Voyage of the Acolyte

loosely based onVoyage of the Acolyteby Steve Hackett

I. Ace Of Wands

In the midst of high mountains, a bare brown plateau stood atop a river. Grey heavy clouds always lingered. Scattered trees drifted through the wind. The river remained quiet.

The soil left untouched, it appeared an unmarked site. The land remained unoccupied for centuries, according to The Legendary Archives. This all changed one day. Two ships idly coasted to the riverbank. The winds still, a turquoise blue shone through the river.

Small, sturdy men marched to the plateau. They struggled to grasp heavy crates, hunching under the still sky. Men hurdled on boats, taking as much as they could. The wanderlust men remained infatuated with their shared dream. To mould a new reality, closer to their dreams.

Overtime, more and more boats delivered countless sea of bodies. Everyone stood on high ground. Women in plaid skirts clutched their children's hands tightly, gazing through the field of new beginnings. New men helped along, but everyone anticipated for the final day.

That day came. The City was born. Rows of homes now aligned along the riverbank. Behind the homes, stood the compressed town square; right in the heart of the plateau. The looming, yet plain clock tower was the final wonder constructed. A week later, the brown, triangular church began services. Rectangular shops remained aligned, parted only by a cobblestone street.

No longer did they worry about the Older Days. They remembered rallying against the Old Country's stronghold, struggling to escape the Old Ruler's vengeful grasp. They never forgot his burning green eyes when he enforced the "New Code".

They couldn't live their dreams ever since. They felt shackles-and-chains bounding their vitality. The Old Ruler always scoffed, eagerly shoving them down to "second-class status".

No more did they need to worry. Newly-founded assemblies formed in the City Square; healing shattered hearts and thrusting the significance of self-reliance and optimism. Women, men, and children alike could now present their creativity - something they could not do in the Old Country.

Some wrote almanacs for sick children. Others established institutions for genealogists fascinated with werewolf ancestors. However, many were salesmen who developed ideas beneficial to most of mankind.

Whether they sold sculptures of red seas, smuggled oval swords, or slimy cow meatball plants; each idea fascinated the masses. For the first time, salesmen headed home with bags of cash.

Citizens gathered in circles each night in the City Square. They rejoiced elaborate ideas and universal happiness. A meek man would pluck his acoustic guitar to "The Universal Song". This song defined life for many. It brought great hearts and minds alike. New couples embraced this song; labelling it as the "song of their lives".

A group of men dressed as alien babies preached The Bible. Bachelorettes danced with purple glow-sticks, selling confetti balls to children. No one could wait any longer for the festival. But that didn't mean people weren't willing to persist, to pursue the life they never could.

The Festival was more than a celebration. It symbolised the perfect society - one that defied mindless social convention. The City seemed as open-minded as any other society. No other nation, not even the Old Country, knew of its existence.

Even though many were content, some wanted to pursue alternative means. Some people didn't feel they served purpose in The City. One day, seven families trudged through the riverbank to the City Hall. They demanded the Governor to grant them foreign territory. At first, he stood tense. However, he also cringed at potential disappointment. Nodding his head, he allowed them forty acres - twenty minutes Northeast.

Bringing supplies and waving their old homes goodbye, they settled for a quieter life. Over half the families started farms, feeling they served no purpose in the city. They grew more content, preserving their modesty and building a new vision.

They further defied the City's conventions. They educated their own children, grew their own food, and created their own products rather than purchasing them. Indeed, the items farm families produced lasted longer than those from the city.

Eventually, the City detected less people within the nightly Festival. They felt their hearts shatter; reading the papers of "the new land grants". Many began mocking emigrants, discarding their choice as nonsensical. The next day, the clouds loomed more so than on any other. An angry crowd stormed the City Hall, tossing the Governor into the river.

More and more City citizens became annoyed, passionately selling more and more "ideas". But the truth was that their ideas weren't as innovative as they initially believed. Many businesses closed down. Those that remained opened were sometimes robbed by resentful former salesmen.

