Hey, been writing fan fiction here and there for awhile now. This one is a little dark, because honestly, I just came off playing Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice. That's a game that will make you depressed and want to find a happy spot. And I don't do trigger warnings.
This one kind of, sort of follows Rebirth story arc and cannon. I also incorporated pieces of the Scythian culture (said to be the inspiration of the Amazons) to try and fill in some of the blanks and flesh out Wonder Woman's culture a bit.
In the heart of Africa where the warlords once ruled. Every inch of the landscape smells of war and of death. The desolate village where the innocents all fled or were murdered during the course of a decade long civil war.
There's still bones here. No one came back to bury those lost.
Etta's voice is echoing in my ear piece, asking me for a status. Their helicopters were forced to turn away when the mercenaries nearly crippled one of them with an IED. They lost the trail and couldn't pick it up again. Weren't even sure how many there were.
But I know.
Artemis herself taught me the hunt under the moon of her brother Apollo. The way to find paths which ordinary men are blind. I see the broken pots and the scattered clothes as a testament of their desperation for water and refuge from the burning sun. Finding only this abandoned place, they moved on. Ironic, as it was men like them that left it like this.
"Etta, I'm going after them," I say.
Etta sighs a weary, "Okay, just be careful. They're well armed."
From Hermes, I was gifted with speed, and pray it is enough to find them on time before they can hurt anyone else. It's mid noon and the sun burns with the intensity to melt Icarus's wings, but mine were not made by men.
"You're one mile out, Diana. We're going to silence for a moment to keep them from picking up our signal," said Etta. She then adds, "Not like it'd help them."
My ears pick up the desperate screams and cries for help. I'm too late.
They've reached the other village that already suffered so much from the war and yet still lived on. How much longer could they endure? It doesn't matter. Not this time. I've seen enough homes burned and innocents killed, until I couldn't stay back any longer.
The mercenaries are busy with the panicked villagers. These are not rich people with much. They're poor. Their clothes are clean, but worn. They've scraped their living from the dirt and now those soldiers wanted to take even that from them.
So far, everyone is cooperating, but I know that will change. These soldiers, dressed in their ragged uniforms are the remnants of the factions within the war and they continue to fight against the provisional government. Their strategy is fear, as thus won't take prisoners. Not even one single child.
The Amazons had a name we called ourselves when we still lived among men, long before my birth. The tal Kyrte; or free people. And when they mounted their rebellion against those who enslaved them, they created a war cry powerful enough to make men's hearts fail them. And I see that fear in their eyes as it paralyzes them.
My lasso whips around, capturing two of them. With a tug, I throw them through one of the huts.
"Let them go!" I shout.
Their guns are useless. I can see the bullets coming and am able to deflect them.
The rage burns, but I keep the fire contained. Where before, Amazons harvested their anger to lash out against those that enslaved them, we have now let our anger go, for the madness of rage is the way of Ares. We rose above war to take on a new mission: peace. But even for all we've done, the world hasn't done the same and so I am drawn to war, just the way my mother and sisters were.
When I hear the click of another gun, I grab the barrel, still hot from shooting and bend it. My elbow goes to his face. His brother tries to flee, but I lasso him, and pull him back, slamming his head against the dirt.
I think it's over, but then, rather than surrendering, the last one gets desperate. Fearful and exhausted, he grabs one of the women and points his pistol to her head. I don't know the language well enough to know what he shouts, but I feel the fear. I feel the desperation.
"Don't," I say. I make the mistake of taking one step closer and his desperation gets the best of him by taking me by surprise with a bullet. It's searing, hot pain that I never grow used to, still I bite back that pain. I look beyond it, locking it away. That fire again rages within me.
"Gentle, Diana. Gentle," I hear my mother say.
I was pulling on the reins of my horse "Wind Walker," trying to force him to come instead of letting him decide to go. Mother came, stroked Wind Walker's mane and whispered gentle words to her. "If you react to things with frustration, then you can only expect the same to happen in return. Even with horses. You have to cool the fire in your own heart to cool that within others. Rage is the way of Ares."
My tongue fumbles to find the right words in his language as my heart beats. I am afraid, not for myself, but for those who might suffer if I fail.
Even bleeding, I stand tall. I take a moment to look now, not react.
