Zico was dead.

            Of course he was dead. That was what happens when certain self-sacrificing MORONS jump right into the heat of battle when I clearly tell them not to. I told him not to. I said—you're outnumbered. Out-matched. It's pretty much completely impossible to win. I told him that.

            But did he listen to me? No. I was only five THOUSAND years old. I'd only trained eight hundred and twenty one heroes. No. Why listen to me? Why listen to the person that trained him since birth?

            I suppose I shouldn't talk about the dead disrespectfully. The boss was always nagging me about that. But you see so many people die and you stop caring. Or maybe it's not the number of dead people I've known. Maybe it's just that I know that everybody is going to die before I have the chance.

            I sighed heavily. What to do, though? It would be easy if the only thing I had to do was find another hero. But, no. Of course. My life was never just that easy. Because of course Zico was the prophesied child of blah, blah, blah. The only one who could save the world and all that jazz.

            I might seem insensitive, but after you've seen eight hundred and twenty one children of prophecy, it starts to get old. Actually, it's a downright chore. I mean, think of how hard it is to find these people. Think about it. Let's say there's this prophecy that says something delightfully vague. The boy shall rise from the ruins of a nation and defeat the darkest evil. So how do you find that kid? When is he supposed to be born? What's the darkest evil even mean?

            So I gotta find the specific kid that fits into the prophecy because he's the only one that can defeat the dark one and blah blah blah blah blah. I'd rather drink acid, to be honest. Especially annoying when the IDIOT just spits on all my hard work and gets himself killed.

            I was on the battlefield already, so I sat down on the largest man's chest. Argh, Why did this always happen to me? I pulled out my phone. Okay. I just needed to find one of the other people that fit into the prophecy. Generally, there were three or so in all the realms that could possibly fulfill the prophecy.

            Get that. Twenty realms. About six billion people in each realm, and only three people could possibly share the same destiny. It would probably be impossible if it wasn't for my boss. I called him up on my cell phone.

"Oi. Yeah, I know. Moron just ran into battle. I know it's not easy to replace them. It took me like seventy years just to find this one. So. Hints on where to find the next one before the world's reduced to ash? Okay. Got it. Don't yell at me. I didn't tell him to get himself killed. Fine. Alright. Bye."

I looked back down at my phone. Looked like I was going to earth, the seventeenth realm.

Pennsylvania, to be exact.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. . . . . . .  . . . . ..

IDK why its Pennsylvania. I lived there, so I figured I'd be better at writing it than Korea. Most of the story will be set somewhere else though (So in case you have something against Pennsylvania, don't worry, it won't be for long.)