He was no older than fourteen when he was drafted into the army. It was hemorrhaging money and lives at an alarming rate and the constant crusades into the neighboring kingdoms to the south left the holy land of Saad in need of young men. He was a weak and skill-less boy who was bound to die on the battlefield. If a stray arrow, an enemy knight, or the back-breaking work of military life wouldn't kill him, then the supernatural presence that was within every tree, rock, and beast would. The world had no place for a weak farm boy from a settlement of around fourteen. His first day of active service was a catastrophe. While his platoon was marching toward a neighboring village on a military assignment, he fell out of line, for he was not conditioned to the rigors of intense marching with a full kit. His Squad leader took notice of his frail boyishness and approached him.
“Hey you, get back in line you fucking cunt!” Corporal Grover barked
“I'm sorry. I just need to rest… I’m… I’m so tired…” The Boy weakly spoke as he fell to his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“What's your fucking name Private!” The Corporal yelled out as he grabbed the young boy by the back of his poorly sewn long shirt and jerked him to his feet, nearly tearing the collar.
“Martin, Corporal, Martin Helmwood, I'm sorry I’ve nev…” Before the boy had the chance to finish his sentence the Corporal punched him in his gut with enough force to drive the young boy back down to his knees.
“You better un-fuck your self Helmwood or I'll feed you to the hellspawn! Do you understand me?! You fall out of line again, you threaten the platoon with your weakness or do anything to piss me off and you’ll get what's coming to you!”
The small boy laid on the ground gasping for air, for help, for a small scrap of sympathy, but there was none to be given. His abdomen quaked and he felt like he was going to vomit. He looked up at his fellow soldiers, plenty of them the same age as him but hardened from conflict. Their faces carved from wood, their eyes sunken deep into their heads with exhaustion, the wrinkles on their face showed a lifetime of struggle but earned in a quarter of the time. A few soldiers snickered as they marched past him, most didn't care enough to look.
It was pitiful to watch him writhe on the ground. He groaned and teared up, his eyes were misty from the embarrassment alone. His hazy eyes wandered for sympathy but found the glorious shape of an angel approaching him instead. He began to stare up at the legs of a grey horse trotting beside the army. The rider among the magnificent beast was a man clad in armor. This was the first time he had ever laid eyes on a Holy Sentinel, the enforcers of the church, Vanguards of the war effort against the demonic. If he was here it meant that there was the potential for supernatural activity. Upon the sight of him there was a child-like fear that came upon the boy, a panic, a wish he would have never been born, at least then he wouldn't have to come face to face with the undying. The man stared at the pitiful boy whose knees were in the mud, whose face longed for purpose and reason. The boy stared at the sigil on his breastplate, it shined with brilliant hope, the symbol of the almighty church of Saad, the symbol of god. The sigil was sacred and was said that it could only be worn by those chosen by God himself, the sight of it meant a holy representative was nearby to either bless or cleanse an area of its impurities.
“Stand up boy. You're creating a spectacle of yourself, it's unfitting for a soldier.” The Sentinel said calmly yet firmly, like a father disciplining his child.
The boy stood with shaky legs, he might as well have been a young colt learning to stand on his own. The Sentinel stared at the boy for what felt like a lifetime before he spoke again. Even as his eyes watered from the punch to the stomach, the boy still saw him through the gloom of dusk as if he was illuminated by the holy light of God himself. The Sentinel stood proudly on his horse who was naturally white but was stained grey from the ash and dirt from constant battle and marching on the road. The Sentinel wore a short-sleeved brown gambeson under his breastplate, it stretched down underneath like a short gowned, reaching his lower hip. Over that, he wore a tanned battle skirt to protect his legs and hindquarters from the elements. His arms and legs were equipped with blackened grieves damaged from combat against the legions of hell. On his hip, he carried a long sword protected by an oiled scabbard. The man's eyes were as grey, if not greyer than his short cut hair that had started to recede with age. His face was as weathered as any soldier but his eyes showed a type of hope and vigorous life that was missing from a common Knight. The scars running from the center of his cheek down past his chin line were no doubt created from a servant of the inferno, a demon, a Mestophalian creation whose only purpose is to commit the world to flames and darkness.
The sentinel shifted in his saddle, leaning closer toward the boy “Heed my words young man, it would behoove of you to stay with the platoon. Don't show your weakness around the other soldiers. You’re stronger than you think, you’re a child of God, and as such, you have unimaginable strength. Don't squander it by embarrassing yourself, now, dust yourself off and rejoin the Platoon.” The Sentinel spoke slowly and with great bits of patience making sure to pronounce each syllable correctly and clearly letting every word penetrate the young boy's heart.
