A few hours later.
Maxwell abruptly stood up, his towering 6 foot 4 figure laced with beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked even more shabbier. His nails bled, he began pacing about.
Maxwell's eyes gleamed with madness, facing the prospect of death, quite literally, he could not help but grasp on straws of hope. Whether there was a way to return to earth or not, was not known at least to the current him he thought. 'Yes, yes, there must be a way.' He abandoned all reason and began to hope with everything within that there was a chance somewhere somehow.
Then it hit him, the questions; how? Where? and when? Reality had somewhat sunk his claws deeper and flames of belief and passion turned to embers. He had to run away before tomorrow, or else.
So, he sat down his eyes lost. Pain and confusion etched on his face.
The plains of Lawrence welcomed the morning dew, the sky was partially cloudy with a mild breeze that rattled no blade of grass, countless wars fought on the plains had left it barren. Pits of bones and crows, insects munching on flesh. Armor of the deceased stacked into piles, ready for the next soldier.
15 years of constant war had left the planet wailing but its cries fell on deaf ears.
The enemy of the prime humans of Mergard were the legion of destruction, the forces of the mad conqueror arch mage Linnaeus. He led forces deprived of will or conscious thought. The perfect slaughter machines. The empire's soldiers had conscious thought and will but bound by soul magic, they obeyed their master unwillingly so. They had no goal besides winning at any cost. A fate torturous than death.
Maxwell reached out his hand and grabbed his dry ration, beef jerky and hard bread putting it in his mouth, he forced himself to eat. The slightly moldy bread had an off flavor similar to old milk. His teeth went to great lengths to chew the rubber-like beef.
After eating Maxwell headed out, his legs looked burdened, his steps weary, his destination the army's weaponry. Soldiers were preparing for the next battle. Without magic, a staff was useless though he had no notable experience with a sword it was still better than nothing. On his return, he felt the steel of the blade cold and sharp as it rattled on his hip.
"SOLDIERS ASSEMBLE!!" A loud roar shook the camp, drawing the attention of the masses, sighing Maxwell followed suit walking towards the gathering of soldiers at the south end of Lawrence's plains. Maxwell did not bother looking for Ralph or any of his squad members, he would be fighting on the front lines and though it was impossible to escape death they were not that close nor did he wish to give them the gratification of seeing his despairing self.
Soldiers quickly fell in place, their numbers in the tens of thousands, this was but only one of the war's frontlines. War was occurring on multiple planes simultaneously, the soldiers settled down. The sound of footsteps resounded as someone stepped on the podium.
"SOLDIERES! DESTRUCTION IS UPON US. DEATH UPON US. BUT WILL WE TAKE IT LYING DOWN? NO! WE WILL FIGHT, ENDURE AND CONQUER THE FEAR, CONSUME OUR ENEMIES IN OUR SPIRIT OF BLAZING GLORY. LOOK BENEATH YOU, THERE IS NO BLADE OF GRASS HOWEVER WE SHALL WATER THE GROUND WITH THE BLOOD OF OUR ADVESARIES! TO WAAR!!" Commander Malthus spoke, flailing his arms, his passionate cry of war however was met with deafening silence. His fat cheeks burned in embarrassment.
The soldiers stared at him, their faces a ridicule of his theatrics. He spoke like he would be fighting along with them however after his speech he would retire to a warm tent and indulge himself in liquor, a feast and women.
The prime humans of Mergard, like rats they had retired to their fortified cities in their Vlaris domain, with few people running logistics over the slaves during war, like commander Malthus.
The man had probably never wielded a sword in his life, his figure said it as clear as day. Seeing the lackluster response, commander Malthus descended the podium, walking to his tent located on a small cliff a short hiking distance away, that overlooked the army camp. On his face a smile however, his eyes were not. His eyes reflected anger, raging fury.
Walking into his tent, Malthus grabbed a leather wooden chair smashing it into the ground. Wine bottles and glasses shattered as they fell to the ground tables overturned. He called his vice-commander however Malthus did not recognize him as such. " Servant, come here." Malthus spoke with a deep loathing voice.
