I should never have let myself be manipulated by the Sisterhood. Never.
Arcadia, the first time around....or was it?
Oh, how I'd like to forget that place. It used to be surrounded by fertile fields, fragrant vineyards, that bustling city. Nigh on bursting at the seams with life- but not anymore. The people there were as people are anywhere across the universe: some good, brave, honest and caring; others, not so much so. They were merchants and farmers, scientists and dreamers, mothers and children. And I turned them all to warriors, victims- the dead. So many dead.
Stars, what have I done?
It all comes back to me, whispering in the back of my consciousness. Full recollection comes at the worst of times, in dreams, or worse when I'm awake. The smells of smoke, burning flesh and dying dreams comes back, oh so clearly. Oh, so harsh. Cruelly so, since I'm the only one left who saw what happened there and survived. Worse yet, since I'm the one that deserved survival the least and I can't stop running. I just can't.
And I'm still running....
All those bright, shining faces, still full of hope and looking at me with eyes that show the depths of their belief. Perfect, spotless uniforms, still untouched by blood; boots still shined up to a mirror-like shine; straight, attentive postures not ravaged by exhaustion and defeatism; limbs still whole and strong- but for how much longer? Why, might you ask? I'll tell you, though you'll probably regret it. I do, you know- I regret so much. But here we are, we're the last line of defence, Arcadia's last stand. They're all looking at me with the misplaced faith that I can lead them to victory; that we'll all come out of this stronger, braver, having fought back the enemy.
But how can I tell them? Tell them what they'll be facing, what's coming, how they'll likely die- if they're lucky. Maybe if we're all lucky, we'll die here. Die once, and not a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times as time is cleaved into interminable eddies, rifts and loops. Tell them that if you want to believe in something, believe that your loved ones really did love you. Believe that there might just possibly be a future for those who haven't the misfortune to amongst our number, who missed the call to war. Believe that you'll be remembered for your sacrifices here. Believe that your deaths will mean something in the grand scheme of things. Something, anything, but don't believe in me. I'm the one that chose this, chose to become a warrior, and Warrior I am.
Just don't call me 'Doctor'.
Call me Death, call me the Destroyer, call me the General, but not that. Anything but that. I'm not him, not anymore. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. I did, once I saw what I had done; what I had become, what I'd caused. No, I hadn't the right, but I do hold the blame for much of this debacle. And somehow, I must end this. End it- before there's nothing else left, nothing but death and destruction. There's been enough of that already; bodies left in veritable windrows across the stars, worlds burning, forming anew, and ceasing to exist- all at the same moment in time. Time being rewritten so many times it frays, falters, then collapses. No more. No. Now it's time to take up the mantle of responsibility and reason, whatever it might cost. It might cost everything- including me.
I hope it does- I'm running out of time, too.
After....
One face stands out from the crowd, startling me from my recriminations, making my heart go cold. Disregarding the incredulous looks and confusion left in my wake, as I discard all decorum and protocol to stride forth. I grab his arm, ignoring his protests in a haze of rage as I pull him away from the gathered troops. Rounding on him, I pull myself to my full height, cursing this bodies lack of it and the boy's father's genetics. Fourth me could've loomed over him far better than I, enhancing the appearance of authority and intimidation. "Alex, what do you think you're doing? I'm taking you back home, now."
