Prompt from Wattpad @Ooorah, 'The Ultimate Science Fiction Smack Down', Round 2, December 2021. The story must include Tina Turner's song 'We Don't Need Another Hero', and two of the following characters: Cleopatra VII Philopator, queen of Egypt; Elvis Presley; Donald Duck; Marie Curie; Laika of Sputnik 2.

[Author's initial reaction to the prompt: "Huh?"]

Story word count = 1482

The universe was a dangerous place, far more than I originally knew.

The dark rift churned in the sky above, a jagged tear in space, one much larger than I could repair. I drew power from the universe itself and levitated, drifting up to stare into the black abyss. Quieting my mind and gathering what courage I could, I waited alone for the Wraithe.

Memories of death flooded my mind - mine. Ages ago, I lived as a Celtic Shaman in Britannia, and had only a vague sense of the universe. Then the Romans invaded and labeled me a dangerous daemon. Watching my lifeless body swing from a tattered hangman's noose seemed, well... strange. Fortunately, the pain had lasted only a few moments.

But the afterlife did not claim my spirit. The Aeon, spiritual beings of concentrated consciousness that existed within the fabric of the universe, took me in and gave me new purpose. They didn't seem to mind that I was dead. Since then, I served as Warder for my home world, protecting humanity against cosmic threats beyond imagination.

But where were the others? "A little help would be nice," I spoke out loud to anyone that would hear, basically no one.

I chose to maintain my former body as a reminder of past humanity, a young version with sandy blonde hair and pale green eyes. No need to look old. Dress was casual today, like every day, with t-shirt and cargo pants. Maybe I should have worn some flashy superhero-type leotard?

Over two millennia, I watched from the shadows the triumphs and stumbles of humanity's evolution. Today, I broke the Warder's Code by revealing myself. Always had issues with rules.

I have met some notable characters, including Cleopatra VII Philopator, Marie Curie, and Elvis Presley. Then I killed them. The history books were not completely accurate. Well, actually, I killed the abominations that consumed their souls, actions also fatal to their bodies. So yeah, I guess I did kill them. But then I got them new jobs as Warders, courtesy of the Aeon. Where were they, anyway?

Folding my arms, I waited some more. "Well? Are we doing this or not?" I grumbled at the abyss.

When the Wraithe poured out from the rift, I regretted my impatience. Terrible monsters of dark psychic energy, they appeared as ghostly apparitions of black smoke, swirling in malevolent spirals. Their forms fluttered as if sheer dark curtains in a breeze. Ever hungry, they fed on sentient consciousness like vampires fed on blood, and humans were easy prey. If there was a list of worst-case scenarios for humanity, this made the top five.

But they had to get through me first. Famous last words...

Floating between them and dinner, the Wraithe charged me, spreading claws of dark energy. I extended psychonic blades from my hands, crafted from folded space-time. To human eyes, they resembled jagged swords of dazzling light.

I met their violent rage with some of my own. Claws slashed, and I slashed back. As they swirled, so did I in an aerial dance of psychic death. My blades flashed, cutting the Wraithe down. They perished with sickening screeches and bursts of light, then their black smoke forms exploded outward and faded away. Blue electric arcs traced gathering clouds and boomed in crackling thunder, a side-effect of razor edged space-time rupturing psychic energy.

But there were too many.

I screamed as dark talons raked my back. Twisting, I thrust a blade into the offending Wraithe. But another monster slashed my hip, and still another my shoulder. With each cut came a mental wave of dark despair, a desolation born of oblivion. As my vision clouded, I swung wildly, diving down and away.

Dazed, I plummeted into a grimy alley between abandoned brick buildings, crashing into a pile of weathered pallets beside rusty dumpster bins. Shattered old wood tumbled down on me and startled rats scurried away. The place smelled of damp rot.

A cold drizzle fell from grayed skies onto my crumpled form. I struggled to maintain consciousness as my life energy leaked away. Holding up a hand, I watched its physical embodiment flicker like failing fluorescent lights.

