Disclaimer: If I owned PoP I wouldn't be writing fanfics but designing the third game.
Author's note: Don't worry about the confusing start. It's just for the effect. You'll understand the meaning later, so stick with me and please review if you want to know what happens next.
Episode I : "Spoils of war""It all started on the day that I died.
If there had been an obituary, it would have described the unremarkable life of an unremarkable woman, remembered by no one.
But there was no obituary, because the day that I died was also the day that I really started to live."
It was still early in the afternoon but the sky was frighteningly dark. And yet the air was more dry and suffocating than ever, baring no signs of an upcoming storm. It was as if the Gods themselves had stoke a curse upon those who on that day had decided to turn a once magnificent and flourishing plain into a horrific battlefield. The sweet scent of blooming flowers had been replaced by the sharp smell of death and rivers of blood flowing between the feet of the soldiers seemed to bring from beyond the cries of those who had been slain there, and their bodies left at the mercy of nature's predators.
The now matured Prince of Persia, mounted on his white stallion, holding the reins in one hand and his eagle-sword in the other, was leading his troops into battle. They rode up a hilltop and stopped there at the Prince's command. He surveyed the valley before him and saw another legion of enemy soldiers approaching. They seemed to be charging right at them, hopping to strike hard at their enemy's defense, using a full-force frontal attack. Despite the inappropriate situation, the Prince was unable to prevent the right corner of his lips from twitching into a faint smile at the sight of their rash decision and underestimation of their opponent. They had been undoubtedly fooled by the rather small number of soldiers standing to the Prince's left and right, when twice as many Persian soldiers as well as small troops of foreign mercenaries waited behind the Prince, on the other side of the hill, where the enemy's eyes were unable to reach.
The Prince turned to his left, where his right hand man and most trusted officer, general Markug stood mounted on his dark-brown stallion, awaiting orders from his commander. After receiving them, he turned to three other mounted officers behind him and passed on to them the Prince's instructions.
"My lord, the soldiers are moving into position just as you ordered."
"Than it is time to attack," he told Markug after which he raised his voice and shouted so that all of the soldiers around him could hear. "Men, ready your weapons," and the soldiers did as such. "For Babylon," he shouted even harder as he urged his stallion down the hill, swinging his sword through the air. In a matter of seconds the Prince's battle cry was on every soldiers' lips and the peaceful valley was shaken by their deafening roars as they descended the hilltop to confront their rivals.
When the two armies met the impact was so great that it made it seem as though the very moon had fallen form the sky and smashed against the earth. The soldiers pushed into their enemies with fury and hatred, madly swinging their swords, axes, clubs or daggers, taking pleasure in ripping the flesh of their opponents and throwing them out of their way one by one, while cutting their way through the forest of people. For a few moments the battle seemed really tensed for the Persians and their opponents were under the impression that their victory was certain, until more and more Persians seemed to be appearing out of nowhere. That is when the enemy soldiers realized that their foes had surrounded them from every direction.
The Prince had marched into battle only with his pedestrian troops, while the two legions of cavalry and the troop of mercenaries had been ordered to go around the battlefield and encircle it, forming a human barrier around the enemy army. Now that the entire Persian army had joined the fight the enemy was clearly outnumbered and it wasn't long before only the bravest of the rival army remained alive, desperately trying to change the outcome of a battle they had clearly lost.
The Prince had fought bravely along his men, to whom he was a true model, a hero and a living legend even, just like his father and older brothers had once been to him. He managed to stay on his horse almost halfway through the battle when he was forced to jump off it in order to avoid several spears that had been thrown in his direction. The sudden gesture made him trip instead of landing on a safe position on the ground and this filled him with rage.
Clenching the handle of his sword in fury, he raised his eyes from the ground and looked in the direction from which the spears had come. He took out his other sword that rested against his left hip, attached to a belt that went around his waist, and started running towards two enemy soldiers that continued to throw spears at him. To their amazement, he was advancing with great speed, easily dodging every spear thrown in his direction by sliding past them with great accuracy and determination. He found himself in front of them just as they each raised a spear, preparing to throw it, throwing himself forward and landing before them in a crouched position, with one leg stretched backwards to maintain balance. While he did so, he pointed his swords forward and as he landed, each sword was impaled into the abdomen of one soldier. He then quickly proceeded in bringing his extended leg forward as he stood up, simultaneously raising the two swords, slitting the upper body of each soldier in half in doing so.
