The ground trembled—not because of bombs or tectonic shifts, but from the thousands upon thousands of footsteps of soldiers marching toward a revolution that would change the course of history as we knew it.
The rain accompanied every step, as if the sky itself wept for the fallen. Each soldier had one thing in mind: to recover what had been stolen from humanity… the meaning of being human.
POV of Unknown Character
The sound of clashing metal was the catalyst that brought me back to harsh reality. The stench of gunpowder and scorched flesh clung to the air, making it heavy—almost suffocating. Screams of pain and clashing swords filled the surroundings, a war symphony that knew no ceasefire.
I was in the worst place possible: standing before the most despicable person to ever walk this world. The self-proclaimed "Chosen One", the "Prophet". A human who called himself a god, a false guide who only led our species to the brink of extinction.
I instinctively dodged a slash that nearly took my head off. The blade of his sword whistled past my ear, raising a faint breeze of cold air. When I noticed he'd let his guard down for a moment, I attempted a sweep followed by a punch, but he dodged by leaping backward.
"Seriously, is that all you've got?" the Prophet said, swinging his sword. "After all these years of trying to get rid of you and your damn revolution… what was it called again? Ah, yes, now I remember: the Insurgency."
"Shut up and go to hell!" I snapped, drawing my sword before charging at him with a horizontal slash, which he easily blocked. He returned a vertical strike that I narrowly dodged, using the opportunity to throw a right hook into his gut.
I smiled inwardly and kicked him in the jaw.
"Take that, for being overconfident," I muttered while picking up my sword from the ground.
"You know..." I said, answering his earlier question while stretching my neck and closing my eyes for a second. "If there's one thing I've learned during all these years you've tried to kill me… it's that you're a real pain in the ass."
I inhaled deeply.
"Calur."
Time stops.
Who would have thought that the gods of our world would care so much about our suffering that they'd gift us weapons… weapons to kill each other?
As I walked slowly but steadily toward him, intending to slash his throat, something stopped me: a voice.
I know that voice.
"Marcois."
"Matias… Matias… Matias, what are you doing here, old friend? I see you're still using the one eye you have left. Too bad your transmitter doesn't work properly without both eyes," he said while scratching his chin. "I was the one who took that eye from you, wasn't I?"
The transmitters were the weapons granted to us by the gods.
I wielded the Divine Eye, capable of… well, stopping time.
It was ironic: every time humanity obtained something to improve itself, it ended up using it against itself.
"That time, as far as I remember, you didn't walk away unscathed," he added, just as I had to turn my head to the right to dodge a dagger. It was the Prophet, irritated.
Time resumes.
My only eye wept. Not normal tears—but blood. The blood of a pain I was condemned to carry. It was my own actions that led everything to this point… but even so, why dwell on it?
There's no turning back.
"Great, two against one…" I sighed like never before. Then I grabbed the hilt of my sword tightly… and leapt into the fray.
As swords clashed in every direction, the sound of explosions echoed around us.
A symphony of chaos.
Our dance. Our orchestra. Our battle.
Boom.
I dodged an attempt to slice my leg, then countered with a slash that was returned with double the force by the Prophet.
I had to duck just in time to avoid a kick from Marcois, letting go of my sword mid-air as I performed a sweep that slammed him into the ground.
Boom.
Jumping backward, I grabbed my sword that was still suspended in the air. I clutched my eye with one hand and whispered:
"Calur."
Time stops.
"You're the only one who's unaffected by time being stopped, Marcois. Better kill you quickly," I said, kneeling on one leg and holding my head.
"We'll see if you can, Champion Castleboard," he replied.
His words, though not a weapon, felt so… cutting. It hurt to have memories of your loved ones dead running through your mind. Your father, in your arms, asking you to protect your mother and sister. Your sister, dying, begging for help… with nothing you could do. And your mother, crying, watching you leave with hatred in her eyes. With only one word echoing in your mind:
Revenge.
I raised my head to cry, this time from pain. Pain from not being able to say goodbye. I was a fool to think that holding a title gave me the power to protect everyone.
I clenched my teeth with enormous force. I didn't feel pain. I didn't feel fear.
Only the duty remained—to fulfill what it means to be a Champion.
"I'll kill you, old friend," I said to Marcois as I assumed a combat stance.
We both lunged, each of us with the mindset of killing the other.
When two leaves fall from the same tree…
There must always be a winner.
Time resumes.
Boom.
A sword dripped with blood… but it wasn't mine.
When I looked into Marcois' eyes, I didn't see hatred… but peace. A smile was what welcomed me.
"Haha… looks like you got me," he said, then touched my head and rested his forehead against mine. "Take care, Matias."
I slowly pulled out my sword, with trembling hands, and let him fall to the ground.
"Now it's your turn," I said to the Prophet, pointing my sword at him while every emotion coursed through my fragile, weakened body. For I am human… not a machine, not a god.
The Prophet raised his head with a sadistic grin, bursting into laughter before saying words that only fueled my determination to end it all.
"Matias, you're an idiot. Why cry for him? He's just another life. I thought you'd lost enough to stop hurting from more loss," he covered his face with one hand, then looked me in the eyes with arrogance.
Believe me when I say I have a heart colder than ice… The reason it hurts is because I still have those feelings that keep me grounded in who I am.
Without saying another word, I ran toward him. Time felt heavy, slow, as if something were trying to tell me something. But it wasn't Calur. It wasn't me.
Our swords clashed in a melodic, soft… yet powerful symphony. Each time sparks flew from our blades, my arms felt the weight of this battle.
At one point, I saw an opening in his lowered guard. I didn't think twice. I went straight to end it.
I heard flesh being torn. And then I saw him fall.
I had done it. After so many years of suffering… it was finally over.
But… Why does this victory feel so bitter?
I lowered my right arm, touched my stomach… and saw blood on my hand. When I looked closer, there was a hole. I could see the floor behind me.
I spat blood.
"Calur."
Time stops.
Before doing anything to save myself, I went straight to check the Prophet's condition. He wasn't any better than me.
How crazy…
I thought I would live to see the world I built.
With the last strength I had left, I walked toward the Prophet's throne. The floor was stained with my blood… and that of the two who now lay still.
I sat on the throne.
I let my whole body relax. To feel whatever needed to be felt.
I had fulfilled my duty.
"I… I did it," I whispered. Mother… father… sister…
Time resumes.
The last thing I heard, aside from my breathing, were the sounds of trumpets and cheers. They announced our victory.
A victory that would bring peace…
How many wars did we humans have to fight to get here…?
Little by little, my eyes closed. My body grew weaker and weaker. The spark of my life slowly faded…
Until, finally, I closed my eyes.
I died.