ENDLESS SONGS OF WAR

War’s beginning, quite often, can be predicted; tension in the air, small skirmishes, all things slowly piling atop of one another until they blow apart. However, from time to time, it just happens because of a single event. Although everyone knew that the Great War would start, there was an odd sense of patience within the air. Yet, as black swarms invaded one sky after another, they realized it was just a false sense of hope. A singular event broke through, and the Great War commenced.

Almost no one who was currently looking at the sky didn’t know what event. How could they? Even if they were told that actual Gods had finally repaired Dimensional Tunnels and broke through from their realm into theirs, who would believe it? Gods were right there, in the sky, readying themselves for a battle. Yet, it was no less true no matter how unbelievable it was.

Eight Primordial Gods, as ancient as the Time and Creation itself, from the heydays of Chaos before shimmering stars illuminated the vastness and infinity of the World, were currently in their crossing. There weren’t only eight Primordial Gods; rather, there were hundreds, if not thousands of them, but only eight could ever cross – one through each Dimensional Tunnel. They had long since stopped underestimating the other side. Before the Source, all were equal – given equal opportunity to ascend to the highest of sky. They were burned quite a few times in the past by sending their fledglings for a form of training, only to be completely beaten to the point that all eight were killed.

Unlike humans, Primordial Gods required a very specific set of circumstances to be born. However, they were much, much harder to kill. Despite all being given equal opportunity, it was no secret that Primordial Gods were born with Gifts humans and other races could only dream about. Because of it, losing eight was losing billions of humans. It hurt and they bled. Nonetheless, it was a lesson for the future. Great Wars, both sides knew, wouldn’t stop until one of the two either gave up, or was completely eradicated to embers and ash. It had nothing to do with eternal hatred or innate hostility born from bones. Rather, it was the opposite; both sides respected each other a great deal. While, on the surface, the Primordial Gods scoffed at the existence of sub-races, deep in their Souls they couldn’t help but acknowledge them. They persisted for countless eons, not only against them, but against everything and everyone else, to rise to the heights they had.

It was no different for the creature that was currently tearing a hole up in the sky large enough to devour all life beneath, and a boy standing lonesome on a cliff beneath. The first thing Lynne spotted were the eyes – or rather, just something that resembled an eye. Shrouded in complete darkness, a singular speck of crimson red appeared and shimmered, elongated vertically for countless miles. He was already told that Primordial Gods reached sizes that simply couldn’t fit into the realm, and that most adorned human forms when they fought. Still, it was no less awe-inspiring to see what was practically a galaxy in the sky, which in truth was someone’s eye. The red light focused on the lonesome boy, and Lynne stared right back, fearless.

His heroic disposition, straightened back and defiant eyes reminded the creature of why it hated the Great Wars against humans. Unlike Primordial Gods, humans scarcely had issues sacrificing themselves for the greater good. He saw the same willingness, the same acceptance in the boy’s eyes: he came here to die. While, in ordinary time, recklessness and battering one’s head against the wall would only lead to a complete defeat, today it was different. There was only one opponent, and Lynne didn’t even have to kill it – just drive it back right through the hole it came through. When the creature spotted the bladed scythe in Lynne’s hand, it felt tremors running through its colossal bodies. The last time a human used a scythe was during the Fourth Great War ever fought – and the first one humans ever won, solely because of a handsome youth with fair and awe-inspiring features, hoisting a massive scythe which bled from its every curve and cried curses abyss-deep.

Reaper’s Gilt – that’s what the Primordial Gods coined it as. A human abandons his soul and takes on the mantle of Death itself, Reaping lives like wheat. Although the creature already knew that the boy he’d be fighting used scythe, it still had to see to believe. There was no mistaking it; while not the same scythe that once drove fear into the hearts of entire Primordial Realm, it followed the same framework. It was crimson, yet still beautiful, and its faint cries echoed out into the wilderness, as though it was a calling for the ghost of the death to come and collect the damned souls.

One by one, throughout other seven battlefields, the enormous creature which defied the rules people lived by, peaked through the Dimensional Tunnels. Each was larger than what a person could possibly conceive, yet all seven stood as fearless as if they were fighting a mere ant. Five men and three women – ranging from young to old – stood tranquil, all looking up with eyes as clear as baby’s. They had one goal – one purpose – one mission. They discarded all distracting thoughts and bid farewell to their ardent desires. The raging inferno had crossed their threshold, and that was all here was to it. Nothing more, nothing less.

