My name is Osmin, and I am scared.
My legs move under me and my body feels fine, but my heart beats faster than I had ever thought possible. My mind can only think about what can happen and with every passing day my anxiety grows, it is only the presence of the Lords that stills my beating heart and gives me the confidence I need.
Originally I hadn't even been meant to participate in the war, I hadn't been called upon by the Lords during the levy after all. I had volunteered the day before the rest of the levy was to set off, I had felt guilty after all. My friends had been chosen, my brothers had been chosen, my neighbors had been chosen, only I and a few others had been left behind.
I would have been a coward to have stayed behind and let the rest of the men in my village fight the war on my behalf. So I volunteered and joined the rest of the levy on the march east to a camp where other levied men like myself were being put through drills and training before joining the war effort.
It was hard, the training was tough and the officers were harsh. Many times I regretted my choice to join, and despite the fact that I had joined of my own free will the officers were no less harsh in their treatment of me than they were of the levies. They broke me down step by step, they trained me to wield spear and shield in tandem with a full cohort of men, and slowly we became but cogs in a larger whole.
After two months of harsh training we were marched out of the camp even further east where we joined one of the larger armies led by one of the great Clan Lords. Our arrival was met with little fanfare.
We met our commanding officer, one of the Kindred Lords by the name of Imralin. He was of obvious Elven heritage and his greetings were harsh, he expected little of us and he told us plainly that most of us would not survive the battles to come. The armies of the Eight were powerful and well equipped, each of them led either by one of the Eight personally or their powerful servants.
Once he had said his piece he dismissed us to our tents and we fell into a comfortable routine. Drill, watch duty, march, eat, drill, march, eat, drill, watch, march, eat, and so on for weeks on end. We moved what seemed to have been hundreds of miles through the forests that composed the vast majority of the lands of the Kindred, and despite that we never ran across the enemy.
That had all changed yesterday when rumors began to spread throughout the camp that a battle was on the Horizon. The army of one of the Eights' servants had been found by the scouts and the great Clan Lord had decided to destroy it before one of the Eight personally arrived to lead it.
Which is how I found myself as I was currently. I marched with the rest of my cohort along the roads of the Kingdom, our lockstep march like a thunder clap with every strike of our boots on the hard stone. Like the rest of my cohort I was a Bafolk and amidst the roar of the armies marching boots, the anxiety of the coming battle, and the knowledge that I might not survive what was to come I had to fight not to bolt into the woods.
At least then I was guaranteed to survive the battle, if not the manhunt that would come afterwards.
"Calm down. You're only making the wait worse for yourself." I heard next to me, the voice a smooth and regal baritone. When I looked over it was the commander himself who had spoken, the Kindred Lord relaxed and seemingly unconcerned about the battle to come.
"I'm fine, sire, just a little nervous is all." I said, trying to project an air of confidence despite my real feelings on the matter.
He looked over at me for a second before he scoffed.
"I can smell the fear rolling off your body, do not lie to me again. I know what you are feeling right now, it's a common feeling among those still unused to war and combat. Everyone feels it before their first battle, you'll grow past it if you survive." He said with little emotion in his voice.
I tried my best to do as he said, to not focus on the coming battle but on anything else. Which is what gave me the stupid idea to ask him a question about himself. "Have you fought them sire? The Eight and their armies?"
He didn't respond at first, seemingly more consumed with keeping step with the cohort than answering his question. Eventually though the man spoke, his voice strong and his eyes blazing red. "Oh yes, I've fought them… nine times now I believe."
I couldn't stop the shock from flashing across my face, just like many of those in my cohort couldn't help doing the same thing. He laughed when he saw it and explained. "I'm old, even by the standards of the Kindred. I was nearly three hundred years old when I was given the gift, and now I am nearing my four-hundredth birthday. In only three decades I will have lived four centuries of life." He said, falling into a story telling manner and voice.
"During that time I have fought in many wars, far more than you will ever see in your lifetime. At least as long as you are not given the gift of course. This one is no different, even if the enemies are more powerful and more numerous than they were before it is just another war, another enemy to kill." As he spoke he spun his spear with a grace and deftness I could only dream of. His spear was his weapon, but it was also his key tool of performance.
