The Dark Hero - PLEASE READ LATEST POST

I have been at in a Creative Drought for far too long with this idea. I know what should happen, but so many other factors are coming in and damaging the story;

• The characters lack depth. Stereotypical relationships dominate the plot line, where we feel that the protagonists will just fall for eachother. Characters are either designated hero or villain from the start and I need some help with it.
  
• I don't know where anything leads in this plot. Everything contributes to some way, but there are far too many loose ends and some things are just filler to compensate for the lack of story.
  
• The competition is fierce when it comes to writing. I am writing something and it comes across as far to mediocre. Werewolves and vampires have been so overly used these days that people now find them so annoying. It is difficult to write a meaningful werewolf tale without feeling there are too many werewolf stories around thanks to the franchise of Twilight (retches)

So I could do with some creative guidance, on one condition...

EVERYTHING HERE IS DELETED ONCE I AM FINISHED.

The year is currently 167 of the Fifth age, two years before the events of the main game. Here is what we've established so far.

Year 117 (50 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni is born on Fugitive Island after his mother is stranded by a storm. Forced to go into labour after waiting a few months for a ship, Lyra Magnus gives birth to Giovanni. The criminals on the island, some of which are associated with the Shadow Apprentices, notice Giovanni's colouring and markings correspond to a Nightfall legend, the rebirth of Darkness.

Year 132 (35 years before the events of the story) - At Giovanni's 15th Birthday, he discovers his aura ability; the ability to absorb fear and convert it into energy. Mesophiles the Twisted haves Giovanni inducted into the Shadow Apprentices, posing as a cult that will try and benefit the world. Mesophiles takes in interest in Giovanni, for his markings, colouring and ability are similar to that of the Nightmare's Ressurrector.

Year 132 (34.7 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni becomes an apprentice of Master Maelstrom, alongside Maya at a younger age. He begins studying the works of summoning.

Year 133 (34.4 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni begins having a relationship with Lakota Silver, an apprentice to Master Wisdom. As she begins to lose her sight as her natural born ability takes over, he helps through the harder times.

Year 133 (34.2 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni goes missing amongst others people across Gielinor. The story goes out that they were taken by shadows.

Year 133 (33.9 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni is found during the Shadow Massacre, in which the Shadow Apprentices are disbanded once again. Those that stayed behind were decimated or executed for treason. Mesophiles kills Atticus Whitearrow who led the militia to tackle the enemy. Giovanni is found, but none of the other missing people are ever located.

Year 133 (33.6 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni ventures into the Wilderness to locate a missing werewolf cub going by the name of Fang who went looking for his mother. Whilst in the Wilderness, Giovanni is attacked by Mesophiles who was after Silverwind Acuity. Though managing to hold off Mesophiles and protect Fang, Silverwind is killed by human activist Adam Vozen.

Year 134 (33.5 years before the events of the story) - The Crimson Protection project is founded, where Giovanni's power could be used to protect people remotely. The base is built in the Lupine Mountains to avoid interference.

Year 134 (33.4 years before the events of the story) - Giovanni is suspended from his apprenticeship by Master Maelstrom when the project begins to show signs of being discontinued. Giovanni is burdened by the death of the people killed by the Shadow Apprentices. During a trial run of the project, a breach in the container causes the fear energy to be overstimulated by some power source. The containment fails and shatters, most of the scientists working on the project are killed in the initial blast, flesh burned or eaten away. Giovanni leaves his office to find most of the base shutting down, the energy now taking on his form being used as a manefest by the Nightmare. Giovanni manages to deplete its energy to destroy the manefest, but the Mountains begin to lost spatial stability as the rifts begin opening.

Year 134 (33.2 years before the story) - Giovanni resigns his commision as an apprentice after suffering continual nightmares and suffering about the people who died when he could have been there to protect them. He choses to go sailing so he can relax slightly. He comes across a fortress in the ocean that isn't listed on any maps. Visiting the fortress, he relays one last communication to Arzonus; "I'll be back in a month, I'm taking some time to think."

Year 134 (33.1 years before the story) - Giovanni is living inside the Teleform fortress, where they promise to help him by relieving the burdens of the harsh memories. When investigating beyond the chambers he was confined to, he discovers the Teleform have been studying and trying to replicate his ability in order to create a new breed of Teleform that would easily be able to reclaim the human world once the Grade I had been removed. Giovanni tears down the project and tries to set free the victims due to be converted. He is captured by a Teleform who wipes his memory so that he could be converted, but the Teleform is killed by an escaped prisoner. Using an escape vessel, Giovanni is placed inside and preserved in formaldehyde so that when he returns to the world, he can warn them. The vessel is launched as the fortress disappears, sending the vessel into outer space.

~

Year 136 (31 years before the story) - Giovanni's family begins to investigate the circumstances of Giovanni's disappearace. When they threaten to hold Emile Antares accountable, both of Giovanni's parents are banished. His mother, Lyra, is sent to Fugitive Island, whilst his father, Mortimer, retreats to the Kharidian desert. Agents are still sent to this day to try and kill both of them; neither has been killed.

Year 148 (19 years before the story) - Cheyenne Silver is born.

Year 152 (15 years before the story) - Morbius Maelstrom is born.

Year 155 (12 years before the story) - Cheyenne Silver begins demonstrating her ability of metal manipulation, as opposed to precognitive sight like the rest of her family.

Year 164 (3 years before the story) - Falador is attacked by the Kinshra, led by Sulla and Jerrod with many casualties. Sulla loses his rank and escapes with Jerrod to find somewhere else to go.

Year 165 (2 years before the story) - The Lupine Mountains are mostly lost to the dark shadows, the Monastery, the final outpost and the higher towns are all but destroyed. The mid-town and the harbour are safely defended, but become overrun with vile creatures every night. The mountain route becomes unsafe and the entire town of Lupine is quarantined.

Year 167 - The story takes place here.

I'd like to upload my novel so far, but it would take an obscenely lengthy time to do so.

And no one would read it, so that would be a nuisance.

I would read it , btw nice profile pic

A storm slowly brewed over the twilight plains as clouds obscured the moonlight that guided travellers in this great savannah littered with blood and remains of armour from many successful hunts. Some blood was many weeks old and had lost all flavour if you could smell them, some fresh from hours earlier. The scent was distracting to passersby, whether human or animal. Full concentration was needed if this little exercise was ever to be completed.

Fang placed his nose to the grass taking a good long sniff. Somehow, amongst the mixed odours of lavender and haemoglobin, he could detect fresh smells. His pulse slowly rose as he plotted his target’s movements and foresaw its decisions; excitement stimulating his blood flow and causing his fur to bristle and stand erect. Silently, he crept through the grass and remains of previous hunts until he could see his target within his field of vision. Precision was needed; otherwise, he might lose his prey.

Thunder clapped overhead as lightning struck some distance away. This storm would be to his disadvantage. An unpredicted bolt of lightning striking a tree or lamp would expose him or alert his target to move to safety. Fang had plotted everything exactly and the moment presented itself. Waiting a few more seconds to ensure he got everything right, he lunged straight for the prey…

They prey was restrained quickly as both it and its predator were made visible in the light of the lamps. The prey was clear to be seen. It was Yin, one of the Xi twins and Fang’s future mate. She removed a dented, rusted and scratched watch from her pocket and pressed the top button.
“Well? What time did we get?” asked Fang. He tried to get a better look from his position above his fiancé. Yin took a good look at the watch that looked as if it had cracked from the impact of Fang’s lunge, roll and restrain technique. It still worked.
“We’ve beat the record by three seconds.” Yin laughed triumphantly. Both the couple were laughing after a while as soon as the rain began to start falling. “We best return to the den, my parents will be looking for us.” They got up off the muddy ground as it started raining and began chasing one another back to the den. Fang turned and stopped abruptly as he was merely yards from the den entranced.

Drenched, covered in mud and in desperate need for a clean, Fang had scented something odd happening in the east. He could smell the odour of burning iron and coal in the night air. It was unlike any smell he had previously known. He knew the scent of the aftermath of when lightning struck a lamp, the scent of molten iron and burning gas. This wasn’t it, however. Yin came back out of the den after noticing Fang hadn’t come in with her.
“Fang, come on in, we need to clean up before we are allowed to sleep! I don’t want to have to be behind Lexicon Delta again. He takes truly ages,” she shouted. Normally this joke would have made Fang smile, but he didn’t this time. Fang had something serious on his mind and then he saw it.

Burning across the sky was what looked like stars. Eventually Yin left the entrance of the den into the rain to take a better look at the burning trails they left behind, bright trails of green, red and brilliant yellow. It was awe-inspiring, but at the same time, frightening. One stone, dangerously large, fell from the sky and appeared to crash towards to the north.

Fang must have misjudged its size. It appeared to be the enormous in size, its diameter equal to the height of a summoning obelisk and equally as luminous. Judging by its size, he thought the impact would have far greater than what it appeared to be from the distance. Yin still tried to get his attention away from it.
“Sirius Acuity!” she snapped. Referring to Fang by his real name would almost always get his attention. He loathed being called Sirius Acuity. He considered the name was far too sophisticated for a human hunter so settled with his nickname Fang. He finally diverted his attention to Yin. “It’s time to come inside. Whatever that thing is, it has landed in Kandarin. It has nothing to do with us.”
“You’re right,” replied Fang “I am not a werewolf that is into physics so it is none of my business.” Both werewolves turned in to shelter from the rain.
“If you really must find out what it is, you can ask Maya tomorrow once Master Maelstrom has found out what it may be,” reassured Yin. She disdainfully mentioned Maya feeling as if she was at competition with her. Who wouldn’t be? She was intelligent, beautiful and was an apprentice to one of the most respected figures in the Arzonus nobility. She was very upper class. The closest thing Yin had to any of that was being heir to the human hunter court alongside her brother.

