"I'm-a going to, uh. How they say? Ah yes. Keel you!"
In any other situation Trev would have been laughing his ass off.
But with the Italian-Russian mobster standing right in front of him, the comment flying in his direction, he failed to find the comic relief in the man's crazy accent.

"Look, man. You've got something wrong. I'm the wrong guy!"
The mobster looked him over, stroking his own chin, recently shaved.

"Uh, zomething about you. Zomething tells me that you are just the right man I am, uh, look-eeng for."
A bead of sweat formed on Trevor's brow.

"Ah yes. And your sweating proves me, you are our man."
Trev tensed his body under the pressure, gripping his palms into fists.
The mobster smiled brightly, and then turned around, his new silk suit ruffling quietly as he did so.

"You are the one that will do thees job for me. Or die. You understand?"
Trevor's fists shook, but he nodded.

"You understand. Good."
The mobster sat down at a desk in the office room.
"Now, my men. Take this boy away and inform him of his new job."

Two well-dressed thugs took Trevor by the arms and turned him around, leading him out of their bosses office and down the hallways.
As they walked silently, Trevor wondered to himself how he had got here.
His thoughts wandered to a few months before, when he had arrived in Europe.

He had come to Europe in a traveling abroad program with his school, studying in various countries during his junior year.
But that contract had long been breached, since his kidnap by a crime syndicate where he was being tossed around like the town whore.

Trevor always had an interest in the underworld, the behind the scene crimes that no one ever heard about, and the tightly wound organized crime lifestyle. But he had never wanted to be a part of it.

"State your full name."
Trevor stood silently, his hands were cuffed behind his back and he was in a dark room.

"State your full name!"
A smirk played across Trevor's face, he spat on the man's shirt.
The man scoffed.

"State your name boy."
He pulled out a switchblade.
"Or you lose something dear..."
He pointed the blade towards Trevor's loins, to which Trevor kicked his hand, sending the switchblade out of the would-be interrogator's reach.
As the man lunged for his knife, Trev stomped his boot on the man's wrist, grinding from side to side.

"My name is Trevor Pierre LeStrad. I'm here on an educational visa, and my major of study is ancient history."
He plunged his foot into the man's stomach.

"I've been trained in six different styles of martial arts, and taken my knowledge of them and created my own new school of fighting."
He pushed the man over with his feet and leaned over to pick up the switchblade.

"Take your knife back to your boss and tell him you fucked up."
He dropped to his knees, driving the switchblade into the man's gut. He slammed his head into the man's, which bounced back against the floor, knocking him unconcious, bleeding.
Trevor searched and found the key to the cuffs, letting himself free.
He opened the door, peering at the injured man on the floor, who was groaning.
He turned as he walked out to see a man in a suit.
The man spoke in a russian accent, with some italiano licks.

"That's-a some nize work you do. Trevor you said your name is? You are coming with me."

That's how the current situation had started.

"Oh yeah."
His two escorts looked at him.

"What?"
"Just remembered something."
They chuckled.

"Like how you're going to die for crimes againt the boss?"
"No."
He shook his head, thinking back yet again.

There had been a party. He had let his guard down, and gotten drunk.
He bumped into the man with the switchblade, and got into a scuffle.
Not used to fighting wihle drunk, he did not fare well, and was taken down easily, then put in a van.

"Ah! Must remember never to get drunk again."
"What the fuck you talkin' bought frenchman?"
Trevor shook his head.

"Nothing important to you. Just remembering how this all started."
The two thugs laughed.

"Always thinkin', he is."
Said one.
"Always stuck in the past."
"Never going to go anywhere that way!"

The two men laughed and pushed Trevor through a doorway into a dimly lit room.
Inside stood a man dressed in a nice business suit, his hair slicked back.

"Greetings. I do believe you're the new acquisition, am I right?"
Trevor nodded.

"Ah, please sit down, friend."
The man motioned to a seat at a table. The ends of his shirt sleeves were frilled.
Trevor sat down none the less, and peered through the odd lighting at the man.

"I am Adaman Vlasinki, a friend of your captor, and I'm looking for some help."
Trevor raised his brow at the man's name.
"There's been some nasty disturbances near my manor lately, and I would much like them to be dealt with."
"What kind of disturbances?"
"Oh, well."
Adaman sat down and leaned close, revealing his face.
A fairly aged man, maybe in his mid-fourties. He had pulled back black hair, and a few age lines on an otherwise flawless face.

"The locals in the nearby village are convinced I'm a vampire, the silly cretins. All I need you to do is talk to the people and make sure they understand that their silly fantasies are just that."
Trevor almost bust out laughing, containing himself by putting his hand over his mouth.

"A vampire, eh?"
"Yes, a vampire."
Trev joked, "Well would their silly fantasies have any truthful base."

"Well see," Adaman leaned close. "I do believe that's the problem."
He smiled, showing a fair set of canines.
Trev chuckled.

"You had those put in, didn't you."
Adaman shook his head in despair.

"Now look. I pay this damned company for protection and I expect to get what I pay for, regardless of your questions to my sanity or my intentions! That's what a criminal organization does, protects it's payers by any means. And as I know it, if you don't do any job that russian mobster gives you he'll cut of your scrotum, staple it to your forehead and leave you tied to a tree for the wolves to eat!"
Trev was shaken by the nobleman's uproar.
"But if you're a vampire can't you just protect yourself?"

The thugs had been listening in, and their laughs could be heard.
Adaman was outraged, he stood up and put on his hat, pulling his cane from its rest against the wall.

"Well then I bid you adieu, forsaken one. Go to your grave with your ballsack on your forehead."
As he walked out Trevor stood up and followed him, waving to the guards.

"Well looks like I've got me a job to do. I'll see you guys later."

Trev and Adaman walked into the elevator quietly, and the doors closed with a ding.
"Thanks."
Adaman hit the first floor button, replying.
"No problem. But seriously how could you let yourself get captured by them?"
"It happens sometimes..."
"Oh yeah. Really. Good job idiot. You got drunk again."
"Yeah you know what Vlas? Go fuck yourself."
"You know that's humanly impossible."
"Yeah well you're not a human. So go shove your supernatural vampire dick up your ass and shut the fuck up."
Adaman shook his head, and hit the elevator's stop button. He turned to Trevor, his eyes flaring.

