High in the sky, the sun glared at the world. Its piercing white light shone through a crimson sky as it watched a red-robed prisoner being escorted to his execution. Chains and shackles bound his body from head to toe as two soldiers on horseback, wearing blood-rusted metal, kept the man walking. Through a desolate and barren land, they walked. The wind cut their skin with an uncomfortable warmth, carrying sand and dust into their faces. All around them the land had been sapped to the very bone of life. What once had grass, trees, and water was now cracked dirt, baked clay, and hardened mud. And for miles, the only sounds to keep the three company on their journey were the sounds of hooves on dirt and clinking metal.

All around them were the reminders of how humanity had once lived here. How humanity had once settled in this valley and aimed to create a new place for people to call home. But what remained now were buildings left to dry under the sun and crumble with time over the last two-hundred years. Scattered homes and farms that once stood tall as signs of a new beginning were now collapsed in on themselves and left to die. With nothing but signs of destruction, suffering, despair and pain around them, one of the soldiers yanked the chains binding the prisoner as if to try and make him suffer. Yet all it did was cause the hood atop the prisoner’s head to shift slightly and reveal an eye and two grinning smiles.

The soldier looked at the man for a moment, but turned away in disgust to try and refocus on his mission. And so, the three continued on. Making their way towards a small town off in the distance. The place where the apocalypse had begun and would also end. Yet, with every bloody step the prisoner took, through the pain of walking on poorly bandaged stubs where the feet had been cut off, the smile never left the prisoner’s face. He was content with what he’d done. To him, the bloody circles he left with every step only meant that there would never be solace for those that died. They would forever rest with disturbed memories in shallow graves. To humanity, it is the death of a monster. To him, it is the completion of his duty as leader of the Heralds.

Eventually, the three found themselves before the destroyed town. To the left and right of them were homes long since destroyed like all the others in the area. The bones of people and animals alike lay bleached and crushed underneath the rubble, and yet all of them were missing pieces as all that kept the dead company were the memories from before the Red Wave washed it all away. In the far back of the town, a destroyed chapel kept its guests trapped inside. Atop its fallen steeple, the metal symbol of a forgotten god had rusted and broken. And in the heart of the chapel, beneath a fallen chandelier, lay the hands of two newlyweds as only bleached bones of their interlocked hands remain; the wedding bands still on their ring fingers.

And in the center of all this stood a lonely procession of soldiers and armor. On the left stood a line of soldiers with weapons in hand. All awaiting the arrival of the prisoner and his escorts. And, 10 meters away to the right, were reminders of those that fell in service to humanity. The armor sets were propped up on what sticks could be found and assembled into what the person used to look like while their weapon rested at their feet. Unfortunately, few had a full set and nearly all didn’t have their helmets. A good number were missing arms, legs, or even chests. And there were some that only had a pair of boots or a broken sword or shield. It was a harrowing reminder of the battle humanity had against the Heralds and their corrupting dark magic. And while it gave the soldiers present a sense of peace, there were many more not represented that would be forgotten with time.

Dismounting from their horses, the escorts pulled the prisoner through the haunting procession. Hearts heavy with memories they wish they could forget, but couldn’t lest they dishonor their fallen brothers and sisters. Each soldier they passed saluted the escorts, yet scowled at the prisoner. Every one of them wanted to kill the red robed Herald. Their knuckles turned white as they gripped their weapons. It was not to draw them, but keep themselves restrained.

Together the escorts walked forward as the chains clanked. Together, the soldiers watched the end of the apocalypse slowly come. Together they all would witness a bittersweet twilight as dawn would finally shine. And as the escorts came to the end of the procession, a single stump stood in the town’s plaza with an executioner’s axe stuck in it. Now at their destination, the soldiers all turned in unison to face the prisoner.

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Letting go of the reins to the prisoner and handing them over to the other, one of the escorts turned to face his fellow survivors. Raising his hands and taking hold of his helmet, he took it off. His face was covered in scars, though he wished any one of them had taken his sight away. The man’s hair was snow white and his face held a full beard. His eyes were sullen and pained as he looked at where they’d come from.

