Abel stumbled wildly through the ruins of a once peaceful town. The grand archway of a beautiful church had crumbled into dust and the perfectly geometrical cobblestone streets were flooded by scarlet rivers of blood. The night sky was blocked by the smoke of funeral pyres in the distance and Abel remembered with horror the hours he had spent arranging the bodies, some horrifically mangled beyond recognition. Through all of this, Abel managed to find a stream that had not been polluted with blood and used the water to cleanse himself and his stained armor. While he was bathing, Abel recalled the events of the last week and relayed this information over in his mind; perhaps hoping to find a loophole that would contradict the laws of space-time and allow him to erase the past.
One week earlier…
"The new commander has arrived!" The guards shout spread through the garrison like wildfire. A new commander had reached the Pravoka garrison only a couple of days after the original commander, Garland, had been reassigned to protect the Princess of Cornelia, Princess Sara. Since then, the garrison had been on shaky ground. Pravoka had only recently come over Cornelian rule and the threat of a newly risen unknown Revolution had put troop morale low and led the men to believe that an attack could come at any moment. This, combined with the weak leadership of the interim commander, had left the garrison itself on the brink of mutiny. The news that the new commander would be fresh from command school helped with this little. The only saving grace was that this new commander, Abel, was the son of Garland. Of course, lineage wasn't everything. The child had barely strapped on the cape that signified he was a commanding officer before he called a meeting of the garrison's forces.
Abel strode along the garrison's unstable wooden walls while his men gathered in the courtyard below. The walls themselves were rickety and weak, the buildings poorly constructed, and the small access roads running in and out were unguarded and dirtied with the litter of the soldiers. With enemy intel stating that the garrison itself was to be attacked within the week. He would have to get the garrison in defendable shape if they were to survive. He looked at Pravoka itself. While the town had stone walls, they too were shoddy. The garrison would be the only point of defense. Abel sighed wearily. It would take him months to get the garrison in shape with 50,000 men. He only had 10,000 and they would be distrusting of the novice commander, despite his lineage. It would be a tedious job.
"Sir," Abel's second in command, Gerald, called to him, "They have assembled." Abel sat down at the edge of the wall, legs dangling over the courtyard below him. The 10,000 men were hastily assembled and out of formation. Some were talking amongst themselves or trading illegal goods. Abel cleared his throat to get their attention, to no avail. He then decided on a different strategy. He stood on the garrison wall and drew his sword. The hiss of the drawn sword attracted some attention, but that was quickly lost as well. Abel looked near the ringleader of a miniature black market and took aim. He threw his sword deftly, and it slid point first into the ground just inches away from the man's foot. He immediately had the attention of every soldier in the garrison.
"GET INTO FORMATION!" Abel's order was delivered quickly before any men had time to recover from their astonishment. The men immediately snapped into formation. "A sorry lot you all are," He paused momentarily to push his spiky blonde hair out of his face. "You've not only left the garrison in a shoddy shape for attack but you've damn near mutinied as well? You could have been working yet you decided to sleep or trade ILLEGAL FUCKING GOODS?!" Abel snatched one of the few remaining items still revolving around the troops, a tuft of Phoenix Down. "You," Abel pointed at the ringleader of the garrisons recently acquired black market, "Get out here." The seasoned private marched out of line in front of Abel. "What is your name?"
"Dargon, sir."
"Dargon huh. Do you know what this is Dargon?" Abel raised the Phoenix Down in Dargon's face.
"That is a tuft of Phoenix Down sir." Dargon's reply was unsure, yet he delivered it with intensity in his eyes.
"A Class IV Restorative," Abel looked at him coldly, "Highly rare and illegal for troops to own due to its addictiveness."
"Yes sir!"
"I could discharge you from the garrison for this, hell I could execute you."
"But you will not sir." With that sentence, Dargon had challenged Abel's authority. If he faltered here, Abel would lose the little trust his advisors and men had for him.
"Why is that?" Abel's anger was to its extremities at this point.
"Because you need me to finish the garrison," Dargon replied simply, "You need every single man if we have any hope of surviving this revolutionary assault."
"You are correct," Abel replied, "Hand over your sword." Dargon reluctantly complied and let Abel examine his sword. Then, without warning, Abel ran the blade through his stomach. Blood sprayed both Abel and the troops immediately behind Dargon. Abel removed the blade and Dargon fell in a crumpled heap at his feet. Nobody breathed for fear that Abel would do the exact same to them. Abel himself looked down at Dargon's body coldly, and then Abel became enveloped in a golden aura. The Phoenix Down in his hand magically erupted into flames. He placed the burning tuft onto Dargon's body which was soon burning as well. Abel leaned against a support beam and waited for the fire to burn out and then he lifted the now alive and well Dargon to his feet.
"Will you ever do it again?" Abel questioned Dargon with authority. Despite dying just moments ago, he still had a look of defiance in his eyes, yet Dargon agreed with Abel's order to disband the black market. "Good," Abel nodded with approval, "now go to the White Mage's Guild in town and finish patching yourself up." Dargon bowed and immediately removed himself from Abel's sight. "Gerald! Get these men to work," Abel paused for a brief moment to think about something, "Oh and promote that Private Dargon to Sergeant."
