'We cannot just stand here' Dariea announced to a number of people sitting around a circular table. 'The Ottomans are approaching quickly and they must be stopped. All troops need to assemble outside in one hour, Adjourned'
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It was another couple of hours before Young Heracles woke to the clash of metal and the final shouts of brave, fallen warriors. Heracles opened his eyes groggily and hopped out of his bed. He pushed the door open and stepped out. He could see movement of people and the all too familiar sound of death. He ran forward and his himself behind a marble Column. His green eyes scanned the Blood-red battlefield for his mother.
She wasn't hard to spot being the only woman. Fighting with Grace and agility Heracles had never seen in his mother. She was holding off a larger man. He was much better dressed than any of the other opposing men. He was dressed all in green. A torn, graying scarf slung roughly over his neck, a number of chains attached to his Uniform and a bright red fez perched upon his head. The most noticeable feature was the mask. The white mask shielded the upper portion of the man's face. He was almost fascinating, had he not have been a threat.
Heracles watched with intrigue, silently cheering for his mother from behind the pillar, hidden out of sight. What started out as a vicious, uncoordinated fight began to change. It was beginning to look more like a dance. As the Man took a step forward, his mother followed suit by taking a step in the opposite. The sound of clashing metal was still reverberating in Heracles' ears, until almost immediately he lost all his senses. He heard not a sound after the final clash. His Mother's sword against Her Masked Adversary's. It was an even push until the Man in the mask freed one hand, sliding it into his coat Pocket. Heracles had Hardly seen the dagger he pulled out until it was to the hilt and his Mother fell to the ground, her white tunic stained with her own blood.
'Mama!!' Heracles screamed running from his hiding place behind the pillar, moving as fast as his short little legs would take him. The fighting seemed to stop as the five year old ran straight into the battlefield. He kneeled next to his mother ignoring the hem of his robe, which was soaking up the pool of blood he was sitting in. He placed one hand in hers, the other reached forward to touch her face.
Cold.
His mother was gone.
Blinded by fury and sadness Heracles was led away from his dead mother by a couple of sincere-sounding words. He couldn't see through his tear-blurred vision who it was.
'This ain't the place for ya, son' the man said softly, grabbing the young boy's hand. 'There's nothing we can do for 'er now. But don't you worry, son, I'll take ya in. I've got your little cat, too' Heracles nodded his head wearily.
'Who are you?' Heracles asked, wiping the salty tears from his face.
'My name?' The man answered. 'Sadiq. But that's not the important part here; we need to get you home.' Heracles had a haunting feeling that home wasn't going to be the home he was used to.
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A/N- Shorter than the others, sorry. R&R?