Selected excerpts from the journal of Earth’s greatest hero.

5/12/2000

I got my powers today. It was so cool flying around. I don’t know how I ever got by on foot before. I don’t care about getting my driver’s license anymore. Dad told me he’d help me learn to control my strength tomorrow. I need to pick out a hero name and outfit. Maybe mom can stitch something for me.

10/15/2000

Thwarted my first super villain today. Dad finally thought I had developed enough to come along on a call with him. Some villain had stolen nuclear secrets and was threatening to use them unless his demands were met. Dad ultimately was the one to take out the bad guy, but I did a lot to take down the henchmen. Looking forward to teaming up with Dad more and getting stronger.

2/14/2001

I’m in love, I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it.

5/17/2001

Being in love as a hero is hard. I never have time. I feel like no matter what I do, I always let someone down. Why do we hurt the ones we love?

9/4/2001

Got beat pretty badly today. Lucy told me she doesn’t know if she can take it. She worries about me too much when I’m out there. I told her she should see the other guy. Dad says it gets easier as we age, that Lucy will care less about the possibility I’ll die in service to the world as she learns more about me. Mom punched him in the shoulder. I love them.

8/6/2003

The happiest day of my life. Lucy and I are officially married. She wasn’t too happy that I had to leave the reception early to thwart a plot, but she knows that what I do is important. I’m the luckiest man in the world.

6/7/2004

I miss dad. I miss him more each day. I can’t help but feeling there is more I could have done. Why hadn’t I come sooner. Why didn’t he wait for me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t know what to do without him.

11/3/2004

My son was born today. We named him after Dad. He would have been so proud. Lucy was my hero today—I didn’t know that such strength was possible. I have to make my son proud just as my Dad did. I can’t wait for his powers to come in so that I can train him just like Dad did for me. Today was hard. I miss you Dad.

4/29/2010

I feel like I can’t win. If I save a family on the other side of the world, I let my family down. I saved a group of kids from another villain today. But because of it, I missed Jackson’s first tee-ball game. There will be more games, but I know that each day that passes, he is changing and he soon will become a man. I have to cherish what time we have together.

5/18/2010

The light is gone from my life.

5/19/2010

I told Cyrus I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. Lucy paid for my mistakes, my Dad paid for my mistakes. I won’t let my son pay that price too.

5/21/2010

The fuckers took Jackson. Cyrus called me with a ransom! A fucking ransom from my own government. They wanted DNA from me. Said they can’t leave Earth unprotected. They have a new technology that could clone me. I obliged. I told them to leave me the fuck alone.

9/22/2010

Jackson is nervous about starting at a new school. I told him he’d make friends in no time. Its nice being out in the wilderness with him. I feel normal. I don’t miss splitting my mind in every task. I’m finally here for Jackson fully. I only wish I could have been there for Lucy. I miss her.

3/31/2012

I saw myself on the news today—6 of me. Cyrus’s contingency plan must have worked. Oddly comforting knowing I’m still out there doing good, while raising my son. Maybe Cyrus was right.

8/12/2012

Jackson’s powers kicked in this morning. Sooner than mine did! I wonder if I was a late bloomer, or if he’s early. I wish I could ask Dad. I’m conflicted. I’ve looked forward to this moment since the day he was born. This is something uniquely ours to bond over—at least, it used to be. I don’t want him to struggle with the same conflicts I did, to suffer the same losses, the same regrets. Regardless, I owe it to him to help him hone his abilities. I have to allow him to make his own choices. Just as I did.

12/12/2012

Things are bad. Cyrus’s experiment has gone awry. It appears he has lost control of the clones. Surreal to see myself on the news killing innocent people. This, too, feels like my fault.

4/14/2013

I don’t know how much longer I can hold up. I’ve trusted Cyrus to keep Jackson, Mom, and Lucy’s folks safe. I don’t know if I can trust him. I have to trust him.

6/22/2013

I feel silly to be writing right now, but it clears my head. I’ve successfully killed 5 of myself. What a sentence that is to see on the page. I’ve taken a beating. I hope I can hold out longer. I have to hold out longer. I miss you Lucy.

6/25/2013

I killed him. I’m the last of me standing. He wasn’t as strong as I would have thought. Earth’s greatest hero. I miss you Dad.

__________

If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive

"But we need you!"

I crossed my arms, sitting in the cottage I called home. The spokesman was pale, standing up from his chair in horror.

"I said I was done the last time. I meant it. So no, you can go back and say I'm not helping."

The spokeman spluttered, tapping his scroll frantically.

"But.... but.... but it will be the end of our world! The rising tide of corrupted treants and dryads will destroy all of our cities! Countless people will die!"

I shrugged.

