Jason stood in the middle of the street, his mind struggling to accept a simple truth: this was not the world he remembered. It was as if Mother Nature, enraged by the senseless abuse of her creation, had unleashed her wrath upon the Earth she once cherished.

There was no wind, no sound, even the air Jason breathed seemed stale, somehow tainted by this place. If this was not Hell, it came a close second. Surrounding him on all sides, buildings torn from their foundations lay in ruins. Those left standing were little more than blackened, burnt-out husks of concrete, blighting the skyline.

The street was littered with vehicles that once had been an extension of their owner’s pride and desire for freedom, but now they were a rusting epitaph to their fall from grace. The shocking image of a world driven to its knees was only surpassed by the scale of human destruction. Everywhere Jason looked there were skeletons, their bones bleached by a sun blind to the reality that no one was left alive to appreciate its warmth. Shreds of clothing still clung to some of the bodies, giving a few of them, at least, a semblance of identity.

As Jason tried to discern any meaning from the horror surrounding him, something brushed against his leg. He leapt back, almost falling over his own feet, as several piles of bones rose up in front of him. Common sense told him to run, but he was overcome with the morbid desire to keep watching. A jawbone snapped into place with a sickening crack. Veins began to emerge out of the bones themselves, followed by intestines, then organs. Skin crawled across the bodies, even as the muscles and tendons formed underneath. Clothing was the last thing to materialise, like everything else, as if from thin air.

Jason now faced five men, their faces smooth, devoid of any features; the effect was terrifying. Their upper bodies were protected by chain mail, over which was draped a grey tunic that extended to their knees. Like the chain mail beneath it, the tunic was split at the front. Each man wore a sword strapped to their side, and a large, bright orange emblem of a bird, similar to an eagle, embroidered on the fronts of their tunics. The bird’s wings were unfurled, and grasped in its claws was a flaming sword. There was something about the emblem that confused Jason, it was as if he knew exactly what the emblem represented, yet at the same time, he was convinced he had never set eyes on it before now.

Where the hell am I? he thought.

I would think the where was obvious. You are dreaming; you are also in danger.

Jason did not know whether he was hearing his conscience, was going mad or if someone was communicating with his mind. None of the prospects thrilled him.

“Who are you?”

The men did not answer, but Jason began to hear a low-pitched humming. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead doubled over as the sound flooded his senses, overwhelming him. His view of the knights became blurred, appearing to shift in and out of focus.

Concentrate, boy, fight them! They must not enter.

“Enter what?”

Jason was fast accepting the idea that perhaps the disembodied voice was not his own.

Too late.

* * *