Within the city walls, far from the hunter’s den Terra gazed out of the window from his study. He preened through his mane of fur and shuffled through several sheets of canvas until he came across one that matched the skyline. It was almost as if he had painted it as the event was happening, painting in every detail, every star and cloud. He analysed the picture carefully, before referring to the date on the painting, 4th Raktuber, three months earlier.
I have never seen this scene before, but somehow I know it, He thought to himself as he looked back and forth between the picture and the sky. He began to shuffle through other images in the same profile. In his mind, he began piecing together a story unlike any other. This story was very real and it was going to happen, they always did.

He tried to put his mind to rest later that evening, but he couldn’t. The lights created earlier still dancing in the night sky showed few signs of fading for a while. He thought to himself many different questions. What are the other pictures in the profile? What would happen next? His mind was racing around with excitement and concern. He then shut out the light and closed his eyes, and tried to make himself fall asleep.

“Dad, is it alright if Dawn and I look at the night sky?” Terra woke up to find his son Morbius waiting near the stairwell for his answer. Terra, too groggy to give a proper verbal reply, nodded his head and the young fourteen-year-old werewolf rushed back down the stairwell and out into the streets where many had gathered to watch the celestial cinema. Terra grinned at his own son’s naivety and eagerness. This thought was calming and he fell asleep.

In the darkness, shapes moved around unnaturally and weird sounds of gibberish were being heard, slowed down and distorted. Gradually, the resolution increased and the voices became audible. It was an unusual scene as figures gathered around some unseen object and talked over it.

Amongst these characters was Master Maelstrom. He looked concerned as a faceless character spoke to him in a strange language whilst the Master listened politely and nodded, looking back and forth between the invisible speaker and the object in question.

“If what you’re saying is true, this thing came from somewhere beyond the reaches of Gielinor,” theorised Maelstrom as he took a better look at the object. The invisible speaker began talking once more, his speech still gargled and inaudible. “What do I think about it?” continued Maelstrom “Well, I believe that what you say has some partial truth. It has come from somewhere else and it will take extensive research to understand, but it poses little threat at the given moment and if it did, I will deal with it.”

Maelstrom prodded an instrument towards the object as it began clicking wildly. He reviewed the instrument’s reaction and then hit the object hard with a large pick. The images swirled around into a distorted mess and reassembled into a different face. This face was Maya, who was appearing to be in pain. An invisible speaker, sounding differently to the first uttered in its mysterious language what appeared to be a threat. Maya, unable to act was screaming in agony and demanding to be freed. The speaker then began to torture her and then a green glow filled the dark space. Maya created some glowing green aura, which was followed by a severe explosion.

Terra awoke. He had seen the future in his dreams. He lifted himself from his bed and shunned the darkness by lighting the lantern on his bedside. After fully regaining full-consciousness, he looked around the room only to discover that his paints had recently been used and his equipment was lying around his study. He looked about for an explanation and eventually found it. One sheet of canvas was missing and it was on the easel in the centre of the room. Freshly painted on it, was an accurate recount of what Terra had just seen, a future where Maya was in agony at the hands of some stranger.

I'm a slow reader... I frustrate people IRL how long it takes me to read. The first few posts sound promising, though.

P.S. The Vampire and Werewolf story only gets old because they are always enemies. Also, you could always add additional abhumans... witches, ghosts, zombies, etc. Different races/breeds among vampire and werewolf, even. It always bugs me the way it's "werewolves are like this" as if they are all single-minded... I mean, these abnormalities were still human and should still have the ability to have a different opinion.

Great teaser

Colonel Radick had a pounding headache. He came to in his quarters, in full armour, head pounding and his coin pouch missing. He coughed loudly and could smell the stench of Krandorian hops on his breath, and then he knew what had happened.

The night before, he had been drinking heavily. Dragon’s Bitter was very good ale accompanied with an equally fine meal, but eight glasses was just punishment. He was in a drinking contest and ended up collapsing after his eighth pint. His wager was the next round of drinks. Most of the guards and watchmen were a rowdy bunch, so after their Colonel lost the bet, they took his coin satchel and threw him back into his chambers.

Radick finally fully came to and he could feel a cold breeze in his room. Once his vision had cleared, he saw what it was that woke him and caused the night wind; a large gaping hole had been made smashed into his east wall, overlooking the Drunken Dragon Inn. It took him a while to fully take it in.

Half buried in the paved streets was a large stone, glowing ominously. Am I still drunk? he thought to himself, trying to make full sense of what happened. He reached towards the wall thinking the breeze was just an open window, but all he felt was the shattered masonry. The shards of glass that littered the floor felt real enough as he cut his hairy, sweaty palms with one whether to see whether or not it was real. The Colonel quietly pursued down the steps of the guardhouse locking every door behind him. He went into the courtyard and very much so, there was a large spherical stone in the courtyard.

Radick approached it and began to feel sickly as he did so. This thing was creating some form of energy around it as the stone lay smouldering in the crater it formed. He waited for a while to see if any other citizens were woken by the sound of it crashing.
No movement.
The guardhouse was packed with watchmen and soldiers snoring drunkenly, reeking of alcohol. The streets of Yanille were very quiet. No lights were lit, no villager stirred, not even the owls called. Radick set up barricades around the ominous stone and decided to leave it till daybreak.

As the moon left the perpetual night-sky, the lanterns throughout the werewolf city slowly came back to life. As with any other weekend, traders eagerly and strategically situated their stalls, always making sure their trade would meet most attention when the people would emerge from their homes. In the darkness, dim lights in windows breathed into life as their occupants awoke from slumbers, law enforcement positioning themselves at key positions to ensure best means of looking out for trouble, or simple misbehaviour on behalf of the cubs.

Nature began to unfold as what was supposedly day had begun. Game species emerged from their hideaways, ever alert for predatorial species who’d come to find a meal and lunar flowers bloomed, revealing their sweet aroma to signify their abundance of nectar and pollen. A lone wolf arose from its rest at high alcove in the mountains and raised its head upwards to howl the dawn’s calling. Day had begun.

The city was a hive of activity. A variety of goods passed between the hands of traders and their customers, be it the simplest of foods caught and prepared specially for werewolf tastes, to the many weapons that blood thirsty individuals purchased, admiring their sculpted crafts as more than forged tools. The boats were released from their tethers, as the wind picked up and currents tracked; eager travellers taking voyages to the islands off shore for business or enjoyment. The law enforcement, the Arzonus Militia, watched over its city’s weekend movements, only ever calling in for simple scuffles between cubs and pack mates.
Dawn had begun her shift; the morning shift was her favourite, the banter of passersby, and the smell of fresh meat and, of course, meeting with Morbius at the end of her shift. In the last hour, minutes would seem to extend into hours. She felt like that sometimes, the electrical buzz in her body wanting to do something.
Morbius arrived finally, however he paid no attention to her, in spite of walking within feet of her position. Instinct insisted that her friend was troubled by something; logic demanded she let such matters mend themselves, her own demeanour insisted to her to grasp his attention, but nonchalantly.
“Hey there Morbius!” Dawn called out, uninvolved merchants and customers diverting their attention to the source of the voice, its intended target not paying attention, deliberately; Morbius tried not to look at her.
“Morbius!” Dawn called out again. Morbius glanced briefly before averting his gaze; his attention was occupied on something other than her, and her livewire nature wanted to unveil what it was. She dashed over to him, but he did his best to avoid her, his attempts proving vain. Dawn had a natural hype about her, a lively nature, and an agility to match it very well; there was no way this friend was going to walk away so easily without her catching up in fractions of seconds.
“Don’t try to ignore me Morbius, I know you are terrible at showing that you didn’t notice!” demanded Dawn.
Morbius avoided any further ruse, and his deep violet eyes portrayed something her hazel eyes, live with energy, could easily detect.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he lied, trying to divert his eyesight other than to her eyes. Simply doing that, Dawn could tell within nanoseconds he was being false, and what his true intent was.
“Where is it? What have you painted this time?” she asked seriously.

Yanille is seven days ride from Arzonus; the journey riddled with many obstacles and beasts. Only a few would ever travel this distance, but the majority wouldn’t perform it on foot or on horseback. Teleportation was simply more preferable.

Yanille was writhing with activity over the mysterious object that implanted itself into the marble paving of the town centre. Colonel Radick struggled to hold back the enclosing masses as his guards, too drunken to hold back the expanse failed to assist him efficiently. One child saw his chance to run in and touch the fallen meteor for a dare by his friends, but not before Radick stopped the boy, no older than ten, in his tracks before an elderly woman emerged to collect her son. The crowd, too focussed on this idolistic object, didn’t notice a flash of light appearing from behind them; teleportation signatures, three of them.

One figure, considered the most dominant of the three, preened his gloved hands through his silver-blue mane of hair. Master Maelstrom. Without saying a word, he proudly walked forward to the meteor, parting the crowd as he went to address Colonel Radick. The human captain’s face went red as he refused to put one side by these “newcomers”.
“I demand to know, why you are here!” ordered the red-faced Radick. Master Maelstrom looked towards the other two figures that accompanied him and calmly spoke.
“I am Master Maelstrom of Arzonus and to my left is Master Seeker who was our transport,” Master Seeker politely took a bow before the captain, who seemed displeased that these three were clearly making a mockery of him, “and to my right is Master Embrace, who just happened to have only woken up from his “meditation” just before we left.” Radick refused to accept the joke.
“I will not have this! You have no right to just turn up here…” ranted Radick.
“Well fine,” interrupted Maelstrom “if you don’t want our money for the meteor, we’ll be taking our leave.” Just as he began to turn away, Radick growled and the notion and finally gave in.
“Alright then, if you promise to pay for the damage, I’ll call an expert from the Guild to help you out,” he spoke in a low voice to avoid the crowd hearing how he’d just been ashamed.

