My back didn't hurt much this morning. Yes, it's still something out of nightmares, but it's like when you have a fever, but there isn't a headache. It is less than ideal, but compared to what was the past, this is heaven. But something feels off.

Why in a single night would my back get better out of nowhere? Why of all nights was this one the chosen one? Couldn't it be beforehand? It isn't like a god is trying to bless me with some miracles. Otherwise, I would get a vision of angels or something more miraculous than solving spine problems. After all, gods don't care about such simple worries. But I will take what I can get. Anyways, I need to get my meal, caring too much about these small trinkets will only make any loss way more bitter than it should be.

After making the daily trek, I find myself once again munching on yesterday's meal, or so I think. But from the corner of my eye, I feel the presence of someone staring back at me, stalking me. I gaze around to see if there is someone doing the act and finish the food in an instant. I need to get out of here quickly.

I see Henry gazing back at me, but before I can avoid the encounter altogether, he puts his palm in front of him, making me stop in my tracks, his sudden appearance almost causing me to fall to the ground.

"You are going on a raid today." Henry states, dry as the Sahara.

"Wait, when?" My face is gobsmacked by the suddenness of this act. Why me of all people?

"Today. Didn't you listen before?"

"So right now, or way later?" I reply

"So you were asking that? That isn't important. Anyways, bandits aren't like corpses, they can't just be thrown off without a care. So you are going with Tharja and some people to gut some of them off."

He dodged the question, great to hear. Maybe I should…

I open my mouth then wisely shut course, it's obvious I'm not going to have a choice in the matter, nobody does in this war.

"What are you going to say?" Henry inquires while looking at me with his hands on his chin, with his brows furrowed. Courting his body as if he is searching something in me

"Nothing." Yep, I should have sewed my mouth shut months ago.

"Just nothing? You are faker than an undead trying to hide it's animated,," Henry replies with skepticism on his face, eyebrows raised making a frown while staring at me, as if he was seeing through my hesitation.

I defuse the question, by throwing another one in. "We are going now?" It seems to work, because his frown reduces for a bit, but...

"Only that? No, I'm not. But you, Gabriel, despite looking deader than some corpses I've encountered , you are going in there." He says devoid of emotion, coldness when speaking my name, compared to how jokey he often is. Whether this is the true Henry or not, isn't important. In the end, if I screw up I don't want to face his ire.

"I only need to call the other ones as well."

Henry turns his back to me while raising his hands and waving them at me, before he disappears in the crowd. I wonder who they might be? Either way, I doubt I will be speaking with them, it would be a waste of time and breath.

I sigh for a moment. Nothing ever truly goes like the way I have planned. Yesterday was weird with the whole debacle with the Emir. Even though I make these little routines to make myself calm, they are seemingly destroyed by the events of my life. But every single day is the same. Why do I have these paradoxical feelings? I will be stuck for the foreseeable future…

A high pitched voice barges, not excited, only with a high tone and nothing else. I shrug my shoulders, and gaze back at the loud man and a group of people behind his back. Great, I need to walk with strangers, my day is getting better and better by the second.

"So here are the people you are going with." Henry points to a group, and I pay attention towards their composition. Inside there is an axeman with a ruffian face, a swordsman and one raven dark mage. Are you kidding me? I don't voice my complaint, as to avoid making a scene which would only worsen this insufferable existence.

"Do you know how we're going?" I try to hide my own disappointment, not reacting and seemingly only care about the objective. But, how am I capable of keeping this same reaction, what if in the next hours, anger takes hold of me and explodes and jeopardizes everyone around me?

"Tharja is going to lead the way, she knows the information." How much salt do they want to put in my wound? And besides, how the hell does she know where the bandits are?

...take an extra precaution, what if it is an ambush and to be killed like what was planned? What am I supposed to do?

"Don't you think there is a better way? Remember, I look like a carcass. Don't you think there is someone better for the job?" I ask, perhaps a barging or realizing that I may not be fit for the job will save me some precious seconds. Instead Henry's face still maintain resolute not changing for a bit

"These are your orders, Gabriel. And you and the group are going to complete it."