"So? Every time I have helped, I have lost. Either something or someone precious. I have nothing left I am willing to give up. So find someone else to break themselves for you. I won't do it anymore."

The spokesman stepped towards me, tightening his fist. The scroll crumpled in his grasp, the pale skin now turning red with anger.

"You are always rewarded! How dare you not care anymore!"

I slowly stood up. My long years of service had left me with a powerful body, one that made me stand over any ordinary person.

"I said I'm done. Now leave, before I lose my temper."

He shivered at the implication. I pointed to the door, letting him make the choice. After dithering for a moment he walked out, though he walked like he wanted to run. I watched him leave, before sighing.

"Is that enough for you?"

A potted plant on my windowsill twitched, before an ethereal voice rose from it.

"That is enough assurance. You have my word your friends will be left unharmed by this transition."

I relaxed, settling into my chair. It turns out the best action for me was inaction.

As I stood in the mayor's office, listening to his wants to help the city, I began to think.

I am so tired of being treated like this. I coke from a world of magic, and wonder. This place had none of that. And sure the Magium wasn't the best of the realms but it was home. I came here in order to help balance this unstable world. And what do I get?

Nothing. That's what.

Actually, I'm getting less than nothing. Everything I do for them is at my expense. What the fuck am I going to do with the key to the city? Nothing. At least pay me. But no, apparently "truly good people shouldn't want anythign back" well fuck that. I'm not a good person. Nobody is. You don't bite the hand that feeds you, lest you get struck. And that's what will happen for them. Crimes rates will increase, eiosmts may ensue. And hell, I'd probably join the villains side. At least they have a union. Me and my rival are pretty much actors, anyway. They kill some citizens, I stop them, we do it again the next week. We don't even hate each other, we actually hang out occasionally.

"What do you mean 'no?'" the mayor asked. I sighed.

"I mean no. Now, au revoir, you asshole." I said, gripping the air as if I was choking him. His throat began to close, feeling the effects of my power. I lifted him in the air, and closed my fist. There was a satisfying crunch, followed by the thud of the mayor hitting the ground, blood pooling out of his throat. There was an explosion, and my nemesis stepped into the hole the explosion had made.

"I already killed him, Chara. No need to fight today. But they're probably going to hunt me down for this. So I have a proposition." I said, stepping over the mayor, and sitting in his chair. Chara nodded, intrigued.

"I want to be your roommate. They'd easily find me with my current address. They've never found you before. And I'd even team up with you. And we'd get to go to that ice cream place more often. What do you say, Chara? Yes or no. Make your choice." I said, leaning in, a grin spreading across my face. Chara grinned back.

"Of course. Just think of all we could do..."

“No.”

“Excuse me?” The man replied. He was giving me a look like he knew I was joking.

I wasn’t.

“I’m not doing it anymore. I want to live my life, get a job, start a family, go on trips. I don’t want to run around thwarting bank robbers and stopping murders. I don’t want to fix broken buildings or build new houses. I want a quiet job, maybe writing or something like that.”

The man was fuming. I could envision the smoke pouring out of his bright red ears and floating up past his dirty blond hair. He licked his lips before he spoke, and his tongue looked like a thick pink slug rolling around his lips.

“I don’t care what you want. This is what you need to do. It’s your job.” He said, his voice harsh with anger.

I looked at him with a piercing gaze. Oh, how I wanted to strike him down. Would it really be that hard? Would it really be that bad? Probably not.

“Well, since it my job, I can quit. So I quit.” There was a stunned silence for a moment, then I slowly turned and started to walk out of the office. When I got to the door, I turned around. He was just sitting there looking defeated.

And as I walked out of the office, I felt lighter than I had in years.

————-///——————///——————

I haven’t written in months, so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

“Hey, James, we finally found you!” shouted a young woman. Standing with her were two older men and a younger boy. “My father will be glad to see your face again. He says none of the other heroes that came after you can compare themselves to you.”

The former hero sighed as he turned his wheelchair to the four intruders. A blanket covered his body from the chest down. This wasn’t the first time he had to deal with intruders. Word had gotten around that he had grown soft and weak. The graves in his backyard beg to differ. But James couldn’t deny that he wasn’t the same man he was before.

With a hoarse voice, he asked, “What do you want?”

“Do you remember us, sir?” the boy asked. “You saved our city from that evil robot.”

James let out a chuckle as he reminisced about the fight. That was during his earlier years. An owner of a social media site tried to use an AI algorithm to remove all of the bots on his website. Naturally, the AI declared war on humanity. The AI had seen Age of Ultron and decided to crash a city on the planet to send Earth into a new ice age.

And who had to face the brunt of T-Bot’s and its metal army’s fists and lasers. He did. Of course, James saved the day, and the planet made memes.

