Charon panted heavily as he looked down at the body beneath him.
His eyes widened slowly, before he threw himself to the side and puked.
'I just… killed someone! A real person! With my own two hands!'
As he emptied his guts, his mind spun with the implications of what he had done.
'A life was just ended, and I did it.'
His stomach finally empty, he brought his hands up and studied them. A slight tremor ran through him, and he struggled to hold back a second round of vomiting.
Planting himself on all fours, he heaved for a few seconds, hoping to calm down. The image of the blade entering the man's throat was planted in his brain, unwilling to leave him in peace.
'Gods above, what have I done?'
Charon had never killed someone before, nor had he ever intended to.
Sure, he had wronged others, but that was always small. Stealing food, playing a harsh prank, or even framing someone else for his crimes was nothing new, but taking a life…
That was different.
As he struggled to cope with his actions, a drop of the blood the soldier had spat on him dripped off his armor and onto his hand.
Immediately, the flesh split, hissing as it burned through his skin and into the tender nerves beneath.
Shocked at the suddeness of the pain, he jerked his arm upwards, causing his shoulder to also explode in a wave of agony, sending Charon reeling backwards into the dirt.
He subconsciously curled up, praying that the pain would end soon.
He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt a hand shake him back to consciousness.
"Charon, get up! The battle is not yet won!"
The language he heard was not the human tongue he had grown up with, yet he understood it all the same.
Opening his bloodshot eyes, he looked up to see a youthful face staring down at him. Mud covered his cheeks and forehead, but it did little to hide the long brown hair that peeked out from a metal helmet.
He couldn't have been older than twenty, with a sharp jawline and vibrant green eyes. His muscles were toned, a sign he had spent many days exercising.
Or fighting.
Despite having never met the man, Charon instinctively knew who he was.
'Who is- wait, how does he know my name?'
Another, far stranger, thought hit him next.
'How do I know his name as well?'
"Emirius?"
The man, Emirius, smiled at that.
"Good, nice to know you remember my name. Now get up! The enemy is being routed, we must press our advantage!"
He extended a calloused hand covered in dirt, holding it just above Charon's face.
'He is wearing black as well, so he is an ally. If he wanted to kill me, I doubt he'd pause to talk.'
Taking the offered hand, Charon pulled himself to his feet. Looking around, he saw that the red soldiers had indeed been pushed further back. Even the hum of battle had been almost deafened, with only the occasional clashing of steel reminding him of the slaughter.
Turning his attention to Emirius, he saw that the man stood a few inches taller than himself, probably being near six feet tall. His armor was all but destroyed, with only a few links of chain keeping his chest protected at all.
Emirius was facing the body near them, pausing for just a minute before reaching down and yanking the blade from its throat. He inspected it for a minute, turning it over with a smirk before extending it to Charon.
"Your work?"
Pointedly not looking at the corpse, he nodded.
The man smiled knowingly, nodding a single time before drawing his own sword from his hilt.
"You've claimed your first soul for the Death God, then, a cause for celebration. I will make sure the priest hears of this, so that you may gain your first Sigil."
He patted Charon's shoulder roughly.
"Today we fight, and tonight we drink!"
Unsure what Emirius meant, he silently took the sword and sheathed it, not wanting to deal with the added weight.
Giving the body one last glimpse, he turned his head to the sky and took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke and ash.
The smell brought strange clarity to his tumultuous mind.
'This must be part of the trial. I'm supposed to fight through whatever the hell this battle is, and do what? Survive?'
The answer wasn't coming to him, but he knew that he'd figure it out in time.
'Every trial has a goal, so whatever it is I'm here to do will make itself known. Eventually.'
"What do we do now?"
His question was directed at the other soldier, hoping that he would offer some hint to their objective.
"Isn't it obvious? We keep fighting!"
The response was tinged with a happiness so profound, Charon was almost convinced the man was partying, not fighting for his life.
"More fighting? Why don't we let the others do that for us?"
Emirius recoiled, his face twisting in confusion and revulsion, before understanding filled his eyes and he opened his mouth to laugh deeply, one hand grabbing his stomach as he struggled to remain upright.
"Oh, Charon, you always did know how to make me laugh! Now onwards, we mustn't wait too long or they will all be dead!"
Charon watched, stupified, as the young warrior charged in the direction of the fighting without hesitation.
'Is he being serious? He is hoping that he gets to kill more people! This place is insane!'
Seeing that he was now alone with the corpse, he muttered a curse under his breath.
'Damn it all!'
Before he could convince himself otherwise, he set off after Emirius, drawing his blade with a loud ring.
It wasn't long before he heard the battle more clearly.
Deciding that remaining near his fellow soldiers would give him the best chance of survival, he never strayed more than a few feet from Emirius, an action that would prove to be both genius and suicidal.
Every chance that the man got, he would launch himself at the nearest enemy, showcasing a dizzying combination of combat prowess and tactical acumen.
At one point, Charon saw him use a slight mud pile to launch himself over an opponent, landing behind him and removing his head with a single swing. He then proudly declared the enemy an offering to Death before charging at his next victim.
'It isn't this place that is insane, just this guy!'
Remembering the giant dark knight, the unresponsive soldiers, and the blood puke that burned his skin, he retracted that thought.
'It's definitely this place, that guy included.'
Unlike Emirius, Charon possessed no such skills, leaving him in odd situations when his ally would abandon him to chase a more interesting foe.
Luckily, the red soldiers all seemed to be very dull, reacting slowly to his moves and caring more about wounding him than protecting themselves. It made them easy targets to practice on, and as the hours passed, Charon found himself becoming more adept with his blade.
Withdrawing his blade from a red soldier's chest, he kicked the body back before taking a few steps away, making sure his rear was covered before scanning for the next target.
His breath came slowly and in labored gasps, a result of his extreme physical exertion.
'That makes four. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Where did Emerius run off to now?'
Charon had forced himself not to think about the deaths after the first, deciding he could focus on it later. The battle made it easy to distract himself, which led him to lose track of Emirius as well.
'He's probably off fighting five at once, easily parrying all their swords before gutting them like it's nothing.'
The thought almost made him smile.
A red soldier breached the front line of black soldiers, his glossy eyes whipping around before locking on Charon, and drawing the youth's focus.
Sighing, he raised his sword and planted his feet. His wounded shoulder thrummed with the exertion, but hours of combat had made the pain little more than a whisper in Charon's mind.
'Here we go again.'
Preparing for the inevitable clash of steel, he was surprised when a black soldier followed the red one, dispatching the man easily.
"Gods, that guy was a runner!"
Although he couldn't identify who it was under all the blood and grime, Charon easily recognized the voice.
"Emirius! Where did you run off to?"
Looking up from his kill, the warrior took a moment before responding, a deep frown on his face.
'Oh, this isn't good, I haven't seen him upset yet.'
"Isn't it obvious? Giving more offerings to our god! He will be very pleased with my deeds today, and may even see fit to reward me!"
Having grown more accustomed to the man's strangely religious way of conversation, all Charon did was shake his head.
"How many more do you think there are?"
That seemed to deepen his frown, as Emirius turned away and looked back at the mass of black soldiers.
"Barely a dozen. This is probably my last kill of the day. The sappers have already begun construction of a camp not far from here. We can rest there, and get your Sigil."
Confused, Charon looked at the battle and realized that, as Emirius said, there were very few fights still raging, with most of the movement just being black soldiers moving around to help their comrades one final time.
He slowly lowered his sword, the adrenaline leaving his body.
'It's already over?'