Damn it. I let my head fall somewhat and go towards the group. I guess this will be a long day after all.

One and two. One and two. The typical rhythm of a march, the so much organized ones and twos, what would the military world be without you? The excitement and sheer energy possessed by these two single beats makes up for a lot of great music, and therefore great distractions to what is happening at the moment. Suffice it to say, what I'm doing right now is nothing but a great march. I should have bought the darn thunder after all and get the phone ready, at least I would be hearing something to pass the time.

A lot of things can be said about our "march into the mountains''.

First of all, this is everything but a march, since we aren't walking into a rhyme of preordained and imperative ones and twos, it's more along the lines of "One and…. two… and it's supposed to be one again, right? Nah, it's eleven."

Second of all, I doubt anyone wants to be here. The walk in the mountains is more like a hellish endeavor, rocks that keep hitting your feet, terrains so steep that before you know it your foot has an acute angle of 75 that makes the tendons catch into fire and sting, leading to the chorus of the formication, in this off tune duet, where only discord and dissonance are the solers rulers of it.

The sun keeps striking our heads and make sweat the only liquid available on this arid mountain, but even then it evaporates faster than one could ever hope to drink it or it seep into our clothes, gluing to skin and soaking us in the - at the same time - dry and humid landscape where our hopes for a day without any actions were dazed off by this mission to kill bandits.

Heck, I even wonder how these bastards are even capable of staying in here without going mad. But then again the camp is already making me more insane, at least, they don't need to endure a Gangrel-like figure, right?

Third of all, Tharja. Despite all these challenges, this terrain where only the most patient of climber can shrug it off as easy, a party where no one has a single idea of where we are supposed to go and and what was the purpose of this entire trip, at least I would just forget and be on my own without the need to talk to anyone. And before long this trip would mix with all the other ones stored in my head to become only a blurry mess to be forgotten.

But since the place is too narrow, not allowing anyone to walk into whatever they wanted, we can only go in pairs to make life easier. "We are going to the front, while the dark mage goes behind and instructs us.'' they told me at the beginning. So Tharja and I don't exchange any words or glances at each other. We just walk beside each other like a pair, but the air feels thick, to the point, I'm more eating it than properly breathing. Migraine fills my head with the little sticking test with their blades. I can only look at my feet, since the other options are either staring at the wall or Tharja and the abyss, therefore the only viable option is the one where it allows me to see if I'm not falling down or not.

The sweat on my face doesn't alleviate the matter. As some might say, I would be killing something to get my head away from these problems, to make all go away. But sadly, a mission is a mission, and my sentiment on the matter is more worthless than paper money in ancient Rome. Still, why did it have to be with her?

There is simply no action to be found here until finding their stupid hideout and eliminate them. But life never works as going from point A to point B, you need to do research, find the place and nothing else, and forget the vertigo of having to walk in this ramp, where one misstep could make the difference between having to experience the war or not having it to.

Tharja quickly glances at me. I grab into my fist. Why can't I stop having my feelings all over the matter. Her actions and everything made my blood boil into a syrup, my teeth grit and my nerves pulsating onto my neck, while I try not to imagine a future where it doesn't end with her corpse being thrown around. A part of me wishes that it didn't matter, that we can go back to a place that looked before I had my denial on the matter, but as I said before you can never go back to how it was before, as the decay is one of the few constants.

Tharja whispers to herself something, which I can barely hear. I can't help but be in cotempt, this is the person who had a hand into one of my murder attemps. But also I can't even understand why I keep this rancor inside me, why can't I just flee away from them as they only make my stomach churn from this. But this is all familiar commonality, something so close that I even have a fraction of it appear on me to make the whole picture visible to me. Mother.

"What?" I ask, trying to conceal my anger and keeping a strained poker face, where my veins seem only to pop.

"It was nothing" Tharja replied embarrassed as with that affirmation came out from the unconscious, a Freudian slip as some might want to add.

"Ok" Is all I reply. Despite this exchange only lasting for a few seconds, it only made the mood worse as we became even more strangers as the silence only made the next answer or even question more of an effort than what it was worth.