The boy slowly regained his bearing, The Holy knight's words sobering him, like the feeling of a cold drink of water early in the morning. The boy looked ahead at the platoon almost Two-hundred yards down the road. He did exactly as the Sentinel ordered and ran full force to regroup with them. The next week and a half he kept up the entire way, even when his knees quaked and his feet burned from blisters and sores, he persevered, he had gained hope.
Later that night his Corporal put him on mess duty and nightly guard for the remainder of their campaign. His weakness and “insubordination” was not to be tolerated in the army of the church. Martin served every Soldier their rations for the next week and a half. He cooked rice and salted meat mush, cleaned the dishes, and always stood midnight watch. Martin even served the officers, Non commissioned officers and the Three Sentinels that accompanied the platoon. He enjoyed their in-depth discussions about war. They talked loudly and with great fervor about the demonic front from the east clashing against the kingdom to the south, and how that helped the siege effort on the easternmost fort, something about a war of attrition. It was all very interesting to him. He didn’t understand very much of it, but it was fascinating nonetheless. It reminded him of playing Knight with his friends, they would take long poles and ride on the bigger kids’ shoulders trying to joust the others off. They didn't do it right, but it was a spectacle nonetheless. Or, when he would take sticks and attack his younger brother while he slept, or even Daydreaming about Dragons and Damsels. The simpleness of childhood, where the pain of the world wasn’t as apparent.
After slogging through back country roads and small towns and outposts the troop eventually made its way to a fairly large village near the southern part of the kingdom, named Oriton, the destination of their constant marching the past week and a half. The village was near the River Ren, the mighty river connected the many kingdoms of the west together with numerous streams, lakes, and tributaries.
While outside the border, roughly quarter mile, the Captain of the Platoon called for them to fall into ranks. The men filled in shuffling quickly till they made a cohesive formation. From the right, the three Sentinels came wearing long white capes their chests adorned with shiny armor that dazzled in the sun. They stood in front of the Platoon and the grey-haired one stepped forward.
“The nature of this mission has been kept a secret from you up until this point. You have been accompanying my fellow comrades and me on a mission from the Holy church itself, you are on a mission from God.” Said The Grey haired Sentinel, projecting his voice.
A small chatter began to creep across the platoon as everyone whispered in nervous confusion to the man next to him. Martin shifted in his oversized boots and felt incredibly anxious.
The Sentinel began to speak over the chatter, silencing everyone. “In this town.” The Sentinel pointed toward the village.
“We believe there is an evil entity being sheltered, we have crucial information directly from a village defector saying so. Your purpose is to apprehend or eliminate all townsfolk who would dare interfere with the church. If that means by bloodshed then so be it. My advice to you is this, if you see any unnatural or wicked creations, run and find one of us sentinels or you will certainly meet a premature end. That is all, and God bless!” The sentinels walked back the same way they came and mounted their Horses. The Men still silent from the Sentinels speech shifted around whispering to each other.
“Attention!” The Sergeant Hollard breaking the silence, snapping everyone to a rigid stance.
“Squad One and two are with Me and corporal Hayden! Squad three and four are with Sergeant Valance and Corporal Grover! We will attack the village at dusk, ready your weapons and armor, I don’t want to see one loose fucking strap on anyone! Is that understood!
“YES SERGEANT!” The platoon said in unison.
The four hours of waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon was filled with woman-like speculation and gossip. The Soldiers wondered what types of Monstrosities waited for the platoon inside the village. What type of demons will fly around ready to consume their flesh? They wondered why they just didn't burn it down, Or why the church didn’t just send in a whole Squadron of Sentinels? It didn’t matter, they were going to do what soldiers do best, die without ever knowing why.
At dusk they gathered in their respected ranks and drew swords and readied spears, they whispered things under their breath, praying to the Lord for protection, praying to see their mothers’ again. Martin tightened his belt around his rusty hauberk and put on his standard issue pot-helm. His pitiable hands shook violently from the foreboding stories the men were sharing around camp. He could barely keep still yet he was able to manage a child like grip on his blade. He knew he had to do this right, he couldn’t embarrass himself, not in front of God.