"You insolent fool! I've been gracious to let you know about me, take you in when you violated your educational visa three months ago, and even then I haven't fed off of you, tried to turn you, or just generally killed you. You should be worshipping the ground I walk on and kissing my feet!"
Trevor smiled.

"You really are a dickhead."
He hit the first floor button again, restarting the elevator.
"We've already talked about this. Soon, Vlas. I'm not ready yet."
"Yeah, again with all of your 'I'm not ready. I'm a sissy french wuss' shit."
Adaman flailed his arms in front of him like a sissy little girl, his voice high pitched.

Trevor sighed.
"Fuck you."

The elevator dinged for the last time, it's doors opening.
Adaman called for his driver, getting into the luxurious black benz.
Trevor followed inside.

Adaman snapped and said.
"Home, Jones."

The car drove off, the two men in silent mental combat.

Ramontiere charged forth with his personal soldiers, the Quintcommanders and the man on the Imperial steed mirroring them.
When they were 20 feet apart, the man pulled the reigns on his Imperial steed, bringing it to an immediate stop.

Ramontiere's mind flashed.
Any steed can look like an Imperial General's horse, but only they are trained to do that.

As the steed halted, the Quitcommanders passed by, drawing their different weapons and setting down upon Ramontiere's soldiers from horseback.
Ramotiere stood silently, watching the man on the Imperial steed.
A hollow voice, faintly recognizable, but darker, came from the shadow of the man's hood.

"Welcome to a new reign fool. I am the High Commander of Infernia's forces, and you'll be the first to be witness to my might!"
Ramontiere jabbed the Imperial banner into the ground.
Around him his men were dieing, slowly being defeated by the Quintcommanders.

"New reign? If you think that then you're the fool, High Commander. This land belongs to the Holy Empire of Light!"
He pulled his shield and took his fighting stance.

The High Commander scoffed.
"Holy Empire of Light? That name became false so many years ago. But you wouldn't understand. You can't see the truth from the top, but once you fall..."
He looked around at his Quintcommanders, all of Ramontiere's troops were slain.
The Quintcommanders were barely injured.
He nodded to them, and spoke something in an unintelligible language.
The Quintcommanders all nodded, sheathing their weapons and heading back to the general skirmish that was behind them.

Across the battlefield the Infernum's soldiers had begun to push into the guard towers, and a few were already set ablaze.
They took the horses from the cavalrymen when they killed them, to be corralled back to their camps for some evil purpose.
The Quintcommanders went about, dealing out orders and lending aid to their soldiers.
They healed the wounded, and guided the strong, and protected the weak.

The High Commander looked back to Ramontiere.
"You'll never know the corruption you stand in, boy."
Under the shadow of his hood he smiled.
"Your armor always did glint to brightly, I should have known better."

He leaped from the back of his horse, flipping and striking at Ramontiere as he landed.
Ramontiere blocked the attack with his shield, which shattered from the force of the hit.
Ramontiere was set aback by the strike, but did not let himself falter.
He took his sword in both hands and swung at the High Commander, connecting directly with his neck.

The High Commander stumbled backwards, headless.

"Hah!"
Ramontiere laughed.
"This war is over if you're the finest specimen from this army of devils!"

The High Commander's body laughed, a darker, sinister voice echoing in the air.
"You think you can defeat me that easily boy? You're mistaken."
The sound of the voice made Ramontiere's heart twinge, as if it was grating at his very soul.
"You're also easily fooled, the High Commander wouldn't combat you unless victory was completel!"

A shroud of dark mist billowed from the body, and the shadowed man leaped forth, striking with a drawn blade.
Ramontiere barely deflects the attack, stumbling backwards.

"What in the Hells?"
"Yes that's right. Hells. At least you've got something right you half-witted fool!"

The shadowed man attacked ravenously, as if a hungry beast had just been unleashed after months of starvation, hungry for blood.
Ramontiere was able to block his assault, and called upon his Holy might.
"Back with you, filthy demon!"
Light surged from Ramontiere's left hand, and with a flash of light and power, the shadowed man was sent flying backwards.

He landed nimbly, on his feet, laughing.
"Your powers are nothing to me."
He stood up straight, suddenly looking very refined, unlike the madman he had been percieved as before.
He raised his blade to his side, and it's curve reflected the light of the sun.
His hair flowed in the wind, silvery lockes like none had ever seen.
He stared at Ramontiere with his Crimson Gaze, and spoke.

"You know nothing of this world, but know this. I am your enemy, and I serve the High Commander of Infernia's forces. Your brother is dead by my hands, and your army at Hildegarde is decimated. This is our might! Go back to your Imperial Capital in shame, fool!"

Ramontiere seethed with rage, never again would he flee the battlefield.
"You will die here!"
He flew at the High Commander's servant swinging to smite his enemy.

The dark servant parried his strike easily, stepping to the side and letting Ramontiere fall with his momentum.
"You cannot defeat me that easily, Ramon. I am Kyo, the High Commander's personal assassin!"
Kyo turned and charge at the fallen Ramontiere.
Driving his blade through Ramontiere's shoulder and into the ground beneath.
"You will learn this, General of the Empire's Northern forces. Infernia is not to be trifled with."

Pulling the blade from his shoulder, Kyo stepped over him and began to walk away slowly.
"You aren't leaving without a fight, demon!"
"There already was a fight. And you lost."

Ramontiere stumbled up, his arm limp from his foes attack.
He looked across the battlefield.
All of the guardtowers were ablaze, his men were dead, strewn across the land.
The Infernum forces were pulling back, already far away.
The Quintcommanders were sitting on horseback, watching the assassin Kyo walk towards them.
Each of them was as noticeably demonic looking as the last.
The first wore red platemail, with demonic runes inscribed upon it, his skin was a dark brown, his eyes a piercing silver, and two horns grew from his forehead, leaning over slicked back red and black hair. He wielded a large greatsword, made of a black metal, with inscriptions on it similar to his armor.
The second wore a dark blue set of leather armor, a long tail of cloth leading out from the waist, his skin was fair, his hair was short and red, and his eyes glowed orange. He wielded two golden shortswords, with short inscriptions upon the base of their blades.
The third was covered in magnificent robes, a black base with flourishes of yellow, magenta, maroon and orange, covering a suit of green chainmail. His skin would have been a light tan, but he was covered in arcane and demonic tattoes, from head to toe, his eyes glowed a deep purple, and his head was shaven. He wielded a longsword forged of a green metal, and powerful magics.
The fourth was clad in an ancient suit of platemail, silver in hue. A fearsome helm covered his face, made of the same metal and with the same ancestry as his armor. He bore no weapons, as his gauntlets were clawed and covered in many spikes, as well as his boots.
The fifth wore no armor, just the regal clothes of a noble. His hair was flowing and brown, his skin was a light tan, and his eyes were golden. He had a decorative long sword by his hip, and one fearsome clawed gauntlet over his right hand. He wielded the two together along with powerful magics.