What a joke.

“I believe so,” James said. “Was it New York?”

“It was Philadelphia,” the young woman said. “I’m Rachel, and this is my brother Zack. Those two are my boyfriend and his friend, Mike and Josh.” The four waved at their hero. James did not.

“If you’re here for autographs, I have a paper and pen in my drawer,” he said.

“I got this, babe,” Mike said. “With all due respect, sir, but I don’t know if you’ve seen the news lately or stepped outside.”

“What about it?”

“The sun is about to burn this planet to a crisp.”

James looked back at Mike deadpanned. “What about it?”

“It was prophesied that….”

“I’ll launch my body into the sun and restart its core. Yeah, the 2062 doomsday prophecy,” James said with disdain. “Prophecy… fuck prophecy. Apologies to the little one, ‘fudge’ prophecy. Becca says I shouldn’t curse in front of kids.”

The room was silent after he talked. Zack was on the verge of tears. Rachel turned to Josh. “Hey, can you take my brother near the entrance for me?” Josh nodded and grabbed Zack’s hand. The young boy looked back to his hero, hoping to meet his gaze. When the two were out of earshot, Rachel spoke, “Are you going to help us or not?”

James cocked his head as he let the question hang. “No.”

“No?” the two of them said.

“Are you hard of hearing, or do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“What… but why, sir?” asked Mike.

James rolled his eyes. This was why he didn’t deal with fans. “For the greater good. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Ever heard of that?” Mike slowly nodded his head. “That’s what I tell myself every time I fight for your planet. That your needs come before mine.”

Mike moved his lips, but the words refused to come out.

Rachel spoke. “The prophecy also said that it was impossible to kill you.”

Immortality. James snorted. “How old do I look?”

Mike blurted out, “About 25, sir.”

With his right hand, he pulled his blanket, and the two of them gasped. James was in nothing but his shirt and underwear. But his wardrobe wasn’t the source of their shock. James’ skin suffered from second and third-degree burns from the neck down. Half of his right leg and left hand were gone, and the skin of his chest was exposed, a clear case showing his lungs and heart. “I’m 67,” James said. “My body, mind, and soul are the monument of the greater good.”

“Oh my god,” Mike said.

“But you have to save the planet,” Rachel pleaded. “I mean, it was foretold!”

“Of course, I can save the planet.” James reached over to his keyboard and pressed a button. Images of a suit and spaceship filled the screen. “I have everything I need to save this piece of dirt.”

“Then why aren’t you doing anything?”

The two watched as his lungs expanded before shrinking back down. “There was a prophecy. It involved me playing the role of the antichrist so that humanity may go into Heaven. I asked why and He told me it was for the greater good. Bull-fucking-shit.

“He didn’t like that much and knew what I was about to do. He tried to stop me, and I punched Him in the face. It shattered my left hand. After that, I hunted the Devil, killed him, and froze Hell over. Just so I didn’t have to fulfill that prophecy. That was the day I found out prophecies were bullshit.”

“I- I don’t believe you,” Rachel said.

“You can believe whatever you want,” James said. His heart started to beat faster with every word. “You would think God betraying me would be my breaking point, but it was when I found out that the US government made clones of me that broke me. All that pain and misery that I went through, the greater good, was for nothing. That was when my mind snapped, and I gave up on heroism.

“So if you want a hero to save your asses, just walk over to the White House, knock on that door and ask for a clone to do my fucking...”

His heart couldn’t take it anymore. James grabbed for his chest, but it was too late. He breathed one more time and slumped forward.

"I'll see you when this is all over."

A simple phrase, one I have said many times to many.

_____

When this first started for me, I was eager. Children like to grow up hearing stories of heroes saving the day, battling against terrible odds so that we may all see the next sunrise. I was no different. To be given the chance to be that hero, to be the storied figure that many would tell for generations spoke to my inner child. Those days roaming around the fields slaying imaginary monsters with a simple stick I had found lying somewhere around seems lifetimes ago now.

Training was not for the weak hearted. Every dawn I was to report to the arms master to train for every weapon could feasibly use in the foreseeable future. I trained in swords, spears, longbows, crossbows, shields, magic, even bare handed if you could believe it. For years this routine would dominate much of my younger life. I have sadly lost many childhood friendships during these years. the pressures of my destiny and the demands of my labor leaving me with little time. Still, I made new bonds with those I trained alongside with.

In the beginning was never alone. I was surrounded with like minded individuals, or those who I believed to be cut from purer cloth than I. We laughed, we cried, we complained, and we trained. We talked about who we once were, who we wanted to be, what we were proud of, and sometimes what we were ashamed of. It was like finding a new family to me. When our training was complete, we were blessed with long life.