The City held a democratic election for the new Governor. Predictably, one of the strongest opponents of "The Relocation Movement"; as he claimed, stepped in. He feared emigration would collapse the society; therefore surrender their dream "for granted".

Immediately, he ordered men to construct a fifty-foot city wall. He informed the masses from his mansion's balcony; he wanted to protect their own dream against foreign powers. But even then - citizens started to dread the "new change". People now surrendered their pursuit for enlightenment.

The fateful day came, when not one person walked over to the town square. The nightly festival was over. Citizens now frowned upon innovativeness. Instead, they claimed what "was" innovative as "always" innovative. Anyone who attempted to form conventions were now dismissed by other committees.

Over half of the City chose not to forgive the emigrant's for their former decision. "Vigilantes" formed at night; preparing for that "fateful day". That day came, when they sprinted from their river homes upwards to the foreign countryside, bringing torches of jealousy with them.

A shadowy figure hovered over their bedroom window; glimpsing down the angry mob marching westwards. They dared not make a sound. They felt the ominous silence drift through the atmosphere. They marched away from the bedroom window, closing the window curtains. They prepared for the night.



II. Hands of the Priestess Pt. I

She can see the world from her bedroom window. The City was only a five-minute stroll. She recalled when the "Peace-Men" pushed her out of the City Gates. Facing "exile" for six months. But she was grateful. She knew she did what no woman she knew could do. Except for maybe one.

Sighing as she stared at the starless sky, she turned around. Leaning toward the ordinary drawer, she buried her hand before lightening up her bedroom.

She turned back, adjusting her blue bonnet. She swung back her black knee-length skirt, marching over to the mirror in her black combat boots. She gazed at her solemn face; buttoning her white ruffles blouse.

"Hey Frannie!", her raspy voice drowned out. She clenched her fists, rushing back to the mirror. Almost immediately, the door opened; the approaching figure only an inch shorter. Her long, raven yet frizzy hair sat back behind her evident hopelessness. The determined woman only saw her plain white nightgown.

"Get ready." The woman stepped away toward her. "The hooligans have stepped on the final stone."

"You mean…" Frannie gulped, her eyes fixated on the restless night ahead. "They're going out West, Jane?"

Jane only nodded, crossing her arms as she approached toward the door. Pressing her hand on the knob, she said. "Burning homes, burning crops, what more do they want to burn?," her frustration seethed, her lips turning into a scowl. "The next you thing you know, they'll be burning children!"

"Oh my…," her deeper, yet less prepared voice escalated. "Marge….," Frannie ran without hesitation. She couldn’t afford the loss of the only other she fully trusted. She wasn't surprised the "Justice Children" set out a zealous mission of absolute arson. Jane never trusted them. She wasn't born yesterday.

She peered through the window for the last time; the site now empty. Looking down at the pathway toward the grey sinister Walls, she shook her head. An eternal hell.

She slammed the door behind her, walking to the door ahead. Knocking, she exclaimed. "You're pretty enough! Let's go!"

"I was only grabbing a shoe!," Frannie cried.

"Boo! Hoo!," Jane descended down the creaky stairs. She walked across the serene darkness surrounding her sitting room, pausing toward the backdoor behind her kitchen.

She only had to wait a few minutes before Frannie ran down. Now dressed in white shirt, white pants and combat boots; Jane and Frannie prepared Westward. Gazing at the riverbank, they snuck closer by her home’s walls.

She knew the number of soldiers “guarding” homes increased day by day. She couldn’t afford capture. Jane was already in enough jeopardy.

Frannie wished she sent that letter sooner. The stern warning of the "vengeful-hungry monsters" to her friends. Frannie knew she always had horrible timing.

"I know you're worried. Now stop," Jane claimed, slouched down. “I told the committee from Day One; get ready. These bastards don’t give a rat’s ass.”

They marched away from the prosperous riverbank neighbourhood and onto the dark, silent woods. All they observed around them were monochrome leaves.

