Never Heroes: Act I

Chapter 10

Never Heroes

Act I

X: Introductions

Emily had a mental blackout after being zapped by the stun gun. When she opened her eyes, she found herself not in that dingy apartment but back in her home town on a small downtown street devoid of the usual traffic that inhabited it. Immense pain shot from her leg up to her brain and she had no choice but to take a knee. Even the movement of falling sent more waves of ache through her. A glance down and she was surprised to find something stuck into her thigh, the blood pooling up around the entrance wound. The shock forced her mind to slow down and take in her surroundings a bit more carefully.

A heavy object in her hand was set down. One look revealed it to be a small sword, stained in blood so thick it was dripping off the blade. Armor protected her wrists, elbows, shoulders… even her torso was covered in the light weight gold platted protection. The object embedded her thigh appeared to be an arrow, its tail protruding out. Shaking from panic and pain, she tried to snatch the arrow but found her grip to be exceptionally weak.

A shadow was cast over her; a glance up and she saw the glimmer of the sun off another's blade. Instinctively, she tried to move but found herself too weak. Just as the attacker dared to thrust its weapon toward her, Walter arrived and expertly parried the weapon with a shield. It took a moment for her mind to piece things together at the sight of her friend, but soon she realized she was living in a dream again, as he appeared to be barely a teenager.

After blocking the blow, he thrusted his own weapon toward the enemy. It crashed through a hole in the armor and made a sick sound as the blade pierced skin. The enemy collapsed. Walter turned to help Emily up, but another sword-wielding enemy made its appearance. Walter barely had time to get his small shield up as the attacker leapt at him. The blade skidded off his shield and nicked him in the face. Forced to retreat, he led the attacker away from the injured Emily.

Doug was the next to be at her side. By this point, getting off the street was Emily's only goal, so she hadn't even noticed him approach. Instead, her entire being was focused on breaking off the arrow's tail so she could move a little more freely. Each movement her leg made, more blood gushed out. She was growing weary, and Doug knew this.

He set himself in front of her, his attention focused on the enemy that tried to swarm her. He only had four arrows left when he came to her rescue, and he had spotted at least a dozen enemies pushing past their defenses. All four arrows were let loose and gone within mere seconds. Now, he had to focus on picking her up and getting her moved further back.

Movement on the rooftop nearest him caught his eye. An archer had waited for an opening and was pulling back his bow, the arrow aimed at the injured Emily. Doug used all of his strength to toss his quiver and bow at the enemy, which gave him enough time to better position himself in her defense. They were out of options.

She had just started to stand when Doug turned to face her. "Can you get up already?!" he screamed at her. Irritated, she looked up at him, ready to offer a retort. She never had a chance. The archer let fly an arrow, which struck Doug in his exposed back. The arrowhead pierced clean through his torso and poked out just to the right of the metal plate that protected his heart.

There was no sound of shock or gasp for air from him. His hands instinctively went to the arrow at his chest but they never actually touched it. Wide eyes stared silently back at her as he slumped down and collapsed into a heap. Blood flowed so freely from his chest that nearly doubled the amount she had lost. Adrenaline pushed her to her feet, but she wasn't able to take even a full step forward before she fell back to the pavement.

The impact of her knees hitting the asphalt woke her from the dream. Her mind returned and she found herself being tended to by seemingly a dozen people, none of which she recognized and all in clothes she had never seen before. Of course, she panicked; she caused those around her to freak out. After a lot of yelling and screaming, everything had calmed down enough for her to get some answers. Those answers only led to more questions, which inevitably led to Emily leaving the room.

A few of the men that had waited on her called out, but she ignored them. There was no point in trying to take in her surroundings; she just wanted fresh air. The large double doors that took her out of that crowded room were made of a heavy wood and engraved with ornate designs. She only noticed because the doors barely moved so she nearly smashed her head into them. The men behind her nearly caught up due to that error, but soon she was out the door and rushing toward the exit.