Group one began circling around the village a half hour before dusk, preparing to trap the townsfolk between the two charging clusters with an unconventional type encircling maneuver. The town bell rang and echoed through the calm country air. The sky was a harsh shade of Vermillion, a foreboding sign for any commoner. The Captain took out his horn and blew so loudly it would have put thunder to shame. The Soldiers charged the village with barbaric battle cries, screaming and cursing, trying to seem more menacing then they were. They stormed the village, running in between buildings, running into homes, running down the streets, running until they stopped and realized that no one was there.
The men were uneasy about the lack of opposition but before the paranoia set in the Corporals began barking orders to search every nook and cranny. But there was nothing, no one, not a soul to be seen. They had no choice. They had to go deeper into the town. The city felt like a maze, with twisting corridors and hidden passageways. Not one street led you to where you thought it would. It seemed unnatural.
Deep into the Village, The soldiers heard a ruckus, there was a horde of people holding pitchforks and shovels all surrounding a massive Church in the center of the town square. The townsfolk were covered in blood, chanting demonic phrases, and speaking in tongues. They were staring at the church not paying any attention to the platoon slowly enclosing them. Corporal Grover approached one of the Citizens confidently, sword at the ready.
“Hey, cunt! Stand down or we WILL use force against you!” Screamed the salty Corporal.
The town's people began to turn to face him still speaking in tongues and twitching like they had the plague. As the villagers turned toward the soldiers the men were struck in horror at the sight.
“Oh god, what the fuck happened to their eyes!?” A soldier said in absolute fright.
“No! No, this isn’t real this is fucking crazy!?” Another squealed, dropping his sword and retreating back into the platoon.
The townsfolk all had gouged out their eyes, leaving dark bleeding sockets in their place. The townsman closest to Corporal Grover thrust his pitchfork into the NCO’s guts, catching him off guard, and causing him to spew blood from his mouth, unceremoniously gurgling on it he fell over and laid motionless on the ground. That was all the Soldiers needed to know about these people, that they were a threat to god and had to be cleansed by bloodshed.
The men began to attack the townsfolk in a rough phalanx type formation attempting to drive them back, but the swarm was too much. Dozens upon dozens of crazed men, women, and children lunging into the blades of the soldiers. The Townspeople were like rabid animals defending their child. They clawed and attacked with farming tools, not one standard weapon among them. The under-equipped townsfolk were overwhelming them, thinning out the military line and digging deep into they're moral.
Then, almost like a gift from the lord, the Sentinels arrived on horseback hacking and slashing the possessed townsfolk, unfazed by their grotesqueness.
“Gather yourselves, they aren't that many, and you are all well equipped! Fight back, have courage, don't let their appearance frighten you! You are children of God after all! Drive the Demons back!” The Tall Sentinel bellowed with such conviction that he restored the heart in most of the men that were wavering.
Martin had not yet killed a man, he didn't know if he could. The poor boy had only been in one fight his entire life, and that was with his brother when they were children, they were fighting over the last sugar cone and they whopped each other till they were black and blue, then their mother whopped them more. In his heart, he didn't know if he could commit such a grievous sin anyway. The church said it was wrong to kill and so it had to be, he couldn't disobey, he couldn't… right? Up until this point he had stayed in the back of the phalanx, nervous about making a decisive move. But The tall Sentinels battle cry sparked his ire and convinced him that this was truly the work of the lord and there would be a reprieve of some sorts. The boy's heart was hardened and so he blindly hacked his sword into a villagers clavicle, causing the possessed man to drop dead. It was frightening, it was physical, it was absolutely primal, but most of all it was exhilarating. Martin had felt a sense of power and control he had never had before. He wasn't as afraid as he was in the beginning and his hand didn't shake as much. Martin kept hacking at the horde of enemies that lay before him, hoping to hold onto this rare feeling of empowerment.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
With the Sentinel's aid, they pushed the townsmen back, leaving a wave of bodies in their wake. They advanced on the Church. Outside the building, they could hear a loud beast grunting and spewing demonic words. There were only fifteen out of the original fifty men left including the three sentinels and two officers. They stood outside discussing and arguing over the next course of action. The officers wanted to pull back and collect their strength before they continued; The men were visibly shaken, and the officers did not want to have any more of their men killed for a cause they didn't understand. But, the Sentinels wanted to storm the church and face the enemy head-on before it had the chance to manifest itself into a more sinister form.
From inside the building, the blood-curdling scream of a woman caused the Sentinels to spring into action. The tallest sentinel, the one who provided encouraging words during the initial push, Began to wedge at the hinges with a dead villagers ax. The hinges were pried off and the door fell down the consecrated steps of the church. Instantaneously smoke began pouring from the opened doorway. The entrance to the church was a terrifying maw that glowed a caustic fire-orange, the gates to hell have been opened and awaited its victims, but who would answer its call?