For a moment, the old man looked across the land and recalled the beauty it once had. It was a place he was all too familiar with. The place he once called home. He remembered staring out at the land, watching as the clouds drifted by and the birds sang. It was all still there for him in his mind. The creek where he met and played with his best friend. The friendly merchant who came by every other week and would give him an apple just for stopping by with his mother. His older sister reading him a story beneath the big tree on the hill, and how he would fall asleep on her leg as the wind whistled through the leaves.

All of it was still as fresh in his mind. All of it. Including the day he witnessed how the nightmare began. How even the most innocent of people could wind up as the worst of monsters. The old soldier took out his sword and thrust it into the ground to rest his helmet upon it. The Red Wave had driven him from his home and thrust him into a war he never wanted to fight. A war that stole his childhood, his adolescence, and even his time as a young man. His hands knew nothing but the ways of blood and steel. His heart had been forced to harden into stone with the deaths of those he’d come to know. And the horrors he’d seen one man do to another made him wonder if it was some mad god that caused the endless spilling of blood, or if it was humanity revealing its darkest desires sides when someone is given nigh unrivaled power.

“Captain,” the other escort addressed him, “it’s time.”

The old man faced his subordinate.

“Yes. Let’s end this once and for all.”

He walked in between the lines of soldiers as the prisoner stood before the stump behind him. There was a moment of silence as the Captain felt the heavy gaze of every soldier here regardless of if they were alive or dead, then turned to face the criminal.

He spoke in a tired, gruff, and low voice, “For your crimes against humanity, the slaughtering of millions, the collapsing of kingdoms, and the spreading of a corrupt sorcery, you are to be put to death, Halak Zuhl. How do you plead?”

Zuhl raised his head and stared back at the Captain. His smile still stretching from one side of his mouth to the other. He responded, though his words came out in a mix of voices and animal growls.

“Guilty.”

The old man wanted to swear and curse at Zuhl. He wanted to demand answers and know why Zuhl brought an end to their world. To why he and his Heralds destroyed everything. But now. Now he was an old man tired of raising the banner. Tired of all the killing and dying. This war had no champions or heroes remaining. Even the villains and monsters were already felled, save Zuhl. The Captain didn’t know if it was a cruel twist of fate or destiny that he should live to be alive and see it all, but he’d rather not dirty his sword with the blood of another again.

With his plea, the captain signaled for Zuhl to be forced onto his knees. Yet Zuhl did it himself. Even placing his head on the tree stump as the Captain pulled the axe out of it.

“Have you any last words, Halak Zuhl.”

Zuhl ecstatically spoke, “After You have begun to grow again, He shall be watching and waiting in anticipation of your next blooming. And for a time, He shall smile and treasure the beauty of Your progress. But once Your petals begin to wilt from apathy, and Your leaves shrivel from stagnancy, He shall begin the pruning once again. And the cycle shall begin anew. Today I die, but He shall bring me back. We will return to end the world again in a wake of blood and darkness. All so that He may smile again.”

The man’s words echoed and shook everyone’s souls down to the core. No one understood why, but the threat that this all could happen again terrified their defeated hearts. Everyone bit their tongues as dark thoughts of hatred clouded the minds of everyone but the Captain. They were primed to murder Zuhl, and yet the Captain’s steady raising of the greataxe in the sunlight kept them calm.

The Captain spoke, “Goodbye Zuhl. And may we all wake up from this foul dream.”

And thus, the Captain swung the axe down on Zuhl’s head. Cutting through with ease and sending Zuhl’s head a few feet forward onto the street. Revealing a face with five eyes on one side and a mouth filled with the mismatched teeth of animals and humans. Not a soul spoke, and yet something spoke to everyone present. A whisper in their minds no one recognized.

He said, “Good morning, my flowers.”