Slick marble floors waited for her on the other side. Barely able to keep her balance, she slipped and slid around the room. There was nothing for her to keep her balance on; the large, oval shaped room had few pieces of furniture, but there were dozens of paintings on the wall. There were two doors she could pick from in her attempt to escape, and she picked the one farthest away. At the door, she swung it open to reveal a setting sun and a world she didn't recognize.

The sight made her halt. On the horizon, a large, bustling city built of stone and wood, with few buildings taller than a single story. The clean air refreshed her lungs. Orange from the sunset reflected off the water that separated her current spot from that busy stone town. Behind her was part of the largest building she had ever seen, so large it seemingly created its own island. There was no ground to walk upon, just stone and marble ledges that allowed pedestrians a way to get from apartment to apartment. Multiple bridges connected the large complex to the city across the water.

"Ah, the sleeping beauty greets us with her heavenly presence."

Annoyed and still a tad freaked out, she didn't even bother to turn to face the origin of the voice. Instead, she asked, "What kind of sick prank are you pulling now, Doug?"

There was a beat of silence before he spoke. "I wish it was a prank. I guess it beats dying in that dead town."

Finally, she turned to face him. His dirtied t-shirt and jeans had been replaced with a pair of ripped cotton pants. Exposed to the world was his chest, where a nasty, gruesome scar across his heart revealed the spot where – supposedly – his father's bullet had tried to end his life. Now, she doubted the truth behind the imperfection. Slung around his shoulder were a satchel and a small, mandolin like instrument he'd probably picked up and refused to put down.

Greeted by her sneer, he ignored it expertly. He climbed onto the small, four-foot high stone wall that prevented people from tumbling off the ledge and into the water. Perched higher than her, he felt more in control. The mandolin-like instrument was plucked at hesitantly, quietly. He said, "You seem troubled. Care to share?"

"No. Definitely not to you," she said. Despite the content and the tone, she didn't leave. Instead, she leaned against the wall and stared off into the vast, strange horizon. For a moment they merely relished the company of each other and the soft, somber tune that Doug composed.

He broke the comfortable atmosphere when he asked, "So… about you and Chip – "

"I'm sober now. Let's pretend like it didn't happen. What's it to you, anyway?"

"Walter said you've been around. Just hoping Chip wasn't another target. He doesn't need that right now," he quietly explained. Eye contact was never made so sincerity was never conveyed. His focus stayed on the instrument and hers on the city.

"So what if Walter was right?"

"I guess I'd be a bit…" The sentence was never finished. He let it trail off and she was thankful that he did. The last thing she wanted was for him to say something awkward or stupid.

A memory returned to her from a few years back. It was moments before Sarah and Chip's wedding, and Emily was having a quick heart to heart with her best friend. From their position in the rented home, they could see Chip, Walter, and Doug chatting on the outside patio. Conversation drifted to failed relationships and missed opportunities, and Sarah urged Emily to move on from youthful heartbreak and focus on settling down. Sarah said, "You know, Doug really likes you. I bet he's in love." She remembered exactly what she had said to Sarah back then.

"Love's a joke. It just fades over time."

Doug stopped all movements long enough for her to realize she'd said it out loud. Her eyes dashed to him to see him smile and return to his mandolin. "Lust fades, but love never dies," he said.

"And what would you know about that?"

Again, he stopped. The smile grew and he snickered in a hushed tone. Once more she gave him the opportunity to fess up, and once more he denied the offer. Maybe Sarah was mistaken. It didn't make sense, anyway, considering how terrible they had always treated each other.

"Oh, there you two are. Are you alright, Em?" Walter's voice called out. Both turned to face him as he approached in a slight jog. While Doug had since changed, Walter was still clad in his old clothes, which were covered in the filth that had peppered the walls and ceiling of the apartment when the Marshals were killed. Once stopped he turned to Doug and said, "Why am I not surprised you're already in cosplay?" To this, Doug could only shrug with a grin. Back at Emily he said, "There's some guy that claims to be a Prince requesting us immediately. We were waiting on you, but I wasn't sure if you were up to it."