The Grey haired Sentinel spoke up with bravado
“If you fight for God, take hold of your courage now and follow us into the belly of the beast!”
The Three sentinels rushed into the building in a single file line, swords at the ready. Two soldiers followed the Sentinels in, but Martin stood at the entrance afraid and wounded from the conflict. He thought the Sentinels haven't steered him wrong yet, why would they now? He was a child of God after all. With all his strength he walked into the building. Upon crossing the threshold and walking into the vestibule he could smell it before he saw anything. The rot of flesh, no, it had to be something fouler. Behind him, the remaining soldiers put the door back up, so as not to let anything evil out. The poor boy had never smelt anything so rancid in his life, it burned his eyes and made his nose run, his skin began to sting, like being bitten by a thousand ants.
Walking into the main chapel he saw a horrific amalgamation of demonic and religious blasphemy’s. There were people lining the chapel, the same hideous gouged eyes, and covered in more blood than any livestock slaughter he had ever seen. The naked townsfolk were chanting and bowing toward a massive beast on the altar. The room was horrifically decorated with bones, pentagrams, and evil sigils that struck terror into the unknowing. The room was basked in an unholy glow from a fire made by the pile of burning pews in the four corners of the chapel. Smoke clouded the air making absolute visibility limited. On the Altar was a massive beast hunched over a screaming woman. The creature was thrusting into her repeatedly. unexpectedly, it let out a demonic yowl. One of the soldiers who joined the Sentinels dropped his weapon and fled at the sight of the monster, sprinting past Martin, attempting to exit the church. Martin could hear the frightened soldier banging against the closed door and cry for them to open it, but they did not oblige him. The Creature shuttered as it simpered, feeling pleased with itself. The Beast unmounted the woman, its large body twice her size. You could see she laid on an appalling bed of eyeballs, thousands of them piled high, oozing fluid and puss. The woman was bloody with an extended stomach that began to jerk and move as she lay helpless. Her vaginal cavity was torn open and abused, her hands bound to posts. It was an absolute nightmare.
The Beast turned toward the group. As it stood up it straightened its spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The creature was a terrifying eight feet and covered in short midnight blue pig-esq hairs. Its muscles were bulging and hard. On its chest was a pair of breasts fit for the most lustful woman. The creature was sickly endowed and dripping with blood from its now flaccid penis. Its head was a horrific four-eyed goat with a human tongue licking at the Soldiers. Upon its head was a small lit candle dripping wax down his forehead. It wore a glorious rack of twisted Ram horns that spiraled around his head to a point. The monstrosity let out a gloating chuckle and opened its arms wide revealing an impressive length in them. Each arm was seven feet if not more, and there were ten fingers on each hand each finger brandishing dagger-like claws.
Without warning the beast spoke loudly and with great hubris.
“Fools, you are all too late! The ritual is nearly complete and I have already planted my seed in the virgin-whore! The king of kings will be reborn and he will bring about the coming apocalypse! It's a shame that you will miss the end of days, for it will be glorious to dance in the blood of your kind!”
“I command you, by the first of fifty rules of your demonic kingdoms, to give me your full name foul beast!” The bald Sentinel yelled over the chanting of the villagers that had begun to crescendo.
“My name is Bahomet, the teacher of good and evil, the spewer of misfortune, the rebellious one, the flock slayer, the planter of the seed, and NOW the Harold of the apocalypse! I command twenty legions in hell and reign over the torture in the Fifth district of Abamal. So, don't act like you understand our complex etiquettes stupid mortal!” the beast spewed boastfully.
The grey-haired Sentinel squared up with the monster and spoke: “Quit stalling and fight, Or are you afraid Bahomet of Abamal?”
Bahomet snorted a furious snort and bared his wolven teeth. His Honor was challenged and he had to engage the enemy or else violate the twelfth inferno rule. The beast charged the party head first gorging the tall sentinel in the chest. The other sentinels rolled out of the way, dodging the attack while simultaneously slashing at the back of the legs of the creature. Both sentinels managed to deliver a gash, one across the calve and the other across the hamstring of the beast, but it didn't seem to affect him only make him furious. Martin and the other soldier leaped toward the ground avoiding contact but didn't manage to make a hit or even attack for that matter. The creature tore the tall sentinel from his horns and ripped him in half, the poor man still alive during his separation. The Demon threw the torso and lower half at the two Sentinels, who easily dodged their eviscerated brother.
