“Get out of the way!”

The black horse thundered down the gravel path, kicking up dust as it went. It was foaming at the mouth, its flanks glistening with sweat. The warhorse’s muscles bunched and flexed as its rider dug his heels into the horse’s side. As it passed, the soldier by the gate could see the whites of its eyes.

The rider jerked back on the reins as they entered the gate, wheeling the horse around. He lept off his mount, tossing the reins to a nearby soldier and taking off on foot. His tunic was tattered, the dark fabric washed pale with dust and stained with sweat. Like the horse, his eyes were wide, his dirt-streaked face a mask of panic.

“Re- report!” the man hollered, as he dashed towards the command tent. “Report!”

Another man wrenched open the entrance to the tent, annoyance etched on his features. He squinted at the harsh glare of the morning sun. This man was decked in ceremonial armor, complete with a fine cape that fluttered in the wind as he stepped out of the tent.

“Calm down, man.” the soldier snorted. “Take a breath before you vomit all over my boots.”

“The enemy-” the rider gasped, “the enemy outnumbers us, Oskar. We can’t win. We’ve lost-”

Oskar gripped him by his shoulders, wrenching him upright to look the man in the eyes. He gave him a shake for good measure.

“Outnumber us? Numbers, Chris. I need numbers.”

“Seven- Seven hundred thousand, Oskar,” Chris whispered, as the blood drained from Oskar’s face. “Seven hundred thousand troops. We’ve barely got a hundred men left.”

“They outnumber us, seven thousand to one,” Oskar said, his mouth agape.

“Do we still have any chance?” Chris gripped his arms.

The soldier shook himself out of his shock. Easing himself upright, he let go of the scout’s shoulders and patted the man on the back.

“Well, if anyone can figure it out, that would be the boss,” he said, injecting confidence into his voice.

“Yeah- yes. You’re right, you’re right.” Chris turned towards the command tent, resolute. “Let’s find out what Boss has up his sleeve.”

“Good man,” Oskar agreed, leading the way. “He’s made it through worse before.”

Their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the tent as they entered, Chris just a step behind. Magelights flickered, casting shadows across the tent. A stone table stretched out in front of them, its surface uneven. Mountains and valleys, an exact replica of the continent, were rendered in miniature. Little flags, representing armies and strongholds, dotted the map. At the edge of the Tyraen Plains, bordering the deserts of Morian, a single white flag stood.

The map was a sea of red and blue.

Beyond the table was a raised dais, flanked by braziers that burned with some strange fire. They crackled and roared, sending sparks across the dias that faded before they could land. Colors danced in the flames, like ice and blood all at the same time. Between them was a throne, harsh in its simplicity.

A man lounged on that throne, slender fingers steepled in front of him. He was dressed in blacks and greys, heavy silk brocade that whispered a hint of his status. A black dragon-like mask disguised most of his face, while the angular lines of his cheeks and jaw were thrown into harsh relief before the flames. But his hair - it shimmered like a river of silver-white, long and straight.

He was a study in contrasts.

The man slowly opened his eyes to regard the two men, who swiftly sank to their knees. One eye gleamed a deep crimson, the other a pale azure. As he blinked slowly, the flames that flanked him seemed to surge and recede along with it.

“What’s with the look on your face, Chris?” the man asked, the faintest bit of humor coloring his voice.

A voice that sounded like molten gold. Chris had to collect himself before he spoke.

“We are surrounded on all sides, Boss,” he said, despair leeching back into his voice. “We’re completely outnumbered. What do we do? Are we going to die here?”

His last sentence seemed to stretch out into a wail. Oskar took the opportunity to smack the back of Chris’s head, fixing him with a glare.

“Shut up,” he growled, “Boss will figure something out. Losing is not an option.” He turned back to the man on the throne, who tilted his head in consideration. “Boss, no matter what you choose to do, I will be behind you every step of the way!” Oskar thumped his chest as he spoke. “I will walk through hell and back if it is at your side.”

The man smiled, rising from his throne.

“We’ve already been through fire and hell, Oskar,” he said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I know you are always on my side, even if we disagree.” His mouth quirked. Turning to Chris, he spoke, “And don’t worry. I have a plan. What are the odds, anyway?”

“Seven- seven thousand to one,” Chris gulped, ducking his head. “It’s a suicide mission, Boss. And it’s all because I messed around with the two princesses too much, isn’t it? I’m such a dumbass,” he cried, “This war was all my fault!”

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Beside him, Oskar rolled his eyes, and the masked man huffed a small laugh.

“When have I ever steered you wrong, Chris?” the man gentled. “You know I would have stopped you if it meant starting a war. With both kingdoms, no less.”

“Never…” Chris mumbled. “But I never know what you’re thinking.”

“Well, I never thought that it would come to this,” the man sighed and stepped away from them. From beneath his robes, he pulled out an amulet that almost hurt the eyes to look at.

At that moment, there was a loud commotion outside. A soldier burst into the tent, eyes wide and panting.

“They’re coming. They’re coming, Commander!” the soldier shouted, falling to his knees.

In an instant, the masked man straightened up, letting go of the amulet. He strode out of the tent, hands clenching and unclenching beside him.

“Listen up!” he intoned, in a voice like a roaring fire. “Form a perimeter, now!”

“Sir, yes sir!” the soldiers shouted back, raising their weapons in the air.

“My armor, Oskar,” the man murmured, turning back to them.

As the first wave of enemy soldiers broke through the barricade, the man stood in the midst of his soldiers, the midday sun making his gilded armor gleam. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

And then the slaughter began.