Then the fated day, and many of us took up arms to defend against many dangers. Many of us had fallen in battle, each one dying an honorable death. We mourned, we grieved, and we moved on together. Then the next fated day arrived. The the next one. Then the next. I've lost count of how many 'fated days' there have been now, each one leaving us with less than the last.

With the end of each day, I found myself gazing at those we protected, and the pride in their eyes. I would see the eyes of the children and see the wonder in their eyes. To them, we were living legends. We were heroes. Even when the burden of being heroes grew heavy on us. those eyes would remind us of why we fought, and calm our doubts. We were heroes.

Sadly, time is merciless. Those children would grow up and have children of their own. Then the same would happen to those children and those children's children. Over time, I would see the wonder in the adults turn dull overtime. No longer did the people understand the weight of our sacred duty, no longer did the people understand our struggles. They no longer understood our purpose. Though few in number, I had began to look to my fellow heroes for support.

Eventually, I was the last hero. So many deserved to be standing here today, yet none will. I returned to find the people seeing my return with the eyes of complacency. They had relied on the heroes for so long, I wondered if they had lost the ability to face the dangers themselves. Was I all that stood between them and destruction? Was I the last hero?

A hero was to never falter, to stand firm as a defiant light against the encroaching darkness. A hero was to be the paragon of justice, the pillar of peace whose very name becomes synonymous with righteousness. Ideals meant for the ideal hero.

I had realized that, after all these years, I was not not the ideal hero.

_____

"I'll see you when this is all over."

A simple phrase, one I have said many times too many.

They said it so often during those horrible times. 'Hero' they would say, all smiles and joy. I saw it on the news, in online articles, heard it on the lips of every radio DJ.

Yet I never believed a word of it. I just suited up, put on the mask, and braved the dangers every day.

I was threatened. Villains who were convinced of their righteousness, willing to go to any length to get their way, cost to those around them be damned.

Many others tried to fight this battle. So often they fell victim, always calling on the chosen one, as they called me. I was just the one who answered the phone. Id come back to the battle again, tired and scarred from my own bouts against this scourge.

"No. Im staying home. Get someone else to cover your 'essential worker' cashiering job tonight. You didnt even pay for our sick time, none of you managers were willing to step up when I got sick. Fight your own damn battles this time. Im going back to bed."

I would hear about the 'devastation' for weeks, how a manager who pushed every possible barrier to make me work alone overnight at a gas station had to cover a workers shift for the first time in years. Threats to my hours would soon follow. Yet I did not care.

They forced me to treat my job like my world, and I the hero who had to save it every day from COVID. The bad guys won. Im tired.

Let my world burn.

I stepped up to the microphone, and was nervous. Slowly I started speaking:

"My friends, today I stand before you in a state of melancholia. I know that each one of you has your own struggles and burdens to bear, and I do not wish to burden you with my own. But I must speak of my journey."

A sad beat filled the speakers. My voice deepens, and I start rapping.

"Ya'll wanna give me medals and cheer me on,
Sayin' I'm a hero but it's not that strong
I'm just trying to take a day off and have some fun,
It's time to take a break so let me run!

I said no, no need to try,
Stop askin' me to sacrifice
Been livin' tough but I'm gettin' by,
Time to take a break or else I'll die

All this talk of destinies and warriors,
Always expectin' me to do more
Actions have consequences, that's what I'm seein',
But I can't keep giving up my bein'

All these words flyin' in the air,
Don't wanna go through it no more despair
I won't play your game, no more of this fame,
Gonna take a breather, change my own name

I said no, no need to try,
Stop askin' me to sacrifice
Been livin' tough but I'm gettin' by,
Time to take a break or else I'll die"

And so, I waked off the stage and into the new unknown.

The first apocalypse was the worst. It wasn't just the shock of death and destruction, it's the toll it takes. The first battle that ends in loss. The first time you fight for your life. The first loss of love. When we managed to destroy the evil, we knew relief. We knew mourning, we knew loss, but we also knew peace.

For the first time in a long time, we rebuilt.

Rebuilt our homes, our cities and our lives.

And when the earth shook asecond time, our fear gave way to hope. Evil had been awoken once before, but it had been dealt with. There was no search for a weapon, no late night journeys setting watch for enemy attacks. We saw the enemy and we had the power of heroes.

I had an inkling then, but I ignored it. Not just the potential for loss, but the fear that this was another in a series. Cities fell and the deaths were in the thousands, but we fought back. We triumphed over evil (as was right) and though we were made a little less, we set ourselves back on the path to peace.

Only evil showed itself, again and again. A necromancer's spirit awakened when graverobbers disturbed his tomb. A world-eater summoned by a rogue wizard. And again we cut them down, losing bits of ourselves and our lives in the process. A wife. A son. And, finally, hope.

