The cry of a single raven broke the silence of the night. The light of the moon threw nightmarish shadows, one of them being close to a human shape. For a few seconds the shadow laid on the wet grass of a park, then he began to move towards an old Victorian estate. As the raven cried a second time, the head of the shadow turned around and finally light fell onto the face of the man the shadow was belonging to. It was the face of an old man who had already seen too much in his life, but his eyes still radiated power and a strong will.
After some more seconds he came to the great wooden door and took out a pack of picklocks. He tried the first one, but it didn't fit. A silent curse escaped from his mouth. Hectically he took out the next one and almost dropped it.
'Stay calm' he told himself. 'There is no need to rush.'
Finally he managed to open the lock. He slowly moved the door. With a long and painful scream it swung open. He was there. Just one last step to go...

The sun went down beyond the horizon and painted the landscape in blood red. Blood! As if he hadn't seen enough of that the last months.
His glance wandered around on the battlefield. Finally it was over. After three month, silence came back into the vale for the first time. But it wasn't a peaceful silence. It was frightening.
He shuddered and was about to go back the way he came from, but he had to walk to the other side of the valley.
The smell of death normally would have been hardly endurable, but he got used to it over time. This, however, didn't apply for the sight presented to him. Dead soldiers of both sides were lying next to each other, looking at him with empty, vacant eyes, still clutching their weapons in death. He began to shiver even more. Involuntarily his hand raised towards a pocket of his vest and opened it. His fingers fumbled around until he found...

...his knife. He was going to need it to salvage important supplies from the dead. As he moved towards the first corpse, he noticed in the cold fingertips of the dead soldier a small, torn and bloodstained photo.


"Jooohhhnnn....Jooohhhnn....." a soft purring voice teased.
"mmmm...mphfwat?" groaned John his face burried in his pillow.
"Gooood morning" the voice giggled.
"Mornin..." replied John.
"What was that? Oh come on...you sloth. Where's your enthusiasm?" the voice teased again.
"Mmmmmmornin Kay..." slurred John.
"That's a bit be-"
In an instant, John reared up and wrapped his arms around Kay with the bed covers still under his arms as the couple tumbled over the side of the bed.
"Oowahaa~" cried Kay in surprise.
"Gotcha! Now we're even. Thats for waking me up!" John wide awake.
From beneath the covers Kay replied, "Tha's not fair hun. It's 10 in the morning and you should've been up an hour ago!"
"Well it's a Saturday so its still counted Kayla" said John as he began pulling the bed covers away.
The covers fell away. A pale face with eyes sunk deep in the skull stared back at John.


"Sir! I think that's it. This one's the only one that showed up on infrared. Looks like we'll have an early night?"
John jerked up from the place he was lying. The surroundings was solid and bumping around. Apparently I must have blacked out due to exhaustion he thought. But on top of that, I'm not in the field anymore.
He was sitting in the back of a bumpy kahki jeep ride and there was a driver and occupant at the front. By now, the sun had already gone and the moon was high so it was difficult to tell what the surrounding terrain was like in the pale light.
John began to climb to his feet before being jerked back to his seat by a metal band around his left wrist. Handcuffed he though. Considering his current situation, he could only wait. It was too dark and John was too tired to try to pick the cuffs off.
As the bumpy ride pulled into the night, John once again faded into the darkness of his dreams.


"Honey? I'm home! 'S dinner ready?" John had just got back from work and had just entered the house.
Clack. Bang.
"Honey? What was that?"
Thud, thud. A soft whimper echoed from what seemed to be past the kitchen.
The front door closed behind him and a sense of worry started throbbing in his nerves as he caughtiously walked towards the kitchen.
The dark corridor seemed like a tunnel with the light flooding from the kitchen in his imagination pretended to be the train storming in.
"Mikayla?" he called out.
No reply. Something was definately wrong. With a surge of panic John hurried into the kitchen.
Red. There was red liquid on the floor. Red blood. Mikayla's blood.
Fear and adrenaline coursed through John's chilled blood. "No" he whispered. "Victor..."
"VICTOR!" he screamed. Anger began pulsing through him as he ran for the open basement door. The handle was smeared with more of Mikayla's blood.
"Jooohhn!" A tone of pain trembled out of the cellar doorway.
"I'm coming Kay!" John leapt down the whole flight of stairs without a thought and landed harshly against the cold concrete.
"The baby's coming! Please! Aughhhh!" Mikayla cried.
John reached Mikayla sprawled out on the cold concrete and cradled her in his arms. "Hold on dear, i'll call the paramedics" a sense of confusion began to well up in John's throat. How did this happen? The floor was wet with water.
"Hold it right there" came a sinister low voice from behind John.


