Smoke and ash wafted heavily through the air while the glow of nearby fires shone through the gloom.

Screams rang out in different tenors amidst the clash of weaponry and bestial roars.

Tens of thousands of booted feet marched down the Capital's main highway as its armies were evacuating the sprawling city.

Fighting through the smoke and flame while in formation, they killed and died for every city block passed.

Most of the populace had already been evacuated, but the army took any who would come with them.

After the armies passed, the few holdovers who refused to leave hid in their homes, from the enemies chasing the fleeing army.

Those who remained were bitterly regretting not leaving when they were able.

The Capital City of the Kingdom of Rostovo was a literal hellscape as flames burned everywhere.

The King's Castle lay in ruins, with its ramparts crumbled and its tower's toppled.

With smoke slowly billowing everywhere, visibility quickly became worse. Eventually, flames destroyed the noble areas near the castle and were finishing their job toward the commercial and residential districts.

The survivors of the army of Rostovo quickly escaped these districts as well.

Shambled barricades lined portions of the ruined street amidst hurriedly made but-now empty blockades.

The corpses of their brethren decorated these now-defunct military structures.

In distance behind the kingdom's army, the attacking forces moved at a relaxed and measured pace, continued to wreak destruction on nearby buildings. Small groups of their forces constantly broke awake to search the side streets they passed. 

Other groups returned carrying captured citizens or disarmed soldiers. Some were killed immediately while others were carried deeper into the crowd of enemies.

They continued to trail after the kingdom's army. Laughing and heckling them for the destruction they were allowed to cause.

The escaping columns of troops were fighting desperately to leave the Capital City in hopes of reaching the highways on the outskirts.

Believing that once they were on the roads leading away from the Capital and had broken past these enemies, they would be better able to protect the remaining citizens and surviving royalty.

But the outlook was grim, even then. These brave fighters were the remainder of the Rostovo Kingdom's main military forces. Any forces remaining in other cities were only town guards or simple garrison militia. Those types were reserve forces at best and cannon fodders at the least.

The Capital City faced off against an overwhelming horde of hellish evils and abominations.

Red-skinned hairless men, cloaked only in hooked chains (which undulated over their bodies like living snakes), led contingents of alien-looking horrors and other monstrosities in searching for survivors.

Mixed amongst these were various groups of undead, minor demons, and lesser devils.

These creatures tore through the vanguards and flanks of the kingdom's surviving men-at-arms, desperately trying to reach the heavily armored carriage that plodded along.

The powerful knights and mages who accompanied the carriage gave their all into supporting the flanks as the entire group moved ahead.

Though those attackers occasionally broke through the vanguard, their forces could never penetrate deeply into that sea of powerful warriors and magic-users who rebuffed their advances again and again.

After six hours of careful maneuvering through the savage hordes and defending from the attacks of the enemies at the rear, the ranks made their way through the ruined Capital City gates and onto the kingdom's extensive highways.

The carriage continued to move forward out away from the Capital steadily, but its defenders plodded along with exhaustion and hopelessness.

With despair or anger in their eyes, some cried bitterly. They had lost family, friends, and their land. Everything inside was destroyed, dead, and desecrated.

Others stepped forward listlessly with blank expressions. Having seen horrors beyond their imagination made into reality, these poor souls were left with only a tenuous grasp on their sanity.

Only those near the armored carriage retained any visage resembling hopefulness. Many of these warriors still retained some hope in their gaze despite the slouch in their steps.

Despite the battered equipment of the men-at-arms, the equipment of the knights and mages near the carriage gleamed and glowed with varied colors, giving off reassuring auras of power.

These were the Knight and Mage Captains, with the job to defend the carriage containing the only surviving members of the kingdom's royal family.

Nearby, several groups of archers warily eyed the surroundings. Some walked with arrows nocked and ready to draw as they marched through the wide lanes outside the Capital.

The mages and clerics kept their powers at the ready, waiting to defend the convoy from any long-range or area attacks, but nothing came.

Though the sounds of burning and battle within the city continued, the walls dampened these sounds somewhat. The walls and slight distance made the cacophony of suffering sound faint and ghostly.

Many turned and took one last longing look at the Capital City. The flames brightened the surroundings for miles, creating an odd discordance with the starless night sky.

