War, Love and Strife

Prologue

He could taste blood in his mouth. The sickening iron torrent of fluid made him wretch. He looked up with his eyes at his assailant. He felt his life slip away, the growing pool of red drench the ground. On the ground, he felt the screaming burn of metal in his flesh as the blade left him once more.

"I... hate.." he rasped, coughs violently sending globules of blood dripping off his chin. He wanted to finish the sentence. "I...hate.." he tried again. The beautiful woman who stood in front of him turned away, sheathing her short blade as he could hear her fading cries, echoing on the wind.

Desperately, he raised his arm with what little strength he had left. Grasping the figure's leg, he held his hand against his chest- a feeble attempt to to stem the endless flow of crimson liquid. Blood bubbled on his mouth as he raised his bloodshot eyes to meet the turning attacker. "Never..." he managed to get out as he felt his grip go slack, his vision began to fade.

He heard weeping and cries, creeping through the blood. 'I hate what I've done,' he muses. 'Never forget.' Opening his eyes to see the world frozen, he felt his strength abandon him once more. The burning of chains stung his flesh as he looked to his sides to see howling demonic wolves screaming for retribution. Death, it seems, would not let him escape. He closed his eyes with a soundless sigh, accepting his damnation.

He heard screams and wails, dancing in the flames. Feeling the agony of a thousand suns, his back charred and flayed from the flogging demons. "Punish! Punish!" the multitudes cried out. He shuddered and gasped at every lash.

He heard peals of bells and the sound of joyous laughter, ringing on its toll. The demons fled from Her presence, the man falling to his knees, tears silently dripping. The burning faded away, leaving the warmth of a mother in its place. The blood drained away, and in its place rose the pride of a father. Life, it seems, would never leave him.

"Arise, child," he heard Her glorious voice. The sound of golden chimes and singing choirs. "You rose a hero, and fell into darkness. You conquered the abyss, only to be condemned to it," She whispered in his ear, as he felt a ray of light embrace his chest. He weeped openly, Her love reclaiming his soul. "Mother Life," he whispered. "I wish to be fall asleep. Why must you torture me so?"

She shed a tear at his pain, the agony of living too much for him. "My child, death shall not claim you today," she proclaimed, "Death has claimed many, his hellspawn consuming the light. We can not fail, we must not fall."

He knew where this was going. He knew what he had to do. He was needed to serve the Light once more, defending those of the Faith. His service of Life was eternal, but Death claimed even those of Life.

He was needed to save the condemned. Bring back the fallen. Purify in righteousness. Cleanse in heavenly fury. He knew where he was going. He knew what had to be done.

And so he departed into this world, the sounds of whispers and voices echoing down his path.

Chapter 1 of War, Love, and Strife

Corporal James R. Dural was about to die. His automatic assault rifle was completely empty, now used as a bludgeon to fend off the endless hordes of the undead. He heard a scream as he looked over his left shoulder, seeing his longtime squad mate, Peter "Rainman" Smith, now dead. Swarming over his corpse were undead souls, tearing apart his body and devouring his soul. He felt somewhat sad at his friend's death, but he shook it off quickly. War, he noticed, did that to people.

War. The word tasted bitter in his mouth. War with the undying enemy. War with the enemy that shrinks your ranks to swell theirs.

War. He hated this. The fight for survival never ended. Hearing a shriek, he snapped back to reality as an undead lunged for him, putting a rotting hand on his arm. He gasped at its strong grip as he attempted to get it away from him desperately. The mouth opened with a loud crack, the jaw opening to insane sizes. It cracked again as it came down violently against his flesh.

He screamed in agony at the feeling, the zombie not pausing for him to catch his breath. The zombie opened its jaw for another bite as James grit his teeth, preparing for his final act of defiance. Taking a grenade from his belt, he-

There was a flash of lightning behind of James, temporarily throwing the undead ghoul off of James at the blast. James held his left arm with his right, howling in agony as he viciously kicked the undead until its head became nothing but a stain in the ground. Revenge, he thought bitterly, will not stop me from becoming what you were.

Seeing the horde retreating, he paused his moaning to look around, curious as to why an unthinking, unintelligent horde of undead was making a tactical decision. That was when he turned around.

There was a figure in white, glowing, pure white. The man walked forward, the ground healing underneath his feet. Flowers sprouted from his footholds, vines growing where he touched the trees. The man came to James and noticed his arm and his teary face. His hand went to the wound as James opened his mouth in protest. "I-" he was cut off by the flow of energy wrapping itself around his arm. Black blood drained itself from the open wound as the skin and sinew rejoined together, his arm looking as if nothing had happened.

James looked at his arm in shock. "I," he began, confused. "Thank you." The man nodded silently as he opened his mouth to speak. "Gather your allies, friend. Come here and await me once more. I will purify those who have fallen." His friendly voice was surprisingly soft, yet... loud.

James nodded dumbly, in utter shock that he hadn't gone into cardiac arrest, had a hemorrhage... died. The zombie plague was incurable. But this man appeared out of no where in a flash of white, and cured him as if it was nothing. Shaking his head, he went off to begin his task set to him by the angelic man.

The hordes of undead were trapped against a large stone wall, the mountain finally betraying the unliving, rather than the living. Moans echoed in the stone cavern as the man approached the opening to the cave. He lifted his hands, calling upon the fury of the Almighty Holy ones, and he sent a blast of pure energy towards the mouth of the dark abyss. As it neared the trapped hordes of the undead, the white blast split into hundreds of thousands of smaller energy pulses.

He walked into the soundless darkness, casting a spell to dispel the darkness, bathing the walls with light. The undead, he noticed, were smarter than they looked. He pretended to not notice he was walking into a trap. The stench of undead flesh filled his nose as he felt a drip of a liquid hit his cheek. It sizzled, the corrupt waters becoming clean before falling at his feet once more.

Then they attacked. With howls, hundreds of undead leaped at the man, who swiftly summoned his weapon. the two-headed executioner's axe was golden and white, littered with empowering gems such as ruby and diamond. The edge of the blades were aflame, lit with the anger and wrath of the Most High God, as he swung his blade. The handle detached from the axehead, the axehead being extended by a silver chain.

He swung the Holy weapon around him, purifying the enslaved and condemning the willing. The fiery axehead blazing brighter and brighter the more souls he purified. Blazing corpses were left, souls of the damned screaming as they plummeted to the abyss of eternal night. The ascending purified lit the man's path as he carved his way through the horde.

The night fell as the cries of the damned quieted, finding the blood-drenched being leaving the cavern. "I pray for those who have fallen, Mother," he whispers. "I pray their suffering may be blotted out, their hatred wiped away, their shame cleansed."

Walking back to the meeting point, the man felt something point against his head. "Don't move," a strong woman's voice commanded him.