Prologue: THE END
Fate
It is the red thread that ties two people together. When someone is expected to accomplish great things in his life, fate is a guiding line that leads them to greatness. When he falters and starts to lose hope it is a rope to cling to so he can pull himself out. When a man is destined to mediocrity, fate is the chain that keeps him bound to the earth when he tries to reach the stars.
What if one could be free from the chains of fate? To be able to accomplish anything without the interference of a greater power. Imagine all the lives that could be saved. People fated to die of sickness, a disaster, war or beasts could be saved. A falling kingdom could be brought to glory by a leader who should have died in obscurity. The people you save could grow up to accomplish great things themselves, now that their fate is no longer certain. A single person without restrictions could save countless others that had been forsaken by the world. Or that same person could cause an accident that leads to the death of someone meant to save numerous people. A hero could bring a swift end to a costly war or dangerous beast, or perhaps cause the death of a great healer, and the plague she was supposed to stop would spread and kill countless innocents.
Good will always triumph over evil.
The gods will always protect us.
The world will continue to exist.
These are all decreed by fate as well. If you break one chain, or even cut one thread, it can lead to another snapping, then another, until the entire system is damaged. And if the gods lose control, how dark would the future be? How bright could it be?
This is why they fear us, hunt us, and would do anything to remove us from the world. Even the best of intentions could lead to unforeseen consequences that could bring about the end of everything.
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Captain Thales
Captain Thales sat on horseback surrounded by his army and gave a heavy sigh as he surveyed the land in front of him.
“Gods, why are we here? There is nothing but sand, rocks, and cracked earth as far as the eye can see. No plant or animal has lived in the great wastes for over a thousand years. Nothing has crossed it in that time either.”
A second man, the captain's squire, pulled his horse up until he was right next to the first, “Your cousin did.”
“Aye, she did, thanks for reminding me.”
“Do you think it’s true? That some unnatural army is going to come screaming through the wastes?”
“That’s what the troops are for. Even if everything is true, if Thane and the rest of the... “heroes” do their job right, we may have brought them here for nothing.” The squire noticed the derision in his voice as he mentioned the boy, Thane. “Probably for the best, we still need to march west and take out that cocky bastard who….”
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Before he could finish he felt a sudden wrenching vertigo. It felt like he was falling, or flying, it was hard to tell. For a moment gravity didn’t seem to exist. All he knew is that it felt like his body was lurching off somewhere and his mind and stomach had yet to catch up. When the sensation ended he found he hadn’t moved at all. He clutched on to his horse to prevent himself from falling and noticed that the horse seemed unaffected. The thousands of soldiers in front of him, however, were panicking. Most of them couldn’t keep standing and they were all looking around trying to find the cause of the sensation. When he finally looked off into the wasteland which had been empty seconds before...he saw them.
“Spyglass” he held out his hand to the squire who looked back at him confused, “GIVE ME YOUR DAMN SPYGLASS!”
He quickly snatched the spyglass from the second man and peered through the lenses to get a closer look at what was in the distance. He saw them, lurching, leaping and running with a speed that their gangly bodies shouldn’t possess. He tried to calculate the numbers, squaring off rows and columns of troops to try to get a count of how many he saw. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands… He stopped once he realized he was just adding zeros to the end of his total and still wasn’t close to completing his count.
He dropped the spyglass to the ground, visibly shaking. “Forget saving the nearby towns. If our “heroes” fail at sending these things back to where they came from, the entire continent is doomed.”
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The “heroes” that the knight put his hopes in were scattered.
One groaned in pain as they regained consciousness, moving their hands up to press on a bandage covering the eyes. They attempted to press against their eyes to dull the pain only to find nothing under the bandage instead. They realized they would never see again.
Nearby, a second was helpless beneath a pile of rubble. Only a hand remained visible that was clenching into a fist. The person under the heavy stones had given up, knowing that their body could not escape and would be slowly crushed.
Another sat motionless in a hallway. The heavy armor was dented and pierced with sword, spear and arrow. Unable to hold a weapon or even move anymore, the hero gave one last rasping cough before closing their eyes.
A fourth feebly grasped at a spear that had pinned them to the wall through the stomach like an insect on display. Their arm fell limply to the side once they realized they no longer even had the strength to grip the spear that impaled them.
A dark shadow looked down at the last two left to challenge it. The woman lay flat on her back bleeding, barely able to move after the magical impact knocked her to the ground. The man was kneeling next to her, trying to close both his and her wounds
The shadow laughed, “Come on, Thane. You talked up the fight so well and then you wind up on your knees after taking a blow aimed at your bed warmer?”
Don’t fall for the provocation. Think, there has to be a way to fight. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against stone. The twisted sickle that wounded him was being dragged across the ground by a chain attached to the base of its hilt.
He was sick of seeing those weapons. How many times had it changed hands? How many people had it killed? Whose sick idea was it to decorate the blades with roses? Two roses decorated each blade, one at the pommel and one at the base of the blade.
Thane shook away the thoughts. He was getting distracted, the blood loss was starting to make him lose focus.
The shadow seemed content to wait. Laughing as it took the sickle back into its hand. “Your friends and lover are dead or dying, your weapons and magic have been about as effective as tin and confetti. Surely by now you have figured it out. There is no stopping me. Even if you could kill me here The End is still coming.”
Thane closed his eyes for a moment and steadied his breath. He needed focus, to calm and clear his emotions and start this fight one last time. He clenched his sword and gathered the last of his energy.
“There is no stopping The End”
Thane took a deep breath to steady himself, then he opened his eyes and readied his weapon.