*
Day. Night. Dawn. Dusk. Sleep comes. Sleep goes. All things have a beginning and an end. Some things exist for what seems like an eternity, while others live only for a moment. Hopes. Dreams. Fears. Doubts. All can last a lifetime, or die in an instant.
The scene is different. The feeling of loss is always the same. The spire stands before me, ascending to the blackened clouds in defiance of the destruction around it. Time passes, calamities befall the world, each one worse than the last. Humanity picks up the shattered pieces of culture again and again, with a perseverance that defies expectation. Nations rise, nations fall...yet still the spire stands tall.
People come from across the seas to study it, to puzzle out it's mysteries, as time erodes it's message. Wars are fought over it. Wars are fought because of it. False champions are accused, and false champions are brought down by words and swords. Blood seeps into the ground as the frenzy takes hold. After an age of violence and suspicion, a brave soul covers the accursed words with the dreaded symbol, in hopes that the warning will survive even if the words are no more. With the prophecy concealed, peace reigns, until the Great War washes away all legacies and warnings.
TREMBLE.
A deranged howl breaks the dream, splitting the sky and calling forth crimson lightning. The beast is made manifest, it's blood-red eyes staring hungrily into my soul. I am standing in the plaza, the broken city surrounding me. The beast waits for me at its centre. I can feel it’s mind… it’s hunger. It wants to devour me, body and soul, and yet something holds it back. It has never felt fear in its blood-filled life, yet that is what it feels now. There are worse things than death. The words of its master. The one who breathes fear and speaks poison.
It takes a step forward. It is a proud beast, and will not yield easily.
“No, not yet.”
The beast recoils as if struck. It was wrong, it was so wrong. It could never resist. Never fight back. The master held its soul in his pale fingers… if it disobeyed…
There are worse things than death.
TREMBLE.
He stands before me, beside the beast. His form is indistinct, as if reality is still deciding whether or not to allow him to exist. Despite the obscurity, his grey, soulless eyes cut through the mist that is his visage. Wherever he steps, lightning strikes and hope dies. When he raises his hand, nation’s burn and seas froth. He is evil personified. He is death incarnate. I try and tear my eyes away from his image, but he calls out my name. “Barsch. Why do you resist? Surely you must know that your fate is inescapable? My words are true, my power undeniable. Although I would find no greater joy than in ending your pitiful existence with my own hands, I have promised my champion that glory. Your friends, your meddlesome guardians, cannot save you. Flee or face me, your end is guaranteed. Now run coward, so that I might garner some amusement from your fear!”
He was right. Every word he spoke was the truth. In my heart, I knew it to be true. I could not fight him. I could not even hope to escape him. With terror overtaking my mind, I turn my back to him and run for my life. With the last dredges of my sanity slipping away, I hear him turn to the beast and say, “Kill him...”
Awakening Page 140