Author's Note: This story was an idea I've had for a long time. It began long before my first exposure to JoJo. The First World War, unlike the Second, captivated me from a young age. Something about the idea of running through mud and trenches and abandoned villages got stuck in my mind. This was a recurring setting for many of my stories. Naturally, when I got into JoJo, I instantly saw potential. The chaos of the war matches that of JoJo. It is not an ordinary fanfiction as it seeks to find a message unlike those in the original work. Here, the readers are intended to tackle a deep fear seated in the consciousness of humanity. When conflict arises, how do you react? While there is an antagonist, the true villain is the war itself, pitting good people against one another and bringing out the worst in them. Most cannot hope to retain their humanity afterwards, leaving them changed and scarred. When you dive into this tale, keep in mind the horrors people went through in real life and how many came out willing to go through them again. As a side-note, Peter Jackson's They Shall Not Grow Old demonstrates everything I've said. It's a good watch, if a little graphic.

Chapter 2 will be taken down until I learn how to write stand fights.

London, 1914. A boy sixteen years of age gracefully dived into a swimming pool that was devoid of all life. His name was Henry Sallow, and he was on the path to greatness. Twisting and turning with Incredible finesse, he emerged from its depths without a hint of fatigue. He spent long hours practicing his techniques in the massive Victorian building. As the sun began to fade from view, he noticed a man who looked just over fifty had entered the building. A distinctive scar streaked across his face.

"You have immense skill, but I feel something beyond mere talent granted you such abilities. People with decades of experience in diving cannot compare to your prowess. Do you consider that luck?"

Henry was confused. What was the man going on about? He didn't believe in things like fate and superstitions. "I don't believe in the supernatural." He finally said after a long pause.

"You'll soon come to see that the world is not as neat and organized in its laws as you think. In a month's time I will make my return." With that the strange man left. The man was unable to keep his promise as an international crisis soon tore the world asunder. Two weeks after their encounter, war between the European powers broke out. Continental Europe was soon to become a battleground of nations.

A patriotic soul, Henry immediately joined the British Army to fight for King and Country. While most of his peers struggled to meet standards, Henry proved to have prodigious skill. However, this gave him as many enemies as friends. Many were the times where he'd be interrogated for how he was cheating. His chief rival was Samuel, a gruff twenty-two year old Scotsman from Edinburgh who nearly matched him. Samuel's hair was as fiery as his personality. As training progressed, his suspicion of Henry's skills increased. This was because some deep mistrust of others had been sown in him at a young age and grew in his mind over the years.

Finally, late at night, Samuel crept to his rival's bunk to figure out the secret to his success. Silently, an immense amount of spiritual energy left him, forming a black cloud around Henry's head. Before long he coughed awake with a start. He tried to speak but it only made his coughing worse and more painful. Kicking at his attacker made the cloud dissipate, and he sat up against a wall, staring at Samuel. Fear was in his eyes as he tried to comprehend what had just occurred.

"Who do you think you are? You're almost certainly cheating, but I don't know how. I can tell something's different about you. What's your secret?" Asked Samuel.

"What did you do to me?! You're not human! That thing… It isn't natural." Beside Samuel appeared a skeletal figure. It had the appearance and texture of charcoal, and was dressed in rags that looked similarly burnt.

"You can see it then." Returned Samuel as the entity became one with him, "You must have an ability like mine. People like us will be vital in the war effort."

"People like us? Are you saying there are others?"

"There have to be. If there are two of us, there's bound to be more."

"That'd mean the Germans would have these abilities too." That made Samuel go silent. They both knew what that meant. Among the common ranks of soldiers, numerous people with extraordinary powers lied in secret. In light of this threat to the long-term peace of humanity their rivalry instantly dissolved. As his training progressed, a deep fear gripped Henry that he just couldn't seem to shake. Normally he had an optimistic disposition, but this existential dread tore at his soul. This only worsened as the day of his departure to the Western front approached. Samuel, on the other hand, had an air of grim determination about him. Henry had a feeling something horrific was going to occur across the English Channel. The journey to France would be relatively short, but his anxiety prolonged the experience. Did he truly make the right choice?

Such a question was futile anyways because the time to back out had long since passed. His nerves were calmed when he saw the incredible beauty of France. On his way to the frontlines he passed through several quaint villas. As the battalion passed through each the townsfolk waved and formed crowds on either side of the procession, shouting us good will in both French and English. When they weren't in a town they were pleasantly marching through beautiful forests, plains, and streams. Upon reaching the other armies in another town, he fell asleep in the barracks.

In his sleep sights of ruined cities entered his mind. Chaos, violence, death, and destruction occurred across the world. Henry was an old man in these visions, worn with countless years of war. People with strange powers were everywhere, fighting. He then slowly collapsed to the ground, dead. Terrified, he woke up sweating. This was the first night terror he'd ever had. Shaking it off, he immediately got to work on his duties. For two weeks he'd be on watch for any signs of the enemy between 10 PM and 2 AM. Samuel was assigned to communications where he was safe from the seemingly constant downpour.

Hardly a month into the war every last soldier in all of France and Belgium was ordered to dig lines of trenches. Several failed advancements on either side led to a powerful status quo in the war. It was several weeks' hard work, only made more difficult by frequent storms. Before the trenches were a meter deep all the men were already wading up to their knees in mud. Henry and Samuel's direct superior, G. W. Blest, was down with them with a large shovel and a heavy trenchcoat. "Damn this thing! It feels like I have a cow strapped to my back. I wish I didn't have to wear it." said the young officer, cursing.

"It's better than having all our equipment and provisions soiled. Besides, the Jerries will no doubt be struggling too." replied Henry. By the time the project was complete, everything was ruined anyways by either the mud or rats. It always seemed like there was only just enough food to get by. One day, the three were called into a dugout where a higher officer sat. "Recently a French reconnaissance team that went behind enemy lines has gone missing. They were last known to be near an abandoned village. I'd like you to go investigate their disappearance. Blest, this'll be a good test of leadership for you."

"What's the leader's name?" asked Samuel, grimacing.

"Alexandre Polnareff."