"Ey yo, wake up dude. Stop screaming. You alright? Wait, we found you like one of those hundred corpses out there...o' course not."
"mblbuwat?" bright light silhouetted a dark face leaning over John.
"Welcome to the world. The wars over and you're not dead. Me name's Will. And if you've forgotten your name, here's your dogtag."
Will leaned back and the contents of John's location light revealed a run down grey room with a number of chairs occupied by soldiers all of whom were injured and wrapped up.
John lay on a bed at the far end corner of the room and no one in the room, despite the numbers were paying any attention to Will and him.
"Now I'd like to get to know you better. Maybe it ease your pain right now cos you look a mess. Maybe you don't mind sharing with me what happened in your dreams?"
"Mmmwell isn't this uhhm..." a raspy dry voice croaked from his throat.
"Oh never mind, i was only kidding. I'm surprised to hev found you out there in the sea of the last battle. Must have been real hard been the last man standing. Any guy would konck out in a place like that."
"mm..." darkness seemed to creep in from the outer sides of his vision.
"You know i think you're the only one in this room that understands what im talking about."
Will's voice faded as the blackness consumed him and he once again fell into a deep dream.


"What did you do to her?!" John gritted through his teeth.
"Ehehehehe..." Victor softly cackled.
"Speak up ya bastard!" He pushed Victor with his forearm harder against the brick wall.
"It's terribly dark here isn't it? Ooph, you don't have to hold so tightly."
"Where is Mikayla?"
"Now now we don't need to be hasty do we? Everything will be just fine?"
"WHERE is she?!"
"Ouuuuh...i dunno...maybe she's sleeping, you know it's very late."
"Where did you leave here?"
"I said she was sleeping. Isn't that enough?"
"No...no...NO!"
"OKAY FINE! She's somewhere in the North HadleBen." Victor grinned synically.
"Oh my f***ing g-...f*** no. YOU f***ing BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL F-"


"OY WAKE THE f*** UP!"
John woke up to William violently shaking him by the shoulders.
"uUhmbwaah. Oh whaa-" blabbered John.
"The first sign of life in you since your coma a month ago and you come swearing into the world! Well at least you're awake now John."
"Worse...where am I?" he croaked.
"What?"
"My wife..." John breathed.
"What what your wife? What are you talking about? I think you need to lie down. You just got out of a coma."
"I would rather not talk about it...please..."
"Huh? Tch. Coma's...really mess with your heads huh. Comas..."
"Why did i fight in this war?"
"Hmm?"
"Because of him." John grimaced.
"What are you talking about?"
"Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Erh?"
John looked to the machine that he now noticed as his life support.
"Kill it."
"Kill what? I think you should stop talking while i go get some help for you." William turned to leave.
"Wait, don't go." John reached out and grabbed William's hand.
"The story of my life is not worth living for now. I should be a dead soldier, as dead as my past. Please end my life."
"Look here brother, we're not killin nobody. You got that? Now let me go. Don't you do anything stupid." William shook his hand of and walked out of the room.
There it was. An inch closer to freedom.
John reached out his hand and pulled.

An eerie monotone played down the echoing faded hallway as the last casualty of war took place.

A single Candle burned on the Table throwing deep Shadows at the valleys of an aging Face.
“Victor… you are here, sit down, my old Friend, we have much to talk about”
“How did you know I would come”, he asked him.
“Oh Victor I know you. I know you can’t leave things unfinished”
“Watch out he might be prepared”, Victor thought feeling the cold Steel inside his Boots.
After a small Pause the old Man started talking again.
“Victor, why didn’t you just hide and live a peaceful Life.”
“Robert! You killed the Sergeant!”
“You came all the long way to find me for that”, Robert asked.
“It took 20 years but now I’m here”
“Now you’re here… your journey was long so maybe you want a cup of tea?”
“Sure”, Victor answered knowing that this wouldn’t matter at all.
In the End on of them had to die.
Either Victor, the Soldier who always believed in the Army, or Robert, the Traitor who is loyal to everyone who’s Goals are the ones that promise the most Power.
“I am younger than Robert, this may be an advantage”, he thought.
Suddenly they heard a noise of something falling to the Ground.
“Now or never”, Victor thought pulling out his old Knife in his Boots.
He ran at Robert, ready to stab him.
Blood splattered on the Ground.
“Well played Victor… Well played”, Robert said holding the Knife he dropped before in his Hand.
Victor stared in his cold crimson Eyes.
“Why?”

