Marth story based on Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon

Prologue 2

Marth

1

Marth stood in the sandy desert terrain looking down towards the destroyed castle with bit of a churned look on his face. His cape had been torn to pieces and his body looked battle worn as he was surrounded by dead bodies all around him. This didn't change much however. He was a tad upset with the way the way things had been. No longer ruling the castle, no army, hell, not even Roy to bug ever since Roy was shot out of the Super Smash bro tournaments. Life was simply full of death and loneliness for now.

He calmed himself down, put the sword away, fixed his hair and crown, then continued walking calmly a crossed the bloodstained sand. The bodies all familiar, all from different parts of the world, from clerics to dragon riders, it was all just hell to take any look upon. He stopped in front of the body of his closest friend, Merric.

Merric's body was burned due to the backfire of his fire spell. The book that was in his hand was burned to pieces, his clothes of charcoal, and his face wet with the final tears he had left. The sand had covered his body partially due to the oncoming winds, and the blood that was around him didn't seem as drastic as it was the moment Merric's body fell to the ground.

Marth simply bit his lip and looked away. What he had done was horrid, and there was nothing left for him to recover, at least almost nothing. He was still alive, and as far as he knew so was his sister, however his sister may have been treated, he was almost sure she was still alive. Somewhere in the castle, taken prisoner by the enemy, was Elice, his elder sister.

Overrun by emotion, he took no thought into his plan, and began to run towards the castle, right hand on the hilt of the rapier, and left on the sheath, He uses to slay his enemies from the past. Before he reached the foot of the castle, however, a thought crossed his mind, a distant thought that he had said long ago, before this death brawl had happened.

"I am a prince before son, or brother, of this kingdom."

It was his words, and knew that because he said those words that he had to back off from this instance, regroup with some of his companions, and find another way into the Altea castle, he turned to look at the bloody mess again in that instant, and he had no choice to walk through his guilt. A sharp pain stabbed at his heart as he, once again, walked past the bodies of his comrades.

2

He was getting closer to the base that they had created, one that wouldn't be noticed by the enemy, far enough from the castle, and a good hiding place for all of the members to gather. All who wanted to help the cause that marth had started were welcome there, as long as no one wanted to harm another member all was to be well.

Marth, being alone on the way back to the base, was tired, beaten, and ready to give in. He was practically breathing the blood of those who protected him. Who saved his life, and yet, as much as he wanted to drop his guard, he could not. His breath was beginning to weight himself down as he struggled to continue on, his mind solely on if the others were okay, and glad that he didn't take everyone into battle.

He began to slow down as to grab something out of his pocket. It was a small metal container that the seal was broken on and it was covered in dried up blood from his clothes. Marth seemed to be upset about this, and he dropped the container only to continue to walk on through the heat of the sandy path.

Eventually coming a crossed a trail of dead bodies, Marth stopped to see if anyone was alive and who they were. Their clothes were red, but not from blood, they were members of the enemy, those who stormed the castle when he was much younger. The traitors of his father were dead, but way to close to the base where the other members of his army lay and hid.

This shocked him as that meant they knew where he was, and more people were going to die at his own expense. He became angry with himself real quick, and his mind raced on whether he should approach the entrance of the base, which had the possibility of a trap waiting for him, or if he was to run away and leave his comrades to fend for themselves. He was no coward, but he knew that if there was a trap waiting for him, he would surely die, and that would be the end of everything, however, if he retreated, he could lose everyone he had ever known and truly be on his own. The decision he had to make was to hard for him, however, there was no other way out of the situation.

3

He clenched his eyes closed and pulled out his weapon, only opening them when his weapon was in front of him. He then slowly walked into the entrance, his mind racing on whether he should back off now, but constantly telling himself to move forward. The decision had been made and there was no way he was to change it. Marth had chosen his companions lives, and trust were in his hands.

After a while of dead silence and walking, he realized it was taking longer than usual to reach the end of the small tunnel. He shook his head, as he began to wonder what was wrong, it felt as if it were taking hours to reach the base, as if the entrance was a mile long.

Black smoke seemed to be creeping in through the corners of the hallways, but this was unnoticed by the prince, despite his guard being completely up. It was dark and wet, and something seemed wrong, but it wouldn't change his mind, it wouldn't get him to turn back. Not that turning back would have helped any as it wasn't long till the dark clouds engulfed the whole area including Marth.