Prologue:

The hero brandished his golden sword, revealing the intricate Atrician designs imprinted upon it.

“This sword...” The hero said, his deep, masculine voice resounding throughout the dimly lit cavern, “This sword is made of gold.”

The hero walked forward, the heavy ebony armor which he wore rattled with every one of his heavy steps.

“Gold is not a strong material.” He said as a gleam of light revealed the dried blood staining his iron shield, “But it is strong enough to deliver one powerful blow before falling apart.”

The hero kneeled down by the gargantuan body of his enemy, which lay in the centre of the cavern, about to draw his last breath.

“I believe that you are deserving of that last blow.” He looked directly into the man’s dark red eyes.

The hero saw no fear in those eyes. He expected as much, but he wished that he could see fear in those dark red eyes. Those dark red eyes, which so many had only seen once before being struck down. Those dark red eyes, which had seen and enjoyed the suffering of millions. This man deserved death, and the worst one possible at that. The gold sword which the hero wielded had been enchanted with a special power. It would cause time to slow for whoever was pierced by it, and cause an insufferable pain throughout that time. Perhaps that would allow the hero to see a look of fear or pain on the old, wrinkly face of his enemy.

The hero raised his golden sword. It loomed above the heart of the man, ready to strike at any moment, like a snake eyeing a mouse. However, before the hero struck through the bone armor of the man, he would let his enemy speak, as an act of honor.

“Speak, if you have the words, worm.” The hero said, remaining valiant.

A slight smile rose across the old, evil man’s face. It stretched from cheek to cheek, revealing an unsettling set of pointy, sharklike teeth.

“Have you forgotten everything, Aiden?” He said, as if he was going to explode with laughter at any point.

The hero, whose name he had never shared with anyone, was shocked, but did not allow this to affect his composure.

“How do you know that name?” He asked, his sword inching closer to the old man’s heart.

The man laughed loudly. It was a hearty laugh, one of success and accomplishment.

“Because I came up with it!” The man laughed, his red eyes sparkled brightly, “27 years ago, I think.”

The hero smiled slightly.

“Ah, so you have to power to read minds.” He said, finally believing to have figured it out.

The man sighed.

“I didn’t make you so you could grow up to be that stupid.” He said, clearly unafraid of the sword which was poised to take his life at any second, “The orphanage! 27 years ago I left you there with a note, a note which had your name on it.”

The hero looked at the man that lay below his sword. This man wore armor made out of the bones of children, he turned nations against each other simply by speaking a word, he caused chaos out of where there was order. He was a demon, a devil sent to earth as a sick prank from the god of the dead. He would lie here, dead, for the rest of eternity, and none of the words his vile lips spouted out anymore mattered.

The hero pushed down his sword, easily piercing the bone armor, and going straight through the heart. The deed had been done, and the chaotic evil that this man represented had been vanquished. The man, who had been called the evil overlord, the bringer of death, and harbinger of chaos lived no more.

Blood spewed out of the man’s heart, staining the rocky cavern ground. The wrinkly face, the vile lips, and the dark red eyes had all turned pale from the stab wound. The hero had hoped to see some fear or pain, or perhaps even regret on the old bastard’s face, but it never came. Instead, the man died with a straight face, slightly somber eyes, and a heavy breath.

The hero looked at the corpse of the man, whom he had trained his whole life to kill, and smiled. It was not a proud smile, but it was a smile of a man who had gone to the depths of hell and came back. It was a smile of pain and relief, and one which, if not for some intervention, he would wear all the way back to the palace, where he would bow towards the king and be hailed as the hero who saved every man, woman, and child from the suffering of chaos and evil.

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The hero turned his back from the corpse, and began to walk out of the cavern, where he hoped he would be greeted by the light of the sun, something he had not witnessed for far too long.

He stepped slow and heavy, but his heart was light. Each step, while unbelievably powerful, was filled with a spring and dance-like quality, like an elephant attempting to skip.

However, just as the hero took his slow, but energetic feet to the exit of the cavern, he felt a pulsing pain in the back of his head. It wasn’t too strong, just a minor annoyance, but it kept persisting. It was like a ghost knocking on the back of his head, trying to get in.