...a strawberry.
He was afraid. He was trembling... like hell.

His name was Matt, he was known as bravest children in the village. He was only three years old, but he was already the dark mage, the most dangerous and talented mage in the world.

Then he started to sing:
- Hello, I'm the one, who's not afraid!
And he was afraid no more.
After that nicely singed song he noticed that a strawberry is gone. Then, he drew out his most powerful weapon - the magic herring. This magic herring has been used by ancients, in the battle of minds. No one realy knew where did the herring come from, but it has a special power - it could summon fishes!
So he went through the village and summoned as much fishes as it was possible.
The village existed no more.
- Finally... - he said - The village exists no more!
Then he started to laugh. And he laughed to the death.

- Aaargh! - He cried out.
- Matt! Your finally awake! - He saw a man, who's been standing over his body.
- Wait, who the hell are you?

The man looked at him. There was a flame in his eyes, it was about to explode, it was saying almost everything about him. Matt didn't know what's up with this flame, but he knew... he knew that someday he will be able to extinguish this flame without any word, with the clear mind and clear soul.

The stranger said - Maybe you can use the lightsaber to cut this tree.

Matt drew out his most powerful weapon - the lightsaber. The lightsaber has been used by ancients, in the battle of minds. It had unimaginable power of destrucion, it could cut everything what exists. Matt turned it on and killed the unknown man.

The unknown man existed no more.

Matt decided to destroy his whole body.
So he did it.
The unknown man's body existed no more.
Matt decided to destroy the village.
So he did it.
The village existed no more.

The end.

...a napkin was in his pocket and he took it out to clean his sword.
It was stained in blood, in pure red blood from a human flash.
He cleaned his sword and threw the napkin away. He walked amoung
the dead soldiers, still looking at him with empty, lifeless eyes. He got
near a soldier who was wearing cloths similar to his. He put the napkin
in the dead man's hands and said "rest in peace, my friend." He then
turned around and started to walk back to where some man were walking.

The people in front of the man had military uniforms, blue light cloths, with
shoulder protections, and swords buy their sides. Some were ridding with horses
and who road a horse had a long blue/white capes, and spears instead of swords.
All of them stopped except one who started to ride his sword to the man.
"Everyone is dead in here," said the man to the rider. "I'm the only survivor,
the general is also dead, he is over there. About 20 arrows shot him, he survived
the arrows but a spear was thrown in his chest." The rider looked at the field.
"Good work Karus, at least we were able to stop the enemy in such great numbers
but still many man had died, and many good man had died, I guess it is hard to be
a lieutenant. Watch many man die, allies and foes." Then the rider got out of his horse.
"I have a message for the general, but since he died this message goes to you."
The messenger gave him a letter that was rounded like a scroll. The message said

Dear General Lee (if the case that General Lee dies, then this message is for the highest man in command.)
If you got this message then your main mission was a successful one. We have send a some supplies and some small
army to your help. With this message their should be 50 soldiers, 10 horseman, 15 archers, 5 medics, and 20 footman.
More help is coming, but they will arrive in a week, no more. We just ask you to stay in your post and wait for further commands.
Some enemy armies might come in near future, but there are small in numbers so don't worry. About 10 professional assassins
from our army should soon come, they have more information on the further mission for you. For now just rest and wait.

"This is all their is to say in here," asked Karus. "Yes, we were only ordered to help out
the army, but I guess we are now the army, said the rider. They both walked to the small
army force that was send. "This all that is left from the battle, one lieutenant, it could be worse,"
said one of the riders. "Okay now, I'm in command because, the message says so.
If you listen to me we might survive, if you will do what you please than all of us will be dead,
understood." "Yes, sir, yes," said the small army. "Are you sure there is no survivors,"
asked one of the medics. "You want to go and see the field of dead man, trust me, if someone
was alive they would try at least to breath or to speak, I walked for hours before yo came,
no survivors," said Karus in a dark, and lifeless voice.

