I never imagined war to be like this. I wanted it to be glorified, amazing, thrilling, and maybe even fun. I wanted to shoot my musket so that the zing of the bullet resounded in my veins. I wanted the adrenaline in my body to shoot through my nerves. To feel the stretch of my muscles as I tightly held a gun to my chest, and to feel the out standing ache of my legs as I ran across Dezarian soil. I wanted to feel the scorching suns across my face, to feel it turn up more of my freckles, to feel it burn away my fear. But, most of all, I wanted to feel the strain, the strain to live, the passion to stay alive, to fight for my life.
What I wanted was not given to me. What was given was to me, was what I needed. A reality check. To show me that the world is not how I imagined it. To show me that I was a mere speck, a single, sole, being. To show me the cruel, real world. To show me the horror of my comrades writhing on the ground, limbs missing and tears pouring from their eyes. To show me the truth.
When I entered the army I was a young boy, aged 15. Back then, I'd heard many stories of father's and brother's running out to war, leaving for years on end. The stories told were lies, no, not lies, just what the military thought they, the citizens, should hear. One story I will never forget is that of General Uhldemia. He was said to be the bravest man on Dezaria. He fought the Tensians without hesitation, brought them down with the swipe of a sword. I wanted to be just like him, taking down the enemy swiftly then returning home with victory in my arms. Unfortunately, I did not return home as many others did. I stayed in the fields and wandered for days after shooting thousands of men, men even of my own, for war had driven them mad. I'm ashamed to say… that out in the battlefields, where many lay dead, I also died.
Dead, I was. I lay pulseless for eight days, next to a soldier from the west side. Until, a monstrosity that was not yet known to my kind bit my throat and shoulder. The bite was deep and with it came blood. My own blood drained through my pores, while my attackers blood sunk into my veins. So there I lay, a bloody mess for another eight days, my dear friend who'd given me his blood had gone. At sunrise on the ninth day my eyes opened, my heart thudded, and my muscles clenched. My eight days alone, without my new blood, had deformed my body, I was weak and almost completely gone. My organs were wasting away and my brain only there to operate my bodily functions. And so, for another month my body lay in the field, repairing itself. My new blood working it's magic. When the day came that I could stand, I laughed at the sky. I laughed and cried, for a very long time. I questioned myself many times. Wrote stories in the dirt. I even buried the dead. With my bear hands I dug twenty-four graves. I laid two soldiers in on their sides, so that no one would be alone, because not even in death should you be alone.
The day after my awakening I began to wonder where I was, for I had forgotten. I wandered for many hours on the crowded dirt, littered with bodies of fallen. I started to remember that the third and smallest sun was the direction of a town I'd stopped by before I died. As I walked, I wanted to run. So I pushed my combat boots deep into the soil and flew through the grass. Scents that I'd never smelled before drifted to my nose. It seemed like I could smell everything for miles. My hearing had peaked also, I could hear the smallest noise, the ants carrying bits of leaves, the beetles crawling up bark, and even the sweat dripping off my arms. If I concentrated I felt super human. I ran for a short while, through a small forest of greened trees with fruits. I attempted to climb the trees and found it very hard so instead I threw small stones at the branches hoping to gently shake the food from it's place. I was successful, and carried many fruits while I ran to the town.
The town was completely deserted. No human was anywhere. I checked shops, the market, and an inn, even a bank. No one was there. I decided to look around some more. After some time I grew bored, so I went to the market to take a few things for when I left. When my hand touched a ripe red apple I was struck on the head, then everything went black.
When the light came
I woke up with my head throbbing and my hands tied behind my back. I was sitting in a wooden chair with a single lamp lit in the corner of the room. The air was stagnant and a scent clung to my skin, a scent so sickly sweet I became ill. A creak in the wooden door to my left made me jump. From the sliver of inky blackness a voice came, the first voice I'd heard in over a month.
"Ikk'nar, shlovek heaj?" The words were of a tongue I could not understand. I had not heard this language before this very day. I pull my wrists apart, the jagged twine digging into my skin.
"What? What do you want?" I said quietly, amazed that my voice had become so weak since the last time I'd used it. A scrap metal chain bound my boots to the chair legs. These people, I'd guessed, were quite clever. I tested the strength of the chain by gently pushing my ankles forward. Secure. I was not going to get out.
"You continue to speak the human tongue, I see." The voice was light yet gravely, husky. The voice was female, I could tell by the pronunciation. Yet, it seemed… darker.
"Huah? Wha—What do you want?" The words trembled off my tongue. I was terrified, the voice didn't sound anything near friendly and now I truly think I could believe that anything could happen. I surely didn't dream of the bullet that ran through my heart the day I supposedly died.
"You have not undergone your transformation." Those words reminded me of the swat I'd received by my father before he passed, for failing school. Quick, yet it'd sting for a week.
I couldn't speak; either this person was a complete lunatic, or a cultist…
"You must come with me." The voice lost it's harsh edge and became almost motherly.