Such is the way towards being meaningless. But then again, this is how life in this camp has been reduced to, just pure unadulterated and grating boredom. You know that boredom, where it seems that words never finish and the second keeps lasting on and on, no matter what. But before you know it life strikes again and that whole precious seconds were wasted down to never go back again. The place never ends, the abyss never ends, the way to die never ends, the awkwardness never ends, this war never ends. Nothing seems to end at all.

"Aren't we any closer to the place?" I voice my own madness as a child stuck in a car with their parents, wondering where they will finally go to the damn destination they have rambled and promised so much about.

"I don't know. The woman hasn't replied at all. " One of the man answers, sighing while gasping his breath, the difference between the nullified to me. As the mind can register one thing different from the two, the weapons they carry.

"Nowhere near closer." Tharja strikes back with absolute venom in her words that makes him shut up and let the remaining of the journey become a silent crawl towards this damned camp;

I guess this is a collective hell after all, the incredible march to somewhere. That somewhere, not even god knows about this forsaken place if he existed. But then again, if he was omniscient, god would know about it, after all that what they is supposed to be doing, but that would be a paradox if this was the Christian, jewish or whatever monesteistic omniscient gods there is, but then again this wouldn't apply to other metaphysical entities, or so I guess.

Heck, is Reflet even listening to me right now? I look down at my pocket and the spark isn't sparking. Whatever you tell Reflet, I'm telling you right now, don't try to hide away from me, I know you are doing this.

When are we going to arrive at this place?

After never ending minutes, whereupon rambles upon rambles pile up into my mind on how I was rambling too much. Things are too silent, way too silent to my tastes, to the point our steps served as the sole noise, but even then only a bit of noise doesn't make the world less silent.

"Have we arrived at the place yet?" I ask once again trying to ignore the cold sensation on my stomach and the freezing sweat on my face.

"I think we are close to somewhere" The one with the axe says while looking down at what seems to be a camp inside a vale between the mountains.

"This is the place" Tharja replies, putting her finger in front of her lips, demanding for silence. We follow suit before anyone can voice any complaints.

Maybe they are hiding into their own tents and maybe they have noticed us and are readying themselves to attack. Whatever it may be, the guts churn on the thoughts of the possible deadly encounter in the vale, my own sickness turning into an alarm, screaming at me that everything feels wrong.

On the other hand, my mind fights off against the feeling, trying to rationalize it. After all, we were at a scalding heat, crossing a hellish steep obstacle where we felt the tendons rip apart. …I let go of my mind.

Sickness is awful to deal with, but it never lies or confuses you. it always tells you what is wrong. Or my mind just got crazy enough to think sickness is good enough to serve as a radar for everything which has gone wrong, then again, my body and mind always have to adapt to their surroundings.

We go to your slow descent into the camp, readying our weapons and tomes, as any fight could be breaking down at every single instance. The tents get closer to us while doubt besets on like glue. When are they going to attack? Did they die already? Many questions, not enough answers.

Arriving at the ground of the abyss, not a single sound is made from the tents or behind them, only our footsteps and only the remnants appear namely, scraps of food and human waste. The small fire pit had long sizzled out, the wood charred black and the ashes missing, carried by the wind, therefore only leaving the pot above it and the burned down fuel.

"Huh, there is no one here." I spit out to myself only.

"Weird. From the report it said, there was supposed to be someone."

Checking of the tents led to nowhere as any hint of people had disappeared long ago. Well, that is great. What the hell are we supposed to be doing then?

Wait a second...

"I have found something very weird." The axeman comes back with a bag of pockets on each of his hands. "I have found plegian money, but it looks like they were minted in the capital." He says surprised.

As for me and Tharja, our reactions are way less surprising. I knew from the start Gangrel was financing the bandits. And for the stranger, she also guessed the king would use less than moral tactics to win the war. Surprises aren't surprising when you know the antics of the person in question. Meanwhile the swordsman stands in there emotionless

"We aren't going back," Tharja intervenes. What? What the hell is she thinking?