Morbius and Dawn quietly intruded Terra’s study, keeping their eyes darting back and forth between rummages through the canvases and on the stairs, dreading the moment when Terra would return, to find his study being shuffled by two unwanted guests. Morbius grabbed one of the canvases, pulled it out and placed it on the easel, and took two paces back.
Dawn examined the picture with her wolven eyes, taking in all the detail she could.
“What is this?” she asked in fear of knowing the answer. Morbius placed his arm around her shoulder, feeling her emotions coursing along his fur.

The picture illustrated a shadowed figure, its features, gender and emotion all concealed by shadows. It eyes, the only part of the picture definable, were blood red and a symbol of similar colour appeared above them. The symbol was vaguely familiar.

The symbol was that of wolven heritage, it represented a very powerful heritage, but never before had Dawn seen it on what was supposedly on the subject’s forehead. Previous encounters had always been on the paws and hands of werewolves and individuals, most deceased by the time they were found, those alive to tell of their ordeals usually weren’t taken seriously.

Dawn looked at the image confusedly; Morbius could sense said emotion emanating from her and so removed the canvas before she would question him on it. He presented another image, with the same figure. This time, with its back to the witnesses, it stood on a hill, watching the world below burn, with the same symbol burning brightly on the back of its coat, clutching a glowing red object in its hand, the physical shape of what it held barely visible. Dawn could sense something in this picture of a darker displacement, as if something of a terrible deed had been done.
“What are they supposed to mean?” she asked, knowing Morbius was never good at interpreting metaphors and expecting a standard answer.
“I don’t know,” Morbius replied bemusedly. Dawn scoffed at this notion.
“Then what’s the point of bringing me here if you didn’t know what you’d brought me here for?” she asked, “Next time you paint something, perhaps take a moment to work out what the hell it is you’ve done first before trying so badly at hiding it from me,”

An elderly expert who slowly approached him greeted Master Maelstrom, who barely looked up.
“It is a pleasure to meet you old wolf,” said the Wizard politely. Maelstrom removed his spectacles to get a better look at who was meeting him.
“It’s my pleasure young man,” replied Maelstrom, offering his paw as a gesture of greeting. The wizard didn’t accept, and focused his elderly orbs of eyes towards the object.
“What have you discovered so far?” asked the wizard, stroking his stereotypically milky white beard. Maelstrom prodded an instrument towards the meteor and it clicked insanely, as if the fallen rock was talking. Maelstrom looked at the instrument’s readings and barely looked surprised.
“We have discovered that this rock emits a type of energy known as radiation, the decay of particles,” explained Maelstrom, “we’ve also established the rock itself isn’t radioactive, but there is something inside creating enormous amounts of energy; something living.” The wizard removed his hat to reveal a bleached white scalp, yielding only a few strands of milky white hair. He proceeded to scratch it, causing a few of the little hairs he had to fall out of place and a few particles of dust to be scattered.
“That couldn’t be possible. Nothing on Gielinor could do such a thing, at least not that I know of,” queried the wizard. Maelstrom looked at him with a look that clearly explained that he had.
“If what you’re saying is true, this thing came from somewhere beyond the reaches of Gielinor,” theorised Maelstrom as he took a better look at the meteor. He pulled out the instrument again and looked at the reading again. He replaced it back into his coat.
“What do you think about it?” asked the ancient wizard with very little signs of fear in his voice.
“What do I think about it?” continued Maelstrom “Well, I believe that what you say has some partial truth. It has come from somewhere else and it will take extensive research to understand, but it poses little threat at the given moment and if it did, I will deal with it.” Maelstrom pulled the Geiger counter out once again and put it towards the meteor. It clicked wildly again.
“You’ve done that same procedure several times now, why do you need to repeat it?” asked Master Embrace, awoken from his meditation by the repetitive clicking. Maelstrom looked at Embrace with disbelief.
“As a Carralangar descendant, you’re naturally telepathic, I think you’d be able to tell what I was doing,” corrected Maelstrom. Maelstrom pulled out a rock pick and hit the meteor, breaking off a large chunk of stone, before handing it to the wizard.
“You keep this sample as a memento, perhaps your wizards at the guild could perhaps find out what it possibly could be, it might be what you’re looking for,” explained Maelstrom.
“I only wish,” replied the wizard full of concern, “the rune supplies are at an appalling low, Saradomin help us when they finally run out.” Maelstrom began packing away the equipment and attached numerous spheres to the meteor in strategic places. “What I don’t understand Maelstrom,” continued the wizard, “In this time where magic faces extinction on both the sides of Saradomin and Zamorak, you remain so calm. How would the great city thrive when the runes all run out?”
“We adapt,” replied Maelstrom in a split second, as if expecting the question to be asked, “we have always done so and it won’t change now. We lost our central gods, our kingdoms and our allies many thousands of years ago, but we pulled through. When the runes run out, we’ll resort to other practises.” The old wizard didn’t share Maelstrom’s “optimism”. His whole life revolved around magic, it was his welfare, his joy and his work. What would he do when the runes had run out?

Maelstrom activated one of the spheres positioned somewhat strategically around the meteor and it began to levitate. Within seconds it glowed again and vanished, along with the three masters that came for it. The wizard looked in amazement and thought to himself, how do they manage to do that without magic?

Hours later, Maelstrom hung up his coat back in his laboratory and fell heavily into his hard worn chair and reached for a book on the ancient table to his left. Maelstrom opened the book, quickly flicked through it, then took a deep breath and…
“In the top pocket on your jacket,” said Maya, without even looking towards Maelstrom. He rummaged in his jacket and found them, before replacing them on the bridge of his nose. Maya went over to the meteor in the centre of the room. She started writing down on a clipboard and proceeded to pick up the instruments before Maelstrom stopped her.
“No need to do any further analysis, I’ve done all the essential tests and I have my conclusion,” said Maelstrom, looking up from his book towards Maya, who looked back in disappointment.
“What is your conclusion then?” asked Maya, feeling absent in all the action. Maelstrom took a deep breath, before hauling himself out of his chair.
“The meteor is not of Gielinor origin and it appears to contain some organic specimen inside. Oddly enough, after checking the radiation, when one is cautious about the object, the radiation undergoes increases, like it responds to fear.” Maelstrom proceeded to haul himself out of the chair and beckoned for Maya to leave the room. “It’s time we left, you are dismissed for today and I need some time to rest, I’ve hardly any sleep since this ordeal began.”
“What are you planning to do with the meteor then? You’re not just going to sell it are you?” asked Maya, as her old friend and master locked the door behind them.
“Not yet. If something is alive inside, it’s worth taking a look at. And you should put the rock pick away,” continued Maelstrom, hinting towards the rock pick Maya had clutched in her hand. “You weren’t thinking of trying to break in were you?” Maya unlocked the door to the meteor chamber and threw the rock pick, breaking a large chunk of rock off the lower part of the meteor. “Put it back properly!” ordered Maelstrom, short in temper.

Maya, in a very ironic manner to her master’s newfound personality, removed the rock pick from the meteor. As she did, a dark brown solution poured from the meteor, before she replaced the pick to stop the spillage.
“Seeing as you are being very cynical, I thought I’d throw in my share, quite literally. Now we have further reason to study it,” Maya sarcastically back chatted. “I should be given some involvement with it, you’ve entrusted me to work with you and surely that must mean something more than petty tasks.” Maya left the room and Maelstrom walked over to the meteor. He looked towards the fluid and approached it. He gave a good sniff with his wrinkled, canine nose; Formaldehyde. Whatever was inside, it had been preserved, but for what reason?

A small, withered campfire burned dimly as it strained the warm the hermits that basked in front of it. One, tall and feral, stood above the other, as if shielding his weakened partner from the very shadows themselves. The tall figure breathed heavily, with a canine roar on his voice.
“Are you sure that you are ready for this? It is not pleasant,” muttered the tall figure as he overshadowed his comrade, the huddled mass of itching, soiled cloth of what was once a knight looked up into the malevolent red eyes of the one that stood above him.
“I am sure,” replied the weakened knight in a cold manner, most befitting his appearance, or what was visible, “no further pain that could be inflicted would be in any way comparable to the shame and rejection my fellow kind have inflicted upon me in the last two years. The knife is in my side pocket, it hasn’t left my side since the day I placed it there as a last resort,”

The taller and considerably more animal of the two pulled out a rusted, bent knife from the scabbard in the knight’s pocket. He lifted the knife as if performing a ritual and slowly glided the blade against his tough hide as a black filth spewed out of the opening. The hermit held a vial to his cut and allowed the tar-like substance fill it, before deciding what had been collected was adequate.
“All we need to do now is heat my blood. When warm, it can help heal your wounds when drunk. However you might not approve of the flavour,” noted the taller hermit. He then proceeded to place the vial in the faint warmth of the blaze in front of him.

The fire’s light dimmed suddenly and then extinguished, leaving the two travellers to the mercy of the darkness that covered the hills.
“What was that?” the knight cowered, “Is it one of the shamans? Have they caught up with us?” His partner sniffed the air and snarled.
“It is not the shaman magic; they have no further interest in us. It feels much more sinister, yet it feels like a familiar presence,” replied the beastly traveller. Without warning, he threw the knife into the darkness and it embedded itself in the soil. “It was there! I was sure of it!” he growled. The knife, barely visible in the night, was enveloped by the spreading shadow and completely vanished, both out of sight, and seemingly out of existence altogether.