“Is this all your puny church has to offer? Pathetic!” Bahomet laughed mockingly, foolishly closing his eyes in glee.
Distracted by his fit of manic laughter The Sentinels charged the beast and took him by surprise. The grey one launched at his feet with a mighty swing, while the bald one lunged and thrust his sword into the creature’s side, both Sentinels inflicting grievous wounds. The grey-haired one chopped the beasts right hoofed foot clean off, rolling into the wall from the momentum. The beast howled in pain and fatally backhanded the bald sentinel into the wall.
“Soldiers, quickly, kill the woman before it's too late! Go, now, we will hold the Demon!” The grey-haired Sentinel commanded getting up from the ground and charging the beast.
The demon toppled over and squealed in pain.
Martin felt immense pressure upon his body, like the weight of existence depended on him performing the simple task of killing. He stared at the other soldier who was curled into a ball and crying and knew it had to be him. Martin felt the universe stare at him, the balance of good and evil rested on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old boy from a village of fourteen. The boy couldn't hear anything except the pounding of his heart through his chest. He didn't know what he was doing but did as the Sentinel commanded. He ran with all his might toward the altar of eyes where the girl laid. She was near motionless and crying in pain. The poor thing was pale and sickly looking, with scratches covering her body and demonic symbols carved into her flesh. The girl reeked of sulfur and death. Martin had never seen a nude woman before, and the site of the raped girl made him feel an embarrassed child-like humiliation. He wasn't used to this type of violence and his stomach began to churn like a river rapid. The farm girls viscously mangled form made him vomit on the floor next to her. He wished it was all a dream. The girl turned her head weakly toward him.
“Have you come to cleanse me of my baby?” She whispered meekly.
“No...”The boy stood there frozen, shaking in his pitiful excuse for armor.
“Why not...? She stared deeply into his eyes, her desperate hopelessness was intimidating.
“Kill me…” She said louder. “My baby can't be born into this world…”
“No, no, we can help you, we can… we can save you. There are Sentinels here, they can bless you with a miracle! Or... we can take you to a priest… or...” Martin tried comforting the poor girl but her stomach began to stretch outward with appendages that attempted to tear through the lining of her belly. The girl screamed loudly from the pain. She ripped back and forth in her tight bindings, but all she could do was scream.
The grey Sentinel was holding the Demon back and had already severed its right arm in the short amount of time that Martin had been upon the altar of eyes. The battle was turning in their favor but Martins' heart felt heavy. He feared he couldn't make the kill, that he wouldn't be able to do what had to be done. Under the poor girl's stomach, Martin saw what appeared to be a coiled ball of snakes thrashing inside her abdomen, chewing at her thin wall of stomach skin, trying to escape. Blood began to ooze through her gut.
Martin held his sword high knowing what had to be done, but, still afraid and unsure of himself.
“KILL ME!” the girl screamed repentantly.
His heart beat faster and faster, faster it beat the higher he lifted his sword.
“KILL ME, MERCY, MERCY!!!” The girl whimpered out with all her strength.
His sword blade came down with a mighty crunch piercing the girl's belly, driving it deep into her. His innocence was taken with the girl’s. He felt so small. The monstrosity in the girl's stomach stopped moving. The girl stared at him, softly babbling what he thought to be nonsense until she died. The grey-haired Sentinel managed to decapitate the Demon Bahomet with a heroic swing of his sword while the creature was attempting to crawl toward the altar of eyes and stop Martin. As the girl on the altered died the townsfolk threw their hands in the air and fell to their knees. They wept blood from their eye sockets and begged for forgiveness. Their mournful cries were saddening even if they were the enemy. After a short moment of wailing each villager took a small knife and drew it across their own throats spilling their blood across the floor in front of them. Martin stared at the lifeless body of the young girl in front of him, not paying any mind to his surroundings, he began to sob. It was a shame that a girl who was so beautiful had to die like this, had to die by a sword, but I guess that's how they all die these days. He fell to his knees, clasping his hands together and begging God to guide them to a safer place, begging God to guide him, just begging to wake up from this nightmare. Upon his shoulder he felt a heavy hand of comfort, it was surprisingly warm and made him feel safe again.
“You did what you had to do Soldier... You didn't embarrass yourself this time. For what it’s worth, I'm proud of you. What's your name young man?”
The boy looked at the figure who stood there comforting him, it was none other than the grey haired Sentinel.
