My Soldier

Rising from the ashes of a long, tedious war, Armalen gasped and sprung into battle, just as he had done several times before. His great, blood soaked sword plundered the lives of those unfortunate enough to step within range of the mighty warrior. He was a brute—an absolute animal on the battlefield; and She knew.

Stamina depleting and breathing becoming more of a chore, Armalen fell to his knees, and soon came his fate. Painful and hot, just as he’d always remembered it. It was never ending. The smell of blood, sweat, and other bodily fluids hung thick in the air. It seemed like centuries since the man had smelled anything more than death.

Finally, eyes growing heavy, he drifted off to the eternal bliss that he longed for after so many years. After so much pain and hurt.

A gasp racked Armalen’s body and he was standing in the middle of the war-torn battlefield once more, soldiers moving around him in the dance of combat, clanging and screaming encircling him.

“Why won’t you let me die honorably?!” Armalen shouted as he plunged his sword into the nearest enemy and kicked the lifeless corpse off of the blade. She never answered him. Not in a way that he ever understood, at least. She always spoke in riddles or outright didn’t answer. Time and time again She raised him back from the eternal rest he desired and ignored his pleas for a reason why.

The man cried out in anger and slashed six of his foes, relishing in the blood splattering across his dirt caked face. A stray arrow pierced his neck and he gripped the wound desperately as he bled out, eyes cast towards the darkening sky. Each death was painful and he accepted the tragic fate with open arms, but rest never awaited him. There was no peace for him. No honorable death. No answers.

“Atop a rotting mountain will you find salvation,” A soft, angelic voice broke through to him. It was Her again, being as cryptic as ever.

“I’ve done my part! I’ve lived my hell! Let me have a warrior’s death in peace! My body aches, my soul hurts, and my will to live is depleted. Please, I beg you, let me rest!”

A soft, blunt ‘no’ rang out before Armalen was sent back into battle. This enraged the man, so much that he went on a rampage and slaughtered countless men before meeting yet another tragic demise. He only came back with a fiery vengeance, hellbent on releasing himself from the purgatory he’d been cursed with.

After thousands of resurrections and millions of bodies falling to his blade, Armalen stood on a mountain of bodies and took a knee, gasping for the precious breath that had been robbed from him during his valiant efforts.

A woman adorned in obsidian armor atop a pale horse sat at the bottom of the pile, peering up at the persistent warrior with marble eyes. Her skin was as pale as Her horse and Her long, silky black locks were braided into a beautiful crown. The bodies near Her quickly decayed and turned to rotten corpses. Her beauty stood out against the death and ruin around the two of them.

“Atop a rotting mountain will you find salvation, Armalen.” She spoke softly but clearly, hopping off of Her horse. Armalen stumbled off of his throne of carcasses and stopped dead in his tracks at Her feet. He was angry, confused, and exhausted, but he still showed Her respect and took a knee.

“Is this what you wanted? Am I to win a war I’ve forgotten the point of?” He spat, eyes scolding the ground. “Death after death of not only me, but my comrades and the entire enemy line. You denied me a warrior’s death, and for what? What’s my reward?”

She placed a sympathetic hand over the man’s shoulder and hummed. A warm smile spread across Her perfectly sculpted face, “I needed a warrior capable of marching into battle and claiming what’s his.” She sank down to Her knees and looked Armalen in the eyes, the softest hint of remorse in Her delicate features. “I’m sorry it had to be you.” She whispered before fiery armor latched itself to Armalen’s body.

The armor had appeared out of nowhere and melted to his skin, causing the man to cry out and shriek in pain. He clawed at the armor until his nails bled and his voice was hoarse. Even through every possible death he could encounter, this was the most painful experience. The hot metal fused to his skin and burned everything it touched.

“Your name is War, and you’ll be referred to as such until the end of time and thereon.” She stated, standing up to peer down at the man who was still rolling around in agony on the ground.

“Why—why won’t you let me die honorably?” War croaked, the sizzling of his skin drowning out his hoarse voice.

“Because I needed a soldier capable of bearing the title, War. I saw potential in you, and I’ll continue to help guide you on this journey.” She stretched out a helping hand and pulled War to his feet, admiring the crimson armor. A horse trotted up next to them, adorned in matching armor to its rider. War swayed on his feet, hissing at the sensation throughout his body. Everything still felt like it was on fire, but he was sure he was going to live.

“So who are you, then?” War grunted as he mounted his horse.

She smiled and hopped up on Her horse, sweeping an arm across the battlefield before them, “All of this is me.”