A Hero's role in war is a prestigious one, to serve your country as a symbol of hope and glory is the dream of every true believer, to be selected by the Angels and live as their chosen, the rulers of the frontlines, no true subject of the Warpl empire should deny their destiny as a Hero for it is the greatest honour.
This is the story of the worst hero the modern empire has in their recorded history, this.. is the story of Magnus.
Wheezing from the sudden shockwave Magnus dropped to his knees, the muddy ground seeping into his worn leather boots causing a chill to run up his spine, looking up at the Kaskal knight standing over him the sun gleaming off their imposing metal clad figure, was this thing even human what could a mere laity class fighter even do to a knight, i have been surely doomed to die he thought, the flash of a blade hits his eyes as stream of hot yellow blood floods over him, shock refusing to leave Magnus until the aggressive pull on his arm shakes him awake.
"Back on your feet faithful, no time for rest" the voice of Magnus's commanding officer breaking the air
"Yes sir" replied Magnus the unmistakable sound of fear emanating from his words
Back on his feet Magnus can see in all the gory detail of exactly where his commanders blade had struck and the source of the blood covering his face, there on the ground lie the Kaskal knight split open at the centre his lungs in view still pulsing with air, their little remaining life slowly leaving them with every breath.
Magnus couldn't bear to look, the horror causing him to vomit his mornin rations into the nearby mud, how had he gotten himself into this war. Why was he here, a simple blacksmiths son from a minor priority village, on the frontlines of a war between two major empires, what sick person had decided this was his fate, whoever or whatever had placed him here was none of his concern right now for he had to survive this battle.
Looking forward the carnage of battle mildly obscured by the mist, his comrades scattered across the trodden fields to his left the formidable Michael's cavalry charging head first into the enemy's spear wall defences, his right a mixture of infantry and bowmen in a skirmish causing stray arrows to be loosened over his head finding themselves but mere feet from him.
The chaos was everywhere nowhere was safe, Kaskal forces slowly pushing the Warpl army back due to their larger numbers, what was Magnus to do a few more minutes of this skirmishing and he won't be able to avoid fighting he'd never even swing his sword at another person let alone killed a man his death was all but assured.
Magnus too lost in his thoughts neglected to realise a Kaskal spearman was charging him down spear tip poised for his abdomen, by the time he'd come back to his senses there was no time to avoid the blow but he tried anyway, the speartip making contact with his side ripping flesh, Magnus letting out a guttural scream of pain so violent even the spearman was caught off guard leaving him open to the arrow sent in his direction, with a single think he dropped to the ground he was dead before he fell.
As Magnus lay in the broken grass he thought back to his father the humble blacksmith how he hummed while he worked how the clang of the hammer had filled his ears all those sleepless nights, and then of his mother how her voice would warm his heart every time he heard it and how she'd sing when to tending her flowers how he'd never tell her how much he loves her again.
*KRAKABOOM*
A thunderous boom filling the sky, the misty battlefield became clear once again as a monstrous impact had cleared the air, a lone figure standing amidst the crater sword in hand a yellow aura permeating from them, there was no way Magnus could describe what happened next for it happened so fast he didn't see it, with a sound only describable as an angels wings beating like a drum and the soft sounds of chopping vegetables, the once formidable and numerous Kaskal army had been reduced to but a fraction of its numbers and at the centre of the massacre stood a god among men a figure so remarkable you'd think you'd gone mad for seeing it, an Angel in the flesh the pristine white wings with not a spec of the disgusting yellowblood attributed to the Kiskal people.
With this display of pure godhood the harsh battle had truly come to an end, Magnus could return safely to the barracks wherever can sleep on his solid bed and joke with his best friend jisk, "oh right" Magnus said to himself looking down to his wound, in all the splendor of the angel he had forgotten all about his predicament.
"Mother, father i hope you're doing well I'm sorry that I'm not coming home to you again i really wish i could have hugged you that one last time" magnus's voice slowing as his life came to an end in the end he never got to be the hero his country had promised he could become.
As the light faded from his vision a warm feeling embraced him, was death really this pleasant he thought to himself. And with this the story of Magnus the humble son of a blacksmith comes to an end.
A voice beckoned from the darkness "return to me child of light" a blinding light overcame Magnus's vision, the voice calls again "your time is not yet up, RISE MAGNUS FOR YOU ARE MY CHOSEN" the light returning to Magnus's faded eyes, a burning pain etching itself into his shoulder blades Magnus tries to scream but his voice is hoarse the voice commands him "RISE MY CHOSEN, IN YOUR NEW NAME MAGNUS CHOSEN OF DANTE"