The hero turned around to see if anything was causing it, but he saw nothing but the dimly lit cavern and the corpse. However, as he turned around, the pain switched to the front of his head, and it was getting worse.

Waves and waves of pain attacked him, each wave larger and more powerful than the last. It became so unbearable that the hero fell to his knees and grasped his head in pain. The pain blasted through his head. Suddenly, it stopped.

The hero wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘What on earth happened!?’, he wondered, his mind still in panic. Unfortunately, a voice answered that question.

“Don’t worry, you’ll survive. For now.” The voice said from within his head.

The hero’s heart dropped. That voice, which he had heard not ten minutes ago, was now within him.

“How!?” He screamed, his face turning red with rage, “I killed you! I killed you!”

The hero’s screams reverberated throughout the cavern.

“It’s only a simple imprint of consciousness.” The man’s voice said, “You are still you, but I am also in you.”

The hero bashed his head on the floor, slightly deforming his helmet.

“Get out!” He screamed, tears streaming down his face, “Get out!”

“No.” The man’s voice responded, “You cut off our conversation before, let’s continue it.”

The hero simply weeped as the man began to speak again.

“You see, there’s a reason why I know your name and your history.” He said, “There’s also a reason as to why you were different from anyone else when you were growing up. It’s quite neat actually, how there’s a reason for everything.”

The hero took off his helmet and hit himself with it, breaking his nose.

“Get out!” He screamed hysterically.

However, the man’s voice simply continued to speak.

“A long time ago, 28 years ago to be exact.” He said, “I was feeling rather bored. I had disobeyed everyone, brought chaos everywhere, and I was unfulfilled. I felt that there must be more to this life of mine.”

“It was at that point that I realised, that perhaps creation would be the greatest thing I could possibly do. I mean, I only ever destroyed, so why not create?” The man’s voice spoke casually and happily, “But I wouldn’t be satisfied with the type of creation that anyone could do. I wanted something greater, something incredible, something to challenge the gods!”

The hero began to recover slightly from his initial shock, but did not speak.

“So I thought: What is god’s greatest creation? And all those years ago I had figured it out: It was man.” The man’s voice reminisced pridefully about the events which occurred years ago, “Any two people could make a child, but no one had the power to create life from nothing but earth and stone.”

The man’s voice chuckled a little.

“But I did it. After all, I created you.”

The hero’s bloodshot eyes opened wide. ‘It’s true.’ He thought. He didn’t understand why, but he knew it was true. It simply clicked within his mind. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t the same. He wasn’t god’s creation. He was a monster, created by man.

“Why?” He asked meekly, “Why did you give me to the orphanage? Why did you do any of this?”

The hero simply didn’t understand.

“Aiden…” The man’s voice said compassionately, “I wanted you to grow, to become a hero. So I gave you freedom. And I gave you a goal.”

“A goal?”

“To kill me.”

“Oh.” The hero said, “That’s why I was told that you killed my parents.”

“Yes.”

“Can I die now?” The hero asked.

The man’s voice stayed quiet for a second.

“That brings me to the second reason I created you.” He said, “You were not simply a product of my boredom, but also my curiosity.”

The hero didn’t respond.

“I have lived a long life. Long enough at least.” The man’s voice said, “And since you are the only man that is not the product of a god, I was wondering what happens when you die.”

The hero stood up.

“So that… that’s my purpose.” He held his head low, “I was born a puppet, merely to satisfy your boredom and satiate your curiosity.”

“Yes, exactly.” The man’s voice said, “There are many ways we can go about this, but the best would be if you killed yourself voluntarily.”

The hero’s normally valiant eyes had turned dead already. He lifted up his dagger and stabbed himself in the heart. He fell down, and his ebony armor hit the ground with the force of ten men. The stab wound bled out for a while, but there was no scream from the hero. He had gone through much today, and he felt he was quite ready to die. It wasn’t as if his future plans were very extravagant in the first place anyway.

He bled out there on the cavern floor, only ten metres away from the corpse of his enemy, who lived within his head now. The hero’s soul was the first of its kind. It was made by man, not by god. There was no answer to whether it would simply dissipate, or act differently to any other soul. However, the hero, Aiden, did not care much. His vision turned dark, and his last breath escaped from his lips. He was dead, and not even the gods know what happened to his soul.