Ramonteiere stood, looking at them, and yelled at the assassin.
"How do you know my name?!"

Kyo turned, speaking quietly, but his voice echoing through Ramontiere's heart.
"I work with someone you were very close to."
Kyo turned to the Quintcommanders, nodding to them.
The rode off towards their army as he sheathed his blade.
He rose his fist, slamming it to the ground.
He rose his head, an evil smirk on his face as the ground blackened and a mist seeped up over the battlefield, drenching the guardtowers in darkness.

Ramontiere picked up his sword, and stumbled towards the city.
Reinforcements were coming, he could still win this battle.
He looked to the sky, leaning against the city walls.
"I'll turn this around for you Malus, I swear it."

The Quintcommanders were back at their camp, kneeling in front of a rugged looking man sitting on a large chair.
When he spoke, his voice was a plain low tenor, but there were years of experience, and a great power behind his calm voice.

"What do you have to report, Ryo?"
The noble looking man stood slowly, bowing slightly as he began to speak.
His voice was elegant, but there was a fiery tone to it.

"We have obliterated the current forces at Hildegarde, except for their commander, just as you had asked of us."
The High Commander nodded.
"Thank you, Ryo. Quellam, tell me of our casualties."

Ryo kneeled back down, and the tattoed man in robes stood, bowing and speaking.
His voice was very smooth, with a rugged power laying dormant behind his silver tongue.

"We only suffered minor casualties using your tactics Milord High Commander."
The High Commander nodded again.
"Thank you Quellam. Now Hofma, tell me of what information you could gather."

Quellam kneeled back down, and the man in the blue leather stood, bowing and speaking.
His voice was quiet but forceful, his calm tone belying great strength.

"These troops were lead by the Northern General himself, just like you had suspected, sire. I also learned of a few new tactical and weaponry plans the Empire has been plotting while searching their towers."
The High commander nodded yet again.
"Thank you Hofma, we'll speak again later on these plans you speak of. "
He eyed the last two of the Quintcommanders, whom he had not given a specific mission during the battle.
"Dyerfing, Yerzog. Do either of you have anything you would like to add?"

The man in the siler armor stood, bowing before he spoke.
His voice was deep and mighty, but at the same time high and light, a duality played across his tone.
"Yes, Lord High Commander. Dyerfing would like to comment."

The High Commander nodded.
"Go ahead Dyerfing."
"Dyerfing found many lost souls on the battlefield. The Dead Ones are already awakening. Milord. Dyerfing finds only evidence to support Hofma's spying claims on the Empire's evil roots. Dyerfing is unsettled with this."
"Yes, Dyerfing. As am I. Many things have been revealed to my eyes as of late, and this corruption in the 'Holy Church of Light' has me the most worried. This has turned from a conquest for Infernia into a crusade against evil."
The High Commander nodded.
"Thank you Dyerfing. Your concern is noted."
He looked around the room and began to speak.
"Tomorrow we will strike again, when the Commander's reinforcements have arrived. I will personlly confront him during this battle. We will push him out of Hildegarde. Our next conquest will be the Imperial Capital of Lyte."

The last Quintcommander, bearing his red plate stood, and spoke.
His voice was soft and gentle, like that of any caring young man.

"Milord. I have heard new recently that my Father found another victim. She bore another son four years ago. I would like to have permission to take leave after tomorrow's battle and find her. I need to have contact with my young brother."
The High Commander nodded.
"We can halt the advance on Lyte for this. We will search for your brother and his mother, and I will personally accompany you in this. We will look for a way to find, and stop, your father. I am sorry for your plight Yerzog."
Yerzog smiled, a tear welling in his eye.
"Thank you, milord. You are too kind."
"Say nothing of the sort. Infernia's residents are all viewed as the vicious beasts that have escaped from the border-prisons.We will change this image. I will not let a few black sheep ruin a pure flock. The demonic bloodlust was conquered a long time ago, and the land needs to know that we, too, despite our looks are also pure of heart."
Yerzog bowed and kneeled.

"Now stand my Quintcommanders! We feast tonight for victory tomorrow!"
The five men stood, and their High Commander with them.
They shook hands, hugged, cheered and laughed, preparing for the feast.
The High Commander stopped as the Quintcommanders left, looking out from his tent towards Hildegarde.
"Ramontiere. Your betrayal shall be repayed by my hands. You will die on the Holy Alter in Lyte, I swear it."
Malus was looking down at his hands, curled up in his anger.
He left the room, walking towards a familiar looking sorcerer and elvish warrior.

Back at Hildegarde, Ramontiere was recieving treatment for his wound from one of the reinforcements clerics.
He called a messenger to his side.
"Return to the Emperor, and tell him I need the entire army to march to my position. The full Northern Menace is about us, and we may lose Hildegarde in the next few days."
The messenger nodded, his face grim.

Ramontiere stood, donning his armor.
"Listen up men. We may have small numbers for now. But tonight we have demons to hunt!"
The men cheered, gathering weapons and supplies.
Ramontiere was leading a night raid on the Infernum's camp, which he had learned of it's position from a scout, who had died after bringing him back the information.
As his men left, he stopped and looked towards the enemies camp.
"Malus. Your death shall be avenged. These demons will die tonight, I swear it. I shall bring death to those that killed my mentor and friend."

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

Malus, the High Commander of Infernia's combined forces, which were known to the Holy Empire of Light as 'the Infernum', were seen as the Empire as a demonic plague, set about by dark powers to destroy their holy nation, was once the Northern General of the Empire of Light.
In reality, Infernia is a nation of fiend-like men and women, who draw their power from shadows instead of light and the sun.
They overcame their demonic bloodlust a long time in the past, aside from the many criminals who are still affected by it.
The nation of Infernia decided to Counquer the Empire in a sweep to gain more resources, but in a turn of events, the spymaster Hofma discovered a corruption in their midst.
A dark evil plagued the Empire, and led it to do it's dark will under the guise of 'holiness' and 'righteousness'.
Malus could not stand this, and spoke with the ruling council of Infernia about the issue.
They granted him the power and authority to use the armies of Infernia to drive the blight from the land and send it back to whatever hell it came from.