The tall beast of a hermit was at the peak of his fear, darting his vision to wherever something twitched, until he properly saw something clustering in the shadows. A dark, hooded being, similar to the taller of the two hermits, emerged from the night that surrounded the small encampment, the shadows seemingly following it in reverence. With a flick of the intruder’s wrist, the huddled knight was throw to one side and the taller hermit, daring to try defend him and his companion, tried in vain as the oncoming enemy held the hermit up by his throat effortlessly, without even laying a hand on him. The intruder’s red eyes, burned brightly from under the hood.
“Identify yourself!” commanded the intruder. Whilst very brutal in its approach, it sounded aristocratic and powerful. Even the words themselves, demanded your undivided attention and compelled you to obey.
“My name is Jerrod of Canifis,” obeyed the held hermit, as he found himself powerless to resist.
“You have something I require. The proof lies in the wound you inflicted upon yourself,” the intruder spoke calmly.

Jerrod strained to turn his head towards the wound he inflicted earlier, but couldn’t find it upon his flesh.
“The flesh has healed itself, in no more than five minutes of it being torn open, by your knife,” analysed the intruder. He held out the knife, the blood still fresh and warm upon the aged blade. “I believe this is yours. I do not approve of you throwing it at me, it could have made this whole encounter less unbearable,” The beast’s eyes seemed to glow ominously as Jerrod’s pacing heartbeat filled his head.
“Can I offer you a deal?” asked Jerrod, “Some payment for my life and the life of my friend?” The intruder thought about this request, and released Jerrod from his invisible grip.
“You have almost nothing to offer me, yet you could be of some use to me,” pondered the intruder. “I think the formalities are long overdue. You will refer to me as Theta Magnus, or Master Magnus if you prefer to not displease me,” The quivering knight finally came to and tried his best to stand up. Theta turned his gaze to the fallen hermit and dragged him up. “And you are?” Theta asked.
“I am… I mean was Lord Sulla of the Kinshra. If I hadn’t failed, I would not be here, but within the great fortress in Asgarnia, drinking the blood of the fallen as if it were fine wine,” said the hermit with a newfound confidence.
“You have fine culinary tastes former Lord Sulla, yet you sit here, a shadow of what you once were, drinking the blood of your allies,” commented Theta, and he lifted the vial containing the dark substance to Sulla’s mouth. “Seeing as you two are companions, I have reason to keep you alive as well. Drink deep from this vial, the cure of all ills,” Sulla held his breath and held open his mouth, waiting to be served the sickly fluid.

Despite the blood being only a few minutes fresh, it felt oddly cold. The taste was unbearable, and Sulla tried to take his mind off it. The taste was nothing compared to the after effects. It felt as if his insides were burning and being frozen at the same time, like he was being struck with a heated blade on a cold mountain. Filling his mind were images of his defeat at the hands of a young, blonde girl, Kara-Mier.

After the initial sensation of pain, Sulla’s eyes opened widely, the sensation of numbness in his stumps of wrists had vanished and he felt unnaturally refreshed. He felt his face soften from the hardened, blistered scar that once dominated his features. More importantly, his hands, large and brutal began growing back, the skin fresh and clean. Sulla stood up, now feeling stronger, threw off his tattered shroud, revealing his bloodstained armour.

“What is this task that we must do?” asked Jerrod. Theta growled softly as he thought.
“The other night, a star crashed in the nearby city of Yanille, and was taken to the city of Arzonus where it shall be excavated. Your purpose is to claim the contents of that meteor, for it is of extraordinary personal value,” Theta plotted.
“What is it inside that star that you seek so dearly?” asked Sulla, almost prepared to attack the intruder. Theta glared at Sulla and proceeded to grab him by the throat with a hand that felt like very cold metal.
“The contents concern you not, your mere duty is to retrieve them, so that you will be permitted to live a little longer,” growled Theta. “Seeing as the city is well defended, I should do you the favour of providing you an army that would allow said task to be slightly easier,” Theta raised his quarterstaff and jabbed it hard into the soft earth and concentrated an unnatural force through the shaft.

The power from the staff roared upwards in a red flare, which exploded several feet up, illuminating the hills, in the shape of Zamorak. Some miles away the great city observed in shock as, for the second night in a row, the skies lit up ominously. The night-watch guard near the gates pulled out a set of authentic, amber binoculars and watched as he located the source of this light.
“A small encampment to the north has let fire of some ferocious light. It looks like a call for help,” the guard reported. His superior walked over to watch the event unravel some distance away. “Have you seen anything like it Commander Whitearrow?” asked the guard.
“I have seen such things in the human kingdom, but it’s not a distress flare,” replied Whitearrow. “For it to be a distress flare, it would be red, not blue,”
“Then what does blue mean?” asked the young guard.
“Blue is used for a mass recruitment,” continued Whitearrow “but why would the armies of Zamorak collect this far south?”

At the encampment, Sulla watched as Theta’s staff unleashed the bright blue light upwards. Soon the beam crashed back downwards and the entire world around him and Jerrod began to twist. Figures began appearing, wearing armour of different kinds, all bearing the mark of the same god, Zamorak. Emerging from the shadows were soldiers that Sulla recognised as being the most elite of the Kinshra order, along with wizards, finely dressed in black robes, decorated with ochre and red. The last to emerge were archers, armed with strong bows, made from the finest wood, wearing hides as dark as their souls, all with the symbol of Zamorak marked in gold.

“This army is your to command so that you may retrieve what it is am looking for. They shall be loyal to the end, Jerrod of Canifis and Renegade Lord Sulla of the Kinshra,” announced Theta. He handed Jerrod a jewel that was coloured red. “When you progress further with your mission, use this to contact me. I am a very busy person, so use it only when something worth hearing is to be reported,” commanded Theta. He then proceeded to take his leave, before Jerrod stopped him.

“Wait! You know about this healing property I have. What are its limits and can I use them on others?” asked Jerrod. Without turning, Theta Magnus explained what this gift entailed.
“Your blood can heal those who drink it, and you can survive virtually any injury and be immune to all diseases,” explained Theta, “but be warned, for if you are struck in the back of the head with something like a knife and it remains there, you will still die.” Jerrod took heed of this warning. “Be wary of when you choose to fight, for in one fortnight, the sun shall be consumed by the moon for a short while, but within the time the moon feeds, you will be trapped as the real mortal you are, vulnerable to all the elements,” warned Theta.

The gatekeepers were drowning in their own angst as they strained to watch any activity occurring in the North. Donicus Whitearrow, the commander in charge of the gates the night before, was unable to sleep. The symbol of recruitment continued to burn brightly in the sky, and Donicus remained focussed on the source, struggling to see if anything could be made out from the fog in that area.
“That blasted fog is obscuring my field of sight. I cannot make anything out,” muttered Donicus. A figure approached, it was one of Donicus’ soldiers.
“Colonel Whitearrow, sir. I have a visitor for you, she claims her visit is of great importance,” reported the young soldier hesitantly. Donicus turned around to address the important visitor. It was Maya.
“A pleasure to be speaking to you, apprentice of Maelstrom, but I cannot be distracted by a warm-hearted conversation from a friend whilst I am still on my shift,” addressed Donicus.
“Your shift ended over an hour ago, you’ve been ordered by Mentor Libra to be dismissed Colonel Whitearrow,” reported the soldier, fearing the response his commanding officer would give for questioning him.
“Tell Emile that I shall be dismissed when I find something reassuring to look at,” replied Donicus, “Be gone!” The soldier fled as fast as he could, for he knew all too well that his commander wasn’t pleasant company when a soldier refused to comply with his wishes.
“We have some news. The star the fell from the sky the night before seems to contain something organic. Maelstrom might require a member of the militia to guard it whilst he does research,” reported Maya. Donicus turned to her.
“Let me guess, he’ll pay and enormously high fee if I choose to comply and chooses me, because he knows that I am trying to win the votes,” replied Donicus coldly. “Hold the thought for a while, I see something,” he continued.

Out on the moors, something was coming at a high speed. Donicus loaded the quiver on his crossbow and prepared to aim. The approaching character moved faster across the moors, now waving a standard. The standard bared the symbol of a wolf’s head howling at the moon on a dark canvas. It came with peaceful intent.

The large wrought iron gates roared open to allow entrance to the city for the approaching traveller, now running with great haste. Maya took a better look at the visitor and instantly recognised the coat of arms on its armour. It was Dekarius Whitearrow. She rushed down from the guarding point to come greet the visitor.

Dekarius made no attempt at trying to conceal his presence to the people of the city. The first to greet him was Mentor Libra, the high commander of the Militia, who requested that he speak with him in confidential over his recent mission. Other militia troops were commanded to have the awoken crowds to return home for this visitor was one of great importance.

Donicus watched from the guard post as his older brother revelled in the glory that was shrouding him. Maya could instantly recognise the look of loathing that held Donicus’ face.
“I really hate him, I always have,” growled Donicus to himself and climbed down the ladder from the guard post. “The moment he disappears for weeks on end, he is considered brave and the moment he returns he is considered a hero, even if all he could have done is try to beat humans in a drinking contest or cause panic across whole kingdoms,” Donicus disassembled his crossbow as he thought to himself.

The Arzonus Militia Headquarters was a normally calm and lazy establishment, very much like the present Mentor Libra’s way with the law. Dekarius returning from his voyage was the best part of activity the militia has received for many months. Mentor Libra approached Dekarius and silently beckoned him to his office. The two senior officers sat at the stone desk and began discussing their important business.