"Why aren't we going back?" The axeman glares to tharja, his face contorting and scowling back at her.

"Aren't you the one who should know better? Do you think just because they aren't here, they ceased to exist completely? What if they are waiting to ambush us, attacking us when they are the least ready for them, especially if we walk somewhere as narrow as the way we got here? Let's eliminate them before they make more trouble for us." Tharja replies, her order imperative to everyone and her composure intact, not giving in to her anger. "I'm not a leader, but I'm not clueless." She spits out.

In the end, Tharja is still Tharja, a venomous snake ready to attack anyone who thinks she may be docile. She almost caught me once, never again. I'm tired of this false promise.

"So you are suggesting that we just wait here? Wasting this entire day for some people that might never appear again?" The man strikes.

"Do you prefer delayed death or to ensure your life?" Tharja replies without any anger, just pure coldness, as if this was the fact she was talking about.

"No thanks, I'm going back. There is no point in staying here" the axeman said, with the sack of money on his shoulder while getting out of the camp and leaving us alone.

Confusion then takes hold of my mind. Even If it is Tharja speaking, I know from experience what she is trying to say, but at the same time agreeing with her, means staying with a complete stranger, but going with the other guy is not smart, since I barely know the dude. What should I do, what should I do? Is it a better idea to deal with the devil that I know or the true stranger standing in front of me?

Then the air pierces, the force hitting my face, making me blink. I turn back to see what it is is. A arrow, a freaking arrow! Oh no, I knew it! It was an ambush all along!

My first reaction is simple. Flee towards the tent, maybe they can serve as a shield for me. Tharja, having the same idea, goes straight towards the only piece of protection in this entire rift. But before he could move, an arrow hit him in the neck, dropping him dead.

"Damn it!" screams the axemen, hit by the arrow in his leg, little drops of blood coming out, while the coins from the bags fall out and resonate within the vale alongside the harrowing growl like of an animal. He crawls through the ground, little painful gasps coming out of his mouth as he tries to take a swig of air and get away from the next wave.

The tent serves as a cover from the massacre as we hide away to avoid death itself. The crawling man barely makes it out, only to go towards the end of the tent and voice his complaints. "You dark mage dickheads! This wouldn't have happened if you weren't stalling so much!"

Tharja doesn't even bother to respond and only glares at him leaving him whimpering on his own.

The anxiety chew at me, the worst already playing through my mind. My neck being cut down, arrows arriving at my eyes, the void becoming the last thing in mind and shock burning my eyes. Dammit. My hands shake and grab as hard as possible into my arms, the pressure increases as the pain becomes more intense.

It feels wrong to just stay there. I want to get out of there now, but if I get out, I may be killed in another volley. What a cursed matter! Tharja looks saddened at my reactions, tapping my foot incessantly, while grappling hard against my own arm. I'm losing control again, I'm always fucking losing control. Damn it! As I shut my mouth and grit my teeth to not scream at the top of my lungs in anger.

This is always happening, the worst is always happening, I can't even have a single moment of peace? Is it too much to ask!? I ready myself to punch somewhere, anywhere to dispel it, to eliminate this hell from my mind. What can I do!? What can I do!? UM! Dois! Três . Acalma-se caramba, você tá pior do que nunca, seu idiota! Acha o que é? Morre ou acalma-se, ou você é tão patético que não consegue aguentar flechas. Quão mesquinho e narcisista você é.

The shock and tremor seemingly disappear, as I slowly come to my senses. My legs tremble, the energy long sapped, while the migraines strike back, pricking my head like a hole. What a pathetic thing I have done! Why can't I even control this hellish battle?! The shame pucnture me back all the same, it is all the same story, go back again to this same primordial mess of having this stupid meltdown.

I fall down to the ground flat, left and right mixes as the world becomes scrambled, contorting into madness. Is Tharja in front of me? The ceiling lower than ever before, and the outside contorted into oblivion. Tharja looks at me, emotion doesn't come off from her, but it seems that some small pity does. Do I even need her pity? Do I need to go back to the same cycle as back home? Do I need to get betrayed every single second?

