Cole stepped out cautiously, his boots crunching against the scorched ground. The heat of the flames licked at his skin, and the suffocating smoke clawed at his lungs. His scythe was strapped securely to his back, a reassuring weight in an unfamiliar hellscape.

  “What the hell is this?” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

  A glint of metal caught his eye, and he instinctively ducked as a projectile whizzed past his head. Adrenaline ran through him as he straightened, his eyes scanning the battlefield.

  Farther ahead, two factions clashed with ferocity. One side bore crimson banners, their armour dark and menacing, while the other fought under the banner of dark gold and white. It didn’t take long for Cole to piece it together: he was caught in the middle of a war he didn’t understand.

  “Flank the enemy lines!”

  The shout came from a figure in golden and white armour, who stood atop a crumbled barricade, rallying their troops. Cole squinted, trying to make out the person’s face, but the distance and smoke obscured them.

  He needed answers, but more than that, he needed to stay alive.

  The golden-armoured figure pointed toward the left flank of the battlefield, where a group of crimson-armoured soldiers was advancing with a terrifying formation.

  Cole took a glance at the chaos—the flames, the explosions, the swords clashing, and the screaming soldiers. He blinked, trying to process it all.

  Then, with a flat tone, he muttered, “Yeah. I’m good.”

  Without wasting another second, he turned and bolted in the opposite direction, his scythe bouncing awkwardly on his back. He weaved through burning debris and dodged a flying shield, nearly tripping over a mangled piece of armour.

  He kept his eyes focused on his surroundings, he couldn’t afford to be stabbed from behind. However, no matter where Cole seemed to run there was violence and blood being spilled everywhere—there was no way out.

  ‘Okay, Cole. Make a way out.’

  He gripped his scythe tightly, his knuckles whitening as he sprinted toward the fray. The battlefield stretched endlessly before him—a broken expanse of carnage. Craters dotted the land like scars, bodies of soldiers lay twisted amidst the debris, and the wails of the wounded pierced the thick, dense air.

  The crimson-armoured soldiers ahead advanced with brutal precision, their blades cutting through the golden forces like a storm. Cole’s breath was ragged as he joined the left flank, his presence unnoticed amidst the chaos. He took a steadying breath and charged forward, his scythe whistling through the air as he swung it with all his strength.

  The first enemy fell, a gurgled cry escaping their lips as Cole’s scythe cut deep. He recoiled at the sight of blood spattering his hands, but the momentary hesitation almost cost him. Another soldier lunged at him with a spear. He barely sidestepped in time, the weapon grazing his arm.

  ‘Focus!’ he growled at himself, ignoring the sting.

  He pivoted, his scythe carving an arc through the air. The edge found its mark, cutting through the spear wielder's defenses. More black-crimson soldiers noticed him now, their gazes predatory. Cole’s heart pounded, but he knew retreat wasn’t an option. He tightened his grip and readied himself.

  Two attackers swung at Cole at the same time. His instincts, sharper than ever, guided his movements as he deftly danced between their strikes. As one sword aimed for his chest, Cole barely dodged, the blade threatening to cut open his chest and spun low, sweeping the enemy’s legs and throwing him off balance. The soldier crashed to the ground, and Cole quickly summoned a boulder using his essentia, letting it drop onto the enemy's head with deadly precision, crushing it.

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  His focus then shifted to the second attacker. Without missing a beat, he charged forward, matching the enemy's advance. With careful control, he twisted his hand, guiding the snaith of his scythe to parry the enemy’s sword. In one fluid motion, continuing past the body of the attacker, Cole rotated the weapon and, with a swift, clean cut, severing the soldier’s neck.

  Time continued to pass of Cole constantly fighting and his muscles and essentia reservoirs were beginning to fatigue—he had to escape now through the path he had carved.

  However, in the battlefield full of chaos, every step, every movement had to be a calculation of survival. Cole's body screamed in protest, fatigue slowly eating at his focus. The rhythm of battle had become mechanical, his movements instinctual, but even instinct had its limits. His scythe was slick with blood, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he couldn’t afford to stop. Not now. Not when he's this close to an escape.

  He scanned the horizon of death for the path he'd carved, a fleeting opening in the chaos, a brief sliver of possibility. Soldiers, both crimson and golden, clashed around him, but he could see the gap forming—a place he could break through, where the violence hadn’t spilled over as bad.

  His legs felt like lead as he sprinted forward, dodging the wreckage of a fallen warrior and ducking under an incoming sword.

  ‘Get to the gap. Get out.’

  Cole’s thoughts were fragmented, his mind teetering between the need to survive and the subtle guilt that ate and licked at the edges of his conscience. Every life he took felt like it was adding to a pile he couldn't escape, a shadow that followed him no matter how far he ran. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’ He muttered the word like a mantra, but it wasn’t enough to rid the shaking plaguing his hands.

  The ground trembled underfoot as a massive explosion erupted behind him, and Cole stumbled, his momentum throwing him off balance. His body twisted as he tried to recover, his scythe skimming the ground and catching on a jagged rock. His heart slammed against his ribcage, and the blood roared in his ears.

  ‘No time for this. Get moving.’

  With a grunt, he forced his body upright and pushed forward, his footsteps heavy on the charred ground as he picked up his scythe. His eyes fixed on the gap ahead, a part of him refusing to accept anything less than escape. The world felt like it was closing in, the fire, the screams, the relentless clashing of steel. But the gap was growing closer.

  ‘Almost there...’

  As he neared the edge of the battlefield, a sharp, piercing scream cut through the air. A soldier in crimson armour, caught between the crossfire, was thrown violently toward him. Without thinking, Cole swept his scythe down, using its massive blade to catch the soldier by the throat, redirecting the momentum into a swift death blow. The soldier’s body fell limp in a heap, blood staining the ground beneath them.

  However, the path was clear now, the gap he needed within his reach. His mind screamed at him to push through, to leave this place behind.

  ‘Just get out of here, Cole!’

  A gust of wind swept across the battlefield, carrying with it the sickening scent of smoke and blood. Cole turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the golden-armored figure from earlier, cutting his way through the battlefield with disciplined precision. The figure’s eyes locked onto Cole, a silent tension infiltrating the eye contact.

  Cole knew he had no time to waste. His muscles burned, and his energy was draining fast, but the last of the path was just ahead. He pushed himself harder, his legs screaming with effort, and with one final burst of speed, he dove through the opening in the line.

  As he tumbled into the relative safety beyond the battlefield, Cole collapsed onto his knees, the world spinning around him. His breath came in ragged, frantic gasps, his chest heaving as the weight of the fight came crashing down. His body ached, and his mind screamed for rest, but there was no time to stop—not now.

  He struggled to get to his feet, the ground still shaking from the ongoing battle behind him.

  ‘Focus. There’s no time to rest.’ He told himself. ‘Not yet.’

  With a last glance at the chaos, he forced himself to stand tall, his grip on his scythe slightly loosened. His vision swam with exhaustion, but the path ahead—however uncertain—was safer than that mess. Cole took a slow, deliberate step, then another, pushing his body as the war raged behind him, leaving him with only the cold echo of his thoughts.

  ‘This is just the beginning.’