Charon froze as he watched the body fall to the ground, bloody gashes torn right through chainmail.
The black tendrils of his aura vanished, taking their offered strength back without any warning. Those affected stumbled, their bodies having to carry a greater burden.
As if a dam had been broken, memories of the previous battle flashed through Charon's mind, especially the ones of him killing others.
Taking lives, snuffing them out forever.
His breathing increased, long gulps of air being mixed with short inhales. Charon clutched his chest as he stared at the motionless corpse of Volrir, remembering the conversation they had been having less than an hour prior.
'He was just teaching me about Archons and the Blood Monger! He had been so full of life, standing up for me when the others just laughed!'
The words began to echo in his head, growing in volume until they threatened to break his eardrums.
Reality finally caught up with him as the trial took its toll.
Charon had been sheltered until this, living a life on the streets with minimal threats, and minimal responsibilities.
Now, in just two short days, he had been forced to fight for every second of breath, and watch as people he knew died.
His legs shook as he found his grip on his blade loosen.
Screams of agony reached his ears from all parts of the battlefield. Men pleaded for mercy, called for their mothers, and begged their god to intervene.
No mercy was granted, no soothing words were offered, and no divine retribution was carried out.
There was only senseless slaughter and death.
Charon felt panic slowly set in, urging him to drop his sword and run away.
'I could find a local town and work there! No, I need to get further. I can find a horse to take me away from here, lead me somewhere safe and away from the Blood Monger and the God of Death and all of this!'
A voice broke him from his thoughts.
"Stand ready, soldier!"
A blade flashed through the air, cutting down another of their enemies, its head flying through the air.
"Volrir's death won't be for nothing, now stand and fight!"
Sven, the man who had disagreed with Volrir, was standing next to Charon, his blade held high.
The words cut through his doubts, pushing his fears back into the recesses of his mind and allowing another emotion to take its place.
Anger.
A rage he had never experienced before permeated his being, and before he knew what he was doing, Charon launched himself at the beast that had killed Volrir.
Bringing his sword down, it found purchase in the creature's left shoulder, slicing through slippery flesh and cutting into its heart.
Without any reaction, it slumped over, dead.
Charon, full of righteous fury, ignored its corpse, pushing forward and yelling back to his brothers in arms.
"Push to the gate!"
His call was echoed up and down the line as the border of soldiers turned into a tide of charging warriors, cutting through their surprised opponents just like they had done to the them minutes prior.
Ahead of the bulk of their forces, Charon had to face more than one of the creatures at once, dodging and weaving around the agile foes. He quickly realized his mistake as a claw almost found his chest, narrowly missing his chainmail
Backpedaling to create space, he was reassured to see a few other men push up alongside him, fighting back the beasts.
The close call banished the fog his emotions had placed on his mind, allowing him to think more clearly.
'That was lucky! I need to be smarter about this, I can't let my rage lead me into making a costly mistake.'
Deciding to instead check their escape from the arrows, he looked to the gate and was pleased with what he saw.
In the minutes it had taken him to find Volrir, the sergeants had practically torn the thing off its hinges, and were now turning to help their men. Their large weapons cleaved through multiple of their enemies at once, creating large open pockets for men to push through into the fortress courtyard.
Charon, exploiting one of those pockets, spared only a second's consideration before rushing under the rampart.
Inside the fortress, he was greeted with the sight of Blood soldiers lined up, their bodies standing eerily still. Each held only a single sword and no armor, their red tunics the only identifier of their allegiance.
Seeing them all stand so still sent a shiver down Charon's spine.
'Thank the gods I was sent to fight for Death rather than for the Blood Monger. What the hell does he do to his followers?'
His allies entered the courtyard behind him before quickly engaging the line, their rage at losing so many friends turning into strength as they found a convenient outlet.
Before Charon could move in and join them, a large metal leg landed in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
Looking up in bewilderment, Charon was met with a smooth helmet staring down at him, a long red plume of feathers sticking out of the top.
"You are to leave these to us. Push into the keep, and keep going down till you find where they are storing the artifact! Others will be sent behind you, now go!"
The knight raised his gauntleted hand and pointed to a wooden door on their right, away from any soldiers.
Charon opened his mouth to retort, hoping to instead exact revenge for the death of Volrir, but the captain had already taken the first step towards his enemies.
A battle of wills quickly ensued as logic fought against emotions in Charon's mind, each one arguing its case for why he should or should not follow orders.
'Damn it all!'
Before he could convince himself of otherwise, he turned away from the battle and moved towards the doorway, muttering a curse as he ran.
Opening the door with a rough yank, he stepped in with his sword ready to strike.
Inside, he found a mostly empty stone room with a dark staircase leading down into the earth. Torches flanked him on the walls and continued down every couple of feet.
'Well, isn't this cozy. Trying to fight in this place would practically be suicide. There's barely anywhere to go that isn't down into who knows where!'
Closing the door behind him, he had just taken the first step down when he sensed someone approaching the door with inhuman speed. Whirling with his sword, he was surprised to find a familiar face staring back.
"Looks like you managed to survive this party so far! Well done, Charon!"
Emerius sounded all too cheery given the situation, but Charon figured he would forgive it this once.
'Better than one of those creatures! I doubt I could take more than one on this staircase, and even that would be a struggle!'
Calming his racing heart, he shot Emerius a dirty look, while also noticing half a dozen other men right behind him.
'At least he brought backup.'
"You scared me half to death! I had thought you were more of those… things!"
The flamboyant soldier just grinned at him.
"If I were one of the Blood Spawn, you'd be toppling backwards after I leapt on you. Probably crack your head before you even hit the bottom."
Charon shivered as he heard their name.
'Blood Spawn… so that's what those creatures are. Gods be willing they don't exist back home.'
One of the other soldiers spoke, moving to the edge of the stairs and beginning down them.
"We need to move. We have orders to find the artifact and take it out of here with whatever means necessary."
The words came out cold and emotionless, a fact Charon almost appreciated.
'If he wants to work overtime to help me finish this trial, who am I to complain? If my goal was to win the battle, I'm sure I would've been told that at some point.'
The group had only just begun to descend when the door opened a third time, all of them spinning with weapons drawn, ready to spring into action.
The figure yelled out at them quickly, his hands raised placatingly.
"Calm yourselves, men!"
To their relief, it was the priest from the camp, dark energies coiling around his arms.
'We need to start mandating bells be worn so I know who is friendly and who isn't!'
His dark robes had multiple rips and tears, but no blood had marred its sleek surface. Emerius seemed the most excited to see the priest, offering him a beaming smile and a short bow.
"We welcome you, chosen of Death. Please, we must hurry."
'I never would've pegged Emerius the respectful of religious figures type.'
Taking a moment to consider his own actions recently, including his Sigil and the warcry he had echoed, he supposed that wasn't really fair anymore.
'If the gods were this active in the orphanage, I suppose I would be extremely supportive of the clergy as well.'
The priest simply nodded his assent, half his face still hidden, before joining them as they set off down the steps.