Hero? Prologue & Chp. 1 *UPDATED AGAIN*

Prologue
         In the beginning, Good and Evil were the same. They shared the same form, power, consciousness— everything. They were one being created from a source unknown.
         And when it split, a war erupted. Aloysius gave the name Evil to his demonic world, which separated to a new plane of existence following the Split. In time, his desire for power caused him to create Darkness and he began to seek out ways to destroy Good through its demonic foot soldiers.
         Good also split once more and the Alzanians took refuge on the same land as Darkness, leaving the Powers to fight off Evil alone. In time, they realized the foolishness of their cause and created the Hunters Circles to do their biding.
         And then the Neutrals showed up, disrupting everything once more. Alzan, the great city of the Alzanians, fell and Darkness won.
         Evil vs. Good, and in a single blink of an eye, Alzan was gone.
         This is the story of the world, our world: Mirage.

                   --Matthew Blackwood--


Chapter One
December 16, 2004
Krystin

         Even if I wanted to do anything else, all I could do was run. It’s kind of funny that way, how a habit can develop so quickly from nothing. It feels like I’ve been running for so long now, so many years that they all start to fade together so that none are more prominent than any other. Though I’d suppose the latest events ought to be. It’s truly not every day one goes and does what I did without a second thought.
         Until now anyway.
         The consequences of my actions scream at me as I run, verbally abusing my over-exerted body. I may quickly be healing physically but otherwise I’m a disaster. A weeping, tattered disaster.
         Is this truly what they meant?
         I crossed the corner of the train station, ushering my ticket through the turnstile quickly—I refused to use my magik ever again.
         I ran onto the train, my body choosing its own seat of its own will, a yellow-cushioned chair on the inside, away from the aisle.
         My chest heaved, adrenaline pumping.
         I was terrified, so scared they’d find me, so horrified to face what I’d done that nothing but escape mattered to me right now. Not the stares from the other passengers as they took in my blood spattered clothes or the pain I felt pulsing in my heart, racing out like venom to every fiber of my being. A hurt that ran so deep inside of me I could barely breathe or move.
         I tried not to think as I sat there, as they train began to move. I forced myself to keep my mind clear as we crossed the Vermont—Massachusetts border and then down into Connecticut. It was all I could do to keep from falling apart.
         Hours later, as I got off the train in Connecticut, I caught my reflection in a store window.
         I couldn’t recognize the figure in front of me. She stared back at me with wide blue eyes laced in terror, dressed in a torn navy blue three-quarter sleeve shirt and blue jeans. Her long brown hair was a mess, thrown about in a fight song-since over.
         This guilt-ridden body was not mine, could not be mine.
         This wasn’t me.