AUTHOR'S NOTES
Chapters 1-4 of The Prophet's Song comprised the first part, called News of the World. It's with a hardy and boastful outlook that I boast that this part of the story is now, officially, completed!
And, when pasted into Word, it appears that I have exceeded 100 pages on it! Congratulations to me! This is a milestone for me, as this indicates that I have truly surpassed any other story I have ever written in quantity and quality of story and development. I'm sure many of you are wondering "What's just happened" at the end of Part 1, and I won't reveal it. Needless to say, it's my own take on a maybe overused plot point here on FF.net. But regardless, I'm happy with this plot and where it's heading.
This author's note is to thank my beta readers once again for their hard work. Without them, this wouldn't be hardly any worth. And I want to thank all my reviewers for all their time and effort reading this. I'm always glad to see someone who has enjoyed my work and feels as though it excited and intrigued them. I love each and every one of you.
It's also to thank the inspirations of this song. I want to thank Freddie Mercury, especially, for writing the songs The Seven Seas of Rhye, Brian May for writing The Prophet's Song, Roger Taylor for working with those two on the song "Mad the Swine", an unreleased track that's an extra on the CD "Queen I" as well as on the compilation of unreleased material on "Preordained". And also, John Deacon for being the last member of Queen and for their work on the album News of the World and the song Khashoggi's Ship. Also, thanks go out to David Bowie and the Bee Gees for their wonderful releases "As The World Falls Down" from the Labyrinth Soundtrack and E.S.P., the title track to their 1987 album, respectively. The former is one of my all-time favorite songs and the latter is one of the greatest songs of the 80s.
Finally, I want to thank myself for not giving up. If there's any advice I can give you newbie writers, start small and work your way up. Don't start with a 200 page epic, but work your way up from smaller short stories. They can be even more rewarding than a novel if written right. This is quite exciting for me. Thank you, everyone, once more!
And now... the Intermission begins.
Now there's more to do than watch my sailboat glide
And every day can be my magic carpet ride
And I can play hide-and-seek with my fears
And live my days instead of counting my years
Interlude 1: Going Back
Take one last glance at the sea. Its infinite expanses and beautiful architecture. It is the end of empires, and it is the cradle of civilization. Beneath the waves lies a primal sound. Drums begin to play, a whole array! Listen to the primal heartbeat repeating infinitely in the depths. These are the war drums of the new world, of the age of humans. The Prophet's Song can breathe now, the heartbeat has been revived.
However, the sea is merely one of Earth's domains. And the waves crash upon it with the force of a thunderbolt. The beaches are calm and pure, with sand as light as the sun that shines down upon this world. Above the sea, there lies hundred fold mysteries in all forms. Glancing into the depths of the jungle, one can see the tiger in its meekness hiding from its prey. The hunter is now the hunted as the cry of gunfire pierces the serenity of the land.
This is the domain of man. It is the most wild and vilest of all the domains. This is the world that Mad the Swine has seen. The land is decayed.
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Slade Wilson wanted to cry. He couldn't, of course, but there were times he wanted to. Memories of Grant, memories of Addie, memories of little Joseph all entered his brain. He couldn't let them see him like this, no, but there was always a glance towards the past and to the life that had been taken from him with time.
Military man Slade Wilson lied to enter the army. He was eager to serve his country and eager to show his worth. He loved the thrill of combat most of all, and in the end, that's where his greatest fault lied. The mask had become his drug, and he couldn't afford to let it go. There was the intoxication of a good opponent, a worthy adversary. There was a thrill in his superiority. The mask let him be who he wanted to be.
He wasn't above the problem, in many ways he embodied the problem. Man was fascinated with war and bloodshed, and that's what he was in every sense of the word. He thought of little Joseph, who would never say his father's name or yell or laugh in harmony with him, and of Grant, who had been the reason he had initially come in contact with the HIVE. He had been killed working for them. And now, he had been contracted to kill the Titans by them, for the vengeance of Grant Wilson. He couldn't accept the contract after he saw the bravery in the boy Robin, and saw in him a small portion of his son.
Slade, however, was Deathstroke to these children. He could never show them the human behind the mask. And so he donned it again with all the pain and anguish it created, and took the Book of Revelations in his hands and read.
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The Four Horsemen.
And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.
And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.
And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.
And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.
And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. (Book of Revelations)
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It began in Gotham. The first case was viewed as a one off. Even the great detective Batman couldn't figure it out. It was a random victim, a young woman who was on her way back from a night class at Gotham University. She was attacked and found dead in an alleyway nearby. There were no external marks. She looked pristine and beautiful, preserved in that pose forever by an untimely, silent, but gentle death.
It wasn't until the autopsy that the strangeness of the case became fully evident. Her heart had been quartered while still in her body. There was no known human or metahuman who could possibly do that. It was Bruce Wayne's duty to figure it out. He removed his mantle and returned to the manor proper and sat on a recliner, rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the headaches.
Alfred brought him some aspirin and he took it. He racked his brain for any possible answers. "Alfred, this entire case makes no sense. A random attack, a bizarre cause of death, and no clues."
"Quite, sir," the old English butler responded stoically. "What I think, Master Bruce, is that you need a good night's rest."
"Perhaps you're right, Alfred." Bruce rose from his seat and took towards his bedroom.
He was awoken in the middle of the night by a nagging at his consciousness. He looked at the bedside clock. 5 AM, he had been sleeping for a few hours at least. He turned on the television to be alerted to a breaking news story. Another woman had been found, in a similar manner, except she was in Metropolis. Then just as soon as this news came through, another breaking story came from Central City and Keystone City. Four deaths, each in the same manner. Bruce frowned. Whoever had done it could get around easily.
He frowned. "Watchtower, this is Batman."
"Batman, it's Superman. I'm betting you heard the news."
"That's right."
"We'll be waiting for you."
"Thanks." Batman hated days like these.
He spoke of death as a bone white haze
Taking the young and the unloved babe
THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON