Part 1 Chapter 1

Another faceless soldier fell to the earth. The killer was breathing heavily. His heavy boots sunk into the mud as he ran forward towards his next foe. A disembodied voice called out, echoing in the gray-black world. “More.” Three more enemies materialized in front of him. A single swing from his blade was enough to fell all three foes. The swordsman collapsed to his knees. “Where are you!? Show yourself!” The voice repeated its command. More enemies materialized. “Enough of these pawns!” Another swipe of the hunk of steel ripped apart those that stood before him. “Still not strong enough.” The man ran straight ahead. The ground moved with him. This swamp was to be his prison. He let out a roar of anger, which invoked another wave of enemies.

            This pattern repeated for what seemed like hours. Groups of three or four proved too easy for him. Groups of seven or eight fell with effort. He was able to fight up to fifteen at a time. The voice would call out. “More. Get Stronger.” Each time, another soldier would be added to the group. As he cut them down, the voice got closer. “More. Kill more.” He kept slashing, taking risks, diving into groups of enemies. Twenty soldiers fell. A group of thirty rose from their ashes. This new group was slaughtered without mercy. Forty. Their blades cut deep into his flesh, but rage kept him going. Blood dripped down his body as a group of fifty set up to challenge him. They were simply no match.

            The voice was practically a whisper now, directly within his ear. “More.” One hundred armed shades formed to face him. Weakness no longer washed over him; he was now drowning in it. But the voice motivated him to continue. A whole unit was slain. He turned as two hundred appeared before him. “Kill them.” The voice spoke and he obeyed. The fog cleared, revealing a gray landscape as far as his eyes could see. He was battered, half dead, but victorious. A bright red sun rose on the horizon. “Come.” He turned and saw the owner of the voice. A figure clad in armor too dark to be black, with eyes as crimson flames. A faint aura of disaster surrounded him; it made him feel truly evil, perhaps demonic. The black knight threw off his midnight cape and drew his obsidian sword. “I am your final challenge.”

            Somehow, the man was able to stand against the knight. The two charged. Blades locked. Sparks flew as blows were exchanged. The man had no hope of winning. Exhaustion had paid its toll. His wounds did nothing to help him either. “You have…disappointed me.” The knight said, eyes dimming down. “I had hoped you would put up a better fight.” A quick parry was all it took to disarm the nearly dead fighter. Another kick brought him head first into the mire. As black boots splashed just outside of his blurring vision, he heard the knight speak. “I would know you name before you die.”

            “Calvin.” He managed to say. “Farewell, Calvin. You shall know me as the embodiment of calamity. We shall meet again, soon.” The knight paused, then drove his sword deep into Calvin’s back.

            Calvin jolted out of his cot, sending a ripple of sounds around his room. A wooden sword grated across the wall before falling with a clatter. That was the only sound audible over the thumping of his heart. A deep breath or two calmed his nerves enough to get a grip on his surroundings. Calvin was in the small quarters provided by the Aeon Mercenary band. It was barely livable. Calvin had been working for the mercenaries for over ten years, yet they never bothered to move him into a Commander’s room. Those were bigger than the current soap-box he was shoved into. Well, only slightly bigger.

            A small desk sat right next to his bed. The oil lamp that sat on it had fallen during the night, but had not broken. As he adjusted that, the other training sword clattered onto the floor next to the first. His uniform hung loosely on a mannequin. The swords lay in the way of the small wooden door. Finding a place for the swords was difficult. Calvin finally stowed them under the cot and readied himself for the day. A nagging feeling gnawed at his soul. Every last detail of his room had to be checked.

            Dreams had this effect on Calvin; he became paranoid. Worried that witches or demons lurked in every shadow. He began checking the greenish-brown walls for marks he didn’t recall. Any spots on the floor were also the subject of his scrutiny. When he was satisfied that nothing was out of order he left the room. The door squealed shut. But before the click of the latch, something caught his ear. It was a faint whisper, or maybe a memory of one. But Calvin distinctly heard the message. “Kill more. Become stronger.” The click seemed to echo inside Calvin’s mind. The waste he had just spent an eternity in spread out before him.

            A familiar voice broke him from this trance. The Aeon Scout Commander Tyrell waltzed down the hallway. “Greetings, old friend.” The man was about a head shorter than Calvin, but then again most people were. He looked like an old Col gentleman, complete with the gray hair and ‘old-man’ attitude. His uniform was straightened and creased perfectly. Tyrell smiled broadly and leaned forward. “You look like you have seen a ghost.” Calvin sighed and shook his head. “I’m fine, Tyrell.” The old man raised an eyebrow but acknowledged the end of the discussion. He turned on his heels and walked alongside the larger warrior. He pulled a small black book from his belt and got to reading. “O, Cal; I can’t believe I forgot – must be the age again. The boss wants to see you. He said something about a mission for you to take.”

            Aeons scrambled to work as the sun finally poked its head over the horizon. The hallways were filled with a mix of natural and artificial lights. The magic lamps were turned off as the last watch was relieved of their duties. Even though Calvin was constantly bumping shoulders or pushing people out of the way, Tyrell deftly avoided all contact and was still able to read his book. A pale blue aura radiated off of him as he flowed between bodies and objects as if he were water. “Where is the boss?” Tyrell began to walk backwards to show off his near omniscience. Even with his back turned, he skated around persons and furniture with a hairs breadth between him and a collision. “He said to meet you at the training fields. Now, if you shall excuse me.” He put the book away and the aura faded. He turned around and walked off in a different direction, “I have other business that must be attended. Farewell, Commander.” Calvin nodded in respect.

            Out on the field, several new recruits were being tested. Today was day four of physical training. After a week of physical training, a week of combat training. Then finally, a week of magical training. Calvin leaned up against the Head Quarters wall as the newbies were ran ragged like dogs. The grizzled veteran would have laughed if he hadn’t been exactly like them. The physical strain put on these kids was enough to kill a grown man. It was only their sheer will and limitless passion that kept them going. Mercenary work was not glamorous or honorable, but it put food on the table. And judging by some of their broken forms, they needed any job they could find. “Boss." Ivan, yelled out orders like a tyrant. “Give me twenty more!” The recruits complied. “Now another lap!” The broken forms broke out into a sprint around the track. “So…the new bloods are almost ready, huh?” Ivan nodded without turning. If the boss had not thoroughly proven his ability to beat Calvin, he would have been offended this gesture. However, he bit his tongue and waited for Ivan to speak first.

            “They are weak: too many are here for ‘honor’ or ‘glory’.” He spat in disgust. “There is naught but vomit and nightmares in this occupation. They have skill and potential, but their mind is elsewhere. Damnable wars. Who would have thought that such Hell on Earth would bring out the pups seeking their own death?”

            “But when the time for words has ended, fighting must occur. Even Tyrell believes that.” Ivan nodded. “My son is among the recruits.” The boss pointed out a silver-haired boy as he kept with a majority of the pack. “He’s going to be put in the Magic Corps. Do you approve?” Calvin paused. “I’m not sure.” He admitted. “I have no relation to those mages. I do know that they are in desperate need of a Fire Mage.” Ivan nodded, thinking.

            Without his glasses, the man looked handsome. He was built like a statue - chiseled features, blank expressions, perfectly defined proportions. To top that off, he had the posture and mannerisms of a prince. Most people mistake him for a member of the Royal Guard of Col. The pause grew longer. “Calvin. I need you to go to Atlantis for me.” Ivan said at last. The trip was not too far. A few days on foot, less on horseback. “Why?” Ivan held up a hand to indicate a pause. He barked a few orders at the recruits and left another commander in charge of the training. “Come into my office.”

            The two walked through the twisting hallways to the lounge. Past these commons was Ivan’s office. A room spacious by mercenary standards, it contained a desk, three chairs, and a small bookshelf. Very accommodating. Tyrell had opened the window and was sitting inside the frame. His book was open yet again. “I’ve been waiting, boss.” He said after slowly rising and giving a salute. Ivan nodded and told both of them to sit. The wooden chair creaked softly as Ivan planted his feet on the desk. Tyrell closed the shutters and leaned back against the wall, holding his hand up to decline the offer. Ivan reached into his desk and pulled out a pair a spectacles. He put them on and looked over a document.

            “The Atlantian Royalists are asking for help against the rebels. However,” He tapped the document and handed it to Calvin, “We have a counter offer from the rebels.” The figures were outstanding. Each deal would set the Mercenaries for many years to follow. The leader pulled his feet off the desk and folded his hands. He put his head down so that Calvin could only see his glasses above his fingers. “I want you to go to Atlantis and assess the situation.”

            “Which side are we thinking about assisting?” The pause was concerning. Ivan glanced over at Tyrell, who had his head down. Tyrell removed himself from the wall and walked over to the desk. “An Argondosean mercenary group has joined the rebels.” Ivan and Calvin paused to look at the leader of the Scout Division. He was in charge of the intelligence gathering. Tyrell’s lacking report was startling. “Is that it, Tyrell?”

            “They are a secretive bunch.” He said exhausted. “Most of what I learned I...received from their contact in the rebels. The only ones who know about the mercenaries are the Argondoseans themselves.” Ivan nodded. Tyrell paused. “They spotted me.” Ivan straightened up in his chair. Calvin jumped out of his. “They spotted you? Tyrell!” Calvin’s voice resounded in the room. “I don’t know how. Half-way back home, I was attacked by one of them. She wore a mask and black armor. There was a strange pattern on the mask; like tears.” He traced from his eyes down to his chin. “Bright red and glowing.” He rolled up his sleeve and revealed three long gashes that had been sealed with healing magic. “She used a Claw spell. It grazed me, but…well, you see the damage.” He said as he rolled his sleeve back down. “That arm will be out of commission for a few days more, sir.”

            Ivan nodded again. It was hard for him to absorb this information. “Is this attacker dead?” The scout hung his head. “No. She chased me all the way back to Atlantis. I spent a few days laying low before I was able to escape.” Calvin and Ivan grew silent and fell back into their original positions. “Calvin, I want you to go and examine the Atlantian army.”

            “Are we looking for longer employment or more money?” Ivan took off his glasses and rose. “We are looking for the safest option. I don’t like the sound of this group. If they could spot Tyrell, we won’t be able to send any kind of spies.” Ivan did not like making rash decisions. “Yes sir. I’ll bring back all the information I can.” Calvin said. He gave a brief bow and exited. The door thudded to a close. “How did you know it was a woman, Tyrell?”

            “The voice.” Ivan turned. The two locked eyes for a time. Tyrell finally spoke up, “She told me that I would live.” Ivan understood. “Tell the men to triple the guard.” He said.

            “Sir, I already did.” Ivan looked out the window at Calvin. “Let us hope that he isn’t attacked.” The head commander shook off his melancholy. “Come, Tyrell: we have some recruits to train.”

            Calvin approached the barracks. He wanted to take a set of armor and his personal weapon if he was going on as a pseudo-ambassador for the Aeons. His suit lay on the ground by his sword. Calvin was not a fan of heavy armor. At most, he would wear a chainmail skirt, heavy steel-plated boots, and a leather cuirass. He had put a special metal plate inside the leather to cover his heart. Today, he pulled out his shin guards and put on a pair of gauntlets. He adjusted the fit and turned. He was face to face with the Aeons’ armorer. “Calvin.”

            “Luther.” The man pulled out a measuring tape, evoking a groan from Calvin. “Again?” The man held up his hands, “I’m sorry, but it needs to be now Calvin. It isn’t my fault and they won’t let you in without updated documents.” Calvin sighed and stood up straight. The man pulled the tape and measured him from head to toe. “Be thankful he didn’t change the weight measurements this time. Remember when he tried to get everyone measured by the weight of fully grown hens?” Calvin chuckled slightly. The ‘he’ they kept talking about was the Emperor. Emperor Rickard Col II had attempted multiple times to change the standards of weight and length. He had succeeded with the weights, though not from the measuring everything by chickens. For some reason, he was obsessed with uniformity. He changed the measure of length at least once a month.

            “Me thinks our Emperor is mad.” Calvin could not believe it. How had this man let his empire fall into a civil war if he was so obsessed with everything be uniform. Luther made a few more remarks before getting Calvin a horse and sending him off. “If you ride now, you will make it there before sundown. Just don’t dawdle!” Calvin nodded spurred the horse on. He was not one to waste time.

            The wind rushed by his ears as the horse reached its top speed. The guards on watch waved and called out to Calvin as he departed. But he didn’t hear a single word. The only voice that reached his ear was a sinister whisper.