There is a place few know of, and even fewer have been. Rumors abound of the hill that hosted what was called the Massacre of the Hilltop. Rumor said that one man stood against hundreds, and escaped unscathed. It said that the valley had been painted red for years after the slaughter, that the grass had become bloodthirsty, slashing any who walked on it. Many things were said, but few knew where they had originated. Titan stood on the rumored hill, looking over the red painted valley into the sunset, his hand clasped on the hilt of his stone sword. Behind him lay a garden, mostly destroyed with a single gravestone. Memories of the bloodbath ran through Titan's head, pounding the rhythm of the words Panic had whispered to him. [i]Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.[/i] Titan thought on those for a long time. Behind him crowded the shades of those he had killed, people he had called friends until he betrayed them. Ever they echoed Panic. [i]Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.[/i] Titan stood there, enduring their ceaseless whispers. Finally, he turned, drawing the sword as it blazed with fire. He cut down shade after shade, his face hard and emotionless. Eventually, only one remained. The shade smirked at him, and he knew what it was thinking. He nodded, knowing that what it was thinking was true. He had never really escaped his past, and the time had come to accept who he was. He spoke, his deep voice reluctant but firm. "I am. And any who cross me will feel my wrath. But I will try to stand by my friends. A side must always be taken, but I will not take one yet. Not until I know more of myself." Cutting down the shade, he looked to where the sunset was, seeing only darkness. "Until I find my true side." ......... ............