The Hero's Journey

Taking the final steps of her quest, the hero opened the silver gates to her destiny. She slayed every monster that stood in her way and more, staining her rusted armor with their black-tarred blood. She once had followers, but she dismissed them long ago. On this lonely road, one started by her, one who’s bloodstained gravel was spilled by her, it was only fitting that she reached its end on her own.

But in what point is there for our hero to finish? To stop the plague spread across the land caused by the treacherous wizard, who plans to dominate the world through means of black magic? To avenge the burning of her hometown and the slaughtering of her people, her friends, her family; a memory long overdue? For the people she aided along the road, standing by as she rescued their cattle, purified their waters, slain others for their bidding, earning nothing more than a pat on the back, some worthless gold slivers, and a good word in her name? Each step towards the finish became heavier as the weight of her heart grew.

She did not reach for her grandmother’s locket for security in these ticking seconds of peace, though there would be nothing to reach for since it did not hang from her neck; its chain had been cut by a vicious sea monster that had aimed for her life, and now it lay at the bottom of the sea, withering away at the force of her waters. Instead, she unsheathed her sword, worn yet sharpened to cut through rock, and stepped forth.

Lo and behold, beyond the doors, waiting for her upon his throne, was her enemy; the bane of her existence, and the reason it is so, the Dark Wizard Diabolos. With a hooked nose and a furrowed brow, his face contorted in a permanent scowl, he was the man who raised the dead and poisoned the air. He was the man, our hero knew, who was destined to die by her divine blade.

“Ah,” he said, his voice bellowing through the shadows as he rose from his pedestal, his black robe gliding over the marble floors. “At last, you are here.” He preached of how she thwarted his plans time and time again; how he possessed the crystal that could see the future, yet she managed to always stay one step ahead of him; how he sent out his strongest, most grotesque demon generals, only for them to be slain by a single slash of her sword; how his hard work was unraveling due to her brazen meddling; how he will kill her that day, laughing as her body burns to ash within his flames.

She did not listen. She did not care. She did not think.

All she did was sprint towards the wicked wizard, dodging every predictable projectile he threw at her. Everything about this final battle was predictable, and she knew well it would be, though prayed it wouldn’t. When he set their stage aflame, surrounding them with pillars of blue fire: predictable. When he wore the face of every person she loved, or had believed she loved, in an attempt to cripple her: predictable. When his final form was revealed �" a monster with puss spewing from its pores and daggered teeth that protruded from its lips, a creature ripped from her childhood nightmares: predictable. It was so predictable it was boring, which almost disappointed her. If it wasn’t so damned boring, she would’ve been able to take something from this drawn out adventure after all. 

However, this battle was irrevocably dull, and before the moon found a new place to shine in the sky, she already had him on his back, facing a bitter yet forseen defeat. “Who…are you?” were Diabolos’ last words before choking on his own blood.

“I am no one,” she replied, the tip of her sword grazing the wizard’s throat. “Not anymore.”

At that, Diabolos drew his final breath as her blade sliced through his neck.

Light washed over the land in an instant. Bards already had their pens to paper, writing songs and poems telling of the valiant who defeated the diabolical wizard that cursed them as though they had tagged along for the ride. The people rebuilt their countries and celebrated their self-proclaimed victories. Nobles claimed the title of the savior, taking their swords skyward and claiming rewards of gratitude. Historians and scribes documented the era in their books so those of the future may reflect on the Scourge of Darkness. The Dark Wizard Diabolos would be remembered for centuries as the greatest evil to have walked this land; his name would haunt children’s dreams as they slept.

The hero would simply be known as the hero. Her journey had ended along with her legacy. No longer did anyone need her… As such, it was time for her to disappear, just as heroes do. She wandered the streets of many cities for many years, but not one face turned to her. Not one face acknowledged her. Not one face thanked her.

How could anyone, since heroes are meant to appear only when the world needs them most?

But where one journey ends, another begins, and her first destination was a small village tucked within the misty mountain peaks… One that would fall by her hand, where she will leave only one survivor amongst the ashes of their people, who will find the courage to rise up, take up a sword, and challenge her. The nameless hero from the nameless village saving their nameless world as she, the Raging Fire Lilith, went down in history as the worst evil to ever surface upon this holy land.

Author's Note

This was written back in August 2016.