God Of War Prologue

"He who can prevail in chaos is regarded as a God. A god of war."

War is a grim affair, I can tell you that. There is however, after some considerable time spent in the midst of all the gore and sweat and shit flying around, a point of numbness. A point when all the details fade away, and one strives to simply finish the task set before them as quickly as possible. This is the sort of numbness which causes you to not realise when you're left alone. When all your comrades, friends and brothers in arms have fallen, twitching on the ground or simply lying dead-still. When you're the only one left standing on a bridge of corpses, blood and mud streaking down your body in the light rain. When the watery blood seeps in your eyes and is cleared by your constant tears. Tears you don't even know are there. You can't feel anything. Your limbs feel like blocks. The left side of your body is damaged too greatly and your shield hangs on your limp, broken left arm. You rotate your hip wildly, simply trying for some unknown reason, to take as many of them down with you. You look up after a spear is thrust in your stomach. You don't feel anything, but you see it sticking out of your body, and that makes it so much worse. You think of how life is simply so fucked up, and you look up into those eyes. The red eyes framed by a beautiful ebony face set in the harsh expression of rage. Your eyes lose focus and you just catch sight of the black wings behind her - and you fall.

He woke up, somehow. The man who had stood for hours on the battlefield. The man who had fought till death ought to have taken him in its cold clutches. Who am I kidding... death is already in this world. The whole South of this world is a barren wasteland. The once green pastures of the South called the famous 'Greenlands' have been eradicated. Not a trace of human architecture left. Millennia of human history wiped away in an instant - 2 months to be exact. No one knew what they were or why they were here. At first some were hopeful that these creatures were friendly. Some hoped for more than friendly seeing as they were all female and naked. They were fools. One look at their faces could tell you they were evil. Their deceptive beauty was an obvious illusion that for some reason most did not see. They fought with whips and swords that cut through standard armour and shields - and we called them demons. We never had a chance.

The man had been lucky. He was a commander, which meant gear of a higher quality. His sword had been made from the toughest material ever found - Allyrium. There was barely any found however, not nearly enough for any kind of army. He had been in command of the last army in the South, which had been occupied my mankind and orcs only for the longest time. The north was a different story, Elves and dwarves lived next to man and war had not broken out in centuries. Hopefully the elves can do something and finally prove their arrogant worth.

He took a deep breath and heard a worrying rattle in his lungs. He tried to sit up but immediately fell back in a daze. His head spinning, he looked to his right and what he saw made him freeze. Adrenaline shot through him as he saw hundreds of the demons arrayed before him, all kneeling before him in a massive hall. He looked down and saw that he had been placed on what looked like an altar, which redoubled his efforts to stand up. He staggered off the altar but was halted immediately by something hard, very hard. Looking up he saw a demon. A male this time who towered above him. His bulging muscles compressed as the demon drew back his hand and slapped him down to the floor with brute force. His ears ringing, the man did the last thing left to him. He clasped his amulet, given to him by the high priest of Novum, strung around his neck in his shaky, bloody hands and squeezed.

He would not remember it later, but the man killed the demon. The newly crushed amulet had lent him powers above mere mortals - but at the cost of his life.