The army made a camp, there was one large campfire that was made to get some heat and to
cock food. Four soldiers, and Karus were keeping a watch during the night. It was cold, dark,
and moonless night. The only source of light was the campfire. All waited in silence, and they
could only hear the sound of burning wood, nothing else. Karus was pocking the fire with his
sword while the guards were holding on to their spears, feeling tired. After long hours a chilly
breeze came, and all were tired and cold, even Karus. Karus looked around, but it was really dark
to see anything clear, but he did saw some figures moving. He told the guards quietly to be
ready. When the figures came closer Karus could make out who or what they were. The figures
looked a lot like merchants. They had a wagon that was carried by a horse. "Hello their Karis,
long time no see," said one of the merchants. Karus smilled and said, "Ah, Rodey, yes long time
no see. It's strange to see you a merchant." Than Karus showed a sign to the man to calm.
Merchants got closer to the campfire to be fully seen. They wore blue bandanas, and blue light
cloths. They sat near the campfire near Karus. "Who are they lieutenant," asked one of the soldiers.
"They I don't know, but this person I know. He used to be in the army with me but left, because
he wanted more adventure, and being a high commander didn't allow him that, that is why I also
dropped down," said Karus in a sleepy voice. "Who did you used to me lieutenant," asked the same
soldier. "Oh I was a general, but I didn't want to be in charge of an army."

For two days Rodey stayed but then left. On the fourth day of camping something was about to
happen. It was night time. Warmer than the first time and the moon had finally showed. Karus was
on watch this day. He let everyone else rest and stayed alone. He was still pocking the firewood in
the fire with his sword. He heard some noise, noise that sounded like someone walking really carefully.
He looked around without turning his head. He then relaxed, but at the same moment a man jumped
behind him with a sword. He quickly got up and slashed the man before he could touch him, and made
a small burn mark where he cut the man because his sword was lightly burned from the fire. Than three
more man with swords charged at Karus. "Everybody wake up," screamed Karus, while fighting the three
man. All of soldiers got up, but they didn't look at the man who tried to kill Karus, but they faced Karus,
all of them. They got their weapons, but didn't looked like they were going to help him, but they looked
as if Karus was their enemy. Five foot soldiers charged at Karus. He barley killed them. Then the three
unknown enemies attacked Karus, but he was able to kill them. In the end he killed everyone who was in
the camp, all who was trying to kill him. He was out of breath, and breathing very heavy. Than six more
of those man came from behind. He grabbed his sword put the tip of his blade in the fire, and quickly
charged at his enemies. He was able to kill them, all 60 men, 20 foot soldiers, 15 archers, 5 medics,
10 horseman, and 10 who looked like assassins. He then walked around the camp. He found the man who
brought him the message. He saw that he carried another latter. It was said to kill Karus, and that the 10
assassins were to do the job and if the assassins were to fail, that the whole army should kill Karus. Hey couldn't
understand why they wanted to kill him, but then it stroke him. He was a well known in most tactics, and
knew everything their is to know how to defeat any army. Karus had great knowledge to who he served
and he did dropped down, he says that he dropped down because he didn't want to be in command but
everyone else who was in charge of the whole army didn't believe him. They believed that he meant to
betray him, and gain wealth, fame, and anything he wanted from the opposing army.

Karus knew that he will soon has to face about a thousand soldiers by himself. He went to the supply tent
to get oil, arrows, bow, spear, and some dried grass for horses. He then spread the dried grass on the field, and other
things that would be set on fire. He then changed the arrows to be able to be set on fire, and the spears tip he
wrapped in cloths that absorbed oil. He then the rest preparation for the battle.

He waited for the seventh day. He looked at the horizon and saw about a thousand soldiers with spears, bows, swords,
and polearms. They where about 200 meters away from him. "Give up traitor, we know about your skills, but you can't
defeat us, you will end up dying," said the man in charge. "Maybe I will die, but I'll show you to what happens when you
try to kill one of your comrades. You send 60 men to kill me, and they failed, even when I wasn't prepared. So how do you
think this battle will end when I was prepared for a long time," said Karus. "You might kill 20 men, but that is the maximum."
"Well come and see," and so Karus set one arrow on fire and shot it on the middle of the field. The man in charge smilled
but his face turned to shock when he saw the arrow land on dry grass, and whole battlefield was set on fire. Everyone screamed
in pain but Karus was prepared, and wore enough cloths to protect him from the flames. He then got the spear, and charged the
whole army. The spear's tip was set on fire so he easily killed his opponents, and horses. He was barely attacked because everyone
tried to get away from the flames. The flames had died about 15 minutes after the battle had started. Most people were on ground
laying in pain from the burns. Karus already defeated about half the army. He then fought with his burned sword. The battle was
lasting already for an hour and no one was able to kill Karus, but he was already tired and almost out of breath from wearing too
many cloths.