But they understood that rest was not an option. This was a now or never situation. Jane and Frannie could only submit to thundery state of minds. Leaping across scattered trees, they could only hold intuition on as a lifeline.

Jane heard small, pounding footsteps feet away. She snapped behind Frannie, immediately crossing onto the other side. Scanning left to right, Frannie faced the temptation of clearing her throat. She closed her eyes.

"Halt!". The arresting word choked every thought. Jane quickly tightened Frannie's hand, sprinting onward without second thought.

Spiralling gunshots rang through their ears. The girls ducked just in time. After tumbling down, they stealthily crawled away. They would not give up. They would resist against the taste of death, no matter the cost.

Twenty minutes passed. The girls stepped onto the farm town's estate; a lurking shadow pacing in the gates.

Jane's heartbeat almost tripled, knowing this was her final minute. Pushing Frannie behind her, she was ready on her feet. However, the shadow only stepped forward slowly.

"Did you have to scare us like that?". Jane's voice nearly reached the highest volume. Glaring, Frannie cocked her head, crossing her arms with creased eyebrows.

"I'm sorry…I already told 'em," the clumsy voice admitted. The round man barely stood five feet. He tugged his arms on his brown checkered shirt. Frannie could see his black pants as they walked to Darrens Town.

Walking in silence; they strolled on the paved sidewalk to the left of the town's slim centre. Complete with only a set of short trees.

Lanterns flickered in various household's porches. They felt the light breeze calm their state. But it definitely didn't alter their determination.

The trio resigned by a large brown building. They stepped up towards the long porch; littered with benches and signs swearing "the best dance gala of your life". Sitting in the bench, they overheard a mixture of innocent chattering and concerned opinions.

"Damn it Charlie, people don't know what a whisper is anymore." Jane slapped her hand on her knee, breathing heavily as she stared through the entrance miles away.

Charlie sighed, his baggy eyes now visible. "Frankly, I can see why they're restless."

"I simply did what I had to do," Frannie's plaintive voice tempts everyone to stand. "They better be prepared…"

Jane already opened the door. Everyone of the town's folk took notice of her commanding presence. The town's population stirred the most controversy out of all. Unlike other farm towns let alone the City; all men, women, and children of all races and personalities stood side by side equally.

Large crates and various utilities remained behind the motionless group. Hanging by the needle, some stood confident. But all stared up at the Trio, their Ultimate Saviours.

A wooden, flat platform mounted against the plastered wall in the upper right centre of the "room". Fused by excitement and fear, patience was non-existent. People chattered once more. The moment has come. To hear the truth.

"Now calm your horses!," Jane's tone deafened all noise. She became the only noise. She stared at her audience briefly, clasping her hands in front of her.

"We all know how honourable the Justice Children are. Setting fires to save the glorious day! Well, damn them to Hell. Because they're nothing but the most repulsive, disgusting monsters to ever wander the Earth.

She lifted her head, "What really makes me mad, is when they hold parades back in the City," she points her thumb behind her, "claiming they symbolise the concept of justice. Well let me tell you all something," she pointed, "They don't know a god damn thing about justice. Because that's the worst type of injustice I saw in my entire life."

She clenched her fists, "Butchering innocent women and children and stealing crops? Those son of a bitches are the Spawns of Satan, I can tell you that much right now!," she clutched her chest, feeling her heart throb.

"We live in Eternal Hell because of these bastards. These thieves, disguising themselves as God's blessed angels. They are the worst type of people! I don't trust a single damn soul living in that heartless place. That…," she paused, her eyes watering, "prison…"

Some of the audience lingered closer to the edge. "But we are not stooping down their alley! Acting like huge bullies in the schoolyard they are. These City folk - no other group pushed my limit. I've had enough today. Enough of their elementary mentality! And don’t get me started on why are they crying louder than the babies that live here?

"It's like citizens from Downtown London burning the farms because the people in the farms don't love their towns. It's stupid! Don't you see how ludicrous these idiots are? And yet here they are…ready to march here like a bunch of monkeys, expecting us to surrender.

