Return Of The Anarchists 2 Fall Of The Anarchists Part-1

It was the fall of the anarchists.

The Hero's squad had infiltrated their HQ, they had lost signal with Martin who had gone chasing the decoy and Lucas was heavily wounded. The hero was looming above him, looking down at him...

"It's the end of the line Lucas. This farce ends now. This world is better off without the anarchists"

"You are right Mr. Hero, It is indeed time to end this farce.- Vincent! Do it!"

"My pleasure!" laughing maniacally, he pressed the big red b.u.t.ton.

[This base will self-destruct in 60 seconds, kindly evacuate!]

"Are you crazy, Lucas."

"Crazy! No, I have never been more sane. If this world doesn't need us any more. We will leave it ourselves. We never got to choose how we lived, we can at least choose how we die."

The oh-so-proud hero and his allies ran like a bunch of scared rats. Lucas wasn't sure if they had survived, and he couldn't care less.

"Kaboom!"

The entire island base blew up in one of the most brilliant explosions the world had ever seen. Lucas was flung off, full of wounds, into the ocean.

Sinking admist a red haze of his own blood. Lucas couldn't help but question himself -

"Was I really wrong."

He tried to grasp the bubbles leaving his mouth, but they evaded him just like his life-force slowly ebbed away.

The Hero's words still echoed in his head, - "We could have been great friends, if only you hadn't gone down the path of evil." How nauseating. Self-righteous bull-c.r.a.p! Lucas never went down the path of evil, he went down the path of anarchy. He just wanted to survive and be in control of his own life! Was he wrong. Did he really deserve to be destroyed by a goody two shoes hero like some sort of cliched villain.

He wasn't denying that he had sinned.

He had.

928,437 people.

That's the number of deaths the anarchists and thus, he was responsible for.

However he had only ever murdered one person his whole life. Stabbed him right through the back when he was least expecting. The blood trickled down his hands onto the cold floor and the soulless eyes of the corpse seemed to be asking him only one question-"Why?"

However it was all for his goal.

He wasn't a villain.

He was an anarchist.

He was the f*ckin' Prince of shadows the whole world feared.

That sc.u.m of a hero would long have been destroyed by the very nations he was trying to save if they weren't busy trying to deal with the anarchists. If the anarchists hadn't killed most of the human sc.u.m, and implanted fear into the hearts of the rest. No one would have supported the hero's campaigns. The hero wouldn't have been able to change the world for the better if the threat of the anarchists weren't looming by. And he DARED to call him, Lucas evil!

However, deep down Lucas knew that this wasn't what really haunted him, he had often been detested by the world and called a villain.

.

.

.

Lucas had never lost.

Not since the day his father died. A person too good for his time, someone too soft, and someone who believed in heroes. Heroes that never came. Heroes that were just a pipe dream, that once broken by reality would bring in the most crus.h.i.+ng feeling of helplessness. Since that day Lucas had vowed to himself that he would never feel that helpless again. He would never lose to the world again, he wouldn't be soft-hearted. He would become the most powerful man alive. He would hold so much power that nothing will be able to get in his way and no one would suffer the way he did.

But today, he had lost.

To a hero.

All the schemes, plots, betrayals and backstabbing.

All the sins, the murders, the effort and the tears.

It had all been for nothing.

The anarchists were wiped off this world.

Martin was missing.

Vincent had blown himself and their base together to kingdom come.

At least the world was now a better place, and there wouldn't be more people like him in the future.

Lucas slowly closed his eyes and let the darkness slowly embrace him. The prince of shadows was returning to the shadows.

However just as he was being embraced by eternal darkness, his blood seemed to re-arrange itself into a 4-dimensional pentagram that glowed a deep crimson.

Then he vanished without a trace.