The hot breath of victory gave way to a numbness. An inevitability that this was not the last.

So I say let it end. Let the hereafter come and let us meet it. Whether it be the warm embrace of loved ones long past or a cold dark nothing, I welcome it.

I gave all I had to the fight. And like a greedy pig, it took it all. I have nothing left. So I welcome the end.

"Please, Ser Alfred. No one else can defeat this beast. Others have tried, many others, and all have failed. You alone can bring this conflict to an end."

"No," the old man replied. He lifted a poker and stoked the fire, choosing to look at it, rather than the man pleading before him. "I've told you twice now. I'll not tell you again. I am done."

"I- but-" the younger man began. "Very well, Ser Alfred. Thank you for your time."

"Aye." The old man felt the young diplomat hesitate before turning, as though contemplating whether he should plead his case just one more time. Ser Alfred soon felt the chill of the cold air outside of his cabin, and it wasn't until he heard the slam of his door before he looked away from the fire.

"Damn." Ser Alfred returned to the fire, stoking it once more with the poker before dropping the iron to the floor in frustration. He reached across the fire and retrieved from it the kettle, hardly feeling the flames on the skin of his bare hand, and poured the water over the leaves in his mug.

"Damn." Ser Alfred swore as he struggled with the buckles. He hadn't bothered with the peg leg in years; a boy from the village down the way brought whatever supplies he needed in exchange for a few copper pieces every other week, and he had long since modified his cabin to be able to get around with only his right leg. With only the thumb and index finger of his left hand, manipulating the buckles was quite the challenge. The damage to the muscles of his forearm meant most of his strength in that arm had waned. That he used the arm to support himself around the cabin was the one thing keeping the muscles of that arm from atrophy since his retirement.

Ser Alfred finally stood, on two legs for the first time in over a dozen seasons. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, the stub of his leg no longer accustomed to bearing his weight, as he took a few tentative steps around his cabin. After a brief walk around the cabin, he snatched his walking stick from its place by the door and stepped out into the cold.

Even with the walking stick, Ser Alfred struggled on his walk, muttering a curse here or there as a new ache or pain flared up. The walk took three times as long as the last time, he figured, but at long last, he came to the clearing where he knew he would find the flowers he sought. Despite the chill, he hoped he'd find what he was looking for.

"Damn." He finally found what he was looking for, but there were no flowers. The shrub had been eaten by foraging animals, and appeared to have been eaten to the stems. Ser Alfred rolled his eye and looked up briefly before closing his eye. "Damn." Ser Alfred winced as he kneeled before the shrub. He brought his hand before him and murmured a quiet prayer. As he prayed, a light emanated from within him and slowly enveloped the shrub. After a few seconds, the shrub, initially just a few sticks barely worth calling kindling, began to heal. It started with the branches, the bark healing where it was torn, new bark appearing where it was missing. New branches grew, thickening the shrub, and leaves began to sprout from old and new branches alike. Finally, flowers appeared and bloomed on the branches, and the light faded from the shrub.

At last, Ser Alfred opened his eye. He reached into the furs covering him and produced from his waist a thin blade, curved and with a razor's edge on the inside of the curve. He placed the edge of the blade at the base of one of the flowers and pulled, slicing the stem from the shrub. He did this three more times, allowing four flowers to fall to the ground before him. His job done, he secured the blade to his belt again before reaching out to the plant. "Thank you for your sacrifice," he said, touching the wound left by his blade. A small bit of the light from within him brightened his finger where it touched the plant, healing the wound. He repeated this once for each of the flowers he cut from the plant, and the light faded from within him.

After collecting the flowers, he pushed himself to standing, his back popping from the effort. The walk back to the cabin took half the time.

Mikhail was tending the chickens on his parents' farm when the raven landed. It wasn't so odd that a raven should land here; ravens weren't particularly uncommon in this land. What was odd was that it would be this particular raven, coming at this unusual time.

The young boy eyed the raven for a moment, then nodded before continuing his chores. As though it understood, the raven flew away. A short while later, the chickens fed and the coop cleaned, the boy entered his home.

"Mum, Ser Alfred has sent for me."

As Mikhail approached the old man's cabin, he noticed that the piles of rocks next to it had roses of winter on them, one on each. He paused at this; he knew at once this wasn't simply a request for supplies. Although he was too young to have seen the old man fight, he'd heard the tales, knew of the legends. He also knew of the danger threatening his village.

The boy shook his head; the answers to his questions were on the other side of that door. He reached up and knocked before reaching for the handle, but before he could open the door, it opened from within, and Ser Alfred greeted him. It was possibly the first time the boy saw the old knight properly groomed.

