find yourself face to face with a tall, dark haired man dressed all in black. His eyes widen, like he's surprised to see you awake, but it's hard to tell with those dark clothes. He's probably used to hiding his face.

His skin is pale and unmarred, almost looking like marble. There's a large scar bisecting his left eye and it looks like it's healing nicely.

He has long, black hair and dark eyebrows; the way they curl over his brown eyes makes him look almost sinister.

He takes several steps away from you, and gestures with one hand towards the fire as he says, “I was wondering if you would allow me to share your fire?”

Your gaze flicks from his face to his hand, where you can see a few small sticks clutched tightly together. You consider him for a moment before deciding against saying anything. You’d rather he was a potential ally than an enemy, though you can't help but think that he's hiding something.

Well, it’s not your place to interrupt him right now. You can come up with a better idea to figure out his intentions later.

You nod.

"Thank you," he says, drawing nearer to the fire. He reaches out, grabs one of the sticks and hands it to you. You raise an eyebrow slightly, taking the stick and giving it a small squeeze to test its strength. He gives you a slight smile, and sits himself down next to you. You lean forward slightly to examine the wood. Not only is it sturdy and thick, but it’s also relatively light. A good quality for holding small flames.

You decide you can spare it for now and set it aside, turning back towards the fire instead. He does the same, though he keeps glancing over at you as you move.

There’s a bit of a silence after that before he speaks once more, voice softer than it had been when talking to you moments ago.

“Would you mind telling me who I am, young lady? I feel like we have not introduced ourselves.”

You’ve known since the beginning of this conversation that it was rude to keep your mouth shut, so you take a breath to calm your thoughts, and reply. “My name is Y/N, sir. What brings you out here? And please, do call me Y/N.”

He looks confused, as if unsure if he’d heard right. Then he smiles again, but his expression seems a bit stiffer this time.

“What are you doing way out here?"

"I an seeking The Staircase Hotel. The undead have attacked my people. Few have survived. It is said The Staircase Hotel is a safe haven. If I can find it I will lead my people to safety."

You pause, and look at him carefully. His voice doesn't convey the usual emotion.

So you watch instead.

His face shows no fear, no worry, no anger. It shows only a desire and a will to do something.

You wonder what he's chasing.

The man said no more and you went back to thinking of long ago, before the undead attacked your village.

You remember sitting in front of your father's tent and listening to him talk about stories of monsters that roamed the land before the world ended. You remember hearing the tales with wide open eyes, excitedly asking questions. You remember seeing your father laugh and shake his head at how much he loved these fantastical creatures.

In the end, you remembered them only as monsters. Not people anymore. Your memories didn't have happy endings. They were sad and lonely, as all memories seem to be.

But the man had a similar story. A story that seemed familiar at first. But now, sitting before his fire, he has the strangest story you've ever heard. One that seems familiar enough to remind you of the past. But it's strange enough to intrigue you. He seems eager to talk about it, but just as soon as you ask him about the staircase, he stops.

The man looks at you and pauses once more.

The king stands on a balcony of his manor, surveying the training that his people go through.

The training grounds are filled with soldiers training for war.

You watch as the soldier runs through the training routine.

You watch as the soldier stands on the battlements and attempts to bend the bars of a cage with his mind.

His head snaps up when he feels you watching him. His gaze shifts quickly from left to right, searching for someone or something. He frowns slightly and turns to look behind him. He’s frowning again now.

What is he thinking about?

Is he upset?

You stand there quietly and wonder what to do.

The soldier begins to move, twirling his sword and walking forward.

You see his face, and it's an angry one.

Worried?

Sad?

Or maybe even a little disappointed?

No! Must stop thinking of the past. No good will come of it.

You must stop, and you will.

You know you must. You have to.

You try to stop yourself, but it's like a stubbornness is ingrained in your genes.

No, you shake your head, you are not one for sadness. Your mind is set on the goal of becoming a hero.

Not a do-gooder hero.

A sword-wielding, muscle-bound, chest-stoppingly awesome hero!

In preparation for the upcoming battle between the clans of the Fiendish Kings, a tournament of warriors has been declared open. The greatest fighters will be rewarded and honoured with the greatest prize in The Demonic Outlands of the Lost. A long period of peace has allowed the people of the Icy Cairns to forget their heritage and history. During this time of peace the people have turned into a decadent and soft people, they have become fat and weak. The Queen has commissioned new training routines in hopes to harden her people for the coming battle.

In the arena, the warriors train with weapons that will be used in the upcoming battle.

The champion on the balcony is Lord Victory, a towering figure covered in scars and tattoos.