 ***

An hour later, the burning Capital City was a dim glow in the distance. The surviving forces passed small outlier villages and rounded up those who were willing to flee.

A short distance ahead of the armored carriage marched a contingent of archers. Unlike the other men-at-arms wielding swords, axes, and pikes, these were mostly talented hunters and citizens who had proficiency with a bow that served as a ranged militia.

Many of them were scared but as a group they kept their pace even though they had no experience with a forced march such as this.

Mixed amongst the archers were groups of citizens. Tired couples carried children or even elderly adults. Some carried large backpacks with their possessions, while others had nothing.

Many sobbed quietly or walked listlessly with unfocused eyes. 

Amongst the group of the hopeless walked a young man of approximately twenty years who wore a quiver and a shouldered bow. He wore the bloodstained uniform of an archer scout. Several serious wounds littered his shoulders and arms while his face was splattered with blood. 

Although the young man walked in step evenly with the others around him, his movements were stiff and seemed almost mechanical or automated. 

In contrast, his blue eyes darted around wildly, full of terror, disbelief, and resentment.

His eyelids nonetheless blinked slowly, and not very often. The young man's manner of blinking was disturbingly slow and measured compared with the nonstop movement of his eyes.

Constantly scanning the surroundings, tears occasionally ran down his cheeks into the stubble of a youthful scraggly beard.

His thin lips were pressed together tightly, almost as if to prevent him from crying out.

But the survivors nearby weren't totally catatonic and they forced themselves to ignore the muffled cries the blue-eyed young man was regularly making.

Numerous castle staff and support personnel moved amongst the soldiers and citizens handing out water and bandaging the wounded. This included the odd blue-eyed young man.

While the teenage worker, a court page, finished up bandaging an oozing gash on his left forearm, the blue eyed man tried to get the young attendant's attention with his eyes and muffled noises, but it was hopeless. 

The page ignored him and continued through the throng of people.

The young blue-eyed man continued to step forward in formation with everyone else, step after step, mile after mile, in the same strange automated-looking gait.

His blue eyes, alight with terror as they scanned the highways ahead, suddenly closed for a moment even though his steps never faltered.

The sight of black was such a relief that tears suddenly squeezed through his eyelids.

However, a muffled sigh of relief was still unable to pass through his tightly closed lips. 

He wasn't in control of his own body.

Everything, except the control of his eyes' line of sight and his breathing, seemed to be working on autopilot. 

That wasn't to say he didn't feel it.

He felt everything. He was exhausted and every spot on his body hurt. He couldn't actively rub any sore spot, or scratch any itch.

His breathing labored from the constant walking. The accompanying hitch in his side made each breath painful.

He could take a deep breath, but once he tried to start yelling about what was happening to him in any way, his lips betrayed him and compressed tightly.

Those around him had walked just as much as he had, but they were still in control of themselves. Though they were exhausted they nonetheless acted normally.

They could, and often did, stop and rest for a few moments now that the horrors of the Capital were behind them somewhat.

He hadn't been able to do that since he woke up in this strange place.

'Where am I? Where is this place? How did I get here?' He thought.

'Why can't I control my own body? I just keep walking! What the hell is going on!?' he thought as hysteria swelled within him.

Despite the pain from his wounds continuing to persist, he thought that the whole ordeal was just a really vivid dream. 'I must have fallen asleep on the plane to San Juan.' 

A sudden burst of light appeared in front of the blue eyed young man, visible only to him by the lack of reaction from others nearby. 

The words written there resounded through his mind as he read them:

[SO THIS IS WHAT THE TERM 'WISHFUL THINKING', LOOKS LIKE]

Stunned, but only able to react by a near-imperceptible widening of his eyes, the blue eyed young man watched as the letters merged and reformed, the mechanical male voice speaking once again:

[THIS IS NOT A DREAM]

The blue eyed young man was shocked to his core at the fact that the voice answered the questioned he had asked silently.

The oppressive voice continued:

[YOU ARE THE NEWEST HERO CHARACTER OF THE MOBILE GAME, DESTINY WAR TACTICS!]

[YOU ARE WALKER TONLEVAR. AN ARCHER SCOUT OF THE KINGDOM OF ROSTOVO]

[IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE LIVING, KEEP WALKING, WALKER]