"Bring me Four whispers." Nathan wanted to refuse however seeing Malthus's face, he did not want to entertain him. "At once." Nathan said and hurried off. 'This is nonsense.' Nathan thought as he walked towards the food supplies. Nathan Fletcher, a war hero, that was his aspiration. To rise through the ranks and become a noble of the Rynberg empire, his name renown that was why he joined the military however serving as Malthus's vice-commander his hopes were wrung dry. Baron Malthus was like him, a man whose ambitions were swallowed up by the calm of the stars.
The quality of military personnel had fallen and people like Nathan and Malthus found themselves in leadership positions, war had become estranged to the people of the Rynberg empire. This fostered a mentality of superiority and the citizens grew more entitled towards the peace they experienced.
Malthus had left thus arrangement of soldiers and battle planning was left to the high-ranking slaves those like squad captain Warren Bales who had distinguished themselves in battle.
Maxwell's POV
I looked to my right then left and I couldn't help staring but there was nothing to see but walking dead men. One feline fox woman with no right leg. Another a centaur missing an arm and eye. I chuckled then my chuckle turned into laughter. At first the laughter was fleeting and soft like a whistle but then turned mad, my anguish present my laughter. I couldn't stop laughing and soon another laugher of madness joined mine, like a chorus they kept falling in whether low or high.
The frontline soldiers were laughing, they were covered in bandages, had missing limbs but they laughed still. They laughed; their laughter of anguish soon turned joyous. Like basking in the morning sun, they basked before death. Their laughter was a laughter of acceptance, anguish, and the relief that the suffering was soon about to be over.
Unlike how one would hope for an afterlife, I hoped for the opposite. That this was my premeditated end and no more suffering was left. My hope had all but dried up and the only force moving my limbs was that of the demise of this wretched empire so every death meant the closer they were to defeat so I welcomed my death. I wanted to go back to earth but deep down I knew I could not, the world of mergard had scarred me so deep that no amount of happiness would erase those scars. I had feasted on rats, stole another's last meal and killed whether by free will or not, those action were made regardless. I feared that my change would crack those bonds I had formed with my family and friends or how they had changed without me. They were best preserved as they were, joyous and peaceful, thus death was but the frame enclosing the canvas that was my life.
"CHAAARGE!" With the command given 18000 soldiers rushed forth, Maxwell in the fray. From the north end of Lawrence's plains, the demons of arch mage Linnaeus also burst forth. They numbered roughly 25 000. Their roars like cries of banshees. Trolls, goblins and others made up the legion of doom. Their fangs gnawing the air and their saliva formed puddles beneath as if savoring the anticipated taste of flesh.
The legion consisted of a large quantity and a variety of species foreign to the world of Mergard, this posed the question of their origin. The war began 15 years ago and it was still ongoing, many lives had been forfeited.
The first rush was a brush with death, long range magic spells rained down, soldiers died as they rushed, their corpses if not annihilated then crushed by the mad charge. Death by explosion was better than death by having your soul or life force sucked out, mummified. Maxwell's trembling arm had long pulled out his sword as he head on clashed with a goblin holding a dagger. The globin was a half a man's height its attacks aimed at the lower abdomen. Brown leather helped camouflaging it however its green skin screamed 'I'm here.' Maxwell's sword strikes were a combination of hit and run tactics.
If he still had his arm, even 5 goblins attacking together would have been easy prey however without his arm and magic he had difficulty fending off the gobbling who continuously took advantage of Maxwell's lacking arm.
Maxwell leveraged the reach of his sword; however, the exchange reached a stalemate with neither side gaining an upper hand.
"ARRGHH!" Maxwell suddenly let out a scream as an arrow hit his back, a goblin archer. Patches of brown cloths hid the skin. His face grew grim as he faced both opponents. He ran towards the archer. More arrows came his way. He dodged most of them closing the distance. The earth bound the goblin's legs in place; it screeched as the sword split its head.
Maxwell felt dizzy. 'Numbing poison.' He bit his lips spitting blood, he fell to his knees. The other goblin lunged as him as he kneeled. A wave of mud hit its eyes. He rolled picking up his sword. The goblin's nails scratched its face at it removed the mud screeching as a result. "Thumb, Thumb." His heart beating rapidly, legs wobbly he held up the sword. His dirty brown hair in disarray.