Karus was left with only 100 people. He had his many cloths off, and he was cut many times and had ten arrows on his back.
He then charged at them and......

He stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. It had taken him twenty years to get to this point. A few more seconds wouldn't matter. He left the door open and looked around. Gloomy light came from somewhere above, but his eyes already got used to the darkness. In a corner he noticed a broad stairway with a blood-red carpet on it. The source of light was up there and his target probably was as well.
As he climbed up the stairs, he envisioned a stream of blood running down the carpet and melting with it's tone. It would vanish like it's owner. But no, he told himself. This was not about assuaging his bloodthirst. It was just about revenge. Cold, determined revenge.
Lost in his thoughts he hardly noticed that the stairway had ended, revealing a long corridor. At it's end, light fell out of a half-opened door.
Soft-footed, he approached it while taking a silver dagger out of his coat. Somehow he managed to get through the door without moving it.
Now there he stood, a dark figure, surreptitious like an assassin, in the corner of a dark room with his victim lying on a bed in front of him. Next to it there was a small table with a candle on it. After twenty years... Twenty years of plotting his revenge... And now he was so close. So close to the man who had taken everything from him. The man who had killed his wife and burned down his house. Who had destroyed his life. But tonight, this would end.
He came closer and raised the fist with the dagger. As he was about to jab out, he noticed a small book with a violet binding on the bedside table. The word “diary” was on it, written in calligraphic letters. He wanted to end this as fast as possible, but something made him open the book. Maybe he wanted to understand why all this had happened, maybe he wanted to understand why that man had done all this to him and maybe he hoped to find solace by understanding it. He didn't know, but he opened it anyway.
“Dear Diary,” it said on the first page.

“I'm starting to write to you because something happened. Something terrifying. Something I can't keep for myself.
I killed somebody. A woman. I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I didn't want to kill her! Just because I was hungry I broke into her house. The only thing I wanted to have is something to eat! But somehow she must have heard me rummaging the kitchen.
And then suddenly she was in front of me, with a knife in her hand. In my panic I grabbed for one as well, but as she noticed my movement she stabbed forward. Probably she just feared for her life like I did. The same mortal fear depriving me of my senses. As a reflex I raised my knife and she ran into it. Just a reflex...
I didn't want to kill her.”

Some scrawly and crossed lines he couldn't read followed.

“When I sat there next to her dead body, I couldn't even realize what had happened. My biggest anxiety was that I might have been put to jail. Jail! What are 10 years in jail compared to this?
But in my fear I couldn't grab a single clear thought. Trance-like I took books and wood and.., everything I could find, stacked and burned them so that no one would find out. But as I came out of the house, her husband, maybe having seen the flames and the smoke, descried me. I ran away, hiding from justice.”

He skipped a few pages.

“It have been ten years since then and still I can't stop myself from thinking about it. Neither at daytime nor in my dreams. It is probably going to hunt me forever.
I wonder how her husband is feeling now. Does he hate me? Of course he does. How does he live on? Does he think of it every day like I do? Or doesn't he even live anymore? I wish I could talk to him and explain what I did, but I fear his reaction. Maybe he would kill me. But well, maybe that's a fair punishment for my misdeeds...”

At that point he closed the book and turned his head to look down at his former enemy. All this years, he had thought he was hunting a monster. And now he realized that this man suffered as much as he did. Somehow he felt an affinity to him. A single event had bound them together for a lifetime. He could still kill that man, but it didn't mean anything to him. Furthermore, wouldn't he be the cold, deadhearted monster if he did so?
He took the pen lying next to the book and wrote “I forgive you” on the last page, then he left through the open door.

