1 Prologue

The world was on fire as thick masses of black smoke and ash blew through the battlefield, a smell of burnt flesh permeating the constricting air.

A young soldier lay dying, his body partly melted from the attack that had devastated his division so badly. His flesh seared, whatever was left of his hair was now simply tots of black, surprisingly his blue eyes had remained undamaged. He was coughing heavily as he was facing the sky, nothing but darkness to be seen, with flashes of light in the smoke occasionally lighting up in the distance with a muffled boom, a loud piercing ringing deafened out any other sounds that might be present.

Whatever thoughts of family or friends that would usually accompany a dying man were him bereft. His last moments had been seared into his mind. A cruel sight of his brothers in arms melting without so much as a chance to defend themselves. He had never fully understood his captain before this day, not that it would have made a difference, but the clarity of understanding was quickly washed away with a strong desire of vengeance, not one the man could fulfil himself, but his final desire of retribution lay with another, one whose hatred for mages burned stronger than any he had ever seen.

.....

Through the dense mist of smoke a broad shouldered middle-aged man passed through in a steady stride. His once lustre armour now pitch black from the thick amount of sod present in the air. He had dropped his helmet as the air had thickened, even at this stage such a level of disturbance made it difficult for him to breathe, the disturbance as much magical in nature as it was the smoke and ash.

As the man walked past his now diseased division members, their names came to his mind whenever he saw someone that he could still recognize, Roy Jenkins baker extraordinaire of the capital, joined the cause to protect his homeland. John Songshire a young man whose blue eyes were looking hauntingly at the captain as he passed him by, the man had been a talented warrior, yet before he could accomplish much in the way of the arts he had died before even being able to put up a fight, and then there was Pete Crenshaw a sharp-witted archer who had been an assassin his entire life until he had met a man who made him believe in something more than himself, his death was on him, the middle-aged man knew this, and he wasn't the only one who had joined his division on the promise of honour, valour and a cause worth believing in.

...

A darkness had rolled over the battlefield as the ash filled clouds and smoke blocked out the sun. In this darkness on a hill not too distant from the still raging fires stood a blonde tall man overlooking his handiwork with a smirk. His long blue robes still spotless. His power dampening field had worked in perfect harmony with his flame meteor spell. The death of the thousand or so did not seem to bother him much as he turned around to leave.

"Yet another victory for the kingdom of mages!" a hoarse leathery voice boomed majestically.

The blonde mage turned around quickly his hands raising a transparent blue shield in front of him. Just barely blocking large battleaxe. The strike landed with such power that the crumbled as the mage was thrown several meters back in a tumble. Horror was painted in the man's eyes as the battleaxe weathered by war, filled with scars of battle struck him down in one fell strike.

…..

The captain slung the axe over his weary shoulders as he overlooked the well-trained army below, on the other side of the hill, the army of the kingdom of mages. This was but one of many skirmishes in the region on this day of death.

The air blurred in front of the captain as if the fabric that held together reality grew unstable. The warrior steeled his resolve as the large axe fell into his hands his left leg building up power, electricity running through his spine his blood pumping faster and faster, a light sheen of green could be seen in the man's eyes as he prepared himself for a strike far stronger than the previous.

A woman materialized from the ether in front of the captain, and no second later was the butcher's axe ready for its next victim. However as the strike fell and an invisible force struck out creating a long cracked line tens of meters long, the axe succeeded only in burying itself in a crater of dirt. The woman reappeared further down the hill in front of the army who stood stalwart behind her. Her runic hood covered her expression, whether there was fear or surprise the captain didn't know. Using his stores of warrior energy he made an awe-inspiring leap his axe held high imbued with every ounce of power he had, but once more the woman disappeared, appearing this time at the foot of the hill next to the army commander.

For as long as he had lived he had disliked mages, they always looked down on the common man, they never fought a fair battle either fleeing what they deemed too difficult, or like now, sending an army into the mouth of the lion.

The captain yelled in fury at the advancing army "how many lives must I fell today so that you can protect your mage overlords!" Yet the army continued onward in the strictest discipline, seemingly undaunted by the man's words and demeanour. "You cower behind armies and spells, poison and sophistry... FACE ME!" The man roared in anguish at the female mage who had long since disappeared. His aura unleashed mightily halting the army that approached him, for even they began to realise that the loses they would face at enemy's hands would not be small.

…..

Hours later the lady mage appeared again amidst her own army, now two thirds the size, she sensed the resentment in some of their gazes, yet she cared little for soldiers. She quickly made her way over to the opposing army's captain, his large husk on its knees, his hands still clutching his axe. His bones, tendons and muscles too thick to sever entirely, the man had bled to death amidst his own exhaustion. Despite his death his corpse still emanated an aura of death and awe.

The mage faced the corpse silently, and whatever she was thinking it was hidden beneath the shadow of her hood.

She pointed at the army commander "wrap up his body and send it to my tent" her voice was hauntingly soft, however somehow her every word carried a hint of dread.

The commander's face twitched, his army had faced the beast, and despite the deaths that the man had caused, it was clear that none of the soldiers or the commander himself wanted to desecrate this warrior, for a moment, if nothing else, for a moment only the man hesitated before he followed the mage's command.