Prologue

Cold nights; they assign devastating tales only exaggerated in books. The so-called 'secret art' that blends behind the crowd or that washes away our fear and even polishes off a sad mans despair. That sort of thing does not exist, but is strongly believed in, which is why everyone keeps their hopes up for a day of glory, a day of miracles, a day where everyone can experience the 'magical' beauty.

I'm here to tell you that although the magic we love is a sign of hope and prosperity, it is truly a symbolic practice of corruption and death. I'm here to tell you that that magic is absolutely real.

Prologue. The End is the Beginning

The day is of early 1904. An Egyptian night is cold, no matter how hot the days may seem. A man in his late 20's named Alexander believes the same thing, as he hurdles through the temple of Giza, sacred to the residents who used to live there.

An amazing sight from a couple hundred feet off the desert sands, the Sphinx just below eye-height. The same thoughts ran through Alexander's head as he ran on the basis of these sacred grounds. He lacked integrity as a smile drew his mind astray. He thought of possibly expressing this smile on his sweat-covered face, but he didn't.

Panting - Alexander whipped his head over his shoulder to see if they were still following him. His expression remained calm as he threw his face forward again. He took a left, still racing his make-believe-marathon. Torches lit the dark and narrow hallway he found himself running through.

He was driven by his own ambition, knowing he'd never make it if he halted. Feeling proud of his haughtiness, he had that smile cloud his mind again, basking in its riches.

The smile and its riches would have to wait because Alexander felt a sharp injection towards the left side of his torso. Dumbstruck, he gave a slight groan and crinkled his face. Without even noticing it the young man had triggered a booby trap. Alexander jerked his head, checking on his latent injury but quickly looked up again. His eyes shrank as he stared at the hundreds of arrows filling the narrow hallway, each arrow ready to take his life.

Without a moment to think, Alexander had given up the left side of his body to save his life. His body faced towards the right and he hopped back against the left wall of the hallway. He swallowed deeply and shut his eyes, his head hid behind his knapsack. It lasted no more than 3 seconds; each arrow sped passed him like a silent jet. Alexander lost count of how many invaded his body, all of them penetrating his flesh at least 2 inches deep. The impacting arrows carried him a decent foot and a half backward.

Alexander collapsed, landing on his right half. He inched his neck sideways staring at the blood he had just surrendered. The impression reminded him of a leaky faucet racing down his left half and on to the concrete floor. The surrounding torches reflected in his ever-flowing blood.

It seemed at this point that Alexander's dash had come to an end, he was barely able to lift his head from the agony he was in, but that same smile he thought of somehow found its way back into the broken man's head. He plucked each arrow that stuck from his body not caring about the blood he would lose. His efforts pounced him back towards the ominous route to kill himself even more.

It was close. It felt achievable to him now, although price-tagged with his soul. His once vigorous strength and stamina had been brought to a pathetic minimum, and so Alexander dragged his half-dead self to the end of his existence.

He suddenly heard the sounds of voices, not 40 meters away, and he remembered who he was running away from. Alexander could hear their resentment, he could hear their eerie influences, and he even heard the slightest bit of relief. Their breaths and pants, he could hear them all and they were coming closer.

As if all hope seemed lost, he finally saw it. Sitting there in a boxed room not 4 meters away was his prize. He now thought of enjoying the calm and cold night of Egypt. After the one thing he sought out to do he could finally look up at the beaming moon and smile to his hearts content.

The entire room was illuminated by its presence and Alexander limped closer toward it. He held his side firmly and didn't let go, it killed himself to blink as he stared at the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

His face was pale and losing color, it was only a matter of minutes that he would start losing feeling everywhere in his body. Alexander knew that if he kept gazing at the obsession he sought so long to find, he would die a horrible death.

It's luster almost blinded him - he reached and grabbed it between both arms. He squeezed it firmly. Alexander's vision had begun to fade, but it was fine, his eyes were of no use to him anymore. He coughed out repulsively, as if on purpose, and uttered his last few sentences that would seal his fate. Alexander had tears in both eyes and before he knew what he was about to do, he shut them both and did it anyways.

"CRASH!!"

The sounds of steel and glass together made an unbearable sound, even so unbearable that Alexander wished he had covered his ears first. He realized what he had done. He hoped that he could have had a few more seconds with his ultimate - pride and glory, but it was too late. Each of his tears felt like daggers ripping their way down his cheeks.

There he lay, distraught and heart-broken. On all fours did he pose, looking downwards at his shattered prize. He familiarized himself with that of a home-sick dog, so he positioned his neck upward to the open ceiling. It was now dark and even colder.

Alexander stopped his crying and thought no more of it. He instead knew that what was just done was his true pride and glory. His deed was complete, and the world was an even happier place. His last few moments in this world were not going to be of stained tears and ill-will toward man. His manhood strengthened, and he would now have the opportunity to finally stare up at the open sky and ...

Alexander's train of though was corrupt; he felt a new substance penetrating his body. Slowly tilting his head downward he saw multiple structured-pieces of metallic figures piercing from his chest. Alexander did not know what to feel. His pain was replaced by a new desolation and he could not help but collapse, his manhood broken once more.

Alexander did not care that he had fallen, the only thing he cared for was the one thing he couldn't do ... smile. He cursed himself for being so weak as to not even crack a smile. He tried with all his might to even twitch a grin, but his expression stayed the same. A sensation he could barely feel now dripped down his face, his vision was not only blurry, but all at once he saw red. The same red he saw moments ago spewing from his body.

They were talking again, but Alexander couldn't hear them this time.

Was there something wrong with his hearing now? He couldn't find the truth behind his deficiency. It didn't matter anymore, his eyes were closing, and they were closing for good. He could no longer feel the sensation racing down his penetrated skull, nor could he feel the flow from his chest. It was all gone.

One more thing popped into his head before absolute darkness. He suddenly had the impression of a man, similar to himself, smiling. Not only smiling, he was laughing too. Alexander knew that his position was no joke, but he urged himself to find a sense of humor and join the fictitious man. The man spoke and said the most complex of words, words Alexander could not hear. What was this man trying to tell him?

Alexander had passed and there was dead silence. The guards picked the leaking corpse off their holy grounds and dragged him from the room. A voice echoed as they exited with his body, and it repeated: "A new eon begins."