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by Rivin
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Action/Adventure · #2173563
The Prologue for the Terror-verse. Leave some feedback if you like, and I'll get better!

Rise: The Terror Chronicles 1


I saw two men.

Two men, atop a blood soaked mound of sand, the eerie wind crashing through their hairs as if breathed on by unknown colossi. The two men, their calloused hands wielding weapons forged from only the strongest fires, locked in their unrelenting will to kill each other.

The mind

A picture on the ground. It was a picture of four people, their smiles radiating brightly amidst the solemn field of death. Their eyes and face were blurred out by scratches, and all that remains are their smiles. Just their smiles. It seemed like such a joyful moment, a moment forever encased in the piece of paper.

A necklace on the ground. A golden arrow with a circle in the middle of the shaft, the dull metal splitting the sunbeam into multi-coloured rays of light. I could feel the heat emanating from the necklace, burning the air around it into hazes of mist. A pledge to a long line of kings and gods, a pledge that can only be broken by the cold embrace of death. And even then, the title of Highlord can never be forgotten.

The man on the right, with his blurred and charred features except for his short, golden hair, caught my attention. Tattered and cracked golden armour hung off his body, with blood seeping out of many of the cracks. The man held an axe in one hand, and wore a gauntlet in the other. The axe and gauntlet, as with the spear, seemed normal. This ones aura is easy to identify. I recognized it as the aura and feeling of pain and suffering. The infamous pair that seemed to follow every living being wherever it existed.

"You should know better than anyone that pain is needed to grow! That suffering is the most powerful teacher!"

"Mind over Matter!"

The man on the left seemed familiar. Like the picture on the ground, his face was blurred no matter how much I focused. His dark hair was the only true visible aspect, but his clothing is the true attraction. A war-torn suit of jagged, rough armour stuck to his body, the purple glow emitted shining more defiantly than the stars above. In his hand holds a silver spear. It looked like any other spear would, the only thing standing out was the aura it gave out. It was... interesting, to say the least.

"I understand that! More so than anyone! But, it doesn't mean we should be the ones to cause them! Not like this!"

"Soul Unites Mind!"

I did not need to see their faces to know that they despised each other. Rivals to the very end. Their glares were enough to indicate their past, their likely relation.

Their weapons were locked in a clash, fiery sparks close enough to their faces to sear them. I was close enough to see the grit on their weapons, telling me all I need about the two weapons of mass destruction. Blood stains on the axe, and on the spear... glitter?

Truly, weapons of mass destruction.

But the two men were not the true focus of this image. It was but the face of what they represented.

Hope and despair.

Happiness and sadness.

Right and wrong.

Silver and gold.


And Doom.

But which was which? Which one of these men, stuck in this image of bloodshed and pain, represent hope? Which one despair? Their indistinguishable features did not help with this, only tearing me into another fit of confusion.

To me, they were both the same. Just men of war, men who were willing to make the hard choices in order to win a fight that they had no part in starting.

Yet, I couldn't help but be entranced by what they both represented. Perhaps it was the sheer will and determination behind their hidden faces, or their auras that sent shivers down my spine. They were everything that I had not expected from just pawns of war, and that fascinated me. Who were these two men willing to give up their lives for their believed cause?

And could I ever do the same?


What was that?

And I gasped as something tore me away from this horrible, yet fascinating, image.

Maybe one day, I would know why I was fighting.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2173563