The Prologue
The sound of war was everywhere. It didn't matter where he looked; comrades and enemies alike were dying. Gunshots sounded through the air. Most ended with a dull thud as they hit their targets. One stray bullet went whistling past his right ear, missing him and hitting a member of his own squad. He pitied the soldier; he had just won a one-on-one battle with one of the enemy. But there wasn't time to mourn his death. Even though his aching limbs screamed in agony, begging for even just a five minute rest, he moved on. For if he stopped for even one second, there was a chance that he might be ambushed by his foes. Just then, some one was calling out to him. It was his son: Michael. It was plain as day that he was dying. All sense of precaution left his mind as #he saw the blood that trickled out of the corner of his mouth, and the seemingly deep gash in his stomach, which was seeping out blood. He had to sit down, had to at least attempt to save his only son's life. His Michael's life. But just as he knelt down at his son's side, Michael's eyes widened with terror, fluttered, and closed with his last painful breath of life. He was just about to cry out from the pain that his son's death brought about, when all went black in King Darceel's world.
