The Kid Isn't Alright (Open?)

The world at war.

It was hard to believe that a day like this would ever dawn in his life time, but now Steiner sat in awe, not in appreciation but in horror, of the events transpiring globally: Families being uprooted, innocents being caught in the crossfire, and people soldiers laying their lives on the line for purposes much grander than their minds could comprehend.

Such was the nature of war. It was a game played by kings and queens sitting above the impoverished and malnourished common folk struggling to make it through a day without the weight of the sins committed by those same "leaders" crushing them. As much as he tried to blame the demons, the monsters in Shadow Fall, this wasn't something could casually or callously point a finger at. All sides were to blame. Every single fucking side playing their hands at the same time to a violent crescendo that crashed down on every single person just looking to live.

To prosper.

To just be.

He found it a hard pill to swallow, in an era now being driven by egomaniacs the will of the common man was being snuffed out for "pride". War for war's sake, war for change, war for prosperity. Another mouth full of shit spewed from media outlets to justify the means to an end. Mana was a monster, was Hayden any better? He had not seen eye to eye with the King of Vastime's methods, but he had at least seemed to look up at him as a figurehead. Someone who got the job done even if it meant bloodying his hands. He wasn't perfect and neither was anyone else. Yet, if you really thought about it...was he any different than the monsters they were fighting right now to "protect" the people of this world?

He was finding it harder with each and every new's report, sleep was coming harder, and the feeling of tenseness that crept up his spine a clear indicator of the feelings that were swirling inside of him:

Dread.

Hate.

Fear.

Compassion.

Desire.

All of these emotions caused the young man to groan as he sat in his tent and watched the world go to hell. Inactive due to his weakness, his unwillingness to act as he watched this hell spread, and spread to the ends of the world as his consciousness screamed for him to do something. To be a hero. To do what he always talked about: putting his life on the line for the greater good. But what good could come from all this? What the fuck would be left after the raging titans smashed the very world into dust? How many graves needed to be dug, how many widows needed to lament in silence, and just how many loved ones would have to disappear before this all was said and done? He couldn't comprehend the numbers, he couldn't function, but most importantly he couldn't act.

Just how could he help in "this"? He was a gnat compared to the mega powers throwing around their weight like they were the fat guy at a buffet looking to eat the last piece of chicken. He hadn't trained for this. He hadn't trained for war. And that frightened him. He had thought he had resolved himself, prepared himself for the prospect of this eventually happening, but a mere mortal could never just be ready for war. A mere man could never just, well, could never just see what he saw, and just go about his normal routine. Especially if that normal routine meant flying into the mouth of hell and dealing with what the world was dealing with right now.

Was he scared?

He tightened his fist on his knee, the television in front of him playing the recent news, and showing the devastation in every way possible. He supposed it was fear, it was a feeling he had never truly felt before when he was doing small time heroics to protect basic people doing basic things, but right now this was above him. This would require a level of heroics he just didn't have in him. It made him afraid, but it also made him angry. He felt...inadequate. Like he had talked the big talk, spread his philosophy, and told people he would take the big risks no matter what, but now he was just sitting at home watching it on television.

It was surreal. No, it was irritating. He was furious deep down and most of that anger was completely directed at him, entirely focused on the type of person he was being right now, and on his own weakness. He could be angry that Mana attacked Karakura, but it was his weakness that made him angry the most. He should have been there after all. His tattered Vanguard jacket lay beside him, the Second Sword emblem etched into the back had meaning to him, or at least it had so long ago. It felt so long ago that he had put it on and had felt pride. So much pride had lead him to this point and now look what it had got him? A upper bowl ticket to the apocalypse.

Standing up for the first time in a long time, Steiner marched himself out of his tent to look across the vast plains around him, and appreciate nature at its basic level. There was a peacefulness here that he had tried to use to help him think and help him train, but no matter how much he pushed himself there was only so much he could do alone. Only so much he could get done by practicing form and stance alone, only so much he could shadowboxing, or shadow fencing. Meanwhile the world burned and he watched, like some kind of sick voyeur.

Should he get involved? Could he get involved? Questions and doubts plagued him for maybe the first time in his life and the knee jerk reactions that he was well known for when it came to heroics were simply not there. Instead, he stared across his empty plain, and wallowed in his inaction and sorrow. Emphatically feeling the noose tighten on a world that was slowly being engulfed by flame.

"What did I really prepare for?"

His voice sounded dry. In truth he had not spoken in several months, his solitude had not been disturbed, and his distance had been maintained. What had once started as a training excursion had turned into this. And now he had no idea what he should do.