"Well, we're not giving up a damn thing," Jane's voice boomed, certain audience members jittering. "And none of you better give up any inch of hope you have. It's gonna be the only thing you men got. We're all going, period. I don’t care what anyone has to say about my opinion at this point. Got it? Good, let's go," she stepped out of the stage.

Charlie raised his hand, approaching more toward the audience, "Everyone, prepare for your belongings. We're leaving in about two minutes."

"Two minutes?," Jane turned around, standing in high alert. Frannie remained by her side. "Two minutes? Charlie, no no no no no no! We're not sitting on our little behinds like coach potatoes. We're leaving right now. And I could care less what anyone has to say to that," she stepped toward him, pointing in a sharp tone, "including you."

Jane stepped away from the stage, watching the townsfolk walk out for the boldest plan yet. Frannie looked back at Charlie, "You remind me of…someone I used to know."

Bewildered, Charlie jumped back. Completely unaware of his surroundings, he looked up. "Who?"

Frannie smirked, painting a killer smile. But before she could answer; Jane narrowed down, clapping her hands; "Come on, let's go! Let's go!"

"Ugh, all right," Frannie and Charlie stepped down the stage; reaching the now passionate crowd from the convention centre. As women and children left first, some men remained behind to prepare their supplies.

Jane stepped toward the door; secretly exhausted. She shuddered, refusing to give in to her inner desires. Walking out of the door, Jane knew this journey was going to become anything but easy.

III. A Tower Struck Down

The gang were eager on their feet. The paralysing wind guaranteed the moment has reached. Restless mothers sprinted, carrying exhausted children.

Most men scattered behind the large building; struggling to untie the sturdy ropes. Guiding their horses ahead of the others, they quickly seized command.

Thereafter, the town immediately rushed across the town gates. Frannie ran to a similar small girl in a blue flower dress. "Marge!", she helplessly cried.

"Keep it down, will 'ya?", a nameless voice soared. Ignoring the request, she embraced her child as she sprinted towards the group.

Marge grinned back, "Mommy!"

"I'm so glad you're safe", the woman whispered. "Did you do what Charlie said?"

Marge nodded. Coincidentally, they bumped into him. He stopped to wave. "Awe hey Margie!"

"Keep moving!", another voice cried. The girl smiled back as the trio caught up with the crowd. They noticed their stern leader hand a fellow horseman a large silver dollar. Wives and children started mounting their horses. The crowd turned to Jane.

Sitting on a black horse, she gripped the reigns. Cornering her lips, she faced the edgy bunch. "So listen. Everyone knows the plan. To head North; closer to the mountains. It's the best we can do."

The crowd of sour faces only grunted. A voice squeaked, "Mountain soil isn’t good for crops!"

Jane echoed her monotone tone. "Boo hoo! Get over it. Or go dance with the devil's children," she cornered her horse.

The shadow gulped, hearing the sound of sizzling torches. He drifted apart.

Jane tightened her collar, "And one last thing! Get your guns ready. Those Justice Children only want blood on their hands. Whatever happens, we're on our toes."

She peered over the others. "Got the map, Frannie?"

Frannie nodded, only for Charlie to scowl. Jane turned back, sitting tightly. "Let's go!"

Each horse behind her thundered away from town. Some felt the taste of nostalgic cake; "All the memories we had…", a voice wept.

"I remember last summer…", another voice added.

Regardless, many held their heads high. Marching from the past, they could see the land of the future ahead.

Their hearts heavy, nearly everyone stayed on guard. Men pressed their feet firmly on the stirrups. They squeezed their rifles onto their chest. Women caressed each other's faces, embracing their wounded souls.

Riding towards the light breeze, Frannie and Charlie stayed behind Jane. Marge drifted to sleep on her mother's lap. Charlie tapped Frannie's shoulder.

"Hand it over, will ya?", he failed to conceal his smile.

Frannie glanced, only shrugging. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The map!". Charlie chimed. "And I know you know what I meant."

She looked up, crossing her arms a second later.

