Deicide

The gods are dead. Most of them; all of the important ones at least. Zeus, Poseidon, and the like. The world turned to chaos when it happened, mad scrambles for power from those who knew, and hopeless desperation for those who didn't. Desperation that turned to destruction. But some things are not so easily destroyed

I sat at the base of an obelisk, the altar of Washington, an ancient hero said to have led a group of farmers against an army of angels. Despite being eroded away the pillar stood over 5 houses tall, much larger than the other monuments. The smaller buildings nearby dedicated to his greatest followers: Lincoln the Emancipator, Jefferson the Wordsmith, The Great King Martin Luther, and so many more. All watching, waiting expectantly.

The deafening overture of honor, righteousness, and virtue. Purpose emanating from their stature. Their legacy trapped within the ruined city; Long after anyone left to tell their story perished. Longing for someone to see their accomplishments and not some fool's caricature.

A girl led to a stake.

An offering.

A sacrifice.

A vision.

A prophecy.

A purpose.

A familiar feeling of visions flooding through my body, mind, and soul. The pain of my head splitting, open echoing from head to toe. Sorrow and anguish radiating out; towards my legs, bringing me to a run.

I had a vague sense of direction. I knew I had to go down south, but not where. It was like running through a labyrinth, though I recall the play containing a lot less distress. I made my way onto The Eisenhower Road, a behemoth in itself, where you could still find carcasses of the ancient metal chariots. Most of them had been picked clean by the Imperial armies, though some of them were just far enough off the road that they had been missed. It was a long trek, the vehicles they used built for long voyages, but it still remained one of the fastest ways to travel. After all, most towns were built no more than a mile away in order to improve trade access.

Eventually I came across something I was unfamiliar with. The site of a battle. One that I heard tales about, but never bothered to visit. I could still see corpses melted into their suits of armor, clearly scavengers believed superstitions about the place. I can't blame them. After all the deathplace of Icarus, Thunder-Fallen, first to commit Deicide, it most likely won't be a popular tourist destination for quite a while.

There was no time for gawking at the ruins of a battle that will either be forgotten in a matter of time or immortalized as a tale of heroics. After all, there's a damsel in distress to be saved, how cliche. Alas, who am I to ignore a prophecy.

The road, like life, was long, full of sorrow and joy. Occasionally seeing other travelers, not for more than a few minutes, and no more than a few words exchanged. There was even an Imperial Legion, walking to some unknown destination, following orders from someone far away. I heard talk that they were marching to the long island, not that I had any reason to visit. Though I saw some poor souls trying to gain access to the impregnable fortress surrounding architectural marvel that they called a city. A fool's errand if you didn't possess the small fortune required to purchase even the smallest of houses. It was a much smarter idea to migrate south to the Greek city states.

Following the sight of the Legion, there was nothing of interest. At some point I made a turn onto an off-road; there were sporadic crossroads with signs depicting the locations of various smaller towns. Though there was always a sign pointing to a city called Thysía. I could feel reverberation throughout me, that was where I needed to go.