Ramontiere, the General of the Empire's Northern Forces, was once Malus's first Lieutenant, and trusted friend.
But when he fled from the battle, an event which he does not even remember anymore, he left his close friends to die.
He has pledged in the name of all that is Holy and Pure within the Empire to drive the scourge of the Infernum from the land, and to avenge his once-general's death.

He is being commanded by the dark powers that control the Empire, but does not know it.
He willingly subjected himself to them many years ago, believing them to be holy angels.

Ramontiere's armor would always glint very brightly in the sun, said to be an effect from his paladin strength and purity.
Malus's armor would always glint dully, after he shined his armor and buffed it, it's sheen was that of a veteran warrior, but it lacked the 'holy' flare of Ramontiere's.

Both men fight for the same base reason:
Malus's defeat.

Which is right?
Ramontiere leads a life of duty and pride, and even though he leads the evil powers to their greater gain, he is still a good man.
Malus fell from his life of prosperity within the Empire, and scrounged his way to the top of the Infernian military chain, where as they are more vicious and destructive, Infernia fights for equality, leading a republic and believing in the rights of all people, no matter their heritage. But aside all of this, Malus is consumed with his lust for revenge against his betrayer.

Does being controlled by evil make Ramontiere evil?
Does serving those that look for the greater good of all make Malus good?

This is for you to decide.
But know this.
There is no hero in this story.
Only the memory of one.

"I think it's about time we stopped this charade and you all saw the truth."

The group turned to look at the man standing apart behind them.
He looked distant, his eyes bore a strange glazed look.

"I'm not who I said I am. I've been lieing to all of you. This whole time I've been working behind your backs with the enemy. This whole time, I've been playing you all for fools."

The five other people looked shocked, almost as if they didn't believe him.

"I know we've been through a lot..."
He reached into the breast of his jacket.
"And I know this is a shock... and I know you're all confused."
He pulled his hand back out, metal glinted.
"But this is just the way it is... Not all of us can go in there."
The gun hung from his hand at his side, his grip was light.
"We weren't all meant to go, and I'm sorry."
He pulled his arm upwards, pointing the pistol at the group. His former friends, the allies he had fought with bravely, the people he had come to know and love, cringed in fear, anger, and disgust.
"Goodbye guys."
There was a tear in his eye as he bent his arm and pulled the trigger.

His body landed on the ground to the side with a loud thump.
The group was in shock, horrified.

The doors across the room slid open, smoke rolling out across the ground.
A large man stepped out through the clouds of smoke, looking around to see what the noise was.

The leader of the group, noticing the opporunity, pulled his pistol and fired, almost without thinking.

The large man sputtered about, falling to his knees.
His gruff voice spoke out, garbled by the blood.
"A trap?"
He fell forward, and there was soon a thick puddle of blood.

The group walked over to him, and the woman knelt down, noticing a glint around the large man's kneck.
Looking closer she realized, gasping.

"It's that pendant he told us about... the one that works with that Room of Dreams..."

The scout had gone inside, and came out astounded.
"Guys... this is it..."

They walked inside, and looked around, mouths gaping.

"The Room of Dreams..."
The leader looked around, holding the pendant in his free hand.
"Which has the power to make the wearer of the pendant immortal, and capable of anything."

They all turned around, looking to where their friend had fallen.
The scout immediately noticed.
"Where is he?"

The tech took a close look at the pendant.
"It's glowing... it's activated recently."

The scholar nodded in agreement.
"The books say that the pendant glows that color when a creation of the Room of Dreams that has left the Room is destroyed..."

The group looked at each other astounded.
The leader shook his head.

"So... he only did it because..."
The woman began to cry.
"He would have immediately turned on us when we entered the room..."

They all looked back to where they had just been.
They all looked back to where they had come from.
They all looked back on their memories.
The leader remembered the wrong the large man had caused him.
The woman remembered the day she had met the leader.
The scout remembered when the leader had saved him from the large man's goons.
The tech remembered how the leader had provided him with funds to finish his projects.
The scholar remembered how the leader had saved him from wrongful imprisonment.
They all looked back.
All but him.
All but the sacrifice.

"Progress is fueled by tragedy, yet it is tragedy which completely demolishes progress."

"There's too much at risk here General, we can't possibly keep the troops up against this army!"
The general turned to his soldier, the faceplate of his helmet hiding his dissapointment.

"No lieutenent, this outpost is too important the the Empire. Center of trade, the old capital. We can't let this fall without fighting! We stand, against all odds."
He turned back to the crowd below, walking to the edge of the balcony, lifting the Empire's banner high above his head.
"We will stand against all odds, For the Empire!"

The crowd below raised a mighty cheer, "For the Empire!"

"Men, to your stations!"
The crowd scattered quietly.

The general turned back, facing his lieutenent.
He slipped his helmet off, his long black hair unfurling down across his shoulders, dissapointment still evident in his features.
The lieutenent looked at the ground, ashamed.

"You know that this stronghold is too important to the Empire to just abandon it while the enemy rushes in to take it."
The lieutenent followed in the general's shadow, his armor glinting brightly in the sunlight.

"Yes general, I understand."
His voice had an undertone of ashamed contempt, something akin to what a child feels for a parent.

"Good, now. Ramontiere,"
The general stopped, his helmet under his arm, the banner of the Empire in his other hand, and faced his lieutenent, his friend.
"We've come a long way since the Infernum appeared. You've done a lot of work under my wing. But I've recommended you to the Emperor for second General."
Ramontiere looked shocked.
"They're instating a new General?!"
"Keep it down friend, It's only been talked about a little, but with the attacks on the south border by more Infernum, the Emperor has been considering calling for a General to the southern border."
"And you recommended me? But why?"
"Like I've said, we've worked together for a long time, and I think you're up to it. Just stick with me tomorrow. I know things look grim, but we outnumber their force,"
"What do you mean general?"
"I called in the Bloodbreakers for reinforcements."
"Sephirus?"
"Yes, our old friend Sephirus, leader of his own troop in the elven army."
"When will he arrive."
"Before the Infernum's first barrage tomorrow morning."
"Then..."
"His contingent contains about five hundred men. We'll be fine."
Ramontiere nodded, his face looked less grim.