She rolled her eyes and huffed. "I was stunned, not murdered as far as I can tell. Let's get this over with."

She motioned for him to lead the way, which he did without hesitation. Doug fell in behind the two of them. A sense of being watched overcame her, and her eyes dashed upward toward the origin. Towering above them was the rooftop of that massive complex, and upon that rooftop stood a woman with a black hat and a beige robe. The staff in her hand was propped against her shoulder. Despite the distance, both could sense the piercing eye contact they made when Emily looked up. Soon, the eyes of the watcher turned to Walter, where they remained as they passed by.

"Who's that?" Emily asked out loud. Her tone was a bit bitchier than she had intended.

She could hear Walter sigh as he answered, "It's a long story."

"One of your escort girls?" she joked.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" he shot back, not amused by the constant accusations. Doug's snicker tickled their ears, and Emily couldn't help but grin at how easy it was to get under Walter's skin. After years of searching, she'd finally found something that irritated him.

More importantly, she wanted to ask, "Where the flying f**k are we?!" Yet she never did. There was a strange, comforting sense of familiarity in the air that prevented her from panicking. With each breath she took in, her lungs were filled with confidence and tranquility. It was almost intoxicating how her heart was aflutter with the sensations that surrounded her. Finally, she felt like she was home. Even though she followed Walter, she felt confident that she had walked this same path before. None of this was new to her.

Having arrived at the chamber they sought, they were greeted by two armored guards. The men fell to one knee and bowed at the three as they passed by, never once daring to make eye contact. Walter ignored their antics, while both Emily and Doug were a bit perturbed by the spectacle. The large doors were already open and waiting for them.

Inside they were greeted by a spectacular great room, with marble tiles infused with gold flakes, large sculptures of heroes and icons, while ornaments of royalty and wealth peppered the space. A large fireplace at the end of the room caught their eye; near it, Chip spoke eagerly, like a small child to a man that was perhaps ten years younger than them. Next to them, another man stood and listened, but appeared uninterested.

Upon noticing the newcomers, all of the guards in the room dropped to one knee. The sounds of their metal armor clanking against the marble floor echoed throughout the chamber. Aware the trio had arrived, Chip ended his conversation and bounded over to them, the other two men not far behind.

Of the two strange men, one took charge. Dressed in an ornate, red silk robe that clashed against his olive skin tone, he was clearly the man in charge. A saber was on one hip and a small dagger attached to the other, both cloaked in elegant sheaths covered in more jewels than anyone wanted to count. The closer he got, the darker his eyes appeared to be, a stark contrast to his very light brown hair. Three earrings, each a different precious metal, were attached to his ear. He smiled his bright whites at them, and welcomed them all to his abode.

The other man was not as warm. With a fez hat covering his auburn hair, his heart protected by polished bronze and silver armor, white cotton pants, and his feet missing any footwear, he was certainly not as impressive. Aside from a ceremonial dagger, he carried no weapons. His expression was stern and unimpressed with those that had arrived.

"I see that Sister Tahere was able to get you all here safely. For that, I appear to be forever in her debt," the Prince said in a very soft, unassuming voice. He looked between the four that were brought to him, and his eyes stopped on Doug. "You… you must be the Minstrel. But I heard he died in battle."

Doug blinked, confused, and pointed at himself just to ensure the Prince was indeed talking about him. Emily tossed a glance his way as the memory of her dream returned. It was all a sick joke, the best she could tell.

The man nearest the Prince spoke to him, his voice crisp and commanding. "He did, Your Majesty. Tahere has made a mistake," he said. Confused, Doug did not refute the statement, but he certainly didn't appreciate the cold, hard stare that this man sent his way.