"You're here. Good. Come in." Ser Alfred stepped to the side to allow the boy in, and at once, Mikhail knew. Scattered around the one chair in the cabin lay the old knight's armor. Although it lay disused in a chest, there wasn't a sign of rot on the leather or rust on the plate.

"You're going to fight?" the boy asked, unable to take his eyes from the evidence before him.

"Aye." Ser Alfred stepped away from the door and approached the armor, stepping into the leather pants that would protect his legs from the hardened plates he would soon don, with the boy's help.

"But... why? I thought you'd stopped, I thought... I thought you were done," the boy said, finally looking at the old knight.

"Aye, so did I lad. So did I."

For each piece of armor the pair strapped to Ser Alfred, the old man could feel his strength returning to him. After a half hour's work, the boy looked in awe at the knight, having never seen him dressed for battle. In that moment, Ser Alfred looked ready for war. "I'll need you to prepare Elonzie for me. I know you've taken good care of her; I could always smell her on you when you brought supplies, before you left. Brush her well, say your peace, then saddle her. There is a quiver outside her stable, I'll need you to mount that on the saddle along side the scabbard. I have a few more things to attend to before I leave, so if you're quick, you might have time for a quick ride."

"O-of course, Ser Alfred, thank you, right away, sir!" The boy turned step out the door, but the old knight's voice halted him.

"Mikhail," the old knight called out, "thank you for helping all this time. I know I've been an insufferable bastard, so I'm... I'm sorry for that."

The boy struggled to think of a response, but before one could form, Ser Alfred threw open a trap door in the floor of his cabin and disappeared down a flight of stairs.

It wouldn't be quite fair to call the room Ser Alfred kept beneath his cabin an armory; there were quite a few weapons in it, but they were not well kept, and only a couple of them would actually see use. Ser Alfred threw open a chest and dug through, pulling from it a longbow and quiver, and slung both over his shoulder. He pulled a spare string from the chest as well, and tied it as best he could to the straps of the quiver. He stepped over to a wall, approaching the only two things displayed in this room, a sword and a shield. He slipped his left arm through the harness before placing the stump of his right arm into the straps and tightening them. He didn't tighten them all the way, not just yet. For now, he merely needed to carry the shield; when the time came to use it, he would tighten it again.

With the shield secured, he reached out for the sword, and as soon as his finger and thumb wrapped around the blade, he felt a power surge through him he hadn't felt in far too long. He leaned his head back and relished the feeling a moment before sheathing the blade at his side. Finally, the old knight sought three things he felt almost unlikely to find, at this point. Surprised to have found them, he dipped the quill into the inkpot and began writing.

The stunned silence, anticipated or not stretched on until the ashes dropped from the tip of the deeply inhaled cigarette. One could almost imagine the sizzle before they fell. Outside of my palm swiped heavily across my forehead, cool and slightly oily. The months long binge of hedonistic revelry had done my health no good. I stared into the night standing at the window space, as though distracted, unaffected by the palpable need radiating through the room. The represented delegation of local leaders stood uneasily, eyes seemingly hollowed out with their fear and dread. Studying the night, half smirked bravado fell into the room rather than pouring out in beams of confidence. How could they keep asking!? When did a hero get to stop with continuous proofs? It was going to be a long night, the imported fine scotch and tray of loose MMDA beckoned with promises of easier answers and lessened, higher musings. Nope. They need another patsy this time..

The flames of the castle danced in my eyes, jumping and skipping, running from building to building all the whilst frolicking over the stone walls. It reminded me of children, joyful children in a field, a field of green grass and pure white flowers. I inhaled deeply only to be met with the thick odor of wood and flesh burning. It wasn't as refreshing as the air up in the low hill prairies, right before the mountains, but I would take it over the normal stench of any town. Before me thousands of years of history was being erased, but all I could think of was a single hour not more than a month ago.

It was after the battle that marked the freeing of Duon-Kel, the last of the Black Emperors conquests in the 2 year war. We'd drank and roused until 11 at night when I finally stumbled from the pub and towards my room. Three different women had tried to throw themselves upon me, no charge as thanks, but each only gave me a pang of loneliness. I laid in the bed for an hour, thinking of what that pang reminded me of. I left before dawn, my pack across my back, they hadn't ever to bother even giving their hero a horse to call his own or even enough gold to buy one.

For a week I rode on whatever trading wagon I could find, payment coming from a showing of the kings sigil. Finally I made it to the foothills of the Zartacks, finally I breathed air that wasn't tainted with blood, sweat, filth, finally I felt at home. For two days I walked though the countryside, eating only when my pistol fell a bird, drinking only when I stumbled upon a cold mountain stream. At dawn on the third day I reached the cabin. It was barely 5 meters by 4, the smoke that curled out of the top hinted at a fire that wasn't being fed enough, but too me it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever laid eyes upon.