...a little toy mouse, which beeped, when he squeesed it. He threw it angry to the ground, but it bounced back and hit him right in the face.
-Ouch! he said really pissed off.
As he looked around himself he noticed that one of the corpses moved. He stepped closer and scared the little cat, which had been hiding under the dead soldiers cloak. It was getting dark. He started to walk slowly away through the battlefield. As he walked he started to hum a melody, which normally wouldn't fit in this kind of sad situation, but he felt it cheering him up. He stopped next to a body, whose face was hidden under a hood. Gently he picked the sword next to the corpse and continued his march. Suddenly he stumbled over a body and fell to the ground, stabbed by his own sword. Slowly his eyes were closet and he fell next to the body, which he had stumbled over. He knocked on the corpse so it turned around and it was his own brother.
Then, out of nowhere a dark body rose up. He glared at the dead hero with hate. At last he said with a voice, which echoed through the battlefield:
Fail, noob.

... a small, smooth stone, tied carefully to a bit of string.
He looked down at his hand, the stone shining a brilliant blue
even in the growing dark.

His shivering slowed as a warmth different from the growing cold
began to flow through him, and he lowered the stone to again
survey the battlefield.
He could see friends, lying bent and broken, amongst the
carnage, and his stomach fell. He'd lived with these people,
argued with them, joked with them. They had all set out this
morning confident of victory. Victory! How could we all have
been so naive?!

We'd thought they had been walking out to meet an opposing
army of savages of lesser numbers. An easy win, surely.
In reality, we had marched out into the valley, and nothing was
there to meet us. It was already too late.

The supposed savages had allied themselves with another army
that was supposed to be on our side, and out of nowhere the
members of that army amongst our ranks had begun attacking us.
As we'd struggled to regroup and fight back, the savages had come
from all sides with weapons and monsters unlike anything we'd
ever seen.
We'd all fought with our best, but it wasn't a war.

It was a massacre.

He looked over his shoulder at a gigantic beast's carcass. That
massive, deformed creature had attacked from the left, plowing
through everyone and everything, it's eyes ablaze with a primal
rage.
He'd seen it tear apart friend and foe, and in an instant of his own
rage for his fallen friends, he'd charged it as it lunged at him.
His katana pierced through the beast's upper jaw as the beast's
teeth sunk into his shoulder. The momentum of the beast carried
it over him before he could get away, and then it all went black.

When he came to, he found his armor, despite being cracked
and nearly broken, supporting the bulk of the dead monster's
weight. After realizing he could still move, he struggled, barely
managing to get out from under the thing, and retrieved his sword
as he looked around.
It was all over, there was no one else.

He looked away from his friend’s corpses, and began to slowly
make his way forward.
The dark of the night grew, The little light there was, was coming
from the nearly full moon peeking through the clouds. The sickly
light convulsed the scene before him as he walked into something
he'd not even seen in nightmares.

The dead bodies, their eyes, they seemed to scream in pain, in rage,
they wanted to hurt, to kill as they had been...
He wrenched his eyes away, looking to his side. More monstrous
carcasses... we're they really dead? Did it just move?
The shadows were playing tricks, they had to be, everything
was dead...

A shrill cry erupted from behind him.

He jumped forwards, turning quickly but a little unbalanced as he
landed. He couldn't see anything beyond the silhouettes of the
dead warriors and beasts in the abysmal light.
He blinked. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.
His hand fell and tightly gripped the hilt of his sword that hung by
his side. Nothing moved, the eerie silence felt heavy on his ears.
Did he imagine it?
For a moment, nothing happened.

Again shrill cry, and then another, both high pitched and wailing
like the first, broke out either side of him. His eyes widened in
terror as from between the dead bodies glowing yellow eyes came
into view, shining in the small light from the moon.
He drew his sword as a cloud moved, letting the moon illuminate
the valley.

The creatures we're hunched over, almost crawling along the
ground. He could hear the snarls now, the bright white fangs bared...
He turned quickly, his shaking almost breaking his footing, as he
swung at the monster that grew close.
He missed... it jumped back, it's face contorted in rage...

There was more of them. As the one already visible grew closer, others
came out from behind the dead the dead and darkness, too many...
He screamed at them as he spun himself in a tight circle, his sword
arcing through the air, driving them back, but not enough...

His balance wavered too much, breaking under the strain.
He hit the ground, the wind was knocked out of him. His sword
bounced out of his hand, he reached for it, but it went too far.

