He didn't know how he got there.
He didn't remember anything from before.
But he was there. Always there. From the very beginning.
She hated him.
She hated the fact that he even existed.
She was always there too. Always watching.
When the very first person wrote the very first book, he came into existence.
He didn't know who he was exactly - just had an inkling of why he was there.
Over time, he grew. He watched over the characters so lovingly (or grudgingly) created. Draws became full of character profiles, all complete with a little picture that he'd drawn himself.
Few people knew who he was. He himself barely remembered his own name.
They called him the Chief of Fiction.
She had been there from the very beginning.
She knew exactly who she was and why she was there.
As the years went by, she began to realise that she wasn't so strong. She had unwanted competition.
They called her the Witch of Reality.
The Chief never knew that she existed until a knock came upon his door. It was the late 16th century and he was drawing a picture of a tragically young girl on her deathbed.
"Why did you kill them?" He muttered under his breath, "Why, Mr Shakespeare? Why?"
The door was knocked again and this time he actually looked up. "Come in."
The door was flung open and a woman stalked in. Her hair was short, framing her face. Black, with a random streak of white in it. Her clothes - he'd never seen anything like them. She was wearing some sort of tight-fighting trousers and a t-shirt. A black cloak billowed from her shoulders.
"Who are you?"
"I think I'll ask the questions." The woman retorted angrily. She advanced on him. "Why are you here?"
"I actually don't know."
Sighing, the Chief got to his feet. The woman surveyed him. He was a little taller than she, wearing a pair of brown trousers that had had extra pieces sewn onto the bottom has he grew. His shirt was a white-ish colour and he wore a brown waistcoat. What really struck her was his grey eyes. They were both sharp and soft at the same time as he looked at her.
"I am the Chief of Fiction."
"Ah. Then we might have a problem." The witch took another step towards him. He didn't move, just looked at her with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I see none."
"But I do. They call me the 'Witch of Reality'."
The visit ended when the Chief picked her up bodily and threw her out, threatening her with a couple of dragons. "AND STAY OUT!"
The second time they met was many years later, at the end of the 20th century. A certain book had come out, and the Chief was determined to make sure that it stayed safe.
The Witch had made it her mission to go around quenching imagination and creativity. Countless characters and plots had perished at her hands.
But this one was different. This one was the start of a new era.
The Chief smiled as he finished his sketch. A young boy with messy black hair and piercing green eyes looked up at him.
The Witch sensed it as soon as this saviour was created. She looked up at the sky and scowled.
The Chief was going to be paid a visit.
She entered without knocking this time. The Chief wasn't surprised. He merely picked up an object that he'd been gifted from an old friend.
"Make m-" The Witch's jaw dropped when she saw him point the staff at her. Not just any old staff, either. Merlin's staff.
Then she recovered her wits and looked the Chief straight in the eye. She pulled out her wooden bat (a baseball bat, not an animal bat) and brandished it at him. He sighed.
The baseball bat was a pile of ashes on the floor within seconds.
He leaned close to her, as though about to share the secrets to the universe.
A few years later, the Chief decided that his army was ready. He looked down at his selection of character drawings, smiled and breathed life into them.
Minutes later, a bunch of varying people stood in front of him.
First, Harry Potter, who killed the Dark Lord,
Next to him, Percy Jackson, wielding his sword.
Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire,
Tris the Dauntless, a fearless Prior.
Clary Fray, with fiery red hair,
Then Thomas, who was immune to the flare.
Rose Hathaway and Sam Temple finished the group.
Except for one more who said "I am Groot."
"I have a challenge for you." The Chief said, surveying them. "One last battle."
The Witch had her army. Fear and Terror stood either side of her. The heroes stood opposite them.
In between, were fifty terrified mortals.
The heroes were muttering between themselves.
"Someone needs to get rid of Fear and Terror." Clary whispered.
"I'll take Fear." Harry said immediately.
"I'll take Terror." Percy gave a grim smile. "I've fought him before."
"Someone needs to get the mortals to safety." Tris hissed. "I can do that."
"I'll help." Clary whispered.
"And we'll kick the Witch's ass." Rose confirmed, looking sideways at Sam and Thomas, who grinned.
"I'll snipe her army." Katniss murmured. "Groot, can you take on some of them?"
"I am Groot." He rumbled.
The fight began.
Harry and Percy immediately began to do what they did best. They fought.
Harry saw a dementor coming at him and yelled "Expecto Patronum!" It vanished and Fear looked slightly taken aback. People never resisted his visions that easily...unless...what they really feared...
...was fear itself.
Percy and Terror were yelling insults at each other like the old pals they were. (Note the sarcasm).
Terror was best with large crowds of people. So if he focused on just one person...Percy should have fallen to the ground screaming. He saw everyone he loved around him, dead or dying.
He had had the chance to save them.
But he hadn't.
Annabeth lay at his feet, grey eyes staring blankly. Nico a few feet from her. Hazel. Frank. Leo. Calypso. Piper. Jason. Reyna. Even Coach Hedge.
He took a couple of steps backwards. It isn't real. It isn't real.
But what if it was?
"PERCY! SNAP OUT OF IT!" Someone screamed as they ran past. He snapped his head around to see Rose sprint past, followed by Sam. Thomas was way in front.
Terror was so busy controlling his visions on the crowd, that he never noticed Percy snap out of it until it was too late.
Katniss sat in a tree, bow at the ready. The Witch's army was strong, no doubt. They had begun to grab innocent people, tossing them about like they were nothing. Or at least, they tried.
Katniss's arrows hit them either in the head, or where you really didn't want to be hit.
Meanwhile, Groot waded through the masses of the witches army, punching his arms through them and waving them about to take out others. Or just hitting them until they died.
Clary and Tris fought off a few of the army as they started herding the people to safety.
Tris ended up covering for Clary as she led people out through the portal that she had created. Magnus was on the other side, sprinkling everyone with glitter.
As for the famous Witch? Thomas leapt on her back and they both went crashing to the floor. Rose joined in and a furious fight began.
This was when the Witch seriously began to doubt herself. A magic staff would have been useful. Or a death potion. Something. Anything.
She was, however a master at fighting. Years had taught her how to defend herself.
As Rose fought her, she realised that this Witch actually rivalled Dimitri. She scowled. This Witch was going down.
Harry had beaten Fear easily enough. It was funny, he thought, how it was harder to beat Voldemort.
Percy was panting, golden blood dripping from his sword.
They both looked up at where Rose was fighting the Witch. Thomas was helping by leaping on top of her every so often.
Before he could finish the question, there was a yell.
"Rose, Thomas, DUCK!"
They hit the ground as a blast of white light split the air. It burned a hole straight through the Witch, who looked down at her middle, then screamed.
The scream carried on until she sank to the floor in a pile of ashes.
After that, everyone just started beating up the rest of the army.
You see, when Heroes work together, a fight is rarely lost.