In this world of magic and war, there are always people who receive the worst treatment. The frontline fighters, the cannon fodder. Slaves are used as both, worthless to most, but valuable in vast numbers. And the ones that follow orders, are given better lives. When captured, slaves are forced into magical collars. Making them obedient and if slave rebels, the collar activates causing great pain. If it goes on long enough it will break them, becoming mentally broken. From there they are brought back up, as a mindless slave. Never questioning orders.

  One army uses slaves for most of their fighters, they capture and train them from young. And if they notice a team growing within a batch of slaves, they allow it. But force all the group through much harder training. Even their collars are strengthed to assure they can't rebel. One team excelled above the others, a trio. Zero, Ander, and Scythe. Zero always wore black, especially to cover his red hair, if he let it grow. His eyes were a cold blue. He had a smaller frame compared to his peers, but make no mistake, he could kill you while looking you in your eyes. 

  Ander was of elvish descent, but he was only half-elf. He had golden hair letting it grow longer. He had one eye color from both of his parents, one blue, the other golden. He was most skilled with a bow, able to shoot further and faster, both with accuracy and precision. 

  And Scythe. He was a young adult, his silver-white hair kept short. His sapphire eyes gained quite a reputation. People wanted his eyes as their own. He wore crude iron gauntlets, greaves, and a small chest plate. Each scavenged from his missions. The remaining parts of his armor were leather. Using a sword and shield was his weapon of choice.

  They were useful to the higher ranks when they learned how well the three of them could fight. Each trained in the same basics, how to use any and every weapon that didn't use magic. And from there it was up to the slave to continue training with a certain weapon. Each of them had the absolute basic armor.

  Preparing for a new mission, the trio cleaned their gear. Watching their captain's movements. The captain was a weasel of a man, small arms and legs. He was known for beating slaves and having them thank him for it. All of his power was in the whip he held. The whip could activate the collars, and they were more afraid of the whip than the man. "Scythe, your team will move in first." the captain howled, raising the whip, "Time for you to head out."

"Yes, sir. Zero, Ander, let's move. We're going along the cliff." Scythe stood up, even now Scythe stood taller than the captain.

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"Yes," the other slaves nodded.

         Making their move they walked along the cliffside while walking, everything went silent, the birds and insects fell quiet. "Scythe you smell that?" Ander asked, "Something is burning."

 "Wait… it's smoke? But there are no plumes." Scythe said

 "We should move on," Zero commented

 "Let's go," Scythe said continuing to walk.

         Hours later, a panic was heard behind the team. Trees were getting thrown, and a massive dust cloud was seen. Seconds later, several men on horseback were galloping away from the clouds, "... told you. Wait, let's use those people as bait." the one with a feather cap shouted.

         Before any could react, an arrow flew past Scythe's neck cutting the collar slightly. His body seized up in pain. The collar had activated. An arrow then pierced his shoulder, seeing his two brothers in arms get riddled with arrows, he started to panic, running to the cliff edge. Looking back at his friends, another arrow was planted into his leg and fell down the cliff. The last thing he felt was the ice-cold water feeling like a thousand arrows all over his body.

        Waking up everything felt surreal, it was pitch black. A pool of blood replaced the arrow, but he was so cold. He already felt frozen. A voice nagged at him, keeping him awake. "Hey… Hey Scythe, you need to keep moving, you need to run!" All at once, he woke up, getting up was difficult, but he still managed to stand up. Feeling a cold stone wall on his left, he used that to support himself.

        Time has little meaning in such darkness. But hunger is a sure sign that he was still alive. Walking down the seemingly endless tunnel. The arrow in his leg ached, and his shoulder screaming in pain. What felt like the first time in eternity, he saw a flickering light. Reaching out, Scythe asked for help, but no words came out. He felt his end was coming, and collapsed. Barely awake he heard footsteps run towards him, the man or woman, Scythe couldn't tell, asked if he needed help. Then once again he laid in the pitch black.

        Waking up in a soft bed, with a warm blanket on top of him. Looking around the room, there were two people, one man, and a woman, who both looked exhausted, she had blood on her hands. The man had a solid build, Scythe could tell he was a fighter. His black hair looked orange from the fire in the fireplace. The woman had a softer look, what Scythe saw of her hands they were covered in small nicks and pricks. She cooked a lot. but just by looking at her hands, something in Scythe made him recall home.

The woman looked up. "Well, welcome back. I thought I lost you, Zander over there found you in the sewers."

 Scythe tried to sit up but was forced back down. "Don't move yet, your wounds are deep, get your rest for now."

        Trying to get the words out, Scythe spoke, "Thank… you."