He seemed to dance next to the formation as he moved through a series of complex and awe inspiring Elven blade dances. It was beautiful, and for just a second I forgot about the fact that I and most of those I marched with would be dead soon.
"The Eight and their armies believe themselves to be liberators. They think their actions to be justified and their ambitions supported by the fact that they are killing us so-called monsters. When we meet their army in battle know that their soldiers think the same, every single one of them believes you to be a monster spawned from the pits of hell." He spoke, never breaking from his dance, never breaking his concentration.
Fluidly he moved between stab, riposte, swing, and parry without ever breaking his momentum. "If you wish to survive then become the monster they think you are. Slaughter them all, roar and gnash your teeth in their direction. Treat them as prey, and they will believe themselves to be as much. Break their spirit." He slid over the ground as if no friction could stop him.
"Break their hearts." Like a viper his spear came up and speared into the air, piercing the neck of an invisible opponent.
"Break their minds." Using the momentum his thrust had generated he moved from one form to the next, always moving, always attacking, always moving in for the kill like the perfect predator. I could sense it in the air, the dance was coming to an end, the climax was nearing.
"Do these things and you need not break the body, because your enemy will have long impaled himself upon his own spear before he let himself be impaled upon yours." His spear held in both hands he jumped into the air, and with a singular twist of his body he dodged an arrow which had come from nowhere. He used his forward momentum and great strength to throw his own spear with all his might.
It sailed into the horizon, lost in the dark of the night. Even with the night vision inherent to my race I could barely see it as it sailed through the starry sky, all I could see was it approach the enemy army before disappearing into its mass.
Landing with graceful ease he reached onto his back and removed a second spear from some kind of magical storage device. He moved without evening a single hint of exhaustion, as if his dance of death hadn't used a single bit of his energy or vitality right before the start of the battle. "That is how you will survive today."
I was silent, his words echoed in my head for hours. They played over and over again, I thought about them, examined them, and when the lines were drawn and I looked at the humans it dawned on me. The hate and fear in their eyes, the way they saw me not as a person but as a monster to be slain.
I understood then what Imralin meant when he said we should become monsters. Suddenly my entire body shifted, my hair stood on end, drool began to drip from my maw, my eyes grew wide, and suddenly I wasn't looking at soldiers. I was looking at prey.
The fear left me, replaced only by a bloodlust I never knew I had within. The rage and wildness only grew as the rest of my cohort fell into the same mindstate one by one. It was like lightning in the air, a swelling of the drums of war pounding in my ears. Only the fear of punishment kept me from breaking ranks and rushing towards the prey to devour and break, to smash, to rend and tear.
Even as the drums of war rang in my ears though I could hear his voice. "First cohort, forward march! To war in the name of the First Lord! Hail Imrilion! May he reign Eternal!" His command carried over the battlefield, and his chant along with it.
"May he reign Eternal!" Someone roared. I thought it was me, but in that moment I couldn't tell.
"May he reign Eternal!"
"Hail the First Lord!"
"Hail! Hail! Hail! Hail!" The chant rang out through the ranks, spreading across a hundred cohorts like a wave.
The prey wavered under the force of our chant, no our roar. Their minds were shaken, their hearts were weak, and their spirits close to breaking. For a second I hoped they would break, that the first man would turn and run and like a tide they would run before the battle could begin in earnest.
It all changed when she stepped forward.
She could have been mistaken for some kind of Lizardman at first glance, but all it would take was basic knowledge of an actual lizardman to know she was nothing of the sort. Her tail was too short, her scales only covered parts of her body, human flesh covered most of her, and large wings jutted from her back.
She was a servant of the eight, a half-draconic human of origins unknown and power unexplainable. It had been fifteen years since the arrival of the Eight, and still their origins were a mystery. Even after five years of war all that had ever been shared with the average citizen was that they were immensely powerful, and that confrontation was to be avoided at all cost.
Her coming reinvigorated the humans, their shaking forms stilled and discipline reasserted itself. They had hope, hope that they would triumph over us so-called monsters, that their Empire would win against all the odds and the world would fall under a new Human hegemony. I wanted to spit on their still fresh corpses for even suggesting such a thing, for prey to think itself worthy of such an honor.
