Groans and moans broke the silence. Where footmen, paladins and elves lie dead or soon to be. No healers nor volunteers would come to this now smoke-filled land. The soldier knew his fate, as he did not even attempt to push away the corpse of his comrade before him. At least that was who he suspected lied upon him, the corpse was burned to a crisp, partially still smoking. The cheap fur armor he wore melted together with smoldering flesh. "is th- that Ignal?" The broken soldier asked, expecting no reply. His hoarse voice longed for water as he struggled to speak. Ignal had been a cheerful young lad, ten years his junior, of a similar poor village in the holy empire. Eager to please and even more eager to drink. There wasn't much of a smile left on that burned corpse, his last screams filled with terror as those elven mages launched their magic upon them. No smile, no long hair strands that even the finest lady would be jealous of. The corpse could be anyone, just another nameless casualty. Soon enough they'll be identical, lost and forgotten. 'Would anyone remember him?' the thought came to the dying man, he had no lover nor children, his parents were worked to an early grave, and his brother… Well, he made sure of that. For a sinner, he still dreamt of Asariel's light shining upon him as he passed. The sun goddess had fought against her younger sister, but it was not she who struck first. He had smashed his kin's skull with a rock and buried the body where no one would look.

A march of redemption, this war was called. All those who joined would be embraced by Asariel, no matter the sin they had committed. As a little lamb, he listened to the priest's spoon-fed words and as a lamb, he was brought to the slaughter. Burning the countryside and shedding blood upon all that had been green and filled with life. Fighting for already plundered cities of the dwarves, both elves and men had enslaved. What was the bloody point? Now even more than ever the dying soldier felt like a sinner, instead of a single life he had now taken at least 20. Only two of them elves, the others deserters. At least the deserters were prepared to put up a fight for what they believed in and freedom from this madness. The soldier? He followed orders as he executed them, followed orders when he finished off a wounded elven couple embracing each other in their last breath, and followed orders when they sent him here to die. 'Well done, you worthless mutt.' The soldier could only lament his poor choices in his head, the unquenchable thirst stopping his throat from functioning like it should. A fitting fate for such a depraved force of men looting and pillaging. They must've seemed like a walking curse for the inhabitants, those already starved of proper food, only to have their leftovers taken and those who resisted beaten.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Yet admit the sound of groans and moans, a crunching sound could be heard. Footsteps, of whom he did not know. They were to heavy to be a dog, battlefield lurkers most likely. Those who follow armies, to rob the fallen of their valuables. Closer and closer the crunching sound comes, until it stops. Next to him they must be standing, "D...eurgnh." The body on top of him was pushed off, allowing him to smoke-filled sky in all its agony. they had blocked out the sun, how could the army of the sun goddess block out the sun?

"Don't strain." A tear-filled voice called out to him, "Your legs are shattered, and your face burned asunder. A tragedy, how tragic." The voice continued to whimper, the voice sounded distinctive and the face was hidden behind a mask with a tearful gaze carved in it.

"Murderers and butchers! Damn you all!" Another pair of hands comes and shuffs the sad mask wearer, wearing a mask with carved frowning eyes. "No help for the unworthy!" He yelled with pure rage,' That's more like it.' the dying man thought as he watched conflict start before him, a more familiar sight than calm now.

"The Emotarum shall be sad, oh so sad, if we do not bring him."

"No... Enraged they shall be! Striking us out of wrath!"

The lying soldier listened trying to make a puzzled expression before a painful shock goes through him, "Eugh." They both turn toward him, "Are you broken?" One cries whilst asking, whilst the other asks with a not-so-hidden rage. "Then give up, give up your desired, quilt, dreams, and nightmares. Break the whips that you're clashing emotions create. Become essential to yourself." They both reached their hands.

"I'm a m-eing... murderer." the dying soldier stated as he refused to hold out his weakened arms. "Kill...me."

"Confused!" One yelled, "Incomplete." The other tearfully whispered. "Wear the mask and there shall be no greatness upon your name, nor fault." the crying voice continued as she pulled out a mask, one with a smiling face. "Do you accept?!" the other yells.

A moment passed as the soldier listened to the groans and moans. If he declined he would soon join the maggots or even worse he could survive. Living a life of guilt, but if he accepted… he wasn't great, but he had plenty of faults, to have them forgiven.

"I-I accept." The mask with a smiling face was put upon him. For some reason, even with his legs shattered and his hope broken. The soldier felt a smile form on his face.