"Come, let's hurry to the barracks, we have troops to rally."
The general and lieutenent hurried to the barracks.

The troops were rallied, the reinforcements were called.
Victory was assured.
Yet still Ramontiere slept uneasily.
He tossed and turned, something was wrong.
Victory was lost.
In the night something happened.

He gathered all of the troops he could muster, all the men he could wake, but left the general's own troops alone.
He fled, leaving the general, the general's brother, and about fifty men in the town.

In the morning, the general awoke to find all his troops gone, no note of their leaving.

"Dysent! What is this?"
He barked at his brother.
"I don't know brother. I woke up and all the troops were gone but our very own!"
"General, the Bloodbreakers are here!"
"Good bring the commander to me."
A slightly shorter man with pointed ears walked up, his skin fair in shade, and his hair a shade of red.

"Ah, good friend, it's been to long."
He looked around.
"What's this, the troops still asleep?"
The general turned, his face wrinkled in anger.
"No, they've all fled... We're alone."
"Absurd! Against that troop?"
The general turned to his brother.
"Dysent, take our troops to the towers on the wall, we'll send fire down upon the Infernum with arrows."
His brother bowed, fittinf his helmet on as he stood.
"Men, head out!"
The general turned to the Bloodbreaker commander.
"I'm sorry Sephirus. When I called for you I did not think my first lieutenent would turn his back on me like this."
The man bowed slightly.
"No one could have forseen this, friend. We're here, and we're going to hold to our alliance till our deaths."
The foreign squad rose a cheer.

The general nodded.
"Please if you would, take your men to the northern gates. Hold the Infernum back while we shoot them through."
Sephirus nodded.
"To the gates men! Today blood will spill and our honor shall be known! Bloodbreakers, March!"

The troops had all left to their posts.
Dysent looked back at his brother from atop the wall.
The Infernum was not far from reaching the town.
Sephirus led the skirmish with the ground troops as Dysent led the ranged assault.

The general stood quietly in the serene streets, walking them quietly, saying goodbye to his beloved city.
He turned to face the northern gates, as the Infernum soldiers flowed in like a tumultuous flooding river.

Dropping his helmet, he drew his sword, and took his shield in hand.
The horde rumbled towards him, screaming unintelligble things.

His eyes burned with a righteous rage, his hair flowing in the wind, his armor glinting darkly in the light.
"Ramontiere..."

The troops clashed into him, and he thrashed about, taking out as many as he could before he was overwhelmed by their numbers.
His last words were never heard.

Thus was the fall of Ravenhold, the first city to be lost to the Infernum, which was now their center base of commands.

As the horde charged towards Hildegarde, the general stood quietly, remembering the day he fled from battle.
He swore it would be the last time.

The Infernum troops swept by the guard towers, skrimishing with the ground troops, inflicting no damage as usual.
The Quintcommanders and the leader in front of them charged through the men, mowing down any in their path or within their reach.

Ramontiere, now the Northern General, raised the banner of the Empire high over his head, drawing his blade.

"For Malus! For the Empire!"
He charged towards the six mounted warriors headed towards him with his troops, in memory of the commander he had left behind.

An enemy force approached.
The battle would be just like any other.

Call the men to the stations.
We'll protect this border town once again.

Huzzah!
Hurrah!

March forth, take you position on the fields!
Infantry scattered in squads!
Archers and artillery take your positions on the towers!
Five infantry squads to each tower!
Cavalry stay closer to the town!
Five calvary per tower!

The men scatter, hurrying to their stations.
The town would be protected.

The fringe barriers would be broken, like always, without casualty to his men.

The commander looked over his troops heading out.
Like a father watching his son leave for war.

He gathers his personal guard.
The troops that would protect the city when the towers were bypassed.

An elite squad of just fifty members.
The best of the best.
With the best leader possible.

The enemy was spotted in the distance.

He lined up his troops in front of the gate, horses and weapons at the ready.

The soldiers of the enemy seemed to seeth forth with a power opposite to the Empire.
This is why they were the enemy.
This is why they were called demonic.
That is why they were labeled the Infernum.

Chaos embodied, destruction given life.
Creatures from the far north and the far south, and deep within the earth.
Jaunted movements.
Screaming battlecries.
Dark powers to rival the Holy strength of the Empire.

Within the throng were darkened soldiers, armed with curved, hooked blades, and decked out in dark plate armor, their archers with barbed arrows and bows reeking of dark power, their strategists teeming of demonic pacts, dark auras abounded within the group.
From the tumultuous horde a small group rode forward on dark horses, the Stallions of Hell.

Five members of the army that acted as the commander of the forces, called the Quintcommanders.

Never before had a single member come forth to show himself as the leader.
But today that changed.

A sixth member rode forwards, on a horse similar to those ridden by Empire commanders.
Clothed darkly, faintly glowing, a hood hid his face from clear view.

A rumble rose from the crowded force, slowly raising in volume.
Malice.
Malice.
Malice.

All raised their weapons, even the Quintcommanders, in seeming to the leader in front of them.

The commander faltered, wondering.

Malice? ... Malice....

Malus...
Impossible.

The man on the Empire steed drew his blade, and took a familiar stance on the horse.
Pointing forwards with an empty yell, he charged off with the army behind him.

The Quintcommanders close behind him.

The comander raised his hand and called a messenger.

The messenger scurried off a few seconds later, hopping on his horse and heading south.

Call for reinforcements.

In the chaotic field, the bodies lay strewn about.

The shaded man paces through the once active camp.

Remembering the night before.

Bright campfires.
Loud banter and laughter from well fed soldiers.
A happy commander strolling through the ranks socializing.
The campaign was going well.
The enemy would be defeated.

The blade dripped from fresh blood.

The wielder staggered and swayed.

A darkness sighed forth from his being.

Oh, captain!
Yes?
Your brother was right to chose to you lead this campaign, you have a sensible head on your shoulders.
Thank you soldier.
Have you heard word for the next move.
Not yet, the scouts are supposed to be back in the morn with enemy movements and a report from home.
It will be a glorious battle.
And a glorious victory!
To the Empire!

