The screams of men and women alike.
The clashing of blades that pierced Seriah's ears.
The metallic smell of blood that assaulted Seriah's ears.
The cold hard armour that clambered onto Seriah's body. The sword in her hilt stained with old blood.
Seriah collapsed onto her knees and looked around. Mountains of bodies were piled up high.
She looked in the distance, where hundreds of knights surrounded an incorporeal figure.
"Arcanist…" She muttered. "Filthy arcanists…"
Arcanist. A word that became common knowledge 5 years ago.
5 years ago… that was when the war that swept the world began.
Seriah watched as the incorporeal figure phased in and out of reality. Each time, it would reappear in a different location of the battlefield, reaping the lives of dozens of soldiers at a time.
She clenched her teeth. There was nothing she could do. She, like her fallen comrades, was not an arcanist. She was a normal human, powerless against such great beings.
And yet…
"Whats so great about these beings?" She muttered under her breath and clenched her teeth. There was nothing redeemable about them, nothing that made them great. They were the ones behind the war.
They were hateful wretches that deserved to die.
Within 10 seconds, half of the knights in the distance had fallen.
Seriah looked up at the skies, at gigantic, grey, billowing clouds that loomed over the lands. Angry streaks of lightning frequently flashed within the clouds, striking the ground in a heavenly phenomenon.
Seriah knew the arcanist who was behind this cloud. "Incarnation Of Storm…" She muttered under her breath. The anger in her heart boiled to her head. Her arms trembled.
Incarnation Of Storm. One of the 7 progenitors of the war.
"All this… all this…" Her rage churned, and she finally let it out in one holler that boomed across the land. "YOU DID ALL THIS FOR POWER?!!!??!?!?!"
She remembered her past. That young, innocent woman that was cared for by her noble parents in their mansion. That young, innocent woman that attended university and met many friends. That young, innocent woman who dreamt of becoming an artist. That young, innocent woman that knew nothing about the world.
And then the war happened.
Each Noble family in the kingdom had to send one heir to fight for their country. As the only child of her parents, she was forced to attend.
"Dad…mom…" Streaks of tears ran down her face as she stared helplessly at the billowing clouds that were rapidly approaching. It seemed like "it" had heard her scream.
She clutched on tightly to the red, amber jewel on her necklace. This was her family heirloom, and the only thing she had left of her family. Her father had given it to her the day before she was scheduled to be sent off to the army.
For her family was long dead, along with her friends. They died when her kingdom fell.
The war started as a war against other kingdoms. Gradually, it shifted to a war against arcanists. When the letter of her parents' death came to her, she couldn't properly mourn them.
By that time, she had already become an army commander, and she was burdened with many responsibilities that didn't allow for rest. Thus, she let out her frustrations in her battles. She trained desperately to become stronger. Her slashes became smoother, her dodges became more accurate. Her battalion's casualty rate dropped to the lowest in the army. At least, as low as you could get when facing arcanists.
And it was all for nought. Lower level arcanists were handleable, but high level arcanists were phenomenons by themselves. No amount of regular foot soldiers could defeat a high level arcanist.
She looked down at the red amber jewel and remembered her father's last words to her all those years ago.
"In our family, there is one ancient artifact that has been passed down from generation to generation: This jewel necklace. My grandfather told me that this artifact will protect one from grave danger. My dear, today I will pass this down to you, like your grandfather did to me. Please, with this, please stay safe. Remember, my dear, I will always love you." She remembered vividly, that last kiss on her forehead.
Seriah doubted the words of her father at the time, but whether it was true or not did not bother her at this instance.
The cloud was rapidly approaching, and the heavenly lightning struck the ground with even greater force.
Of the 7 progenitors of war. Seriah knew of 6: Incarnation of Storm. Incarnation of Death. Incarnation of Light. Incarnation of Fables. Incarnation of Brutality. Incarnation of Trickery.
Seriah knew why they orchestrated this war. It was a secret of the army.
They needed the war to ascend to godhood. To ascend from the mortal path, Ascension 5 Star to the divine road, Ascension 6 Angel. To do so, they needed energy, in the form of human emotions and sacrifices.
And they were about to get their wish, for this war was their mass ascension ceremony.
Seriah cried with even greater force as the clouds approached. Could she do anything against such a force of nature?
She reminisced on the pains of her life. A majority of what she remembered only occurred because of the war.
She knew of a young, cheerful soldier that would always make her division laugh during their evening mealtime. He died a year later.
She knew of a soldier who was an aspiring chef. She had assigned him to be the one who cooks for the division, and his meals always boosted the morale of the soldier. He died 4 months ago.
She knew of a soldier that always played pranks on the rest of her division. She had to personally step in multiple times to punish that rascal for the antics he pulled. That person now lay dead somewhere among the mountains of bodies around her.
"One more chance… If I had one more chance… I swear I will kill them all, those progenitors of war…" She bit on her lip until blood flowed out.
She clutched on harder to her amber stone, eyeing the cloud with hollow sockets.
'Is this how I die?' She thought. She had lived a meaningless life of war. Now she faced a meaningless death. A death that would not change anything. And she was powerless to stop it. She was to become cannon fodder, fueling the ascension ceremony to divinity.
'No.' She couldn't accept it. 'If I die, it will be on my own terms. I shall choose how I die.'
Her face became like iron. With resoluteness, she drew her blade and stabbed it in the ground, before crouching down in a kneeling position.
'Mom, dad, I'm sorry. I couldn't stay alive until the end…' Silent tears dropped onto the ground, mixing with the blood of hundreds of soldiers. 'I will choose to die with dignity today.'
She ripped off her necklace and clutched it in her hand. She wanted to be with her family even in her very last moments.
She stood up and pulled out her sword with her other hand and pointed it at the cloud that stood above her. Then she screamed a deadly battle cry filled with rage and resentment.
She swung her sword at the heavens, a useless swing. She couldn't even reach the clouds, let alone cut it. Nevertheless, she remained resolute and stared in defiance in the sky.
A streak of lightning flashed across the sky and struck the tip of her sword.
Seriah died immediately, on the Twenty-second of June, 1537.
Or rather, that was what was supposed to be the case.