The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
A Single Spell and Technique
At last, the order to march was given, and barely an hour later, I found myself atop a similar hill, this time overlooking Brithlite itself. We were only a mile from the city and half a mile from the first line of defense.
The Brithlite army formed a formidable bulwark before the city walls. Much of their forces had been scattered throughout the kingdom, desperately holding back the relentless demon hordes, and a significant number had defected to join our ranks. That left only a fraction of their original army trained and powerful, relying on drafted recruits to bolster their numbers. It was easy to see who they were, even forgetting the weak power of their souls, by the fervent devotion in their eyes. They were here only by the influence of the heart crest, with no courage or confidence beyond that.