I don't know anymore. I barely know anything at this moment. What I know is the worst is happening. I breathe in, letting the air flow to the lungs as I begin to calm myself down, the anger beginning to dissipate, despite the shame coming back all the same. The crawling sensation of death comes close to the neck, shutting it off. As the all important matter of survival takes the seat of my crazed mind.

"Are you fine?" Tharja asks as she frowns at my collapse. I don't answer, as childish as it may seem. I don't want to talk with her at all. Tharja doesn't frown at me and turns her head to the direction of the arrows as we wait for the enemy to come and kill us.

Little by little, our assailants pour out of the mountains as we hide ourselves from their attack onto their tents. Did they know that we were at the camp or are they making sure that we die? I don't know, how am I supposed to know this? What I know is I will die if I take the wrong step. One wrong move and I may consider asking myself if the afterlife is a real thing or not?

One, two, three, four men come out of the mountains into our direction, while other ones at the top ready their own bows.

I hold on to my Flux as the most important thing in the world, almosting whispering to myself it's waltz. Tharja makes a sign for me to stop with her hands. A part of me begins to question if this is a good idea or not. Should I trust the woman who almost killed me? In the end, I comply.

I doubt as much that she would kill me in a situation where both of our lives were at risk, I doubt she would have the time to betray us to the enemy. I hold from having any brusque movement, as to make the bandits more comfortable in the presence. The archers perceive any loss of movement, they begin to descend on us as their other units begin to approach the tent.

Um, dois… três. Like a waltz. The all familiar energy begins to pierce me, the sensation coming off more as a little shock rather than electrifying waves when I first had time.I begin to form the mist necessary to make such an attack, but I make way smaller trying to make it only pellet size

And with that I aim at one of the bastards' heads. Steady, trying to correct my vision and not make the anxiety take hold of me once again. Taking glances at Tharja to see if she was doing something similar with her Nosferatu or anything along those lines. What I can see is only a subte black mist enveloping her, the one where the flick of the arm could make the entire thing disappear in a matter of milliseconds and makes Tharja appear like a spectre, someone ready to kill but it's existence only limited by the few seconds she could do that.

As one bandits begins to cross and put his hand onto the tent, I unleash the spell, which goes directly into his skull, making a hard thud on the ground and making the bandits announce our presence: "Shit, the fuckers are here."

While inside the tent, I forgoes to continue attacking the bandits in front of us, and I aim at the archers. Tharja, on the other hand, releases her mist to the general area where the people are, sucking off their energy and making them collapse on the ground as they gasp for air, while making their skin very pale even when the sun is burning more hellish than anything in the world is capable of.

We still retain ourselves into the secluded tent while the archers ready their bows once again, readying themselves for the next kill. The stake increases while I try to get a clear picture to hit, but before I could take another shot against the bow bastards, one of the few unharmed men runs at me, dread filling me yet again.

As the area I can target grows, I doubt more and more if I'm capable of doing the attack, as my aim becomes rather loose and pellets begin to become more unstable and shake. The unease, an overbearing energy, becomes the engine fueling my possible demise.

I launch it, hoping for the best and the orbs hit his leg, making him fall in pain before he can reach the tent. The pain is hard enough to make him struggle rather than focusing on getting his hand on us, the scream echoing through the entire rift more like a dying animal than a person.

Noticing the opportunity, Tharja once releases nosferatu. The scream of the man ceasing with the touch of the mist. It spreading throughout the area, make the few foot soldier still left fall into the ground and leaving us alone in the ground level.

The archers are still a problem, their weapons ready to kill us at any moment as they hide behind the rocks. What a mess, what an awful and nauseating mess we are in. How are we going to finish them before they can shoot us? The possibilities of demise explode in my head, searching for any scrap where it could guarantee my survival.

In the end. I come to one conclusion. I use Flux once again, trying to make larger orbs and aim in their general direction, getting outside from the tent for a better vision. Making pot shots is necessary for my survival. One of them aims in my direction, while I still concentrate on the matter, his arrow almost strikes me, perforating a part of my robe.