“I suppose you have found what I have been looking for,” enquired Mentor Libra. Dekarius rummaged through his rucksack and pulled out an assortment of dog-eared notes, smothered in ink and dirt.
“It’s taken me weeks to locate these, the pay and the excuse had better be brilliant,” commented Dekarius.
“Trust me Whitearrow. When these anomalous persons are sealed in cages, it’ll all be worth it, they’ll be easier to recruit,” replied Mentor Libra bluntly. “I can’t trust your half-breed brother with the election in a few years; he sympathises too much with them.” Dekarius handed over the documents to Mentor Libra. Shortly after, his palm was weighed down by the cold mass of gold.
“It may not be my position to ask, but after so many expeditions and requests personally from you, I can’t help but to question your motives,” Dekarius said. Mentor Libra refused to answer that question. Without looking up, he ordered Dekarius away.

Morbius drew his blade. The bright metal reflected the starlight above him, as he held it upright, patiently awaiting his opponent to make the first move. His opponent clutched his battle staff tightly then, launched forward to attack.

Morbius swiftly leapt out of the way, but his opponent anticipated this manoeuvre and jolted sharply, taking Morbius down.
“You said, “You weren’t going to use precognition” in this little exercise Dad,” growled Morbius. Terra walked over to his son and helped him up.
“I didn’t, I knew what you were going to do, because it’s what always happens,” commented Terra, “whenever I lunge forward you will, without fail, dodge to your right. You’re right handed with a sword and so, you would shift to the side where you were better defended.”
“We’ll start again then,” replied Morbius. The two werewolves positioned themselves at opposing ends of the arena and prepared to fight again. This time, Morbius took the first move and proceeded to charge towards Terra, who made no attempt to block, until the last moment, lifting his metal staff, seconds before Morbius’ sword made contact with it. The two then clashed their weapons together in a fury to catch the other off guard.

Morbius then swung hard and struck Terra’s hand, who howled in pain for a short while, dropping his metal staff, with the hand grips marked with his blood. With the advantage, Morbius then began to aim for the chest, but Terra was too quick and then kicked Morbius hard in the jaw. The youth barely felt the blow as he spat out a loosened tooth, and kept his hand on his jaw as he felt it grow back into its empty socket.

Morbius, unscathed and fuelled by the primal nature within, threw his sword to one side and then tried to grasp Terra with his teeth. His move was poorly plotted and he fell short of Terra. In the moments he had till he was able to get up, Terra picked up his staff, Morbius lifted himself up, Terra landed a hard blow on the chest knocking his son down and then he placed his foot on his son’s beating chest, the orb of his staff pointing at the youth’s forehead.
“You’ll have to try harder than. Any enemy who has you on the ground like this would impale you straight through the head. Although you can heal from any injury seconds after it is inflicted, you cannot survive if an enemy uses his sword or dagger and stabs you through the head,” Terra remarked. He dropped his staff and helped Morbius up, with a footprint imprinted on his furry chest.
“Well then, I just won’t let them,” replied Morbius mockingly. Terra wasn’t listening.
“You’re still too arrogant,” Terra commented, “If you are to improve your combat, we’re going to have to hire Rhetorii again,”
“I’m not going to train with him again, he won’t let me use my ability, it’s unfair Dad!” Morbius protested. “Dad?”
Morbius took a better look at his father and notice his eyes glow bright yellow. Morbius knew what this meant.

Terra, undisrupted and undirected, returned to his study and pulled out a blank canvas. He then pulled out a pot of black oil paint and threw it against the canvas messily, but somehow it managed to still look professional. Morbius tried to make sense of what Terra was painting. All he could see was darkness and then Terra painted a ring within the darkness with silver paint. The image was striking and, for some reason, worrying. Morbius couldn’t work out why, but his instincts told him that this was something that werewolves should fear.

Terra came to once he’d finished his painting, and he gazed the precognitive canvas.
“How long have I been painting this?” asked Terra, once he’d taken in what was before him.
“Minutes,” guessed Morbius. Terra rushed to the shelf with his paint stained hands and pulled out a book. He shuffled the pages to chapter that he’d kept for reference.
“It’s an eclipse. An eclipse is coming soon. That is not good news for us,” he exclaimed. Morbius could tell when his father was very worried, and such was a time.
“How bad is it going to be?” asked Morbius, trying his best to understand the importance of this event. Terra began to describe the enormity of what was going to happen.
“An eclipse is where the moon comes between the Sun and our world. It causes a limited time of darkness. Since we werewolves are very strongly bonded with the activity of the moon, it therefore causes an effect to us, when it uses all power it has to block out the mighty Sun,” Terra went on to explain, “If any werewolves are not on the sacred soil, such as in our city, they are reduced to the form best adapted to the present location, be it wolf, lycanthrope or human, and what distinct us will be beyond our reach.” Morbius could easily recognise the fear his father was exclaiming. “Let’s just hope the armies don’t attack when we are at our weakest.”

Maelstrom wielded the rock pick and chipped off a hand-size chunk of the star. He equipped his glasses and examined it closely. The stone glimmered with the essence of emerald, sapphire, but most importantly, a pale grey substance lined the rock with small veins.
This could be what we’re looking for, he thought to himself. He then picked up a circular stone to his right. This stone screamed importance and power as it bared the image of a skull, the symbol of mortality. This was a rune, a death rune. Maelstrom held it in his paw like hand, and he could feel its energy, as if his hand was slowly feeling aged and wrinkled, the effect prolonging for every second he held it. He then looked to his left hand, clutching the star piece. It glimmered brightly, but it had no detectable power.

Could this be what we are looking for, or is it just too impure to function, Maelstrom thought to himself. He then put them closer together and the pale grey vein glowed slightly, and Maelstrom pulled them away abruptly. Comparing the two once more, he slowly drew them together again. The light began to emanate from the star piece again, and Maelstrom marvelled, believing what he may have found was what the humans were looking for. After a while, the glowing stopped and the vein retained a similar glowing effect to the death rune he held near it.
“Only one way to find out if it works,” muttered Maelstrom as rummaged through his desks for runes. He pulled out some more death runes, and another set, bearing a golden moon and star; cosmic runes. He set up a set of complicated equipment onto a set of metal targets and the held the runes in the palm of his hand. The old wolf then clenched his fist, held it forward, screwed his deep purple eyes and concentrated hard. He then opened them, and a surge of power roared down his arm and out his opened paw, and struck the target with a large bolt of lightning. The device beeped as the bolt struck and was absorbed by the metal. The runes were reduced to dust as he opened his paw. He took a look at the reading and wrote it down on a sheet of papyrus, and then took out the same number of cosmic runes, and then held the star piece in the other hand.

Maelstrom concentrated hard, but the stone only glimmered softly. He then focussed firmly on forcing the energy out of the stone. Maelstrom’s mind tried everything to use the power of the stone, and he felt the strain on him. Then, the bolt of energy finally fired out of the stone, reducing it to the mass of iron ore, emeralds and sapphires. Maelstrom wiped the sweat from his brow. He wrote down the reading from the meter, and then calculated the purity of what was in the vein.
“80% purity, it’s just what we need,” muttered Maelstrom, as he swept up the mess from the experiment. He then pulled out a clean sheet of papyrus and began to write.

“Dear Distrentor Snr.

The stone that has crashed in your fair city is just what we are looking for. After testing a small sample, it is about 80% pure. For the first time in years, I have managed to craft some runes from their constituent matter. Soon I shall send it to you, and we might just make enough runes to add to the stockpile.

I have not yet uncovered what is inside, but it is alive, and it has been preserved. I’ll study it soon enough and find out what it is.

Best regards, Master Arcus Maelstrom,”

Maelstrom shifted his hand into an ordinary wolf’s paw and dipped it into black ink and placed his mark on the papyrus. He shifted it back and then folded the note, and melted an amethyst coloured wax onto the fold and stamped a golden seal onto the molten wax.

He climbed out of the attic of his laboratory and blew on a whistle he pulled out of his top pocket. Responding to the inaudible tone, a large falcon descended from the sky and landed on the stone masonry. Maelstrom handed the note over to the falcon and pointed to the northeast.
“Take this to the guild in Yanille,” commanded Maelstrom softly to the falcon. The fine avian messenger nodded quietly and politely to Maelstrom, as if she understood the werewolf elder’s command. The falcon carried the letter away effortlessly and promptly. Maelstrom proceeded to descend back into his laboratory.

In the darkness and the shadows, a creature, hunched in a foetal position, stirred in its mysterious environment. It breathed deeply and loudly.
Who am I, and what is this place? It thought to itself. It attempted to shift, but its surroundings were too viscous to make freely in. I can only remember so much; it continued to think, what happened to me? How did I end up here?

A muffled roar of noise penetrated the shield around the creature. It shuffled as best as it could. There’s something nearby, the creature thought. If only I could move, I must know what is going on. The creature, fatigued from the mere moments of movement and thought, it returned to sleep.

I must rest.

The day arrived to Arzonus. The rain had fallen overnight and puddles had formed in the smaller dips in the paving and the earth was soft and muddy. The younger werewolves braved the weather and the conditions to splash in the puddles, before the stalls were set up and their parents would call them in.
Morbius stepped outside of his father’s home and went for his usual stroll to find Dawn; it was her shift today.

The militia were absent from guarding the stalls. Morbius waited for Dawn for over an hour, but the private never arrived. Morbius, having used up a whole day waiting for Dawn, marched to the militia headquarters to find an explanation to why the militia wasn’t on duty. He knocked on the front door, and a private opened it narrowly.
“I am looking for Dawn Summer. Why hasn’t she been on duty?” commanded Morbius to the lowly private, who clearly wasn’t prepared to be issued orders like this.
“I’m sorry, but Private Summers is in training, along with all other militia members. It has been ordered by Mentor Libra as a precaution,” reported the private.
“Is it possible to speak to her?” asked Morbius. The private opened the door slightly wider.
“It shall be in five minutes; Mentor Libra has issued them a break soon,” the private replied.