Hardly had he disposed of the two men when a dozen arrows were shot in his direction. Hearing the sound they made as they cut through the air, flying towards their pre-established destination, the Prince turned just at the right moment and was able to easily block the attack using his two swords. Once again, he started running fiercely towards the man who was responsible for the attack. The man kept firing arrow after arrow and at times even two at once, but the Prince was unstoppable. As he ran faster and faster he used his sword to cut through the shower of arrows, leaving behind him only useless pieces of wood. Seeing the rage in the Prince's eyes as he came closer to him, the soldier was unable to stay focused and the slightest distraction cost him his life. As he saw the prince approaching he started moving backwards, until his heel smashed into something which made him turn his head in that direction for a fraction of a second. But that was more than the Prince needed to run up at him, kicking his chest and pushing against it in order to jump up and over him. While in mid air, the Prince swung his powerful eagle-sword, struck the man in the center of his skull with it and sliced him vertically in half while landing behind him.
The two halves of the man's body fell to the ground in opposite directions as a stream of blood spilled from within him, splashing into a huge puddle on the ground. Drops of blood sputtered on the Prince's already dirty face and lingered along his temple, cheeks and neck. The enemy soldiers near-by stopped for a few seconds and simply stared in amazement at the Prince and at the disfigured body lying on the ground. Taking advantage of the situation, the Prince began to swing his swords and slash to his left and right, bringing down each enemy with a single but very powerful blow.
He used one sword to block the attack of a soldier and push his weapon away, while with the other sword he sent his head flying to the ground. Without taking any pauses, he flipped the sword with which he had decapitated the soldier and pushed in backwards into the body of another attacker. He had no time to take it out when he was forced to block with his other sword yet another attack. He kicked the man away and abandoned one of his swords in the body of the man he had recently slain only for a brief moment during which he needed a free hand to catch a dagger that he had kicked upwards from the ground with one foot and throw it at the neck of the soldier that had last attacked him.
He then retrieved his other sword and proceeded to slay other attackers. When the enemy army had been visibly diminished and the remaining soldiers could be taken down even by the less experienced Persian warriors, the Prince started looking for the commander of the troops, the one who had initiated the attack, to settle things once and for all. However, he had no such luck as Markug informed him that the enemy leader had managed to flee the battlefield as soon as he realized the Persians had surrounded him.
"Damn coward," the Prince spat out with rage.
One hour later …
Darkness had fallen like a thick veil over the plain and with it, a feeling of relief and tranquility seemed to have settled among the Persian soldiers, or at least among the remaining Persian soldiers. The battle had ended bringing victory to the Persian army, but the war was far from being over.
The Prince made his way along a pathway through the tents of their encampment, lit by numerous torches, heading towards his own. The leader of his troop of mercenaries caught up with him, finding it difficult to hide his admiration for the Persian ruler, despite the fact that he was of a different nation and fought only for money.
"You are as fearless as a god," he told him.
"The gods are immortal. What could they possibly fear?" came the Prince's wise but also a bit sarcastic answer.
"I am honored to go to war with you," the man continued and the Prince looked at him and nodded with a smile while shaking his hand.
As the Prince approached his tent he was greeted by Markug.
"My lord, we have captured the one responsible for our previous inconvenience."
"Good. I hope this was the last traitor we had among us."
"Actually, my lord, this person is not one of us."
"Who is it then?"
"We don't know."
"What do you mean? Haven't you questioned this person already?"
"Given the circumstances, we figured you might want to question this supposed traitor yourself."
Saying nothing more, Markug held open the tent flap. The Prince looked at his general for a moment before entering the tent. He curiously scanned the surroundings and was very surprised to see a woman sitting on the ground near a wooden pillar that supported the tent, her hands being tied to it. She was wearing a long, sleeveless, white dress with a golden cord tied around her waist and her wavy raven hair reaching half way between her shoulder and elbow. But her back was turned to the entrance of the tent and the Prince could not see her face.
"This woman is your traitor?" he questioned Markug looking quite irritated. "Take her out of here, you know I am in no mood for this."
"But you haven't even seen her yet. She is a rare beauty and by the looks of her robs, she must be royalty. It would be a shame if I gave her as an entertainment for the men."
"If you care so much for her why don't you take her then?"
"You know I have a wife waiting for me at home whom I could never betray, but you need this. Relax, and enjoy. We can win this war, I give you my word," Markug placed one hand on the Prince's shoulder, telling him what he knew he wanted to hear, after which he left, leaving his commander to get acquainted with his new guest.