A line from Tina Turner's song 'We Don't Need Another Hero' came to mind. I liked that tune.

"We are the children,

The last generation.

We are the ones they left behind."

Soon, the Wraithe will swarm this world and humanity will suffer. With my failure, it will be me who left them behind.

Death comes again for me, but this time there was little pain, only despair. The flow of space-time and the undulating fabric of reality I perceived as reborn to it, but the true destination of death still laid beyond my vision.

Before my eyes closed for the last time, a comfortable shimmer of wrinkled space-time encased my physical form. Surging with warmth, it funneled energy from the universe, reviving me like a healing elixir.

Smirking down at me with arms crossed was a woman with long dark hair, dressed in blue jeans and a white tank top. Not just any woman, but the famed Cleopatra. "So, I have to save your arse again."

With a hand, she helped me stand. I returned her smirk. "If you recall, I saved your soul first. Or were you in denial?" She gave me a blank look with a slight lowering of eyebrows. I explained, "Get it? Denial sounds like 'the Nile'?"

Scrunching her eyes shut, she grumbled, "Oh, I got it. For like the hundredth time. You need new puns, Angus."

During her reign over Egypt, Cleopatra often acted with brutality, a product of her times. But like me and the others, becoming a Warder gave her a new perspective on life, and she changed. We all became the truest of friends.

Flashes of light and space-time from above caught my eye as two figures darted among swirling black. Elvis and Marie were fully engaged with the Wraithe. I pointed up. "Glad you all could make the party. Shall we?"

A smile brightened Cleopatra's face as psychonic blades emerged from her hands, lighting up the alley in brilliant white. "Yes, we shall."

And so we did. Four Warders with eight flashing blades made quick work of the remaining Wraithe, except for three who fled into an abandoned warehouse flanking the alley. Elvis streaked after them, wearing his signature white rhinestone-studded bell-bottom pants and jacket from his performance years, unlike the rest of us who were content with casual clothing. After a few moments, he emerged victorious.

With a grin, I called out, "Elvis has left the building!"

Suspended in the air, he struck an iconic pose and replied in a characteristic accent, "Thank you. Thank you, very much."

Floating beside me, Marie Curie rolled her eyes back. "Oh mon Diou, will you two ever cease?"

"One more task to complete." Cleopatra said, motioning toward the rift.

Side by side, the four of us patched closed the dark rift, stitching it shut with threads of curved space. As we did, the gloomy clouds dwindled and bright sunshine pierced through as if nothing of importance occurred here.

Only when I looked down did I realize how big an audience we had. Hundreds had gathered in the city below to witness the battle, most with cell phones pointed upwards.

Marie pulled out her own cell phone from a leggings pocket and scrolled through it. "It appears we have gone viral. Our existence is known, and like innocence lost, there is no going back."

"How did this rift form?" Cleopatra asked.

"The humans," Marie replied. "They experiment with the fabric of reality and inadvertently opened it."

The Wraithe were the primary reason so few space-faring species exist in our universe. When advanced civilizations begin developing technology that might ultimately lead to faster-than-light travel, they warped space-time, compressing it until it ripped, and unintentionally bringing the Wraithe upon them. The beasts were the 'great filter' that ended societies before they ventured into interstellar space. Normally, the fabric of our universe, the quantum fields of empty space, held them back in their own dimension, and only rarely does one or two make it through. But things here had changed.

Cheers and boisterous applause rose from below. Elvis preened and waved to the crowd. "We're celebrities again." He turned to me with a mischievous grin. "Except for you, Angus. You're still a fame virgin. Stick with us and we'll show you how it's done."

"More like superheroes," I grumbled.

"Oui," Marie said while surveying the throng. "So what do we do now?"

The chorus of Tina Turner's song played in my mind.

"We don't need another hero.

We don't need to know the way home.

All we want is life beyond the Thunderdome."

"Perhaps," I replied, "They do not need heroics as much as guidance. We will show them the way."