Emeris looks around the room. “Don’t suppose any of the Dracur made it back? We sure could use their skilled soldiers right about now.”

Versa shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

“Well unlike Taraska, Dracur isn’t stuck between two waring countries. We had about 34,000 people in the city before this attack. I’d like to see them do better than we did.”

The other soldiers begin to panic. The fearful mumbles of “What are we going to do?” and “This is insane!” can be heard. General Versa looks at them, then down at Emeris and me.

“How the hell did you two make it back here?” Emeris looks down at his legs and sighs.

“Playing dead and throwing rocks a lot. You kinda had to be there for it.” Our soldiers chuckle a bit. Versa continues to stare at us. Her lack of animation means one thing: she’s deciding what to do.

“Gen triah” she says through gritted teeth.

Emeris and I groan. Gen Triah meant the three of us had to go show off for the sake of moral. At this point, I didn’t see why moral was even important.

The path to my tiny quarters, was laced with numerous hallways that had built-up dirt and cobwebs. I pause in the throne room to stare at the map of our land. Our nation of Taraska was legendary for combat tactics and scavenging since we had no other talents. Our immediate neighboring ally had amazing ways of making the best armor and weapons. We were more than happy to exchange protection for gear. Unfortunately they had a massive outbreak of Mana Fever, so we were forced to set fire to the outside of their city, and kill anyone who tried to leave.

Putting an arrow into a fleeing civilian was horrible, doing it to someone who screams your name for mercy left a festering wound in your soul. When we were certain they were all dead, a team went in and recovered a few documents describing how they made armor and weapons. While we hadn’t perfected it, it allowed us to prosper for a bit. Our steel was lighter and stronger than before, but it took an excruciatingly long time to make.

I run my fingers over the large, black X that covered their name.

“Worshul…” I mutter to myself. They praised me as a hero there. Even when I was sent to check up on armor and weapons shipment, it was still a vacation. I had personally trained a good quarter of their military. My eyes scan over all the marked out kingdoms and forests. There were so many, it looked as if someone had allowed a child to decorate the map with a piece of coal. Some forests were marked as destroyed, some bridges had "Impassable" next to them.

I cheer up a bit as I climbed the final staircase, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer now. My room was large enough for a bed, a dresser with an attached mirror, and a chest for storage. I had taken the dresser from a previous kingdom with Emeris’ help, so it technically made me wealthy by Taraskan standards. I now owed Emeris a favor with his own piece of furniture if he stumbles across one he likes.

I stop in front of the dresser and stare into the mirror: this is it. Only a few more hours and we detonate. I sat down, studying my armor. Would anyone remember me? Would everything I’ve done disappear with my soldiers? Why was I even here? I was in my late 20s, and not expecting to see thirties. This was going to be my last fight. My face left behind with the history of every nation that fell at our feet. What an ironic end to my story as well. My own helmet feels empty, despite seeing my own eyes through the tiny horizontal slits in my helmet. The most important question of all however, was did I even deserve to be remembered?

What was the point of all this violence? What happens if either Cartridge or Dracur wins? Could there ever be peace after all this fighting? Could any nation survive on its own? Do they have ways of getting supplies we can’t? The land North of Cartridge was unknown, with a vast ocean surrounding us on all other sides. Exploration was never an interest, as no one ever returns. Maybe they found peace and stayed. Food was often carried in by distant patrols, who prioritized new rations over getting enemy intel. All we ever did was fight and scavenge. Pointless battles, one after the other, defend then counterattack. Here I was, another soul lost in this eternal war. My body shakes as one last question rolls into my mind: where do I go after this life?

I grab my claymore, and head back to the gate. Wherever I end up when I die, I’m going there regardless; no reason to think about it any longer. Emeris is stretching his legs in a corner with a new chest piece on. Versa leans against a wall with her arms crossed. She looks up at me.

“Took you long enough.” Her poor attempt at humor does nothing for the situation. I stay silent, distracted by that tiny question I desperately longed to forget. The idea of throwing myself off the highest tower like many of our people was tempting. It sounded better than spend my last few minutes doing what I’ve done my whole life: kill Og Nag. At least I’d have done what I wanted to do for once in my short, irrelevant existence.

Emeris stops stretching, and picks up his sword and my shield. Versa stops leaning on the wall and checks Emeris and I over from a distance.

“Alright here’s the plan-” she’s interrupted by a roaring slam on the door. Her head snaps to the gate, and she leans over to look through one of our peep holes.

“The Og Nag are battering the gate!” she calls out.

Emeris turns around and bolts to the stairs.

“I’ll go tell the King and Minister!” Versa and I know full-well what’s going to happen, but we say nothing. Every soldier grabs a table, chair, whatever solid item they can find and tries to brace the door. Another slam sends us all back a foot, but we quickly recover. The gate begins to crack. A small opening in the door lets me look outside. There had to be thousands of them. I could no longer see a single tower, fire, or remains of a house; it was all covered by a tide of Og Nag. If they weren’t helping ram the gate, they cheered with their swords in the air. I duck my head away as several arrows slam against the hole. One even sails through, but skids across the ground harmlessly before bouncing against a wall.