Not long after her arrival the Clan Lord himself stepped forward, at his sides were two High Lords who would join him in the fight against the servant of the Eight. They were a glorious trio. Three beautiful Elves in slick runic plate armor, they were like gods among mortals. They would determine the outcome of the battle in truth, should they win the night would end in the victory of the entire army, and if they lost so too did it mean all of their deaths.
I took my mind off them, there was little I could do to determine the outcome of a battle between Demi-gods.
All I saw was the slowly approaching prey as the lines drew close. I could feel it, taste it, see it. It was just on the edge of my senses, the blood that would be spilled when it began.
I nearly tripped over myself when it happened. The command of Charge.
Suddenly I was no longer marching, but sprinting across the field. At my sides my cohort wasn't far behind, some were even ahead of me as the human lines rapidly closed with our own. The humans themselves had locked shields, their lines firm and unyielding, their spears rattling in the wind, and their eyes hard with determination.
It meant little when we slammed into their shields and caved them in.
Suddenly I was among them. Their armor meant little when my spear slammed through their body, their discipline broken as I and my cohort rampaged through the outermost ranks. I was a hurricane of blood and death, my spear a great fang, and my shield a great ram.
I crushed them beneath my feet even as they stabbed and prodded me at me, their bodies were weak, their minds quick to feel with fear. Even now I could smell it in the air as we killed them by the score. It only grew worse when he joined the battle.
Like a swan flowing above the water he gracefully danced along the battlefield. His spear never missed his mark, no blade touched him, no human even drew close enough to breath the same air he did. We his soldiers were berserkers, monsters made flesh and unleashed upon the human lines. He however was a scalpel, an elite blademaster who couldn't be touched by even the most desperate of men.
The slaughter began to blur together eventually. Covered in crimson blood and panting from exertion I fought, fought until I could fight no more. I fought even when the human lines had reformed and they began pushing us back. The sting of their spears and blades pierced through my thick hide and hair, drawing blood over and over again.
However I never stopped fighting, the commander's words ringing through my ears even now. I was the monster, and men feared monsters more than anything. I would break them, even if it cost me my life. I wouldn't disappoint him, not when even now he fought against far more than I ever could and killed more prey than I could ever imagine even seeing.
The drums were beating in my ears louder than ever now, the drums never stopped beating. Even when I had gone deaf and my throat had gone raw the drums beat. When the spear pierced my heart the drums beat, when another pierced my leg the drums beat, and even as I was pushed to the ground under the weight of the humans combined mass the drums beat.
They never stopped beating, even when it all went dark the drums never ceased.
I watched as yet another of the mortals fell under the human assault. He had been the talkative one with far too much fear than had been healthy. Fortunately the frenzy spell worked just as effectively as it usually did and he had died only after causing far more casualties than he would have otherwise.
Personally I found it distasteful to use the mortals in such a way, but Demi-humans were better for little else. Too controlled by their animal instincts and diverse in form and mind to work together in any true formation. They had proven that well enough during the first two years of the war.
Given just enough training to ensure they were disciplined and accustomed to military life during battle they would be put under the effects of a specially crafted frenzy spell crafted by the Magic of the Lords of the Soul. They would still obey orders while in that state, to a limited extent, but their ability to think about anything else but slaughter would be drowned out for the duration of combat.
It made them excellent shock troops to put in front of the second line of far more effective Blood knights who formed the true core of the armies. They had even on occasion caused entire human armies to break and run before a Greed King or one of their servants could intervene, leaving said servant or King to face down an entire army by themselves.
While no King had yet fallen, three had been injured, and at least four of their servants had been killed.
I cut off my internal monologue as I dodged under the swing of a human blade and cut off the offending appendage. The bad part about leading a cohort of shock troops was it usually left me in the thick of things even after all my troops had died. I couldn't even drink from those that I had killed, too focused on actually surviving the fighting to feed.
With grace only an elf could achieve I dodged and weaved through a storm of swords and blades, my spear responding to every second with a jab or slice that always either killed or wounded. My body contorted and twisted, my armor rubbed and squealed against my movements, and my spear grew dull as I killed hundreds of humans.