Morbius waited for a short while, and Dawn, thoroughly exhausted fell into the bench that Morbius was sat at, panting hard.
“We need to be careful for this upcoming war,” warned Morbius to Dawn, “my Dad painted the future again. An eclipse is going to occur.” Dawn coughed abruptly, as if choking on her last breath. Dawn gazed at Morbius, worried about what he just said.

Her attention was diverted to Mentor Libra and Donicus Whitearrow in further along the corridor. The two mature wolves were in a harsh argument, inaudible, yet obviously pronounced. In their silhouettes projected by the dim lantern, Dawn watched as Mentor Libra drew his claws and lashed out at Donicus, who blocked most of the blows with his left arm, before taking a fierce punch in his eye. The enraged mentor left the captain on the floor, one arm tucked into his coat, the other clutching his throbbing eye. As the captain entered the foyer, militia troops immediately ceased what they were doing and looked at the shamed officer, having received the brunt of a general’s temper. Morbius called Donicus over and beckoned him to sit down.

“What was that all about then?” asked Morbius, trying to sympathise with the wounded, but only antagonising him further.
“Why do you care? You’re not part of this regiment, therefore it is none of your concern,” snarled Donicus coldly. He peeled the ripped sleeve off his left arm to reveal his light orange fur, stained with dark red blood and dominated by deep, harsh wounds. He tore the sleeve off and cut out the white lining and bandaged his arm with it.
“You’re a friend of my dad, we know each other and you’ve just been attacked by Mentor Libra. It is natural for me to question your well-being,” replied Morbius. He offered to tighten the makeshift bandage, but Donicus withdrew his arm.
“So why did Mentor Libra lash out on you?” asked Dawn. Donicus finished tightening the bandage and proceeded to place his water tankard to his eye. The cold metal against the bruise came as somewhat of a relief and he relaxed slightly enough to bother answering her question.
“Many reasons; I call in all troops for a training routine, and he specifically demanded that they carry out their shifts, even with an upcoming battle looming over us,” he proceeded, slowly removing the tankard from his black eye, “I was also looking through militia records, and came across several unprovoked arrests, all with the same recurring factor between all of the convicted,”
“What would that be?” asked Morbius. Donicus paused.
“They are like you,” replied Donicus.

Day passed slowly as many feared the next might be the one when the armies may finally arrive. Maelstrom braved the thunderstorm to wait out for his messenger to return with the reply to his discoveries. The rain poured hard and obscured anything beyond a few feet. The old master lit the lantern that sat next to him, covering it with his sodden coat to prevent the rain from extinguishing it.

He then held the lantern in front of his face, as a beacon to his falcon. The light reflected off the raindrops that fell without end from the darkened sky, nothing could be seen. In the distance a small shape appeared. It moved awkwardly, as if it was delirious or trying to avoid every raindrop that descended from the heavens, only to be failing badly amongst the harsh weather. The shape looked as if it saw the beacon and swiftly came closer to it, before it lost all energy it could spare and crashed against the stone masonry of the observatory. It was what remained of his prized messenger falcon.

The avian beast was bleeding unstoppably, with a bolt impaled through its wing and a shard of glass in its chest, and one foot had been cut off leaving a small amount of bone remaining where talon once was. The message had been taken and replaced by another attached to the bolt. The falcon spluttered out blood and gave a shrill cry as it gave in the bleeding that had been inflicted on it. Maelstrom gently removed the bolt and the message attached to the iron projectile. He went into the shelter and proceeded to read the message. It appeared as if several people had taken part in writing it.

“Dear “Master Maelstrom”

We have found out about your conversation with Distrentor Snr. about your conclusions of the meteor. What you have discovered is fascinating, however we shall take it from here.

Our master has ordered us to retrieve the meteor and we have supplied with the means of obtaining it. He requests the contents of the meteor in exchange for my vast armies and my return to power. Therefore I shall not slip up and will ensure that your people will hand over the meteor in question over to the master.

The fact that your meteor is also the main ingredient to magic, I have sent word to the ZMI, informing them that I will supply them with the rune essence that lurks within. What I promise, I intend to supply, so I have more than one use for the meteor.

Should you refuse to comply, there shall be a great army arriving soon, consisting of the Elite within our order. We know how powerful you beasts are, so we’ve been supplied with the strongest to put you in your place.

If you refuse, you’ll be given no longer than fourteen days to prepare yourselves before we finally arrive to wipe you out.

“Smell ya later!”

Renegade Lord Sulla of the Kinshra”

Maelstrom screwed up the note and cast it aside. He took off his coat and hung it up thinking to himself.
Who do they think they are, getting in the way of my work? He thought to himself.

He proceeded to descend from the observatory into the main laboratory. His sight was first set upon the meteor that posed so much importance that a foolhardy army chose to risk their lives to obtain. He then pulled a pickaxe from the table and clutched it tightly with both hands.
What are you? Maelstrom thought to himself as he raised the pick and slammed it down hard onto the meteor. A large fissure opened in the stone and he hit it again. The fissure grew larger and larger until the entire meteor burst open. The entire room was flooded with fragments of stone and formaldehyde. It was then revealed what this mysterious “master” the Kinshra wrote about was looking for.

Maelstrom stood back as the life form that this meteor was holding lay sprawled out on the laboratory floor. It was a werewolf, no older than 17, jet-black fur, with red markings across the body and a definitive symbol on its forehead, wearing only a set of rags, otherwise it was naked. It raised its head, to look at the person who freed it.
“Who are you?” asked Maelstrom, dropping the pick onto the floor. The youth spluttered out some of the foul liquid it was preserved in and spoke in a dark voice.
“I am a warning of things to come…” it said, before it collapsed from fatigue.

Morning broke over Arzonus. Maelstrom called a meeting in the Master’s Temple. He was first to arrive, followed by Valiant, Seeker, Embrace and finally Wisdom arrived and all five stood around the stone table. Master Valiant chose to start the meeting.
“We are all here to discuss current affairs and I am well aware that we have a lot to discuss,” Valiant reported. He then turned to Master Wisdom. “What is the situation with the rune supplies?” he asked. Master Wisdom pulled out a sheet of papyrus and wrote down a figure in charcoal, before passing it around. Each master looked at it with content until it was returned. Maelstrom then requested to be the voice on the table.
“I have made some discoveries on the meteor that crashed in Yanille recently,” reported Maelstrom.
“What of it?” asked Seeker “Is there any reason why it concerns us? It landed in human territory; it is none of our business,”
“Terra predicted that it has significance many weeks before it was due to enter the skies, and the amalgamated science order designates that every able bodied scientist within the near area of the discovery take action,” argued Maelstrom, “Ardounge’s representatives are working on an epidemic that came from the distant west, and Yanille’s minds are working on the human rune depletion. It is entirely our concern Seeker,” The other werewolves agreed that Maelstrom should make his point; all of them knew well that if he chose to be, Maelstrom could have a fiery temper. “Anyway, I have made a discovery. This meteor contains rune essence of 80% purity. This is a real breakthrough,” reported Maelstrom. The werewolves roared with delight with the good news, until Maelstrom commanded that they be quiet, as he had more news.

“My other major discovery is what else was inside the meteor. It contained one of us,” he continued. The table turned silent with uncertainty.
“In what way do you mean “one of us” Arcus?” asked Embrace using his telepathy.
“There was a werewolf inside the meteor,” replied Maelstrom. The table went into uproar over the scepticism of the news. Maelstrom tried to calm down to mood, but to no avail, until he finally had to shift into his standard wolf form and howl loudly. The council quietened down. “I apologise, but that had to be done,” apologised Maelstrom as he climbed back down.
“But Maelstrom, I have no choice but to be sceptic. For starters, how could a werewolf be inside a meteor from beyond the skies?” asked Valiant. Maelstrom thought for a moment and then replied.
“We should ask him ourselves. By now, he should have woken up,” replied Maelstrom.

The werewolf awoke to surroundings that he had never remembered being in. The air was fresh and he was capable of movement without being fatigued too quickly. It was bright, so bright it almost blinded him.
Where am I now? He thought. How did I come to be here? The werewolf surveyed the area that now surrounded him. The ground beneath his feet felt harder in some areas, harder than the rock that once sheltered him, whereas in others, it felt soft to the touch. The entire chamber he was positioned in was brightly lit, but his eyes soon adjusted to the somewhat unnatural light. He saw the room was littered with fragments of rock and with tools.
“Who exactly am I? Why can I not remember anything? Where is this place?” the young werewolf asked himself, sounding surprised to hear his own voice.

He could hear a loud clicking noise from the door adjacent to him, and a tall figure stood there, wearing clean robes that suggested this figure was a scientist, and his long bluish white mane of fur hung freely from his face, with four dreadlocks plaited strictly being most prominent over the free flowing fur. This figure’s eyes were a deep shade of amethyst, and shone out a clear sign of trust. The youth recognised this figure, but couldn’t remember where.
“I trust you have rested well young one,” spoke the figure gently. The young werewolf felt as if he could trust this old wolf. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am Master Maelstrom, or Maelstrom if you choose to be informal, but knowing you, you’ll most likely choose the latter,” introduced the elder wolf, “and yourself?” The youth that sat on the blanket on the floor closed his eyes and thought hard. He had no recollection of who he was, but some simple things shone through the mists of his amnesia. This possible stranger was asking too much of him. It was just a title, but did he have one? Then a name, more dominant than anything, emerged from the forgetting mists.
“I am Giovanni. Giovanni Magnus,” replied the youth after he had found the title in his memories. Maelstrom remained silent in disbelief.