“My names Ma-Ma-Martin, sir.” the boy said stuttering out his name, still shaken from the experience.
“A pleasure Martin, I am the Sentinel known as Sovereign of Morn Awolon. Now, get up and help me with the dead and wounded. There is a time and a place to mourn but now is not that time. This Church must be burnt along with the evil things that have desecrated it.”
The boy did as he was commanded and got up from the filth that he was kneeling in, the sentinel lending him a hand. Martin was ordered to help retrieve the other soldier still tucked in a fetal position sobbing uncontrollably on the ground. Martin helped the hysteric man up and escorted him to the shut chapel door where the other soldier was still frantically pounding against. He left them there and turned back into the church to help Sovereign with whatever he needed to be done. Upon crossing into the main chapel he saw Sovereign taking a knee in front of his fellow Sentinels, the bald one motionless slumped against the wall and the two pieces of the tall one joined together. Sovereign knelt there and prayed with his hands clasped, praying deeply.
“I have escaped the Weight…” The man said while standing over his dead comrades. A short moment of mourning was all he had before he turned and began to walk toward the boy.
“Why are you leaving their bodys’, sir? Why not bury them?” Martin asked inquisitively.
The sentinel stared down at the boy with a great sorrow that the boy hadn't yet seen before in a man. “We are sentinels, and as such we are charged with slaying all the beasts of hell. That includes following them to the afterlife where we engage in brutal combat for all eternity, basking in the fires of the great inferno.”
“But I don't understand sir, aren't you servants of God? Why wouldn't you want to go to heaven?” Martin naively said confused and quite upset at the preposterous idea.
“If you only understood, it's not so much not wanting to go, its just not our place… we aren't allowed in such a glorious realm... Enough on this matter, this place needs to be cleansed.” The sentinel commanded the chapel door to be opened where he finally pushed the boy through the entrance way into the courtyard were the Soldiers have been collecting there dead and wounded.
Sovereign commanded the remaining troops to toss as many of the townsfolk into the church before barricading the doors and burning the building to ash. As the soldiers threw the two-hundred or so dead civilians into the chapel, they were shocked in horror by the decapitated demon that lied in the middle of the room. The bodies were placed in a large dog pile and lit on fire. The soldiers closed the church doors and nailed it shut with a few planks of wood and a rusty nails they salvaged from nearby homes. They stood outside in the cool night air and watched the church burn to a cinder before making camp that night. Martin felt the warmth from the blaze heating his face and anterior regions while his back was cold from the nightly chill, his mind was surprisingly blank. The remainder of the platoon made camp in the village that night and boarded up in a relatively higher class home with plenty of food and blankets for the surviving twenty-two.
Though he was a hero for the day Martin still pulled the short straw for midnight watch. He was sitting next to the fire trying to keep warm. It wasn't bitterly cold out, but it was still cold enough that he felt uncomfortable. He saw visions of demons and beasts in the fire, menacing monsters tearing Men asunder, pure hopelessness inside the blaze. Out of the dark sovereign came draped in a woolen blanket, no longer donning his armor. He held two steaming bowls of stew in each hand and handed one to Martin.
“Thank you, sir!” Martin said with joyful surprise, his eyes gleaming.
“All quiet?” Sovereign said as he sat down near the boy.
“Yes sir, I've just been thinking…” Martin said eagerly taking spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. He had missed supper so he could sleep before his watch. His stomach was in a knot, the young man was practically starving. The stew was rich and thick, chunks of carrots, celery, parsnips, potatoes, northern seasonings, and plenty of beef. He enjoyed the stew so much he practically licked the bowl.
“Slow down or else you'll choke.” Sovereign joked Letting out a faint chuckle.
“Sorry sir, I'm just so hungry. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning.” Martin muttered as he wiped off his mouth with his blanket.
“I understand.” Said the Sentinel.
“Martin, I'm going to ask you an intimate question that I want you to think about before answering.” Sovereign stared into the boy's eyes, peering deep into his soul.
“Ok, sir… what about?” Martins skin grew cold as he slowly put down his bowl.
“You showed great courage in the face of pure evil today, Martin. You kept your sanity intact and moved even when the crushing influence of hell was upon you. But most importantly, you didn't falter in killing the girl.” Sovereigns eyes never broke from the boys. Martins breathing grew heavier and his palms were cold and clammy. There was no sound except the crackling blaze in the hearth next to them. The orange firelight danced across their faces. They stared at each other earnestly.
“I want you to become a Sentinel...”