Another massive hit, and we’re thrown to the ground. There’s an opening big enough for the Og Nag to get through one by one.

“Gai!” Versa screams. We group up on the stairs. There’s only room for five of us to stand side by side at a time. The last units hold up their shields to block attacks as we retreat up to the throne room.

My soldiers spill out all across the great hall. I have an idea that seems pointless in the long run.

“Everyone, form a shield wall around the stairs, we might be able to clog it with their bodies.” No one objects. Versa, Emeris and I go to the first set of stairs on the right, and start to head up to the Minister’s room.

I halt on the first step and turn around. This was it. This was the end right here. In the next few minutes, it would all be over, one way or another. My eyes scan every last person in the room. They were my company in hell, and if there was an afterlife, it wouldn’t hurt to have them put in a good word for me.

“My soldiers, my family…” I begin walking back into the throne room towards my men, doing my best to yell over the chaos. Multiple heads turn in my direction, despite the bloodbath at the stairs. Words pour from my heart that I had never uttered before. Any emotion besides rage was taboo.

“We know this is the end. And strangely enough, this is the time I want to get to know you all the most. I’ve seen your faces on the battlefield, standing side by side with me as we lay waste to those who stood before us.”

The soldiers give out a cheer.

“I saw your faces when we had nothing but our armor, swords, and each other.“

Another louder cheer erupts.

“We were side by side, accompanied only by stars and fear.”

Grunts of approval this time.

“I don’t know where we go after this life, but I know we’ll see each other again. Farewell my friends.”

Sergeant Ranum jogs up to me.

“Sir…” he stammers, almost rattling inside his armor. I give him a grin and shake my head.

“You don’t need to call me that this time.” I see a subtle smile cross his face from the small breathing slits on his helmet.

“Is...is there no way out? Do we not have any type of magic from the Minister to stop them?” I place a hand on his shoulder.

“Not this time Ranum.” He looks down defeated but nods. Emeris chimes in while leaning against the stairwell.

A sudden cry erupts from the troops, as the Og Nag use their battering ram to make a small hole in our formation. Dozens of Og Nag spill out from the stairs. Our soldiers fan out to give themselves fighting room. Several Og Nag come running towards us, and we dart up the stairs. After a few flights, we rush inside the Minister's room. The moment the doors slam shut, we brace it with everything we can.

I keep my back against the doors and stare at the massive white orb the size of a horse. I had only heard about it. A golden ring constantly rotates around it, filling the room with a light humming sound. It had numerous bizarre symbols carved into the golden ring. Every inch of the ring, was smooth and polished. The symbols were perfectly carved, without a single unintentional bump or squiggle.

Emeris grabs the claymore from my back and jams it through the metal handles. The orb almost demands attention from my eyes that's irresistible. It’s so white it almost hurts my eyes. It’s glass is perfectly clean. As I approach, the golden ring makes a gentle breeze as it moves.

This thing had a heavenly vibe from it, but there was no denying the monster that lurked inside. Our world was infested by war. Any past depictions of peace were met with skepticism. A long time ago, strange massive glass orbs filled with unknown purple material, had appeared in the sky, then quickly fell to the earth. The resulting explosion easily leveled an entire town. The worst part is every nation we knew of, was hurt by at least one, so their origin or purpose was a mystery. After the destruction, a disease had risen from the orbs. They call it Mana Fever since the explosions were rumored to be magical in origin. It starts with a heavy fever, leading to paralysis. After only a few days, the victim enters an endless coma. After a week, the victim can sometimes explode, killing anyone in the room.

This was two hundred years ago and since then, every nation had entered a dark age, where everyone was rumored to be the enemy. Doors were shut, outsides were either killed or turned away. Exile became worse than capital punishment, and every ruler wielded it like a deity's hammer.

The King leans over the angelic white orb. His thinning lump of red hair on the top of his head is a mess. He has but a small patch of beard on his chin. His purple robe has soot all over it; you can barely notice the gold trim with all the grime. His golden crown seems to be recently polished however. The Minister stares at us, his long black hair hangs over his blue eyes. They exchange doomed glances. I debate beheading the King, but if we have to spend the rest of eternity together, things might get awkward.

Versa, Emeris and I brace the door the best we can. The King turns to his Minister.

“Do it.” His voice is tired and full of defeat.

The Minister nods, picks up a hammer. I turn to the King. As the Minister starts to bring down his hammer, I mutter my last words.

“I hate you.”

The King turns to me.

“I know.” He says apathetically. The Minister's eyes bulge and his face glows red. His temples throb as he hesitates with the hammer raised above his head. I hear squeals and pounding on the door.

"Hurry! Do it now!" Emeris screams at the top of his lungs.

The Minister yells as loud as he can, bringing the hammer down onto the orb with all his might.