He bent his knees, his sword pointing horizontally without pause he lunged. His sword at its chest however the goblin slid one foot forward, leaning back, it avoided the attack moving its chest sideways underneath the the sword. It closed in on him stabbing the stomach. Back knee to the face, bang! It fell backwards. He slashed downwards; only severing a hand. The wounded beast ran at him with madness flaring. His sword dug into its chest. Maxwell fell on his ass breathing heavily.
Turning his attention to his surrounding maxwell searched for the next enemy, although he wanted to throw down his sword and die, he could not. His actions were dictated by the slave seal on his soul, so long as he had breath he would fight and fight he did.
Maxwell proceeded to kill 3 other goblins, he had wounds on his legs and abdomen bleeding though not life threatening. His armor bore scratches and his sword slightly chipped.
Maxwell's aura had undergone a change, though he was not a veteran fighter at least unlike a novice he radiated some baneful aura.
At another location…
An elbow hit the trachea of a troll instantly killing the enemy. Without pause the man spun around his hand firmly grabbing a troll's neck from behind he pulled it downward kneeing it in the face. The head exploded as bone shards and brain tissue plastered onto his armor . He ducked down, instantly dodging the fist attack from behind, he spun around his left leg sweeping the enemy off balance while the other kicked the enemy forward blocking the incoming fireball. An explosion resounded as dust rose.
A wire weaved strangling 8 goblins, with a tug 8 heads flew into the air, a feline cat with a black steel chest plate and arm guards unraveled the wire that took lives by the dozens. It struck from undeath killing many who were unsuspecting. Halberds caused destruction as two pair team of a minotaur and centaur butchered skeleton knights.
Mana waves crushed into soldiers as the generals terraformed the land with nothing but sheer destruction.
Maxwell's instincts flared and without a thought he quickly ducked. A mace swept past his head from behind him. He leaped backwards as he glanced at what had attacked him, his face turned grim. A battered troll stood before him, its mace dripping blood.
He readied his sword, knowing full well his chance of victory was slim, though battered the troll was physically superior to the average human unless the human was a warrior who strengthened themselves physically with magic.
"ROOOARR!" The troll swung its mace as it lunged. He leaped sideways rolling backwards its momentum crushing. He steadied the sword. Sword and mace clashed producing crisp sounds. The sword trembled at each clash threatening to leave his hand. He slid his right leg backwards and arched his body backwards. Mace came crashing downwards, it dug into the ground. His now arched body sprang forward, the sword dung into the troll's left leg.
His breaths deep, exhaustion plastered on his face, he had long gone past his limits but his spirit refused to yield. 'FIGHT!' His will was strong but he was hit by the mace nonetheless, like a torrential force inevitable. His right arm took the brunt force. The force flung him a few meters.
Mid-air maxwell could not help but think. Have you ever had that moment, you know, when you just drew blank, no thoughts, no action, just blank. Life felt heavy in that moment. Just for a second, that second feeling like eons. Then you come to and ask yourselves what is happening.
"Thud!" He crashed into the ground and slid coming to a stop.
Maxwell focused his vision as he coughed a few mouthfuls of blood. He reached out his arm attempting to grab the hilt of his sword, the force of the blow had nearly shattered his arm so its movements were rough.
The troll's thundering footsteps shook the ground as it rushed towards him, Maxwell was in a sorry state but his arms and legs refused to move no matter how he urged on. He had reached the end of the road, as a last-ditch effort he turned his body and faced the sky. His mind was no longer on the battlefield, whether they were losing or how long he had fought, he no longer not cared, he simply looked at the sky.
The sky was dimly lit, overshowed by clouds though he never thought about it deeply this planet was home for the past 5 years. He had learnt a lot, that he did not know and would have never known. He had seen what others could only hope to see and felt a suffering that only a few knew. It was a wholesome life that was the apt description. There existed 2 moons on the north and south ends of the planet.
Their vague crimson and silver shadows reflected slightly in the sky, soon blocked by a towering figure that was the troll, there it stood, eyes piercing and full of bloodlust. The mace came crashing down at Maxwell, he wanted to live however he was helpless, with his strength depleted he was useless. No one would save someone useless, just like was how others had outlived their worth so had he.