OKAY... So... acknowledgement to The Giver by Lois Lowry and one of the Sherlock Holmes books. And also King of Crags by Stephen Deas... cuz I used some of their senteces and phrases in this chapter.

Love Story

Chapter 20

A chilly gust of wind passed by, winter was appraoching. An empty silence hung in the air, heavy.

It was now or never.

Richard panted. It was cool, but hot at the same time, under a vast blue sky. There were tufts of grass, a few bushes and rocks, and nearby he could see an area of vegetation: broad low trees outlined against the sky. He could hear noises: the sharp cracks of weapons and then shouts, and an immense crashing.

Red Star was out.

It was daylight, early morning, and the air was thick with smoke and sand that hung yellow and brown, above the ground. Around him, everywhere, far across the expanse of the plains and mountain ranges, lay groaning men. A wild-eyes horse, its bridle torn and dangling, trotted frantically throught the mounds of men, tossing its head, whinnying in panic. It stumbled, finally, then fell, and did not rise.

"GAME OVER!"

A thick iron bo-staff came plummeting down. It was over.

Dirt streaked Richard's face and his ebony hair. He lay sprawled, his black uniform glistening with wet, fresh blood.

Adull blankness slid slowly across his eyes. He was silent.

But the noises continued all around: the cries of the wounded men begging for water and for Mother and for death. Horses lying on the ground shrieked, raised their heads, and stabbed randomly towards the sky with their hooves.

Not only was it a battle of power between two kingdoms, it was also a battle of life and death.

RxR

Bruce went around his camp. Most of his men were either injured or killed. He then staggered into the hospital tent. A frown shadowed his face. He peered at his son who was now awake. Richard had broken a few of his ribs and fractured his foot in the war that had happened earlier that day.

The whole army knew it, though they didn't want to face the reality. They had lost. Again.

"Seven of our men broke their leg. Ten of them were bleeding heavily, in need of blood urgently."

Richard's hand clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his skin, "I'm going out for a while."

Bruce placed his hands on his shoulders, shaking him violently, "You've got to admit it. We've lost. Stop being so stubborn, it's not going to change the fact that we had lost, this is not your wonderland, it's not your world. Wake up, son."

"I said, I am going out," Richard shook off Bruce's hands.

Bruce sighed, "If you're going out, you'd better take a something with you, anything can happen. I doubt Trigon..."

Richard let out a deep breath. He grabbed his quiver and bow [1]and brought his horse with him as he stormed off.

RxR

[2]The full moon hovered like a spectral observer over the camp. The faint cries of the dying and wounded were carried by the chilly night breeze out into the arid wastes beyond. Richard staggered out of the hospital tent, his face begrimed with dried blood and sweat. For a moment he threw his head back and stared at the wide espanse of starless sky as if seeking an answer, an explanation. He had just lost another of his comrades. There were now at least sixty wounded men whom had paid their price by sacrifice. He was losing count. And, by God, what was the point of counting in such small numbers anyway? Hundreds of his soldiers had died that day, slaughtered by Trigon's warriors. They had been outnumbered, outflanked and routed by the forces of Trigon in that fatal battle at the boundary of Gotham and Azarath. Nearly a third of the company had fallen. It was only the reluctance of the Reds to carry out further carnage that had prevented them from being completey annihilated. Trigon had his victory. He had made his point. The small number of survivors could report the news of his invincibility.

For the Blacks, a ragged retreat was the only option. They withdrew into the woods, to lick their wounds and then to limp back to the woods. They had had to leave their dead littering the bloody scubland, soon to be prey the vultures and vermin.

Richard was too tired, too sick to his stomach to feel anger, pain or frustration. All he knew was that when he was trained to be a prince, a soldier, the protector of his city, it had been for the purpose of saving lives and improving the living conditions of his people. It was not to watch young men's pale, boody faces grimace with pain and and their eyes close gradually as life ebbed away from them, while he stood by, helpless, gazing at a gaping wound spilling out intestines.

He needed a drink. He knew he was not supposed to drink, but he wanted it badly whenever her thought of Gotham, the Reds, his men, Slade Wilson... Rachel. Ducking back into the tent, he grabbed a bottle of mild alcohol from a barrel. There were still wounded men lying on makeshift beds in there, but no amount of medical treatment could save them from the grim reaper. He felt guilty to be in their presence. He had instructed his orderly to administer large doses of laudanum to help numb the pain until the inevitable overtook them.

As Richard wandered to the edge of the tattered encampment, he encounted no other officer. Of course, there were very few left. Red Star, who had been in charge, had been decapitated by a Red's blade very early in the battle. Captain Val-Yor was now in charge of the ragged remnants of the company of a regiment, and he was no doubt in his tent nursing his wound. He had been struck in the shoulder by a dark plate blade which had shattered the bone.

A soft rustle of the thick bushes alerted Richard of intruders. He instantly moved into his battle stance.