The soldier wasn't a soldier at all, but a boy no more than fourteen. I had not seen this before, but I certainly saw it now when looking into his eyes and him seeing into mine. I could see his entire story looking back on me. It was a secret language of warriors granted by the goddess of Wisdom, Athena.
He hadn't seen war before they took him. With threats and beatings they molded him. But for what they did to him, he never became them. He always despised what they did, but feared what would happen to those he loved if he did nothing.
He fought for love and with that became our understanding.
"Oh god!" he cries, and collapses to his knees, surrendering his gun.
I comfort him as he bawls, remorseful for what they made him do. And I do feel sorry for it. What would be the right answer? I don't know. I fight for peace and I don't know all the answers.
By now I hear the helicopters as they approach. Dust and debris is all kicked up as they land nearby and soldiers jump out to secure the place. They making passing comments about how well I "cleaned house" which I suppose is as good of compliment as any. There's a pain in my heart where the fire previously burned.
I had to always be very cautious of what I might do if I didn't contain that fire. How quickly it could burn out of control. My sisters on Thymascara would tell me how they'd let that anger overtake them. They'd cut their foreheads and let the blood run down their faces. And then, when they went into battle, they'd take the scalps of their enemy and leave their bodies to rot.
"But we have left all that behind, Diana. Nothing can come of anger. When the Amazons raged, the enlightenment of Athena dims and Ares' strength grew. What would have happened if he had grown so powerful he could not be stopped? I fear to know this."
I board the helicopter and head back to base where Etta is waiting for me. I don't want to talk to anyone, but it's difficult when everyone knows who you are. The Wonder Woman. The UN soldier next to me keeps trying to strike up a conversation. But rather than get to know me, he always asks the shallowest of questions. "They say you can fly. Is it true?"
Yes.
"So why aren't you flying now."
Because I don't always feel like it. I think if I told him that, it would come as a shock to know that even those they call "heroes" can get tired. For me, it's not so much one of body, but of mind. I tracked those mercenaries through that war torn country. It didn't matter where I went in the country. Cities, villages, wilderness. The scars ran deep. Deeper than what ending the civil war and the established democracy could ever fix. People didn't have hope anymore. Everything that they ever believed in, failed, and now what were they left with?
I was such a child when I left Themiscyra. What originally started as a simple escort to bring a survivor back to "man's world" as we call it, became a much deeper cause to fight for those whom couldn't do so themselves.
Always fighting. It feels so familiar yet so unnatural.
We arrive back at the base in a short time and back in a world where everything is so routine that even the soldiers march in step. I never understood this place, or how Steve could handle so much sameness for so long. It seems as though the goal is to stifle individuals and creativity. On the Themiscyra, the home of the tal Kyrte, the Amazons, each warrior was free to speak her in own voice on the battle field. A voice she would have found after years of training.
I'm still trying to find my voice. Unlike my sisters, before I came to man's world, I knew no war. No suffering. I had only heard of it in faint whispers of it, but no comprehension.
Though I'm neither a soldier under their command or a mercenary on their payroll, yet they take me through the routine. They examine my wound which was now healed and I endure the astonished face of the doctor who cleaned me of the blood until Etta pokes her head in.
"Hey, how are you?" she asks in a cheerful voice. I give a weary smile back as Etta dismisses the doctor and I mutter something about being fine. "How are things at home?"
"Feels empty right now," I reply.
"I can imagine."
Steve was out on a mission in South America, and expected not to return for some months. I don't know where he is exactly. I could find the answer. The Justice League has resources to do so. But the truth is, I don't really want to find out.
We had an argument, Steve and I, like all couples do. Usually couples argued over things like money and jobs. Things that people, normal people could compromise and resolve. But for us, there is no compromising. Our argument was the frustration of being the people we are and the type of life we're destined to live. I don't regret that I have to come here as an ambassador for peace, but I would be lying if I didn't say there were times when I envy what would be "normal" in man's world. There is a lot of suffering, but there is good from it too.
"Well, the president would like to formally thank you for your service, Diana. Of course you don't have to go," Etta says.
"It's fine," I say.
"You know, if you need to talk about things... about Steve."
"It's not that. It's just that I'm tired, Etta. I'm supposed to be an ambassador for peace and yet here I am, fighting. I sometimes feel as though I'm contributing more to Ares's madness than I am preventing it."
"Hon, if you fear that Ares is going to wake up from that prison of his and start trouble, he's got another thing coming. From what I've seen of you, I have no doubt your fellow Amazons will show him some fury of their own."