Slowly I let my pack fall to the ground beside the smokehouse, the thump of its impact ringing in my ears. My back had hardly straightened from relief before a cry that put even the most delicate songbird to shame rang through the hills. It was her, she was still here, and as she slammed into me I knew that she still loved me. We ate breakfast and lunch with her parents in the quaint cabin, catching up, reminiscing. But once lunch had settled we set out for a walk alone, a walk that only lasted until we found a meadow amongst a grove of pines.

As we laid together I talked of the future, only for once it didn't involve where we could camp 10,000 men or how to hold a town. When we got back I would take her dads axe and cut more wood for the fire so that it burned proper, then with the rifle I had left I would try for a deer for steaks tonight and jerky in the coming winter, once winter was over her father could plant twice the ground with me here, raise enough to sell, maybe even enough for two bands of gold and a donation of gratitude to the church. "What about the war", she asked, "what about your duties, doesn't the Black Emperor still live".

For a second I paused, she was right the Black Emperor and his slave kingdom still reigned over the East but... "My duty is done", I finally said, "we've reclaimed what was ours". I carefully rested my hand against her chin, "it would cost too many lives to do more, it would cost me too much.". I had left her twice before for the war, I was surprised each time that she took me back. I wouldn't let it take me away a third time, that would be too much pain for either of us.

For a blissful hour we had laid in that field, just the two of us yet I felt less lonely then I ever had amongst thousands. "Hoy camp", the shout startled me and my hand flew for my gun where it had fallen with my belt. My blood ran cold, I had let my guard down, I had finally let my knife edge dull, now someone was upon us. "Damn, get your clothes on hero". I half expected to see her father when I turned around, but no, it was someone far far worse than an embarrassed parent.

"We need you back on the front hero", Sir Barthlows messenger said once we had collected ourselves, "now is not the time for a sabbatical, we must push on".

"Why, we've retaken our lands, lets sue for peace. The Black Emperor has offered it before I know as I was privy to it. Now that we have all that we lost there's no sense in further bloodshed."

"Nonsense", he yelled, "we must vanquish the great evil of the land. Is that not your prophecy, not our grand army's prophecy. There's still slaves in black lands, we must not rest until they too are freed."

"Its a noble mission but we've done enough, freedom for others is not worth thousands more widows and orphans", I pulled her closer to me protectively, "Tell the lord this is no sabbatical, I've retired to marry and work the land. He and the king may continue their war but it will be without my gun and blade".

"Freedom is never too high a price", he was screaming now, almost red in the face, "too leave your post and duty for some whore, I've never seen such..."

The cocking of my revolver silenced him, its barrel already level with his head. "I've never seen a freed slave you now, workers who suffered as they do under any new ruler but never a beaten slave. And if you dare to call her anything but a lady again I will send you to hell. Now leave, and tell Barthlow and the king both they're hero is done fighting and I advise them to do the same." Wordlessly and with hands balled into white fists around their horses reigns, they turned and left.

"It shan't go well", she said, "the king won't take no easily and...". My kiss silenced her as we fell back down to the grass.

​

They murdered her and her family when I went to the village for supplies a week later. Of course they didn't dirty their own hands, that wouldn't have accomplished anything. No they hired a gang of rovers, survivors of the Black Emperors army posing as guerillas. They thought I would go back to them, they thought I would make their enemy burn with the help of those that followed the old ways. But I was the deadliest and smartest, and I didn't let anyone do my dirty work. When I killed the gangs leader he told me they had been hired, I would've thought it a lie to save his own skin if not for the kings mark, a kings mark just like the one I had.

I lead the followers of the old ways just like they thought I would, only now I told of every injustice I had silenced in my own mind. Every lie and excuse for our actions I had once made I now used to make everyone see what I did, that the prophecy's true target was the war mongering king himself. Now as they drag Sir Barthlow from the fire I smile, the king I had let burn to death but he, he would suffer for what I had lost. I kneel beside him and let the fire reflect in my eyes, "the prophecy has been fulfilled, just as you wanted".

"No? What do you mean no!?" She asked, the woman having raised her voice. Looking at the hero who stood in front of her desk.

Savior people called him, a man wielding the power of fury. But as time went on he grew tired. Tired of sacrificing so much for people who weren't even bothered to be half grateful. Just because 'he'll just save us again.' But they were wrong.

"Are you blind or something? I nearly died! Four times because of following your orders!" He said, raising his voice like she had done. The only difference was that he sounded fed up, sad and desperate almost for an out to this torment.