He was going to die, like he should have, along with his friends...

Amidst the cries of the monsters, the thudding of their feet drawing
close, his own strained breathing, he heard something else hit the
ground.
His eyes looked down.
A small, brilliantly blue stone sat on the dirt and crushed grass.


"... check this rock out." He'd remarked, holding the stone up for
her to see. "Wow... it's beautiful." She'd replied back, smiling.
He'd let his eyes catch hers, and then had gazed back at the stone,
smiling himself. "Yeah, it is. It reminds me of you." She'd laughed,
catching him in an embrace...


The warmth, more powerful than his fear, more powerful than
anything surged through him. His shaking slowed, it stopped...
He couldn't hear anything, no, yes he could, he could hear his
breathing. He struggled upright and looked around.

Where had the monsters gone?
The dead soldiers... the monstrous carcasses... He got to his feet,
listening intently. There was nothing. Nothing moved. Not the
slightest whisper of noise came from anything besides himself.
There wasn't any sign of them, or any sign of anything having been
here since the army's battle.
The sword still sat where it had fallen and surveyed the he blade,
and then looked at the valley.
The dead, his dead friends...

He drove the sword into the ground, so it firmly stuck upright.
His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the bit of string,
which must have come loose after all this time...
Closing his eyes tightly as tears ran down his cheeks, he began to mutter...

... he stood back up and turned away from his sword, everything he
wanted to say to his friends had been said and left with his sword,
along with a small blue stone, tied tightly to a bit of string...

He didn’t have to die, someone back home needed him more than his
friends did...

The door was left open to bring light. He sighed as he watched his family’s old, enormous mansion. A pitch-black carpet was visible. A dusty picture of the old man’s family with their piano on the back was hanging on the wall. Those were the only things fashioning this house. There were many empty spaces. The old man’s family had moved without him, but fortunately they left a picture and their piano to show their love and attention. Slowly he walked in and then got close to the picture.

‘Years and years have passed, and now I’ve my sweetie old piano back,’ he whispered to himself while his hands were busy wiping out the dust.

The old man’s name was Philippe. While looking at the picture, his past slowly but steadily came back to him. When he was young, his father used to teach him how to play the piano. He often hid in the garden or elsewhere safe to ‘delay’ his weekly piano lesson, but instead of delaying it, the hiding made the lesson even less entertaining and more boring. To his amazement, as he remembered his past, his father never gave up teaching him, showing that Philippe could be like him, a well-known pianist.

Yes, I have learned that my future would be like this. Father, I will show you that I could be like you too, he thought. Then he took an old, plain white clothing used to clean the piano, now still lying in its usual place, a table nearby. The old clothing was never replaced, only carefully washed and gently cleaned, making it the only fabric able to delicately touch the black, large instrument to wipe out its dust and clean it up.

‘It has been a long time already, isn’t it?’ Philippe told the piano. A few minutes later he finished cleaning his family’s, or now his most cherished treasure. It had been a long time since he left his home to study architecture, which was now not interest him anymore. It seemed that music is in his blood, and not anything else. He started getting interested in constructing when he saw builders building another mansion next to his family’s. They were working together, one painting, one bringing bricks when others do what they could. Even the neighbours helped if they were idle. Philippe helped too while sneaking out from his music lesson.

‘I thought constructing was my interest, but no,’ he laughed nervously. Then he sat on a chair in front of the piano.

‘My place and future is you, my precious treasure.’ He took a music book filled with basic musical notes to complex ones. Then he opened the book, hands wiping the dust out. It seemed that everything in the mansion were dirty with dust except for the old fabric. It’s always clean, or is it cleaned by someone recently visiting or staying here? He thought. But nobody entered this mansion anymore. Father gave the keys to me. He said that he never trusted anyone else to look after this house.

‘Why hello!’ a voice greeted, breaking the peaceful silence he was having. An old yet mysterious man suddenly entered Philippe’s mansion. He was wearing a black tuxedo with a black tie.

‘Who are you?’ replied Philippe, confusion and fear all mixed up on his face.

‘I am the estate’s new owner. Who are you to dare trespass this mansion?’ The man’s face was almost blank, but Philippe could recognise him.

‘Don’t you remember? I’m the owner’s son. My family left a long time ago, and I was given this mansion to stay in,’ he blurted out.