It's a paradox, isn't it? To come for peace and drawn for war. And Etta is right, I shouldn't fear Ares. He is in that tree, closely guarded by my sisters. And, for now at least, he has his sanity.
I have a good night's rest and by the next morning, I'm in a car heading towards the president's house.
The city doesn't look all that much different from the outlying country side. Bricks litter the ground from the destroyed buildings and bullet holes pocketed the sides of walls. There's no pavement, but all streets are dirt and I imagine how muddy it must become in the few times it rains.
The provisional government is one set up by the UN and so far, the results were promising. But there's hope here too. The people gathered the bricks together, one by one build again. And there are children on the streets, playing. Women shopping in the street market and men making their way to work. In other words, life. Innocence. The things that war inadvertently destroy is here and now finding a new footing in a new world.
The president's butler greets me and agrees to escort me to the mansion.
The place looks as a stark contrast from the poor who live in the common houses of the street. Contrast to what I knew on the Themiscyra where all were truly equal. But from what I heard, despite seemingly living above his people, the President Raul cares for those around him. His measures were controversial, but they allowed a foundation for rebuilding.
"Can I get you anything, my lady?" the Butler asks.
"No, thank you."
"Please wait here for Monsieur President," says the butler pointing to a seat.
I wait only a short time before my ears pick up the sounds of a rustle behind the slightly faded red curtains. I'm quiet when I approach. Again, acting as the hunter, I keep my footsteps muffled on the shiny marble floor.
Before I pull them back, I hear the little giggle. Behind the curtain was a little girl no more than four I would say. She's standing there with her hands to her mouth and trying to stifle a laugh without much success.
"Well, hello," I say in the best French I could muster. "What's your name?"
She doesn't answer, a shy little thing.
"Anne!"
President Raul entered the room. He was a tall man who commanded authority, not just by his title alone, but by the very presence of his personality. In the war, he stood against the warlords, refusing to give in to their demands. As the president he does the same. While parliament makes most of the decisions as far as day to day activity, it is he who commands the armies, yet he refuses to become in anyway a dictator.
"I have told you many times not to disturb guests," said President Raul.
"But papa, it's..."
"No, buts. That is the rule," says Raul. He then turns to me, "You have to forgive little Anne. She greatly admires you."
"It's quite alright, president. The child wasn't in anyway bothering me. And it's always good to have admirers, I suppose."
"Well, you can count me among them. It's true that when the UN offered to send you or the rest of the Justice League as help, I was a bit apprehensive. I am a man who likes things I can predict. And I have to admit, that a superhero, as it were, is not an element I could ever predict. You have, as it seems, your own code. You follow your own rules."
This is as close as I hope to ever get to a thank you when dealing with people of power and position.
"Maybe, but our goals are not so much different than your own, Monsieur President. Mine in particular. I was sent here to bring peace," I say.
"Well, this world needs it," he replies, sitting down. His daughter, who he previously scolded, he now permitted to sit next to him, so long as he stayed quiet.
Strange. It reminded me much of times with my mother. When she would meet with her fellow Amazons, I would sit by her side, listening. Absorbing all I could so I may know all I had to in order to be her. I see that in Anne's eyes. That admiration that she held more for the father that loved her. She'd ask him questions, and he'd answer with the gentleness of any loving parent.
I'm distracted. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? Having a moment to talk with someone as genuinely devoted to the cause of peace as myself?
They say that often the best way to defeat an enemy infinitely more powerful than yourself is to distract his attention to other things. That is why a warrior must always stay alert and on guard, for once he starts making enemies, they will use this tactic wherever they can. And while I'm distracted, speaking with the little girl as she bombards me with questions, I don't hear them coming.
Gods help me that I wasn't in the right place when they came through the door. I wish for Hades to take my soul beneath the depths of the earth, into his underworld when the shots began.
The speed of Hermes failed me that day. The ears of Artemis too. Though I deflected a good deal of their bullets, and managed to put a stop to their murder, it wasn't enough. Gods help me, it wasn't enough.
That fiery fury came again as a broke their weapons and shattered their bones. And when they both laid at my feet, only then would my ears work once more to hear the sound of a father's voice as he shouted, "Anne!"
The little girl was cradled in her father's arms, blood coming from her chest.
I had failed, Mother.