The day we learned the true horror of battle. Of the meaning of strength. That before any physical battle, the psychological one must be fought.

What makes a survivor? The will to grind to become stronger, being resourceful and forming alliances with others? We thought we'd known it all, spoiled by our peaceful society; sitting at home, tapping away at our computers, pretending we were strong to a world that could not see us.

"But we in the lead group have more people and higher levels than they. They may actually surrender without fighting!"

But a survivor lives, because he kills others to do it.

Such nonsense was our leader's words, when we fought and came to understand the members of Laughing Coffin in a clash of feral strikes. One side aimed to kill, the other simply cowered in fear.

When one is resolved to take another's life, they are resolved to the risk of losing their own. A man is most dangerous when he has nothing to lose. We learned. Logic and rationality mattered little. The will to kill was what they had, and what we desperately needed but did not.

The scent of roses filled my nostrils. Her favourite shampoo. She'd often teased and twirled her hair in my face, calling my name and smiling at me with that soft, loving gaze.

A sudden pain racked my rib cage, and I awoke from my daydream. The devil entered my soul through my eyes, his glare transforming into an icy hand that penetrated deep into my heart. I looked down and saw a deep shattering gash of red across my side. Blood gushed out without pause, pieces of bone dotting that ocean of red, meat- My vision blurred from the unexpected onslaught of pain, and my mind flashed a scene of my would-be death. The devil's grin widened as he pushed forward-

only to be swiped back by a thick, black sword. The Black Swordsman.

A young man of nothing more than fifteen, seventeen at best. How frantic his eyes were, darting everywhere, pausing just a bit more on the vice commander than everyone else. The desire to protect, did that also give one the strength to kill?

"DON'T DIE ON ME!"

His yell shocked my body into immediate action. It knelt beneath his sword, raised my own, and plunged it deep into the tattered mantle of the devil that attacked me. As the game registered and drained the last bits of his remaining life bar, I felt time slow. That sound of crushing flesh, the feeling of futile resistance it gave against my blade's entrance. Two crimson rivers began to pour forth from his lips, a geyser of red erupting from where the tip of my sword met his body.

A five ton rock dropped in my stomach at the realization of what I had just done. Instinctively, I brought a hand to my mouth, knees trembling, but still held as I weakly looked up.

-but his eyes shone with sinful thrill and ecstasy, his lips curling further up in a menacing grin. ...oh, but such fun while it lasted.

Ah...so that's how a murderer dies.

My savior leapt forward to parry another slash. What strength he had at such a young age, that I could only desire though I am a full grown man. He has shamed me with his courage and bravery. Blood slithered down my sword toward my hands. I gritted my teeth. I may have lost to a boy, but I want to live. Who will protect her if I'm gone?

Lunging forward, I slashed another devil. There was less resistance this time, plus I didn't feel sick. They say you absorb a devil's power if you kill one. I'm going to get stronger, and I'm going to see her again.

Two.

I'm going to get stronger and kill as many devils as I need to, so I can see her again.

Three.

I'm going to kill as many devils as I can and see her again.

Four.

I'm going to kill as many as I can, then see her again.

Five.

I'm going to kill to see her, and kill again-

I love her so much. I miss her so much. I want to show her how strong I've become.