Cups raised, joyous recollections of the battle before.
A jumble of soldiers, unprepared for the next step.

A shadow stalked that night.

The darkness billowed down like mist.

The man stepped towards a tree.

Blade in one hand, sheath in the other.

A raspy breath, gasping for life.

The soldiers grumbled up a victory song.
The shadow stalked through the camp.
His dark intent hidden by the joy in their eyes.
A silent drawing.
A hand grasps hair.
The unsuspecting soldier dies without a sound.
The body drops.

A soldier rests against the tree.

Bloody, scarred.

The shaded man speaks, his voice as if traveling over the wind from far away.

The soldier shakes his head, standing shakily in one last act of defiance.

For the Empire!

Captain!
What is it, soldier?
A man's fallen.
Then maybe we've been drinking to much!

Laughter.

Closer inspection.

Captain!
Yes?
There's blood!
He's dead!

Caught in a charge by one hand.

He stumbles, and his feet leave the ground.

Your life is forfeit. Where is your brother.
What are you, fiend?
I am only what you make me out to be.

A crimson gaze.
Not of the natural world.

Soldiers scramble.
The shadow leaps.
A glorious strike from the heavens.

Chaos ensues.

The same day dawning, yet far away where the city guards are yawning.

The sun rises over paved city streets and formally stuctured buildings and buttresses.

The dew sets down, only to be swept away by quick steps and hurried hooves.

The grass is laden with sweet scented perfumes, the garden of the royal family.

The guards sigh at the horizon, ever valiantly looking out for enemy arrival.
And the runners hurry through the barracks, with an important message.

The fields and villages surrounding were the same as the night before.
Curious unchanging cities and villages, covered with the dust of ages.

The feet had hurried by the day before.
Curious rush.
And always to the same place.
At the same time.

The city is filled with a loud ruckus, one that had been sleeping til now.

The rooves are shodden, the soldiers hurrying to wake.
Where's the commander?
I can't see through the mass.
Then where would he have gone?
I can't recognize the men, they're already in uniform.
Over there, on the balcony!
Hurry, we must report!

Apart from the roar of the crowd and the river of bodies stands an intimidating figure.
Fitted in light shades, his face uncovered letting the wind caress his silent face.
Perched upon the balcony, the commander stood solemnly on watch.
A sheathed blade at his side, strapped firmly to his belt.

The runners run to the balcony eyes fimly planted on the commander's back.

Look, he's standing alone!
He's not busy!
We must report!
Hurry, tthe message is of dire importance!

Closer to the commander, their eyes full of fear.
A silent turning.
A subtle lift.
A glorious face amongst the rubbish.
Worried.

The message recieved.

The dawn of a new day.

The sun rises slowly over a damp field.

The dew sets down into the streams.

The grass is laden with resting bodies.

The scouts focus on where their camp had been the night before.

The field had grown new plantlife overnight.
Curious looking plantlife, shaped like human body parts, covered in gashes and scars.

The streams weren't there last night.
Curious looking streams, thick and sticky, and very unmoving.
And an odd shade.
Crimson?

The field is covered by a still ruckus, a chaos strewn in the night time.

The tents are torn, the soldiers dead.
Where's the commander?
I don't see any survivors.
Then where's his corpse?
I can't recognize the bodies, they're too mutilated.
Then where's his helmet?
Over here, next to the tree stump!
Hurry, his body must be close by!

Amidst the whirlwind of body parts and rivers of dried blood sits a curious figure.
Clothed in dark shades, his face sheltered by an arm hooked over his knee.
Perched on the stump, the commander's helmet near by.
A sheathed blade is propped up comfortably, leaning near his free hand.

The scouts run towards the stump, unaware of his presence.

Look, I see the commander's cape!
I see his robes!
I see his monocle!
Hurry, closer, we must recover the relics!

Closer to the man, still not aware.
A silent drawing.
An expedious leap.
A glorious strike from the heavens.
Unexpected.

Chaos ensues.

Dear You,

We've known each other for a long time. I've had time to get to know the intriquicies of your persona, and the little niches of your self. You've also had time to delve into the depths of my self, and learn me. We've been friends, and I know you swore to yourself in secret that you would keep it that way, for many your own reasons. But we both know... I'm leaving soon. I have to put the last piece into a puzzle that's more important to myself, a puzzle that was started by someone very important to me. This isn't a knot I can leave untied. This isn't a quest I can leave unfinished.

This is my plea. My plea to you. Don't be afraid to forge onwards into something new just because the past has shown you naught but failure. Don't cut out something so important as a true relationship. I know you've had your problems, I know you've seen your blackholes, and been with your assholes. But don't let this go, don't let it fall. I know that to me you're more than just my friend, and more than just someone I can talk to. I love you.

We've been through too much, I've saved your life, and to my shock you have saved mine. This isn't something we can deny. I see it in your eyes, your motions. Your words flow so eloquently, it's hard to think you haven't planned out everything you say, with the knowledge of each of my responses already in your mind. Your walk is so smooth, your eyes so stunning. You know that there's more inside of you, you know that you're holding back. You know what you feel.

I know what you feel. I know what we feel. Don't leave this behind! We've already held off for too long, and time is short. I'm almost certain I won't be coming home from this next excursion. It's an unfortunate truth but one we have to take in stride and live with. This life has been full, I've seen my share of pain and woe, victory and love. I just could not leave it without leaving the assurance of my love with you.

This is all I ask. If by some miracle I make it back alive, don't be the same. Don't still be the same reserved, sheltered woman who is afraid of love and afraid of actually living. I don't care how, just don't be the same. We both know how we feel, and this is the time to move forward. Forget the vow from the past, break it. Through it away. We're past such childish vows. Life has lead us closer and into love. But I must leave. I have to hurry east, before the time is gone. I hope to return to you someday, but I know even if I don't I'll be seeing you in the end.

Stay strong, stay faithful. Break free, for life, for love.

With all the assurance of my love,
Trevor Pierre LeStrad

The figure stood concealed by the floating ash, and the wraith circled around Damien impatiently, then stalked away.
Damien peered at the figure, he had recognized the voice, but it seemed highly unlikely.

"You must be some sort of powerful sorcerer to control beasts like those."
"Not only control, but create."
"Yes. So it seems."