It was a careful dance between attack and defense, one I had perfected over a hundred battles and had never led me wrong. My dance had only grown more effective after becoming a Kindred, growing more powerful and graceful with every passing year. The war had only sped things along as I fed more than I had ever before.
Eventually though it was time for me to escape, when the last of my cohort died to the human spears I retreated. It was a dangerous dance every time I had to retreat from the human lines, and while doing it I sustained my first wound of the battle when a human blade snaked its way under my leg and nearly severed my tendon.
Thankfully I twisted out of the way an instant later and saved myself from being crippled in the middle of the battle. With a single thrust the man died and soon enough I was once again behind the lines. No longer engaged in a battle of life and death I had the chance to observe my surroundings.
The Blood Knights had stepped forward as planned and engaged the humans in a grinding push and pull. Shields were locked, swords and spears jabbed between gaps, and the two sides fought with a fervor unmatched. Of course the humans were losing.
After being smashed by the Demi-human charge they were rattled and exhausted after being forced to reform and slowly kill each of the rampaging monsters one by one. Faced with the inexhaustible Blood knights they were being killed and pushed back slowly but surely. In some pockets of the line the Demi-human berserks were even still alive, causing damage and opening pockets in the human line that the knights could exploit.
Of course there was also my kin in the mix. Mainly Demi-human commanders who had yet to retreat, but some were the champions who enjoyed nothing more in life than slaughter and as such never retreated while in battle. They relied on their skill and aspect alone to survive, and those two things were usually enough to ensure their continued existence.
In the air above the battle however a different battle was being waged. The Servant of the eight was holding its own well of course, such was their power that even when faced with three powerful second generation Kindred Lords of the highest order they could potentially win. Said wins had become more rare as the war waged on and the Lords gained both power and experience, but never was victory a certainty.
Even now the two High Lords were struggling to stay aloft. Their wings were damaged, their armed battered, and their horns broken. They only attacked on occasion, careful to ration their magic and aspects while fighting. They relied on the Clan Lord, Terrorinz the Servant breaker, to hold the line and deal most of the damage while they acted as support.
Despite their wounds they were winning as well. The Servant was in an even worse state than the High Lords, and he could sense the Servants dwindling magical reserves. It wouldn't be long now before the servant died and the day was won, another battle to add to his list.
Suddenly I froze. Up high in the air so too did the Lords freeze their fight with the servant, who immediately broke off from the fight and flew towards the human lines. Power radiated from the human lines in waves, power like none I had ever thought I would feel again. The last time I had felt such fear had been the day I had received the gift when faced with the First Lord himself.
In my heart I knew then that the battle had been lost. Clan Lord Terrorinz was powerful, but even he could not face a King and win. Victory was now an impossibility unless the First Lord, or one of the great Bloodlords themselves appeared to fight the Demi-god.
Even still I couldn't help but laugh. It seemed I would not be adding another battle to my records, this would be my last of that I was certain. Swinging my spear slowly I turned towards the human lines, they grew bold with the appearance of a king. They thought themselves invincible with their presence.
I would disabuse them of that notion.
I was called Carmine Fiend-slayer, First born of the First Born, Aspect Lord of Blood, greatest of the Kindred, strongest of the Bloodlords. Under the night sky and full twinkling stars I bled against a backdrop of death and destruction.
Across from me one of the great Greed Kings stood, arrogant and smiling even as he clutched his broken arm while his half severed tail waved behind him. We had been fighting for nearly two hours now and neither of us was ready to admit defeat. My regeneration was far too great for him to leave me with any true wounds, and his supremely durable body required magic and strength of the highest order to damage in even the most minor ways.
His armor was seemingly impenetrable, his weapons capable of slicing through my armor as if it were paper, and his magic powerful enough to have nearly killed me in our first bout.
It had only been my supreme regeneration that had saved my life, along with some luck. While we caught our breath he spoke, arrogance rolling off his tongue in waves. "I'll admit you are quite strong, I didn't think you would survive as long as you have, especially when you're at level 90 or so at best?"
I didn't know what levels were, but I could tell by his tone that he meant it as an insult. "I know not what levels you speak of, but I do know this. I will kill you and drink the still steaming blood from your body. I will devour your soul and use your memories to kill the rest of the beasts you call your fellow Kings." I said with hatred clear in my voice.