"I did not, Keaton," Tahere's voice interrupted. She entered the room with swiftly and with conviction. Once more she found her spot at Walter's feet, where she kneeled to him. Embarrassed, Walter silently urged her to stand, an order which she complied to. On her feet, she glared at this man named Keaton and said, "You were a child when that battle took place. Do not speak as if you know. It is true that the scribe wrote of the Minstrel dying, but he survived what should have been a fatal blow."

Tense silence invaded their conversation. The Prince clicked his tongue and said, "No matter. I'm pleased the Minstrel is here regardless of the how. It is unfortunate that Sister Sarah could not be reached in time. For that mistake, my father has paid, so I suppose justice has been done."

Emily had no clue what the heck this man was talking about, but hearing him speak irritated her. At first, it was just displayed by her hands balling into fists, but then those fists started to quake. When her knuckles turned white, it was only mere moments until she verbally exploded. The sound of her harsh voice caused everyone to jump.

"The f**k?! Justice? Sarah didn't get any justice, she's f*****g dead! And what about Chip? What kind of justice is it for him, now that his family is gone? The f**k do you know about any of this anyway? f**k off!"

Apparently, Keaton didn't appreciate her tone. His hand grabbed the hilt of his dagger and he snarled, "Speak that way again and you lose the ability to speak!"

One look at the teen and she wasn't impressed. There was no hesitation when she taunted, "Bring it, kid!"

Instantly, he leapt at her, dagger drawn. Before a scuffle could break out – and before Emily could get herself killed – Walter and Doug snagged her and tried to pull her back. Keaton, too, was stopped. All it took was the raising of the Prince's hand. Upon feeling the contact of the Prince's hand against his torso, although it was very gentle, Keaton heeded the silent order without delay.

"Enough," the Prince said quietly to his friend. His attention was turned back to the struggling Emily. Calmly, he said, "I understand your situation. We have watched everything unfold. Your masters – that which you call 'government' – have tricked you. They have led you astray for many years. They have turned you into slaves. Your memories, your lives, your future – all of it has been theirs to play with. Your heroics were turned into a mere game there. Your legend has lived on here, however. My father made the mistake of letting you suffer but I will not. After the death of Sister Sarah my men turned against him in order to free your aides but only Sister Tahere survived. I have inherited his Kingdom but the Church refuses to crown me. We go leaderless for now but I am unconcerned with that. We're low on necessary resources and other Kingdoms want to take what we have left. Including yours."

Emily pulled her arms away from Walter and Doug. Free, she said, "What are you talking about? We don't have a Kingdom."

"He means the government," Walter said. It was a guess, but it was correct. "In this reality, other worlds or dimensions must be called 'Kingdoms.'"

"How can we be of use?" Chip asked, eager to please. It was no surprise, really. This was what he had rambled on about the past week, convinced their childhood game was what they had truly lived.

"More like why should we? f**k off if you can't get the crown. Not my problem," Emily asked, uninterested.

The Prince laughed. He said, "You are full of more fiery passion than I ever seen from a woman. They had told me you would be the most interesting. Only now do I realize they meant that in more ways than one."

It took her off guard, yet somehow she managed to meet his intense gaze with one of her own. They battled, with the first to look away the first to lose. She watched as his lips curled up ever so slightly, until a lopsided, boyish grin graced his features.

Keaton's voice interrupted them when he loudly and pointedly said, "Ignore her, Your Majesty. You deserve a prudent and domestic woman, not a scorned whore."

"Jealous, Keaton?" Tahere's mature voice teased. To her, he could only growl, although his sneering eyes stayed locked on Emily.

The sound that emitted from Keaton's throat was almost enough to Emily to break face, but she maintained it. The Prince's expression also remained unchanged, even after he announced, "Let's find a place more comfortable to discuss details. A feast, in honor of the four remaining heroes of this Kingdom, is awaiting us." Although it was directed to everyone in the room, his eyes remained on Emily.

A small, unanswered bow from him ended the contest. He pushed past the group, daring to glance at her once more. Keaton was the next to walk by and he made sure to send a special glare her way. Something told her that either her or Keaton were going to be covered in blood by the end of the night.