At the moment the training takes place on an abandoned battlefield. The war machine you saw earlier has been left resting and the metal sheeting has been taken away to be used in other buildings.

"Are you going to watch the battle, sir?" a voice calls out.

"Not possible."

You wonder if it was your fault, maybe if you said something or asked another question?

But you didn't. You're not going to make the same mistake twice.

But the soldier persists.

"Sir, are you going to watch the battle?"

"Battle?"

You try to appear shocked.

No, you are not one for regrets. You will stand firm in your beliefs and hope that the great and mighty hero will knock on your door.

The soldier sighs.

"Fine. But don't say I haven't warned you..."

The soldier leaves and the scene changes to the battlefield.

It's chaos.

To your surprise, and relief, a figure appears.

He is wearing a long, black leather trench coat and wields a flail. He calls out.

"I'm here to help you with your... problem. What's your name?"

Whatever it was, you can stay here no longer. You have lasagne demons to kill and the Staircase Hotel to locate.

You tell him your name, he says he is here to help you, and then you are whisked off to a hidden base.

This is the last time you will see this handsome man.

Years pass and you have managed to assemble a small army to fight the encroaching demons.

The figure shifts his weight, the cape falling from one shoulder, a sword from the other.

"So you've finally decided to join the fray."

"Who are you?"

"Just a man who is willing to sacrifice everything in order to see this kingdom succeed."

"That's not an answer."

Your attention is drawn away though, when his eyes land on you.

"Who are you?"

"No title. Just a man who has a burning desire to be the best man this world has ever seen!"

Your body stiffens.

Oh.

You feel a sudden rush of heat and suddenly find that the grass beneath you is much cooler than it should be. When had it become that hot? You blink and shiver involuntarily.

He seems to notice and laughs.

"I can't imagine why you shiver. I feel like the blazing sun's warmth on my skin."

"I-I'm cold."

"Here."

You see a soldier walk up to you, a red cape flowing behind him. He holds out an armload of clothing.

The soldier is staring at you.

You are staring back.

No one says anything.

You begin to panic.

The soldier looks at you and raises an eyebrow.

You look away.

"I-I was looking for clothing."

You wonder what the soldier wants?

He seems to be waiting for you to do something.

"What are you doing here stranger?"

"I was just passing through to somewhere else."

"What is your business here?"

You know you should be frightened, but you cannot help but be intrigued by this dark and mysterious man.

The soldier seems to think about your answer.

"You have not been here long. Why do you seek this path? Why are you not fighting with your king?"

You hesitate for a moment.

Your mind races as you try to solve the mystery of who you are and why you are here. Your eyes narrow as you decide how to respond.

You have all the time in the world.

"I'm a miner. I've come to prospect for ores."

The soldier's eyes widen.

You can see the wheels turning in his head.

This was not untrue. You had been digging for crystals a few days ago. You brought them back to the village and sold them for a small fortune. The man's eyes narrow again.

"You are a miner! Here in The Demonic Outlands of the Lost?"

You're surrounded by blood-thirsty demons.

And you know the truth.

The gods do not exist.

At least not in the form of benevolent beings. You have always maintained that men created the gods in order to explain the unexplainable.

The only power that can save us all is the power of the pen.

You have a strong urge to tell this soldier the truth.

Or you could continue the pretense that you are a miner, and get off the road.

Suddenly you remember.

You remember who you are and where you came from.

But you can not remember why you are here.

Thornbrood The Hellbound, is the king of The Demonic Outlands of the Lost is a powerful ruler, but his power is not absolute. He is not without weakness, as he is plagued by a powerful necromancer known as Corpsegibber The Gibbering. It was this necromancer who had turned Thornbrood’s kingdom into what it has become today and forced him to flee, leading to his exile.

He has made his home in the mountains of the West-Central Duchy of the Mutinies and still wages his deadly and deceitful war against the Clans.

If only someone could find and destroy that necromancer, before all the world's lasagne is destroyed!

Thornbrood has no such luxury. Being a Hellbound demon, he is not allowed to enter the Four Holy Cities of the Clans where his kind are not normally welcome.

The good guys are trying to stop a madman hellbent on world domination. The Necromancer is a murderer. He does not play fair. The Necromancer is a killer. He is a man without honour.

You can't be good guys.

You can't be bad guys.

Only one thing can save us now. The power of the pen!

What will you do?

You look toward the heavens and pray to whatever forces are up there that you might find a way to destroy that son of a whore!

"I am a wanderer, a simple woman," you say at last. "I have nothing, I seek nothing, I desire nothing, and I am above all things willing to die to defend the weak against the strong."

If only it were possible for you to fly. If only you were a bird. The world would be a better place.

If only you had some sort of super natural powers.

If only...