Nine years of war. Nine straight years of death and ruin that had ruined the kingdom my master had created. Nearly two hundred thousand were dead, seven thousand of them kindred. Hundreds of thousands more lived starving and in a state more similar to their life before the coming of Relyirica than they did to that of the Golden Age.
My clan alone had suffered nearly two thousand dead, and Ucelia had almost been killed while fighting against the Servants of the eight. I made sure to kill said servants myself when I saw her broken body, but it hadn't been enough to sate my rage. I wanted to kill them all and bathe in their still warm blood.
They had ruined everything. The Kingdom was barely holding on against their assault, the clans were growing weaker by the day, two already having gone extinct, and they were only fighting half the Kings. Four had come west with a majority of their armies to fight against the kingdom, while the other four and the majority of their servants had gone north to fight the Elves and Dragons.
According to reports from the conflict the Elves and Dragons were doing well, they had even killed two of the Kings in the fighting. It had only cost them eight of the Dragon Lords' lives, and half the Elven army.
The Kings were retreating from the region, the death of two of their number had rattled them, but they would return, of that I was certain. They would return south and reassess the war, and they would likely turn west to the Kingdom and us. The Dragonlords and Elves had suffered greatly during the fighting and they were vastly weakened, nearly crippled in the wake of the great battles that had been waged between themselves and the Kings.
We however had killed none of the kings. Many of their servants, nearly twenty three in fact. It was too such a point the king's presence was required at nearly all times because their remaining servants just weren't strong enough to stand against the Clan Lords and High Lords leading our own armies.
We were still strong, still capable of fighting a real war. One that they weren't quite certain that they would be able to win in the end. So the two northern Kings would return south and join the western campaign.
Victory no longer seemed possible I will admit.
So when I spoke with hatred I knew that it was realer than any hatred I had ever felt before.
The King Chuckled, his voice carrying throughout the battlefield even as thousands fought and died below us. "Such hostility, if I didn't know better I would think you didn't appreciate our arrival. Not so used to your prey fighting back are you?"
I struck, my blade sliding off his own as he quickly parried, surprise evident in his eyes. "You are no saviors of humanity, just petty conquerors with far too much power. I met the six, you will never compare to them." I spoke even as our blades clashed and we hurtled through the skies like two dark comets.
He breathed in deeply before releasing a blasting stream of fire that burned my skin black even as my regeneration returned my body to a pristine state. I drew deep upon my aspect and from my skin a single roiling wave of burning blood washed over his body. Parts of it burned him as usual, while others formed complex runes upon his arms and armor.
With a singular pulse of magic the runes activated and suddenly he was alight in red-bloody flames. He screamed, pain raw and primal escaping through his mouth.
In a single move my sword dipped low, aimed at his open stomach unprotected by his armor, fully intent on running him through. He of course parried the attack even while in the midst of extreme pain. It's a shame then that while in the process of parrying my blade he left his neck exposed.
My fangs sank into his draconic flesh, and I fed. Blood rushed into my veins, blood and memories. Memories of a different world, memories of a game I played in my free time, a game where I made friends and gained allies, a game that suddenly became real after twelve long years. Suddenly it all made sense, the war, the death, their extreme and unnatural strength.
Through his blood came knowledge, knowledge and power unprecedented. When the last of his blood was drained from his body I knew what it was that my master had spoken of, that feeling of power unending, the pleasure and intoxicating feeling of growth. For just a second I felt like I could do anything, until I hit a wall.
Without warning the process of Ascension came to an end, and it felt as if I would never grow again. My body, No. My Aspect had reached the end of what it could support, and those vestiges that I had inherited from the others weren't nearly enough to support further growth.
I understood at last why my master had forbidden any from ever consuming the aspects of another even while I cursed him for limiting me in such a way.
When the power high of ascension came to an end I looked down upon the world below. My army was wiping out the human armies. The humans had witnessed their King's death, and their morale had broken in the process. My army would feast well this day, and the death of yet another King was a great step forward.
However even as the humans were being cut down and the body of the king splattered against the ground I felt nothing. Two more would be here soon, and with them would come the full might of the Kings at last.
I shut my eyes, praying that my master had a plan even while I had none.