While the eight stood defiant, it wasn’t the same for those who were to fight much more grounded and mortal battles; Y’se currently stared out the window, still fuming with anger and disappointment akin to nothing she ever felt, yet she could do nothing to disperse it. Men who had caused a simple woman to enter the most pitiful state a person ever could were integral to their plan of defending the white city. If she killed them, chances of defending one of the primary strongholds of humanity would plummet; yet, if she were to let them live, she felt her heart would burst open and freeze her soul for all eternity.

While she fought her own doubts, it was no different for anyone else. All believed themselves prepared for the war, yet, when they saw the swarmed skies, voices whispered inside their thoughts. How many Gods were in that swarm? One? Ten? One hundred? They didn’t dare find out. Yet, they had no choice; those few that couldn’t care less how many gods there were quickly began shouting orders and mounting defenses. For the war, the Alliance had chosen nine main strongholds for the War that could under no circumstance fall into enemy hands. They’d rather turn over entire Mortal Realms than these strongholds, and their defenses and number of experts far outstripped any other part of the World. They were also the first ones to come to their senses and slowly began preparing for the inevitable collision.

Meanwhile, in one of the Mortal Realms, deep within the reaches of Skyfire Paradise, in an underground tomb, numerous sarcophaguses creaked open. Within them, withered and boned human-like creatures emerged; there was no doubt that they were once humans, but, now, they looked nothing akin to them. Their skin was rotten and ashen-gray, bones protruding out from nearly inch of their bodies, eyes now merely sockets. They gathered in silence as countless shadows emerged behind them, revealing nearly two hundred black-clad people. They followed the skeletal bones and slowly left the tomb, emerging into a desert, open field with hills rolling like waves in the horizon. However, besides the sand, there were two more figures standing a few dozen meters away from them. The skeletals quickly recognized the two and scoffed in hatred.

On the other side stood a determined youth, his brows creased tightly as he stared at people who once heralded mankind into the Golden Age, only to submit to madness of fear from dying, and give up everything to live on. He felt hatred running deep within his bones, and had nearly burst open and attacked immediately. The only thing – or rather person – stopping him from doing that was the kindly-looking old man next to him. The old man wore simple, ashen-gray robes which were tattered across. His Master was the part of the generation of the skeletals before him, however, in response to their betrayal of mankind, he was given a Divine Blessing – to live as long as they do. In return, he was to prevent them from ever causing a calamity. The day has come for it – and he fearlessly stood. He had already lived far too many eons, and had long since bade farewell to the living. All that was left was the final step. He smiled sadly as he stared at people he once called Brothers and Sisters; his old heart ached as though someone pierced it throughout with a sword.

“… Master…” Fyre mumbled softly as he noticed his Master’s body shaking lightly.

“I’m fine, young one,” the old man said, glancing sideways at him and smiling. “Thank you… for being here.”

“Where else would I be?” the youth smiled innocently as he closed his eyes. “You gave me everything, made me into the man I am today. I’d have betrayed everything I believed in if I chose to sit this one out.”

“I have merely showed you the path,” the old man chuckled lightly as he raised his old arm and stroke the youth’s hair gently; although blood truly is thicker than water, his blood now stood opposite of him, ready to skin him alive, while water stood beside him, ready to give up his entire life for the faults he had nothing to do with. It ached perhaps even more than the sight of his old friends. “You are the one who found its end. You, alone, made it worth, sinking in that damn coffin until what felt like eternity.”

“… Master…” Fyre couldn’t battle back the tears as they trickled down.

“Ha ha, save the tears for the celebratory cheers!” the old man exclaimed as cold glint flashed through his eyes, focusing back onto the skeletal figures standing opposite of him. “Now, let us beat back the dead to where they belong.”

“Yes, let us.” Fyre said, wiping the tears away and restoring his angered expression.

The thin veil had fallen, and War had at last broke out. Across the realms, opposing sides inched toward one another. Many would die. Even more would be left broken. The entire realms would be left in shambles for many millennia to come. Yet, they all braved the storm all the same, looking to become Heroes who’d herald mankind past this obstacle and into the new Light. If they had to die for it, most were willing… and would.