Giovanni could tell something was wrong, so preceded to fill in the pause within this impossible conversation.
“Can you tell me where I am? I don’t remember anything that has happened to me,” he said, trying his best to fill in this empty conversation.
“I am sorry, you’re in my laboratory. Your meteor was taken here after it crashed and I opened it,” informed Maelstrom, beckoning to the rocky shell in the corner. Giovanni lifted himself up and straightened up the rags that poorly kept him on the boundary from being naked. “Now then Gio, actually is it alright if I call you Gio?” continued Maelstrom. Giovanni looked at Maelstrom in a manner that suggested that, before he lost his memory, being referred to as “Gio” was some kind of insult. Maelstrom could see the anger burning in Giovanni’s blood red eyes and quickly tried to amend himself. “Very well, you shall be named Giovanni and shall be referred to only as Giovanni,” said Maelstrom nervously. “How could I forget that?”

“Anyway Giovanni, I need you to come with me. However, you need to put on some kind of clothing, it would seem inappropriate for you to walk across the streets in little more than what can be interpreted as a soiled flannel,” commented Maelstrom. He handed Giovanni a sack. “Inside this bag are some clothes that should fit you. Hopefully we’ll get you some better clothes sooner or later,” Giovanni opened the sack to find some very bleak looking medical robes, just enough to make him suitable at his age for going out. As Giovanni put them on, he thought to himself.
Why did I suddenly trust this old wolf? Did I used to know him? Does he know me and, if so, could he help me find my memory? Giovanni thought to himself.

The youth was escorted by Maelstrom into a dark passage way. Giovanni didn’t feel any concern; he’d been in the darkness for some time and had become very used to it. He was eventually led to a small, dimly lit room, with a few areas to sit down.
“I shall be back shortly. Maya is going to ask you a few questions, do you think you’ll be able to answer them?” asked Maelstrom.
“Provided they aren’t anything to do with my past, I shall try my best,” replied Giovanni. Maelstrom left the room, locking the door behind him. Shortly after Maelstrom left, a young female werewolf with long hazel brown fur and chestnut brown hair with soft eyes to match entered the room, holding onto a sheet of papyrus. She grinned nervously at Giovanni, who thought it only polite to smile back.
“You must be Giovanni,” said the female werewolf quietly, “my name is Maya, and I am Master Maelstrom’s apprentice. He sent me in here to ask a few questions, just a general test to see how much you remember,”
“Why can’t he ask me himself? Surely he should finish off his own assignments?” commented Giovanni intimidatingly. Maya slammed the papyrus onto the desk in front of her and Giovanni.
“He has other business to attend to,” she uttered coarsely, not taking kindly to Giovanni’s tone of voice. Her eyes changed from their former soft appearance to a coarse, rugged personality, before they softened once more.

Above the interviewing chamber, five elder werewolves watched as the apprentice handed over a series of papyrus sheets to the mysterious subject.
“It can’t be the same one can it?” asked Wisdom, “it’s far too late for it to be him,” The other masters bar one agreed.
“I’m not suggesting it is him, but all the signs so far point to it. He claims his name is Giovanni Magnus, and the appearance registers as a match. We only need a few more details,” informed Maelstrom. The other masters watched eagerly as Giovanni proceeded to answer Maya’s questions.

After half an hour, Maya shook hands with Giovanni, and returned to the main chamber. The masters eagerly awaited the results.
“According to the tests, the amnesia has affected his personal memories, with the exception of a couple. It hasn’t affected the logic sectors in his memory, so he did very well in the logistic tests,” reported Maya.
“There is only one last thing we need to check out first,” replied Maelstrom, “but we need…” Morbius Maelstrom rushed into the master’s temple abruptly.
“I’m sorry if you’re busy great gramps, but I need a signature. I want to join the armies,” interrupted Morbius. Maelstrom turned away.
“You are too young to enter the militia Morbius and besides, it’s down to Terra to decide what you do not me,” criticised Maelstrom.
“But everyone else is going to the battle, and you know what I can do, I’d be a good asset. And Dad’s no good, he’s too busy,” complained Morbius. Maelstrom then came to decision and preened his fingers through his mane of fur.
“I shall give the signature under one condition Morbius,” plotted Maelstrom, “I want you to go into the chamber beneath the temple,” Morbius tilted his head slightly in confusion, but then thought the deal was more than fair.
“Ok great gramps, I’ll go into the basement. What’s down there anyway?” asked Morbius.
“You’ll find out when you get there,” teased Maelstrom.

Morbius bounded into the basement, hoping to find something valuable that would guarantee his position in the militia. The basement was immensely dark. The young werewolf pulled out his sword; which glimmered dimly in the shadows. He came to clearing, where a spotlight from a glass ceiling above, illuminated the darkened dungeon. A black figure stood in the spotlight. Morbius quivered as he held his blade.
“Who are you?” asked Morbius worriedly, as his sword failed to keep stationary in his quaking hands. The figure turned only briefly to acknowledge the intruder.
“I will not give you the pleasure of knowing my name, until you reveal to me yours,” replied Giovanni in a cold voice. Morbius took a pace back.
“I am Morbius Maelstrom, soon to be a warrior of the armies of Arzonus,” uttered Morbius feebly. Giovanni turned around to face this wannabe warrior.
“I am Giovanni Magnus,” responded Giovanni, “and you, Morbius Maelstrom, should know that a warrior doesn’t give in to fear, you’re doing well so far.” Morbius tightened his grip on the sweaty hilt of his sword.
“I shall not be intimidated Gio,” ordered Morbius, trying to conceal his fear. Giovanni’s eyes burned a fiery red. The name “Gio” was like an insult to him, an injury to his pride, but for reasons unknown.
“Don’t refer to me as “Gio”, wolf cub!” shouted Giovanni, eyes ablaze with an anger that Morbius began to fear greatly. Morbius dropped his sword and proceeded to flee the chamber, but his escape was prevented by his inability to find the door in the dark room. Giovanni kicked the weak sword to one side. Morbius then came to the decision that the only way out was to fight. He lifted his paw and concentrated hard. He then attempted to launch out a large surge of electricity, but the pulse released feebly missed the target.

Giovanni watched mockingly at his opponent’s attempts to make a blow with enough focus to make impact to allow him leave. Eventually, Morbius gave up on using his electrical manipulation, and decided that only brute strength would work. Morbius lunged and landed a blow against Giovanni’s chest, knocking him back slightly, but Giovanni did not take kindly to this. He grabbed the young werewolf by the throat and lifted him above the ground. A dark red aura then shrouded Giovanni’s hands, and he let go of Morbius. Giovanni looked in concern of his hands that continued to grow brighter still.
“What is it you are doing Morbius?” asked Giovanni alarmingly, “I demand to know!” Morbius couldn’t give an answer.

Above the chamber where the scuffle had broken out, the masters were all shocked at what was taking place beneath their feet.
“It can’t be. It just can’t!” panicked Wisdom, “he shouldn’t be alive!”
“How can it be him? He went missing, he surely couldn’t be the same werewolf!” shouted Seeker.
“It seems it is unlikely, but it is true. This werewolf is definitely Giovanni Magnus, the same one that disappeared over thirty years ago,” explained Maya with the least amount of concern amongst the senior members of the council. Maelstrom failed to show any signs of surprise.

The petrified young werewolf was withdrawn from the chamber below. Morbius was sweating uncontrollably as Embrace placed a blanket over the shaken youth. Maelstrom approached his great grandson with a sheet of parchment with his signature on it.
“Here is my consent for you to join the militia. Every day in the militia will be tough, and you need to take events like that in your stride,” said Maelstrom as he handed over the parchment, “Are you still sure you want to join after that ordeal?” Morbius wiped away the tear from his deep violet eyes and cleared his throat.
“Of course I still want to. I need to strengthen up. That… thing down there was completely unruly, and I must make it my duty to stop villains like that,” replied Morbius bravely. Maelstrom smiled at the child’s refusal at having his spirits weakened. Morbius was dismissed from the chamber with a brave expression, but he knew all too well that he couldn’t do it. If something like that were supposedly “normal” to the militia, what chance would he have on something out of the ordinary?

The council called the meeting to an end and each retreated back to what they were doing prior to the gathering. Seeker proceeded back to the upper floors, Wisdom leapt up the bookcase the retrieve another book and Embrace returned to the gardens for some further meditation. Maelstrom put his lab coat back on. Maya crept away into the basement to speak to this stranger once again.

Sat in the shadows, isolate and deeply angered, Giovanni spent ages staring at his paws, watching the red glow that shrouded them, retreat into his veins and dim to an invisibly eerie glow. Three clicks came from the door as it opened loudly and entering through, the werewolf with chestnut brown hair, one of the few people Giovanni could presently call “friend”.
“Are you okay Giovanni?” asked Maya, showing sympathy to the werewolf that sat in the shadows. He failed to acknowledge her entry and continued to stare at his paws. “Maelstrom has told me to escort you back to the labs,” she continued. Giovanni took no notice of Maya’s words and continued his own business. “Unless, there is something else you’d rather do?” inquired Maya, trying her best efforts to finally get a response. Giovanni looked towards Maya, and gazed into her chestnut brown eyes. They were soft.
“I have no memory of who I am. My plan is to find out what I was before all this,” replied Giovanni. Maya smiled and this came as somewhat enlightening to him. She knew what he meant.
“Very well, I shall show you the outside world. Maybe something might return to you. Besides, the moon is clear and weather has become pleasant again. You’d enjoy it,” grinned Maya. She beckoned to the door and the dark furry heap stood out of the shadows.
“Maya…” he called, “who is Master Maelstrom? I think he knows something about me, and I’d like to find out,”
“Master Maelstrom will do what he can to find out who you are. He will try any method at his disposal to uncovering the truth. You can trust him,” replied Maya, wondering to herself whether Maelstrom’s skill was that effective. Giovanni thought to himself.
This master knows who I am, so, like it or not, I’m going to have to believe him. I should stay with his associate so I can discover the truth.