"Sorry". The girl giggled, her mischievous smile returning. "But how am I supposed to trust someone who's too homesick to leave town?"

"I watched Marge", he quickly said.

Sighing, she reached down her shirt pocket. She looked away.

Charlie said, "I've been busy with work, you know?"

Sweetness kissed his ears. Leaning over, Frannie's eyes glowed. "Actually, I've heard you say that a thousand times. But I rather hear that then…many things right now", a frown entered.

"True", Charlie nodded. He stared through her concerns. "But The City doesn't scare me away. It's just not for me."

"That explains why you never stopped by, right?," Frannie raised an eyebrow.

Charlie felt tiredness chill him. "You… want the truth?"

"Who wants the lie?". Frannie smirked, rolling her eyes.

"I think Jane hates me." His words drove away Frannie's other thoughts.

Her smile faded. "Trust me. You're not the only one who doesn't understand her."

Charlie explained. "I know. The only reason I invited her to speak down here was because everyone knew what she did six months ago. Her reputation is…"

"Very confusing, I know." She stroked Marge's hair. Thinly laughing, she closed her eyes. "I can't believe the Mayor can't speak to his own people."

Charlie's skin stiffened. He felt a small tap. "She cares more than you think, about everyone in general."

"I never understood why you two were friends," he turned.

She stared back. "We go a long way back, Charlie. I'll simply tell you this…"

A young, brown-haired woman felt heavy rain spill over her shoulders. Looking up at the grave sky, she felt her legs lock in the middle of a chattering sea of bodies. Her wrinkly fist crushed a newspaper, tossing it aside. She ran to the bakery.

"Sir," the familiar raspy voice cried out. Standing in the doorway, she sniffed a blend of sugar and sweat. A tall figure looked up from behind the display case. Three people in line all look her way.

His face remained stern, pointing at her. "Get out of here, lady! "

"Can't you at least listen to what I'm about to…". She clutched her black skirt.

"I already told you. I'm not employing you. Go home," the baker stomped away; leaving the woman's anger rush through her veins.

Walking out, she felt the rain lighten. Turning right, small footsteps followed her way. "Stop!"

As the woman turned around, she made out a familiar person. A tall shadow wearing a blue tailor suit and top hat emerged. The woman swallowed her pride, prepared for the worst.

The figure slowly removed their hat; long black hair falling on her shoulders. The stranger walked to her.

A second of silence settled in. The stranger flippantly laughed. "He's thick as a brick!"

The woman paused, not blinking an eye. "I never thought the likes of you existed."

"I could say the same about you". The other said immediately. "I've read you in the papers, Jane Greyfaire. You have more guts than any other woman I met."

Jane stood bewildered. "You still scared me."

"The name's Frannie Miller", she stepped forward. "I apologise for scaring you."

"Don't worry," Jane smiled. "But suits aren't my style."

Frannie nodded, "Sadly, we live in a man's world."

The crowd drowning out, she said. "You got that right. I can't ever find work. They'll never understand. They call themselves philosophers. They claim they stitch our bleeding hearts. Yet they stomp a glass ceiling over our heads. They shove down the "truth"."

"I'll tell you one thing." Frannie thrust her hat back on. "This town is like a retirement home now. I remember when we used to have a festival. Now all people do is stuff their mouths with diapers."

"And spoiled baby milk," Jane squinted, remembering the chilly, lemony taste. A second after, she wore a weary smile. "Well, at least I'm not the only sane one."

Frannie said breathlessly. "And then we walked down her house and spoke for hours. We laughed, danced to Japanese piano ballads." She shrugged.

Charlie giggled. "You dressed as a man?"

She nodded. "What did you expect from a woman-hating grumpo? I got bored with skirts after a while too."

"So, she actually has a heart?", Charlie's hand barely concealed his mouth.

Frannie seethed through her teeth, "Sometimes, I wonder about yours."

"Cold…". Charlie shook, slightly distancing himself away.

"I can see goose-bumps," Frannie stuck her tongue.