"But I can't- can I?... I can't die..." His voice shook slightly. Taking a shaky breath, before he pushed himself to continue-

"It doesn't matter, how many times I save people. Or how many times I do the right thing... Because you don't care if I leave the scene on a stretcher half dead."

"Savior please- of course I care. I've cared since you walked through that door!"

"Oh really? Then I'm sure you'll care when I leave-"

With that said Savior turned his back on her, heading for the office door.

"Savior! If you walk out that door-" She said, walking around her desk to try meet him.

"For the last time...It's. Sebastian!!" Taking his chance to leave as the door slammed behind him.

It was like she had forgotten; he was human at the end of the day. That he had an actual name and better things to do then play hero. That he too had people he cared about, but he wouldn't put himself through it if it meant they would be worried.

He stripped himself of his hero costume when he walked into an empty bathroom stall. Putting on civilian attire and dumping the costume into the trash. Not looking back as he left the building.

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The hero was truly a veteran of his work, defeating most every challenge he has been out against. Did he always come out unscathed? We're the evil plans always stopped absolutely? Did he win every fight? No, but he has always pushed further than his peers regardless of how hopeless it all seemed. Where others saw unending misery, unbeatable, unable to be fought, wholly unconquerable, he saw the reason to push forward, to look for the light at the tunnel, to find the stars in the blackest of night. Now, ashen haired, wrinkled, and a slowly failing body, he is once again requested to save them again.

"No." Was the cold, emotionless response.

"What? But... You can't say no!" Panicked the office workers who handle sending distress signals.

The elderly hero took a seat in his well used couch and gestured his guests to sit wherever they please.

"That so? Well... Who will stop me? You've been content to never push anyone to my level, so now what will you do since I now have a fully understanding that I can simply refuse your orders?" He didn't speak with care nor any true politeness, he simply spoke what had been on his mind for the last several decades it had been apparent that he would have no successor.

"We... We do have one, but he's erratic, and arrogant, but you're level headed and don't make mistakes--" Before the cowardly office workers could finish his sentence the hero bellowed out a hearty laugh.

"I won't make mistakes?! I'm not arrogant?! Not erratic?! Do you even know who I am?! I've been doing this since before you were even a tickle in your father's undropped balls, kid, you may have given this new guy power but he never earned it, even if he matches my power he will never, EVER come even close to my skill if all he needs to do is swing a wild haymaker or two!" The office workers shaking fingers pressed a button that had yet gone unnoticed, and moments later a much younger hero appeared, barely 19, barely any chance to grow facial hair.

His body was toned and powerful, bulging muscles, his speed and strength unmatched.

"You called?" The arrogant youth spoke to the horrified office workers, who had barely noticed what had transpired.

"This is my... Successor? All that power and he can't even use it. Say, kid, you know any fighting styles? Any real experience besides swinging like a blinded dumbass?" The youthful hero ignored the veteran and approached the two office workers, sitting stock still from fear.

"This the guy you two said could end me? This... Frail old man? Ha!" The young man turned to size up his opponent.

Before anyone could possibly say another word, the youth attempted to strike the veteran but was blocked and parried perfectly.

"Wha-- How the hell did you do that?! You couldn't even track me when I came in!" Screamed out the immature fighter.

"Some things you can only learn by kicking the shit kicked out of you, and I am about to teach you a whole fuckin' lot of new things." The veteran no longer spoke emotionless or apathetically, rather with cold, cruel intention, the urge to maim slicking his words like poison.

For hours the two 'fought', the veteran blocking, dodging, and parrying every strike thrown at him, the youth hardly capable of tanking even a small strike. Eventually they both stopped, and the youth began puking blood.

"Wha--???" Blood was pouring from his body in several areas, most concerningly his mouth and head.

"The fact you can't even close a fist anymore means I caused nerve damage, the blood means internal bleeding, and it being mixed with your stomach fluids just means it's much worse than regular internal bleeding, which you also have, severely. And those spasms you've been experiencing the last half hour you tried power through? Blood is leaking into your skull, and your inability to see straight or clear is from loss of blood pressure. Your wobbly legs means either brain or spine damage, but judging from the fact you can still feel them I'm gonna go with brain. You no doubt have no kidney on the right-- wait... Yeah, your right side. Your liver is no doubt shot as well, and that shallow breathing? Collapsed lung. If you were anyone else you'd be dead, not because you're tougher than most, but because I need a successor and you're the closest I have." The words were factual, not cruel or evil, simply existing to state the current state of things.

The office workers stood and called an ambulance for the youth and promptly left without saying another word. The veteran looked out his window, wondering why he allowed himself to be the only one anyone can rely on, and more so why his friends never made it to their 40's before passing but he has managed to live to 96 and have no true major affects of aging.

The End.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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