But before I realize the damned thing hit me, I release the energy back to him. The bandit is taken off guard, as if it was the first time he saw something like this in his life. He freezes and the orb passes his body like a knife through butter, falling on the vale, his bloody corpse spraying blood everywhere on sight.

The other one also aims at me, but the energy and anxiety begins to fill me yet again, a flip flop between my possible demise or continued existence, the adrenaline begins to rush through me, but before I can take any longer, an arrow hits me in the arm, making my tome fall on the ground, the Flux dissipates and evaporates in the sky. Clutching my arm, I come to one conclusion: I'm the target now.

Dammit, Dammit. It burns, it burns like hell. What is the slash compared to the thing piercing my flesh? It is too itchy, I'm going to die isn't it? I scream at the top of my lungs, burning my throat, what an awful mess. I begin to cry because of the pain, the agony to remove the arrow increasing more and more.

The archer readies his bow once again. This is my death, isn't it? Dammit it, that was my mistake all along, what a pathetic excuse for a life. What a pathetic human being, I shouldn't have existed in the first place, I've only brought people misery and that is all I do, I can't help anyone, I can only make a mess of myself. Fuck!

But before I can call myself closer to death, Tharja launches her Nosferatu, the man gazes at the mist and doesn't move his body, as if confusion took a hold into him. The mistake give us victory at last. The mist touches, sucking his energy out and making his body fall into the cliff, the blood on the ground dry, not splashing. I fall on the ground, trying to survive, grasping for breath. my heart palpitates, while my hitted arm clutches in pain. I have survived, but for how long can I keep it?

"Well, it seems your guts have survived. I have underestimated you," says the white haired crow man, while I receive the healing of a white mage.

The arrow didn't hit anything life-threatening or caused crippling consequences for me. My flesh stitches itself, remaking the little connections there. It isn't painful, but it's like a cockroach was walking on my arm, the worst kind of itchiness there is.

"Please, don't put me on a mission where I have to raid something," I reply, trying not to sigh. Goddammit Henry!

"Don't worry!" He chirps "This was one of the last ones remaining in the area. After this, there will be no more raids. Shame you didn't bring the corpses." His voice tone low after not receiving his trinket. "Even a missing member would be terrific."

"Well, it wasn't my objective."

He cackles at my response. What? Why do I even try to apply logic to someone who has necromancy and death as a side hobby?

"True. I can't cry for something that I never had in the first place."

"Well, can you dismiss me now?"

"Very well, just don't forget to bring me a corpse next time. After all, I will never forget what you brought me that night."

My spine freezes at the sentence, while Henry smirks. He exits the tent and waves goodbye.

I sigh. This isn't the end. It never was. It is only the beginning, talk about explosive beginnings. But even then, I gaze at my hurt arm, my first injury on the "official" battlefield. Probably not the last one as worse will always come. In the end, even if I survive, what lies on the other side, peace or horror?

So that was a chapter. I don't really have much to add, beyond I suck at writing battles or just writing in general. I also apologize for every single grammar mistake, since it seems to be getting worse by now.

As for the axeman's fate… Well, he is alive and that is it. Seriously, he is only a minor character and nothing else. Saying this here, because there wasn't anywhere in the chapter that I felt that putting his state would fit the chapter, besides my own laziness to add a new scene to just mention his state. Yep, I need to improve my work ethic, sorry.

Special Thanks for Cavik for reading my fic and for everyone that reads the fic, seriously, I appreciate your support very much. Also, reviews help me a ton and are always as appreciated, so don't feel afraid to give me a review.

Lastly, I can be found in discord alongside with other very nice folk, feel free to join. Here is the link: discord. gg / 9XG3U7a

Anyways, AN time

Crowbars357: Well, excellent question. Very simple, no. He has a much better plan… for which I don't really know how to complete the joke. So here is what is supposed to be the punchline. Não sei

2010si: Hope you like this arc of war. Not going to be the best war arc ever, but I will try and see what I can do. Well, I think the answer lies in this chapter. Good friend… I think that is a little bit debatable. You're welcome