----------------------------------------

He stood atop a veritable mountain of bodies. Bone crunched as he shifted his weight, his boot sliding across blood-slicked armor. Most of them, he had cut down himself. But there was a lull in the battle, now. Or more accurately, his men had been slaughtered to the last, with only Chris and Oskar remaining by his side. The enemy had them fully surrounded, shoulder to shoulder behind a shield wall, bristling with spears.

Suddenly, the impenetrable wall of men began to part. He watched with interest as a squad of soldiers in elaborate armor stepped through, bearing brightly colored standards. Untouched by the battlefield, and as crisp and clean as they could be. Not like his own standard, buried somewhere beneath the bodies. Not like his cape, hanging in tatters off his tired shoulders.

The royal guards - because what else could they be, with armor in gold and silver, and cloaks in rich burgundy and indigo? - stepped out in front of him, the shield wall closing behind them. And between the bulk of these guards, he caught a glimpse of-

“You monster,” a bright, feminine voice sounded out. His eyes were glued to her as she strode out from behind her guards. Like a magnet, her hazel eyes, so bright they seemed golden, drew his gaze. Brown curls swayed as she walked, grazing her pale shoulders.

“Princess,” he grinned, in spite of himself. Her brow furrowed in frustration.

“We have you surrounded,” she declared, crossing her arms. “Surrender now, and you might be spared.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” another voice rang out, this one a little breathier. “His head is mine to take, Seraphina.”

Another girl entered his vision, this one a white-blonde. Her purple eyes, normally accentuating her soft, delicate features, were hard like chips of ice as she glared at him.

A man sauntered up to her, dressed in a decorated uniform, with artfully tousled brown hair. His green eyes narrowed into pleased crescents as he raked his gaze across her form. Subconsciously, she took a step back.

“Why don’t I fetch that head for you, Selena?” he smirked, his voice like sticky honey. The guards bristled at the use of the princess’ given name, only refraining from drawing their weapons when she raised her hand to stop them. “I’ll let you kiss it, as a… gift.”

“Shut up,” she snarled, hands clenching into fists.

The man danced away, disappearing back into the aggregation of officers behind the shield wall. His mind supplied a name - Frank. A scion of a noble family, but in no way noble in action or bearing. His train of thought was abruptly broken as Selena turned her murderous gaze back on him. He was about to open his mouth to say something in response when Seraphina spoke again.

“Calm down, Selena,” Sera said, frowning. “Don’t you think this whole battle was strange? As if everyone was being funnelled into a fixed formation…”

She was always a smart one. He smiled to himself as he looked down at her, worrying her lip as she tried to puzzle out what it meant.

“Now that she mentions it,” Chris muttered, “this formation really was odd.” With his one remaining eye, Chris turned to him, disbelief etched on his features.

“Yes,” he sighed. “It’s simply the only way.”

“But your soul-” Chris pleaded.

He turned his face away and closed his eyes.

He gathered his power to himself, drawing from the residual energy in the air and the fading life forces of the men that lay sprawled beneath his feet. Lives, spent heedlessly to stop him, arrayed in a gristly ritual circle of blood and broken bone. The surviving soldiers from both sides turned as he began to glow with an other-worldly light, dropping their weapons as tears - maybe blood - dripped down their stricken faces.

“No,” he heard Oskar whisper, his voice wracked with pain.

“Yes,” he smiled. “This way, we can still win.” He began rising into the air, buoyed by the energy that surrounded him. “Win, Oskar. Chris. Not for me, but for everyone…”

With those words, he tore the amulet from around his neck, channelling all the gathered energy into it. The air around it warped as continent-searing power was poured into the stone, shrieking like the sound of tormented souls. And then…

The amulet cracked.

And shattered.

The ever-present mask on his face tumbled down the corpse-hill, and he slowly fell to his knees as the power that had burst out of the amulet sank into his skin. The energy surged, trying to escape the confines of his body. All-powerful, all-consuming… his head began to fade into dust.

Seraphina’s eyes widened with realization. With a cry, she threw off the bodyguards restraining her and scrambled up to him. His lips quirked as he watched her. She threw herself into his arms, and he felt her tears splash against his armor. Every sensation was magnified a thousand-fold.

His lips moved, a whisper meant for her ears alone. He heard her breath hitch and her heart stutter before her sobs began in earnest. He breathed in. And pushed her away.

He stood on shaky legs, weighed down by the immense power that filled him. Raising his head, he watched, through fading eyes, the dark storm clouds gather above him. He raised his arms, as if in supplication to the heavens, and let out a primordial shout.

++ JUDGEMENT: TIME DISTORTION ++

The wind screamed. Lightning crackled.

“James! I’m sorry!” Seraphina sobbed, “I didn’t know!”

It was the last thing James heard. His head was dust. The ground beneath him - dust. The corpses around him also disintegrated to dust, flying into the air as she dashed towards him to catch his body before it hit the ground.

Her fingers clutched at his cloak, his armor. Her hand reached out, as if to catch the fading dust motes that were once his head.

“No…” she breathed. “Come back, James. You can do anything, can’t you?” she pleaded, hot tears streaming down her face. “Just come back! We can fix this! Please…”

Words that came far too late.

Time and space warped in the aftermath. Some of the living were turned to ash, blown away in a moment. Others regressed to babies, their first cries bemoaning the harsh fate put upon them. Still others withered into old men, creaking bones and gnarled limbs collapsing under the weight of armor and wounds.

What was it all for, in the end?

From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.