Damien gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. The figure laughed.

"Afraid, dear Damien?" The sorcerer crossed his arms, taking a slow step forward. "It was never like you to be so violent, what happened, dear cousin?"
The figure crossed through a field of ash, surfacing from what seemed to be some mystical other world into the realm of reality. He wore black armor, so deep that it seemed to devour the light around it, causing black distortions around the man's body. The armor had spines along the ridges of his body, and the gauntlets were fashioned into claws. His face was covered by a helmet, which was shaped to look like one of the wraithbeasts faces.
"I knew I recognized that voice." Damien's face hardened. "Graythe Mordant." The man shifted as if he was smiling under his helmet.
"You always were so perceptive, cousin." Graythe took off his helmet, revealing his hard face, ripped with a scar on his left cheek and one from his forhead to beneath his right eye. His black eyes glowed with an eerie power, and his short brown hair swayed in the wind.
"It's been a long time, cousin."
"A year, I suppose."
"Yes it has."
Both the men's faces were hard, the air was tense, as if deadly combat was about to burst from the heaven's itself.
Damien gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, and Graythe clenched his left hand into a fist.
Both men charged violently, Damien lifting his sword and Graythe's fist pulsing with a strength that distorted the space around it. Right as the first strikes were about to be dealt Damien dropped his sword and Graythe's fist unclenched, and the two met in a hearty brotherly hug, laughing.

"Ah, Graythe, it's been to long! You weren't at your mountaintop keep for the last year! What have you been up to?"
"I had to take a journey in order to retain the power I've found."
They parted the hug and Damien stepped back. "Last demon wear off?"
"Yeah, apparently killing the one on the mountain wasn't enough to gain permanent power."
Damien nodded and then picked up his sword, stabbing the tip into the ground.
"What about you Damien? Still working on that oathe of yours?"
"Half of the family is dead."
"Oh ho ho! Nice progress for only one year."
Damien nodded. He was thinking about his oathe."Graythe... I can't go back on my oathe." He looked back at his cousin.
"I know Damien. I wouldn't let you put your word to shame." Damien smiled and laughed.
"You always were like my brother."
"That's why I want to help you do this."
"But one day..."
"That's one day. Worry about that when that day comes. Til that day we can still work together."

Damien and Graythe had both been raised by their uncle, along with Errin. They had grown like family together, and were often inseperable. Graythe was just as disrtubed and upset by Errin's death, and sharing his will to end the Mordant's meddling with the world he decided to help his cousin. Graythe didn't see eye to eye with Damien on the complete ending of the Mordant line, but could understand why he felt that way. When the day came, the fate of the Mordant line would be decided. But until that day. Graythe and Damien were inseperable allies, searching for their family.

Damien nodded. "We should get up to the keep. I left a few things there anyways."
Graythe nodded back. "I'll meet you there then."

They shook each others hands, and Graythe stepped back, placing his helmet back on. He melted away into the ash, which then faded.

Damien started a fire in his left hand for light. He sheathed the sword back on his bike, then started it. The engine rumbled to life, and Damien turned on the light.
A man dressed like an assassin, head to toe in black garb, and a red flowing scarf, his face covered by a black mask, leaped over the front of Damien's bike and tackled him off of it. The two men rolled on the dusty ground, trading punches between themselves.
The assassin spoke from behind his mask.
"I wont let you kill everyone Damien!"

Damien delivered a flame burst right in front of his body, sending the man flying.
He stood up angrily, his brow furrowed.
"Damnit kid, you don't know what you're getting yourself into!"

The assassin drew a katana off of his back.
"I know exactly what I'm doing, cousin! I'm keeping you from killing my family!"

Damien's cousin charged at him.

"Oh, Damien, look at the clouds, aren't they beautiful?"
"Yeah. They are beautiful, Errin."
"Yup. We should do this more, brother. Your gone so often."
"I'm sorry I'm always away from home, sometimes It's so hard to stay around."
"I understand. This place does get lonely."
"Very much so."
"The family only comes by for big meetings. Why did they make you the watcher of this damned mansion anyways?"
"It was probably because I was always so restless with the outside world. It's so placid here."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Damien?"
"Yes, Errin?"
"I love you."
"I love you too sister."

Damien sat quietly on the charred steps of the old Mordant manse. The ashed ground behind him was accented by scattered debris from the now burnt down home. It had been nearly a year since the tragedy. The family was torn apart by none other than their own annually scheduled meeting of the powers. The discussions were always heated, because it's hard for evil and good to coexist without such, especially when they're related. But it had never gone that far.

A small fight had broken out while Damien was getting drinks, and Errin had been napping on one of the couches. Two of the cousins had begun an arguement about Errin.

"She's the only normal one in the family! Why does she get to watch over the manse?!"
"That's exactly why! She's rejected our ways, so we let her watch the house. Who better than someone normal?"
"If someone normal is best then why was Damien set here first?!"
"For the same reason! He's rejected the split path we take!"
"How can he do that?! He's not normal! I've heard things, you know?"
"What are you talking about?"
"About the two of them. You're leaving them here and culturing their strengths and you're planning on taking them into the White because they're secretly the strongest Mordants!"
At this comment their silver haired uncle scoffed.
"What are you talking about? We have no need to do that!"
"Fool of Good! We all know that the Mordant family cannot live forever split like this. One day one side will rise and strike the other down. We all know this is the solution!"
"How can there by a solution when there is no problem?"
"No problem? Ignorant good-doer!"

With this they would begin a scuffle, right when Damien returned.
He tried to stop it, but before he had the chance it turned into an all out war. Swords were drawn, magic was unleashed, and spirits flew about. The Mordant family was at battle with itself.
Split forever in the cursed fold of good and evil, forever right down the middle.
That was the Mordant curse. But the meddling of both sides caused it to fold, ripple, and crack.

During the fighting Damien had woken Errin up and moved her away from the combat.
"Stay where it's safe Errin, I'll go put an end to this."
He turned towards the fray, and looked back at his sister one last time.

"Damned family."
Damien punched the scorched stone steps and grinded his teeth together. He stood up slowly and walked to the middle of the charred ground.
A small monument stood there, a small stone, a cross engraved upon it.
Damien unsheathed his sword and placed it blade down into the ground in front of the grave. He took his gun and set it beside his sword.
He began a prayer.