"Don't worry. You've been the best father Marge ever had," her soft arms wrapped around him, he shyly smiled.

Purple skied over the company. As hours drifted by slowly, the travellers felt the unfriendly winds soar past their backs. Most moved through the blurry orange fog. Only light whispers and neighing horses joined them.

They scattered around the plains, dense forestland behind them. Staring at the moonless sky, Jane felt acid flood her throat. A small tear streamed down her cheek. Time was quick for Jane. Six months ago felt like yesterday. She closed her eyes.

Witnesses sat across Jane in the dark grey courtroom. "We don't live in a jail! Tear down those City Walls now! They're only keeping families awake at night. I've seen it myself. You only want to save the businesses. Maybe if women were allowed women to work, none of this would've happened. You disgusting little swine. You're no different than the Old Ruler."

"Jane Greyfaire!", the older voice towered. "Remain silent at once! We never loaned you the right to address us in that tone".

Looking behind, she saw the long wrinkly face flip his white long wig. His gavel echoed, each head lifting up. The judge dragged, "Send this yip-yapper away for six months. Such uneducated subjects underestimate their place in our cultured society."

Small steps approached the indifferent Jane. The judge disappeared. The witnesses watched two coated men grip her arms.

Stomping on the cobblestone street, many stared in wonder. Some leaned their heads over, smirks under their shadows. Jane only stayed silent, knowing what she did was right.

Approaching the tall grey Entrance Wall, two red-coated guards creaked open the doors. Jane felt the strongest push, tumbling down the hill. On her knees, she heard the booming doors close. She didn't look back.

She almost paused, wondering if she predetermined the town's fate. She was always one to speak her mind, to disregard opposing opinion. Her heart sank, feeling more like a monster than the christened saviour.

Her face sour, Jane almost said something. However, she heard strong galloping from behind. "What on Heav…".

From the distance, a blur of white horses gathered around the travellers. With eyes wide, everyone spun around. The winds intensified, the purple sky thundering.

A major distraction. Jane knew this would happen. "God damn the kettle."

"Oh my God!", a shrinking voice from the distance cried. Rifles started to click.

"Get ready, boys!", Jane exclaimed.

Charlie covered his arms over Frannie and her child.

"They're they are", the passive voice led the shining white across the plains. The travellers saw fourteen saintly-cloaked men with white horses.

One stood in front, taking off their hood. The man revealed his untouched, angelic face. The youthful boy's pulled brown hair covered his forehead.

"I'm really sorry it's come down to this. However, if you come with us, we'll explain our…," Jane wasn't having it.

"Stop repeating the Bible! You're boring me already! Say something I know." The woman raised her fist.

The charming voice sighed, "We don't want to get violent, but…", the men behind him lift up their polished toys. "we have no choice if you don't accept our proposition. We're only doing our jobs."

"And we're doing ours", Jane scoffed, remaining immune. The group rotated to face them, the men heading up front.

The boy frowned, "I'm sorry it's come down to this." His men approaching.

"You'll be sorry over my dead body", Jane spat, yanking out her silver revolver. The stillness of the night ended with a blistering gunshot.

"Kill them!", the leader's voice innocence vanished. The clattering voices clashed across the field, rifles high in hand. Jane and her men dispersed. The neighing white horses dashed. Women flung knives, men fired endlessly. As coughs spread, fog clouded the field. The night behind them only grumbled.

Charlie threw his knife at a horse's leg. Blood gushed; the stained animal struggling to stand. A brown-haired man lifted his rifle, only to tumble down. Some also met the face of death, others shielding their determination.

Frannie felt as spirited as ever, lifting her head up from Charlie. She looked to her left, "Give me a rifle! You don’t know what you're doing!". Only a second later, she felt the heavy weight.

"Scoot back!," she pushed Charlie back. Looking at her with confused eyes, Frannie only giggled. Hiding back down, she lifted her now alert child. "That's your job now. Be a good daddy, okay?"

Charlie almost smiled, only to feel needles crawl under his skin. Possessed by numbness, he clutched Marge tightly.