‘Oh. I’m sorry. Shame on myself I do not remember my own friend. I’m just checking around,’ he laughed as he walked in.

‘So why did you drop out from your study?’ he continued.

‘I’m no longer interested in construction. My life depends on this,’ Philippe stood and touched his old piano.

‘It’s good to have it back isn’t it? I need your help.’ Thomas, the estate’s new owner said. His eyes felt sore, but he felt compelled to see his old friend.

‘Really? You’d ask me for help? That would be a great honour.’

‘Yes. And by doing that, I could help you of becoming a great pianist too,’ offered Thomas.

‘But how?’

‘Firstly you can practice playing music for me to prove that you’re good enough. Then I’ll set up a gathering at the park tomorrow. The guests are this estate’s buyers. They are looking for a peaceful and quiet location like here. If you play nice, they would approve and buy the houses. They would come to your mansion every month and listen to your music. Good deal? I get the money, you get your skill back,’ he explained. Philippe thought for a while, and then nodded in agreement. He sat back and started playing ‘Greensleeves’.

‘Hmm, hmm, it’s a quite relaxing music. I love that. They would be happy about this,’ laughed Thomas approvingly, smiling at his best friend.

‘Do you have some more? Soothing music would throw off this nightmarish night,’ he said. Philippe turned the music book’s page, now showing ‘Canon’. He stopped for a while and then gently landed his fingers on the ivory keys, eyes still focusing on the page. As he played, Thomas sometimes closed his eyes, imagining how his guests would say about this.

‘I’ll leave you alone to practice. See you tomorrow, meet me at the park. There’ll be a piano placed there, so the guests won’t get in your house,’ he walked out and waved goodbye to his friend. Philippe waved back and then practiced until he felt drowsy. As he walked to his bedroom he wondered what would happen next, hoping that he would be like his father.

He managed to sleep for a few hours. It was morning now. Then he walked outside to the park. The sun was shining dimly, radiating hope that he would achieve his goal.

‘Welcome, Phil! Come! Let me introduce you to the others,’ Thomas greeted. Philippe wanted to smile, but something in his voice made it impossible to.

‘My fellow guests, this is Philippe. He is a pianist who is doing quite well. He’d play monthly for us,’ he announced when the guests were gathering near him.

‘And today, he will play quite nice music for us.’ Phil walked to the new instrument, almost identical to his, and sat on the seat next to it. He placed his fingers on the keys, barely remembering the musical notes. He could barely remember them, but his strong will forced him to, and finally he started to play ‘Fur Elise’ as the audience sat. He managed to remember all of the notes. Applauses broke the silence after he finished. Then he played ‘Canon’ in a soft, slow pace.

‘This would be a great day to me. Everyone smiled, making me content. Dad, now I’ve proven that I worth to be a musician,’ he told himself as he continued to concentrate.

...what he knew would be the greatest regret of his life…
He immediately pulled his hand away from the pocket, a moment too late. The black widow spider crawled out of the pocket, with bloody fangs. He sighed. “All the more reason to get over there…” he mumbled. The challenge of avoiding the perilous fall down the valley awaited him. The time it would take to make it to the metropolis (correct?) seemed long; he didn’t have much time to spare. Looking over at the safe bridge a long way away, he decided to risk it and climb along the vines from one side to the other. Time and time again, he would slip, until he found that it was easier to step on top of them. His balancing act managed him half the way. A thin column of stone stood straight ahead. He leaped onto it immediately.
Bad idea. Under his weight, it began to crumble. He panicked. As luck would have it, a small ledge on the other side was almost begging him to hang on to it. A few minutes later, he was in a cave just next to the ledge. He wanted to stay, but he could feel the venom spreading. He was weakening by the minute. Any moment now, he would be too weak to make it. He had to leave now. He was now presented the challenge of climbing up the ledges to the top of the valley. At the top of the valley, he felt himself losing conscience. Only managing to get to the top of the other side, he fainted.
Almost a day later, he woke up. He was in the metropolis at last! He could almost feel the venom’s effects fading. Sitting up, he felt confident. Then he remembered his task. Running to the laboratory, he found the lever he was to pull. At last thoughts, he backed away, to be confronted by guards. “Who are you?!” they shouted. “Wait… you’re the person patrol recovered from the valley last night! GET HIM!” He pulled the lever, and he saw a flash of light, then darkness…