Damien had fought a few of his cousins before, but this was just too much. One of his cousins was just too much. Damien was knocked back into the wall, crashing halfway through it. Paralyzed, he looked again upon his sister, who's empathic powers had paralyzed her due to the strong commotion and energies welling about. He watched in horror as his own cousin ran her through, and turned to exclaim.
"It is over! No one can have her power now!"
Damien's rage flared and he slowly stood up.
"You... FIEND!"
He crashed head on into his cousin and cracked his spine on the stone fireplace.
He hurried to his sister, and cradled her head in his arms.
"Errin! Errin!"
"Damien... I see it, home..."
Tears formed on the ridges of his eyes.
"What?"
"Uncle didn't lie Damien. He never lied. There's a home for us when we die. I can see it. I can see Him."
A tear flowed down his right cheek, onto his sisters forehead.
"Him? Who?"
"Damien... I.. love.. you..."
His sister fell limp and lifeless, and Damien closed his eyes. Shaking from the pain and sadness, he wept.
Footsteps approached from behind, and a familiar voice said solemnly.
"Death is what happens among the battlefield, Damien. And now you show open weakness by crying over a lost soul? I am disheartened by this show of compassion, I can't believe my own son turned out so weak."

Damien prayed quietly among the ashes. He asked for help, he asked for strength. He asked if he was right in his quest. He asked so many things. And he searched for the right words.

He clenched his sister closely to his chest.
"Father. You are so poor. You know nothing."
"Oh ho ho! The fledgling has an attitude now, eh? Boy, get up and fight. This is a battlefield now! Deal with your loss and return to such!"
"You are all horrible. None of you understand."
"Stop with your useless prattling and fight."
"Your daughter just died! How can you be so cold?!"
"Oh, fool. You act like one of them."
"One of them? One with a heart?"
"No, one of the light."
"Idiot of darkness. You know nothing of love or compassion. I'm glad mother and Uncle raised us."
"Leave your attitude and come forth!"
"Come forth? I'll show you come forth."

He placed his sister's head down softly and stood up slowly.
"Father. Today. You will die."
The sadness in Damien's eyes had turned into a rage, a deep burning rage. He picked up his sword and rushed his father.

Damien opened his eyes, and a tear dropped from his cheek.
His face was unemotional.
He looked at the monument. It read:
"Rest in Peace"
"Errin Lynn Mordant"
"The second to see"
"The first to follow"
"The only one home"

Damien's father was to great a warrior. Damien's blade had been knocked from his hands, and his father's blade was at his throat.
"I cannot belive my loins produced such a weakling."
Damien's eyes flared.
"You're horrible."
His father pressed the sword tip down.
"You're one to talk. At the end of my blade."
"We'll see how long that stays."
Damien's anger gave him a new precision. He kicked his father in the knee and spun up, wrapping his leg around his fathers hand tightly, and spinning more to kick his father in the face. His father fell flat, and his sword fell. Damien landed on his feet, and slowly picked up his father's prized blade. His father stood up slowly, his black armor and cape rustled as he shook.
"Now son, you wouldn't kill your own father would you?"
Damien advanced.
"Come now, the own man that spent his life seed to bring you into this world."
Damien raised the blade, pointing it at his father's neck.
"You couldn't do it. You're one of them."
"One of them? One of the light?" He laughed. "You truly are a fool. I am no light. I am the guardian of this house, the one link between both sides. I am the Grey. I am the only left. And today marks the beginning. White and Black will run from the Grey. You will all die."
"What are you talking about?"
"You are all horrible. Even if you do well. You all let my sister die. This family name stops now. The Mordant Dynasty will no longer plague the world. With it's hands in every happening, every turn and twist. You are the first."
"No... Son!"
Damien plunged the sword deep through his father's chest.
His father fell limp, and hit the ground.
Damien fell to his knees and let out a tormented scream. Flames started around him, and set to burning the whole house.

"A year ago this started."
Damien looked at the sky. It was a cloudy day.
"A year ago I learned I was a firestarter, and I could control flames."
He smiled at the grave stone.
"I got a little of your power when you died sister."
He put his hand over the cross.
"Thank you for the strength."

The house was burning, and the family had fled. Damien stumbled to his sister's body and picked it up. He lef the house and set her body down, watching the manse burn.
"This is a close of a chapter in the Mordant history. And the beginning of the last chapter. This is marked by the burning of the manse, and the realizing of my Grey powers. Just like Uncle said, isn't it?"
He chuckled insanely.

Quickly after the manse began to collapse, it began to rain, putting the flames out.
He again picked up his sister's body.
He could see, right in the middle of the charred ground, his father's sword, indestructable as it was, set in the ground, through the chest of a skeleton wearing charred black armor.
He walked over, and pulled out the sword, kicking away the skeleton.
"Here shall my sister lie. As a monument to the end of the line. She was to be the greatest of us all. The only one normal, away from our curse. But the meddling of our family would not permit such a thing. I love you sister. You saw The Way, and you followed."

"Please continue to provide me strength sister."
Damien felt a rain drop hit the back of his head.
"Raining, just like that day."
He picked up his gun and put it away, and sheathed his father's sword.
"To this day I have tracked down half of our family, and all of them have died in my path. This is my oath."

Damien looked at the freshly churned ground, where his sister's body lay. He placed a stone at the foot of the grave, and scratched a Cross into it with his father's sword. He stood up slowly in the rain, holding the sword in his right hand.
"Today I begin my quest. My journey now is hard. No one but I shall ever have such a task. My family will die by my hand, every last one of them. This is my oath."

Damien clenched his fist and hit his chest with it once, a salute to his dead sister.
"This quest has not been easy. Killing family close to my heart has proven hard. But this is my quest. The Mordant line shall end, by my grey hands, every last one of them. This is my goal."

Damien turned away, a tear flowing from his right eye.
"I shall return in a year, to see my progress and renovate the grave."
He slowly trudged off, towards his motorcycle.

Damien turned away, a tear flowing from his right eye.
"I shall return again in one year, when this task is over. Then I shall end my quest. All Mordant's on that day shall be dead."
He took slow steps to his motorcycle.

"Even myself."

As he mounted his bike, he looked up at the clouds, the rain had stopped, and the sun shone through the clouds, as if reaching towards him.

"Yes Errin. The clouds are beautiful today."

He revved his bike up, and sped off.