"These guys are easy targets," Frannie winked, eyeing on their men gain the battlefront. They were now responsible for five casualties.

The remaining Justice Children weren't leaving anytime soon. Some swarmed around the party, the leader repeating their notorious chant.

Frannie only ignored the words. Eventually, she shot one man down. As the words started overlapping the gunshots, Frannie continued loading her rifle. She tucked her chest with her arms, pushing her eye towards the rifle's scope.

Noticing a forthcoming hooded man, she immediately embraced her thirst for glory. Pointing toward him with a smirk, she heard a soft whistle.

She quickly shifted her eyes, noticing another approaching shadow. Pointing the other direction, she was ready to press the trigger.

A large, black-haired man stepped out. His sadistic grin robbed her spirit. Staring through ice, her mouth gaped. This couldn't be. Marge's father. Poison spilling over her heart; she was now shackled by fear.

Her palms dripped in sweat, she stared helplessly. About to lift her rifle, she only met a burst of fog. The final sound wiped out any excitement left.

Knives stabbing his heart, Charlie had no time to stare. He swiped the rifle ahead of him without second thought. Marge behind him, he directed toward the departing shadow. He felt the blast send the man down.

His eyes began to blur, his veins bulging. How could he fail to protect his own best friend? But he had no time to regret. Fierceness built when Charlie seized the reins, muffling Marge's sobbing. The horse ran to the other side.

Meanwhile, Jane chased after the Justice Children. "If you were my children, you'd see over a million lashes!"

There was no stopping her. Seeing one of the men attempt to retreat, Jane moved forward. Lifting her revolver, she nearly pulled the trigger. Approaching the familiar face, she was dead on her tracks.

"I told you Jane. This is what you get for rebellion", disinterest spilled through his voice.

As bodies' thumped down the grass, the sky blackened. The man's fair hair blew through the worsened winds. Jane moved back, defending her pride. Eyeing the man's weapon, she lifted her revolver.

As the surrounding men shouted, both Jane and her counterpart led their horses on a stalemate. The man about to charge, Jane rang one shot. Flinching, she realised she missed.

The man smirked, calmly saying. "Your town's gone."

Jane's mouth twitched, her hand tightly gripping the handle. As he prepared to draw again, she clicked towards his face. His head splattered pools of red. The corpse fell on the horses back as the rifle dropped.

"Now you're gone", Jane grinned. She had no time to celebrate, however. Tempted to grab the rifle, she heard shouts running her way.

The battle only continued. The plains were now painted with blood. Survivors smelt rotting human flesh, but many saw empty dreams.

The Justice Children were facing a new challenge. With many men's arms reddened, Jane and thirty others closed off the two remaining children. The wind finally quieted down.

"Okay! Okay!", one exclaimed, removing his hood. The short boy's flowing, light blond hair covered his eyes. "We give up!", his hands now held high.

"Herman, what are you doing?!", the deeper voice argued.

Herman's blue eyes stopped. Staring through the angry mob, he gulped. There was no hope for them. "They outnumber us…and they scare me. It's the only thing we can do."

Jane remembered. She wouldn't stoop down their level. Grabbing a handkerchief, she held it closely to her heart. Looking up the sky, she softly spoke. "We accept your surrender."

"Really?", the preteen voice nearly smiled. The boys already saw the morning.

"No!", hostility broke the quietness. The woman pointed down the ground. "You're staying right here! Nobody's going anywhere!"

Herman's hopes left him, the other "child" staring. "I'm only twelve".

"The right age where you oughta do a lot of learning too!", Jane patronised.

Another man stepped up. Charlie choked, sniffing through a pool of tears. "We refuse to accept your surrender."

Jane clapped at his face. Right when she did, her face paled. Something was missing. "Fra-", she pointed behind him.

The crying intensified, arresting every movement. "She's dead."

Noticing Charlie's head buried under his arms, Jane loosened grip. Her frail body stumbled below the horse, facing the empty sky. Jane saw all hope fly out of the shattering window, falling into darkness.