Heartsetter

5th of Summer, 1558 Mianayagrad, Pozerka The train finally came to a stop. The men and women inside the boxcars were tried and restless, having been confined in the tiny cars for six long hours. Many had no clue where they were, but a few knew. These few knew that only a tiny portion of these young soldiers would survive the coming slaughter. The doors open, revealing to them a sight that made them gasp in shock and fear: their beloved city of Mianyagrad—ablaze across the river Dlio. They made no effort to leave the boxcar, even as their officers came and forced them out, threatening to shoot all cowards. Lieutenant Victor Sorzargi e

A heavy, Winter blizzard had sneaked up on the city of Mianyagrad. Torrents of wind and blinding snow covered what remained of the glorious city, and few soldiers wandered through the streets. Since Spring, the Battle of Mianyagrad had been waged, pitting the technological might of the Sechs Empire against the sheer determination and patriotism of the native Pozerkans. No one knew how long the battle would last. The private lay in the ruins of an apartment building, shielded from the wind and snow. Beside him lay his rifle. He pulled his winter coat closer to his face, eyes on the street below. He could barely make out anything in this weath

Will I ever be the same? I ask myself every night This burning question I ask: Shall I see first light? One slip, I made And in that eternal fall The pain and the tears Took it all... The lies promised The trust mislead Would you not see me Toss in my bed? Her face is all I see As I walk these halls The pain I caused her Now I heed Their calls An eternity of slumber The gift for my mistakes Don't cry as I depart; I can't take your heartbreaks I love you all Now, please, live as I die The angels, they come And lift my soul, as I silently cry

As the Spirits cry, Across the sky, We few stand guard. With heads held high, The doves all fly As we protect these holy lands. Through the blood and the tears, The sweat and the fears, We stand proud as the angels cry And the fallen are taken To their eternal graves. For we few are the saints In the inferno that is war. The battle-hardened saints; Saints of the Tér...

Chapter 1: "Saint of the Tér" 10th of Spring, 1565 Trampoli, Norad Kingdom These days, he could care less about serving King and country. Lance Corporal Felix Uris stood in the pouring rain, letting it wash over him. For five years, the battle-hardened veteran had served with the 5th Royal Noradian Battalion, the legendary "Fighting Few", in the elven nation of Malanda, helping stop the advance of the Sechs invasion force. The fighting had been intense: small, quiet villages soon became the sites of so much bloodshed. Thousands had perished, including his friends. The memories he kept continued to haunt him, but he had come to deal

"Prologue" There was so much blood. "Joel, stay with me! Don't you dare die on me! Medic!" "It's... too late, Felix. I—" "Don't say that. We'll get you back and—" "We... both know I... won't live long enough. I've... lost too much blood. Just... just promise me... promise me you'll make Tabatha happy, okay? Make sure... my sister is... is happy." "How can I, if you die?" "Just... make her... happy..." "Joel, wake up! No... no, no, no! Come back to me, Joel! Don't leave me here alone! No, you can't die! Joel!" So much blood.

"Monitors coming online, ma'am." "Heart rate... normal. Breathing... normal." "Brain activity is increasing. He's coming to." "Excellent. Lalur, open the pod." "Right away, ma'am." The pod door hissed open, filling the windowless room with thick, white smoke. The man inside stirred, his eyes slowly opening. "Fighter Class demon, creation complete," a bodiless voice announced. He took a slow, deep inhale, the mist swirling around his nostrils. The air smelled of antibiotics. He could see faint lights coming from outside the pod, in his peripheral vision. He flexed his biceps, the powerful muscles rippling beneath the skin. He pulled hims