"What are heroes..? Heroes are borne from a.. need of change; heroes are agents of change. People will grasp at whatever they can for the better; they will swim in seas of knowledge, grasp at their own hope within them... or they will simply ignore it and confine themselves into the bliss of their ignorance, uncaring for much at all. I should know, really. I've killed my fair share of heroes. A millennium and a second seems no difference to me, really; heroes rise, heroes fall. The only thing that will win in the end, if given the most time, is the most primal and simplest of things... chaos, emptiness, destruction. What difference is there in anything? You guys are like hydras, kill one and another takes its place... only, a fire needs to be built to take it down. What that fire is... well, you can figure that out, can't you?"
"I know you can... I know its you. You don't even know you have control, because I take it from you; each time you fall, I beat you back up and make you play my game again. Isn't it fun, being a pawn to something greater? You aspire to these 'gods', yet look at them now, watching their planet racked with destruction. What are gods? Omnipotent? No, the gods bend to the will of the greater gods, and those gods bend to the will of those greater than even them. But who's the prime, who will beat the world back into shape and order?"
Chuckle.
"Not you, Caes. Not you, Aedan, not you Thor, Zeus, none of you. So send your guardians, your saviors, and let them come at Me. Like heroes, they will rise...
And they will fall."
It was a late evening and the red glow of the sun was setting on the entirety of Camp Cinder, surrounded by a green and lush France forest free from the chaos of the world; the camp, however, reflected the war. Most of the structures were simply large tents erected out of haste or shaddy makeshift structures to serve whatever purposes are needed; the camp, however, was fairly large and housed a large population of both civilians and soldiers, mundane and magical. Many a group were in housing quarters B, a dull concrete building filled to the brim with hammocks and dense assortments of furniture and such, mostly poor and wooden with many people's belongings. Three men were sat at a table playing a game of blackjack, as they typically did; one had a sly smirk on his rough face accompanied by the large pile of chips at his table; his brown hair was cropped short and he simply wore a white tank with cut blue jeans. The other man right by him was of dark complexion and of Arab nationality, dark hair cut neatly short and wearing white robes with a turban. The final man was very slim and had clean white hair cut down to the shoulders, as well as rectangular glasses on that shone over his dark eyes; he had a white collar shirt on, dirtied from labor and khaki shorts also dirtied.
Leaning against the wall was a short Japanese woman with and long braided hair, wearing a denim jacket with her hands shifted into the pockets of dark cargo shorts. Her eyes were glowing a strange purple color, but her expression was that of sheer boredom. What are you all doing at this time, in this "wonderful paradise" of a building?