Terra was completely focussed on his canvas, his eyes glowing bright amber as the brush glided swiftly over the painting as the future was being told. Morbius rushed into the gallery, still holding tightly onto the blanket Embrace wrapped around him. Simultaneously, Morbius’ eyes glowed in a deep shade of violet as he threw the sweat sodden blanket to one side, pulled out a canvas and began painted next to his father.

Morbius was still new to the experience. His vision was fixated on the blank sheet in front of him, all other presences in the world obscured in the mists of the future. The blank sheet beckoned images that swirled around in a soup of anticipation as Morbius gently held the brush over them, making impact for brief strokes at a time. Neither artist could be turned from their work.

Nearly an hour passed as the world aged away unnoticed as the father and son finally came out their trances. Before them was the future, immortalised in inks and pigments of various varieties. Terra’s paintings displayed a scuffle in the centre of the city. Two figures were easily recognisable, one was the militia soldier Dawn, ready to launch an attack and the other was Morbius, raising his sword at an oncoming foe. On the opposing side of the field was another female werewolf, with light fur and wearing prison overalls and the other was a wolf with thick black fur, a dark coat and a red mark on his forehead, his eyes blood red and mad.
“That is Giovanni Magnus. I met him in the chamber beneath the Master’s temple. He could have killed me, but didn’t,” commented Morbius, “he’s going to come after me again, and he will bring company. A monster like him,”

The next painting yet again depicted Giovanni Magnus, but this time he appeared to be present in a dark void, with a monstrous apparition behind him, as if offering the youth a choice. Most striking was that this stranger bared the same symbol as Giovanni, only welded onto a metallic fist. Terra was shocked at this. One of the greatest villains was going to offer a deal to this new stranger, and his grandfather, Master Maelstrom, was going to work on him and help him find his memory.

The final, and probably and most horrifying, depicted Giovanni one last time on the field of battle, holding a crimson red gem in the air above him; his entire body was shrouded in the same aura that Morbius witnessed consuming Giovanni’s hands. The surrounding area was engulfed in flames as brightly red as the aura that shrouded Giovanni’s body.
“Giovanni’s the enemy, and he would destroy us all,” shouted Morbius. Terra tried to calm his son.
“Morbius, these pictures are only of a possible future and they are open to interpretation. They may be incorrect,” reassured Terra. Morbius left the room, still feeling concerned, but Terra was more worried than his son. He knew full well that these predictions of the future would always come true and he prayed to himself that these images were favourable, rather than seeming apocalyptic.

Master Maelstrom searched through an aged trunk in his study. He came to a selection of files under the list of “removed records”. Within them, he pulled out a folder with “Giovanni Magnus” written on it and he proceeded to browse within the file. He muttered to himself as he read through the details.
““Known Abilities: Phobia kinesis is the only term that can be used, since the ability has not been sufficiently documented before. Subject in question can absorb fear and convert it into energy, most of the time heat and pyrokinetic energy,” Maelstrom read as he flicked through the folder as he came to one important detail. “Declared deceased 34th Ire of Phyrris 134”.
Giovanni has been missing for 33 years, Maelstrom thought to himself, so how does he suddenly appear now, and where has he been for these many years?

Anyway, I could do with a review before I upload anymore. I don't want this being leaked across the net, because then no one would buy the book.

"There is one thing I hate about you... no, wait. There are dozens of things I hate about you. You appear everywhere, literally everywhere. Every species has different incarnations of you. Devils, Nightmares and Shadows to be ran from. You are the most hated thing in all creation, because you epitomise all that is to be hated.

But having seen what I have, I can pinpoint the very thing I hate most about you. You are horribly cliche" - Giovanni to the Nightmare.


"Life in Arzonus teaches you many things young ones. Above all it teaches you that the most abnormal things are within sight, but are so subtle, the unfamiliar is almost familiar. Never trust everything from face value. Not so much think outside the box, put all parts of your brain out of the box. Your brain might process something without really processing. You can think out of the box, but only if you can have your mind hear outside the box, feel outside the box, see outside the box and taste outside the box, then can you see the strange." - Maya

I have decided to make a massive change in the novel. I have decided to change the name from "The Dark Hero" to "The God Complex".

God Complexes are a recurring theme throughout the story, each being the undoing of said character.

The prologue explains to a reader of the theory behind a "God Complex". The God Complex is a presence within select individuals, that drives their paths against all odds to achieving a goal on behalf of the gods that bestow them their power. Kara-Meir from the trilogy of RuneScape novels by T S Church is a clear example of a person bestowed with a god complex can do, where she was able to restore the balance of the human kingdoms of Asgarnia and Mithalin.

God complexes are prevalent through out the story and suitably lead to the undoing of each of the characters with them.
1. Mesophiles, under the guise of Mentor Libra believes that he and Arzonus are indestructable, causing him to make the error of devaluing the life of his allies. When it comes to the conflict, the eclipse weakens the lycans and in his foolishness planned to lead them on suicide missions. Because of the immortality that he claimed from the Nightmare in the God Wars and the means in which he escaped Hell, he believes that he can do as he wishes. All too soon after the battle, he discovers a great error in his judgement; even immortals can be killed. In his stead, he is replaced and no one knows the difference.

2. Sulla, renegade lord of the Kinshra establishes himself a god complex when he only just has a string of luck. First he was spared, then granted rights as a hero and only just avoided death when the monks of Zamorak wanted to see him resurrected and Jerrod organised their escape. He now believes himself to be on a favoured path and that he should be granted whatever he wishes believing his owed that much. When Theta withdraws the deal, he is shown for the feeble excuse for a leader he has become, when his army vanishes before his eyes and he is only left with the corpses of allies around him.

3. The Teleform believe that by sampling Giovanni's power, they can hope to create perfection. Their drive for the God Complex brings them to destruction when they realise their attempts to replicate Giovanni for themselves only ends up with all of the copies being "defective" and refusing to help them. In the belief that their own creations will willingly follow them, they are divided, damaging their species for ages to come.

Only two characters with some variety of God complex see it to their favour. Giovanni, who uses his for good and Theta Magnus, who's experience and skill pursues him to manipulate events in his favour. Though he doesn't achieve his goal of retrieving Giovanni, he still has those with dangerous ideals put into their place.

I've just discovered that how I would define a God Complex is starkly wrong (Google, Wikipedia, etc, all tell me I'm wrong).

I would have never described a God Complex as a path that is taken on behalf of a god. As far as I'm concerned, any one who believes himself to be a god, a messiah, or a chosen warrior, etc, has a Superiority Complex. For me: a God Complex is where the individual believes that the weight of the world must rest upon their shoulders, or that they must save everyone (or unknowingly burdens themselves with such tasks). But apparently I was wrong. What am I thinking of? I Google'd Hero Complex but that seems to be a drive for fame/recognition. Doctor Who and Supernatural have misguided me!

God complex seems to have a lot of meanings. Whilst it means placing immense responsibility on one's shoulders, that kind of power can be dangerous; having an army at your command, a city of powerful beings or a task for perfection, it corrupts anyone.

I'd always had a similar definition of God Complex to 3mpty - it's been suggested that I have one in ethics discussions over the sciences I'm interested in because some people see what I want to do as playing God. Your definition, Morbius, wouldn't really make sense in that context.

While I'm not saying you're wrong, it seems that the incorrect definition is fairly widespread - enough so for me to suggest not using it as a name. You don't want to confuse your readers, after all.

A god complex is an unshakable belief characterized by consistently inflated feelings of personal ability, privilege, or infallibility. A person with a god complex may refuse to admit the possibility of error or failure, even in the face of complex or intractable problems or difficult or impossible tasks, or may regard personal opinions as unquestionably correct. The individual may disregard the rules of society and require special consideration or privileges.

It seems to fit the villains quite suitably when it comes to that definition. The complex that the Doctor has is more a "Messiah Complex", a belief that they will become a saviour.

A hero complex is the intense desire to set things right, so presumably the Doctor has this or the Messiah Complex.

Accord to Google a Hero complex is the desire for recognition of ones actions, or to be renown as a Hero... including setting up villainy and crime just so you can be seen to achieve it.

And I would not describe the Doctor as that at all. He doesn't not believe he will become a saviour, he "believes" (although this implies consciously) that he must save everyone.

We never said the definition of a God Complex is wrong, but asked the question: What is a God Complex? both me, Slayer and my friend Kez gave my definition (I thought I'd go around asking). Mum thought it was just a modern term to describe people who were still so strictly religious to the extent it was actually delusional.

I dislike the new name simply because I disagree with the definition, but it's your choice.

I agree with Morbius on this one. A god complex is used generally to mean someone who believes that they have the right to manipulate the universe as they see fit. The doctor doesn't have a god complex because he wants to save everyone, it's because he takes side and kills thousands and meddles with everything and acts as if he's totally in the right.

So we're in agreement? The God Complex over the Dark Hero?

I didn't realize that was the (or even 'a') question.

"While I'm not saying you're wrong, it seems that the incorrect definition is fairly widespread - enough so for me to suggest not using it as a name. You don't want to confuse your readers, after all." - Me

"So we're in agreement? The God Complex over the Dark Hero?" - Morbius

...

To be honest, I want a verdict urgently. I'm just trying to back my decision for change.