Nothing moved, except for the leaves that were dancing along with the wind.

"Hello?"

A burly man appeared. Slade. In his signature orange and black armour.

"My my... Is this how you act when seeing an old friend?"

"Slade..." Richard seethed. "You're nver my friend."

He took out an arrow and slung it across his bow. He then stretched his arrow on the bow as taut as possible.

Slade chuckled. "You've lost, child. And you think you can win me, alone? Fat hope, boy."

A flash of anger made his temper pulse. He aimed at Slade's chest.

"Boy, don't even get me started on, you're just a street rat! You thought you are a prince after you're picked up by Bruce? You thought Bruce saw some value in you? You're wrong. You are just a pathetic litle boy who'd lost his parents and was sympathized by ol' King Bruce. You're flattering yourself for the whole time."

"Don't make me hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Slade asked in disbelief. "With your stupid arrow? You're flattering youself again. You really think you can kill me? Besides, what will you gain by killing me? Azarath? Become the king of Gotham? Revive your parents? Bringing back Victor? Rachel? Please, you are just an idiotic and filthy and stupid and homeless orphan! You're nothing compared to me. I can just finish you off like how I squash an ant dead."

Richard concentrated on his arrow. He was about to release it when Slade said something that made him reluctant to let go.

"You are living your life with hurt and sorrow, but it was just a coincidence that you met Rachel. She added spices to your life, and you thing that you truly love her? Or is it because of how happy she's made you feel? And you think Rachel would really wait for you? Think again, rat. She would meet a charming young boy in Steel City too. You think by killing me, Rachel would marry you? Might as well you kill all her admirers, ain't I right, boy? Is this war about Love or power?"

Richard put the arrow back in his quiver and then shuddered, shaking the dread and emptiness away, back into the bottle he carried deep inside of him. He was getting soft.

"Victor."

"Right, Victor Stone," Slade nodded. "He's living his life perfectly fine. You don't have to worry. Ahhh… Only if he knew he had a brother."

Richard pulled Slade's collar and brought him down to him. "Where is he?"

"He's with me, my darling. Remember Cyborg?"

Richard blinked and Slade uncurled his fingers and took a step back. Richard stood rooted at his spot. So… I'm right.

"Why… Why don't he remember me?"

"That's simply because someone found him in a coma and I took this chance to recruit him. I didn't know anything about him until the whole of Gotham was looking for someone that looks like Victor."

Richard hung his head down, was a failure.

"Don't be ashamed, Cyborg don't know he had such a shameful brother," Slade retreated back, his laughter echoing the forest.

Richard shook his head and rode his horse away from the painful land. Why is my life full of sorrow and pain? I've tried protecting the city, but why these nightmares are always there tohaunt me?

Richard dismounted his horse beside a small stream from which both he and the horse drank cold, clear water. His chest ached, bound with a scream that couldn't get out. What was left behind of him was only sadness.

RxR

"I wonder how's Richard's doing," Rachel sighed.

She placed her had on the window. It was raining outside.

"I hope Prince Richard would come back," Kori walked over to Rachel.

Rachel said nothing. She continued to gaze at the blurry scene in outside. The dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes and mounds and gates, was the marshes.

"Come on, let us go back to the common room. There's nothing here to look at and Queen Arella is waiting for us to join her in her dinner," Kori patted her shoulders.

"I'll join you in a while," Rachel said as Kori waited for her.

Rachel sat in her room, thinking. Her mind went into a deep train of thoughts about Malchior. Who is he? Why does he know so much about me? But… he's… Am I falling for him?

RxR

"Slade… You did a good job on the battle."

"Thank you, my majesty. It is my duty to protect our country."

"I would like to promote you… to be my henchman."

Slade grunted, "I want more."

Trigon bellowed, "No one says no to I, King Trigon of Azarath!"

"Things change, Trigon."

"You...!" the king seethed. "No one dares to disobey me!"

"Like I said, things change," Slade pounced up in front of Trigon and raised his pointy dagger.

Trigon gasped. He did not expect that such a loyal man would betray him. If he had any weapon in his hand, he would already have stabbed that betrayer deep in his chest. I shouldn't have put my guards down .

"Any last words?"

Trigon stuttered, "I'm so disappointed in you."

Without mercy, Slade sank his dagger down into the king's chest. Trigon roared his last roar and…

King Trigon ceased to exist from now on.

Slade grabbed the royal crown and placed it on his head, and grasped the bejewelled sceptre in one hand.

"From now on, the world shall pledge to me… I declare that, I, Slade Wilson, is the king of the Azarath, king of the universe."

[1] His skilled in many weapons. I think I told ya' all that, right?

[2] So yea... I took this whole chunk (after-war scene) from Sherlock Holmes and edited it. If you see something that doesnt really fit into this story, I must've miss that phrase/sentence. Thank you for your understaning :)

Don't be shy, people! Leave a review~

In a rush. Bye~~