Long time reader here, but first time poster.
I do a fair bit of writing in my free time, and I'd like to present to you guys my light-novel-in-progress, Reaper Ex Magus!
I'm open to criticism, as all writers should be. And I just wanted to share my work to the fine folks here because hey, sharing passions is nice and all that.
Plot Synopsis
In another world, in another time, the world has been reshaped. Our world is now ruled by magic. Every person, from the lowborn to the high is gifted with one of three magical disciplines— Witchcraft, Sorcery or Alchemy. The most powerful of our Magi stand as Kings and Emperors to our people. But above even them stand the world’s gods— the Reapers. Since time immemorial the Reapers were worshiped for their wisdom and power. But three years ago, for reasons beyond the comprehension of man, a god, a Reaper, fell from the heavens to destroy the world of man. Now a god descends from the heavens one at a time, landing divine wrath on a kingdom or city, leaving nothing in the wake. The world cowers beneath the shadow of their gods, waiting for the inevitable attack to come. A war has begun. A war against the very beings responsible for our creation.
Here's the prologue of the book, please check it out!
Spoiler! :
PROLOGUE
LOCKE REITER
The Silvered Alps is a cold, unforgiving place, located deep in the northern border of the Kingdom of Kria. At the foot of its tallest mountain is the twenty-sixth outpost, a walled army base manned by one-hundred thousand regular soldiers and some five thousand temporary troops. With the base so deep in the mountains, its men are always gripped by the cold hand of winter.
Two-thousand men armored in gold and silver gallop through the snow. In their hands are swords and spears forged from sorcery. Their capes billow in the wind as they race forth through the darkness of night. The lower-half of their faces are covered with golden masks, some barred with sharpened fangs, others emblazoned with sigils and crests.
Magi throughout the Empire are required to render mandatory military service for at least four years before they turn the age of twenty-one. During this time, they are given ranks and command over their peers. While the young Magi are rarely deployed in actual wars, their four years of service teaches them values that remain with them for the rest of their lives.
They are taught things like the value of leadership and the worth of honor. Their decision-making skills are honed, as are their skills with swords, rifles and staffs. But rarely are they able to use these talents for war in situations where their lives are placed in actual risk.
Because,
In the last hundred years, peace reigned across the world.
In the last hundred years, the concept of war was erased from the memory of man.
But an hour ago, Admiral Sommer ordered the 18th Army to engage a threat deep within the Alps, calling into service every available Magus serving in the outpost.
That time, no one dared consider that this threat was real.
“We are a mile out from the rendezvous point!” Commander Hisashi yells from the very front of the formation. “Spread out!”
Running behind him are four of his twelve Captains. On his command, the Captains distance themselves from him, spreading out to the immediate east and west.
“Division Four! Gather on me!” Captain Nikita Takahashi yells at the top of her lungs, raising her golden staff high into air.
Four-hundred Magi break off from the main group and arrange themselves behind her. Though they came into the snow, running together as a large group of two-thousand, the men have now broken apart into four smaller formations, each led by a powerful Captain.
“Takahashi! Take your Division up on that ridge to the east!” the Commander shouts over the radio into Nikita’s earpiece. “Nakamura, run two Infantry Squads to act as an escort for her! The rest of you will follow me!”
“FOR THE KING AND QUEEN’S GLORY!!”
“FOR THE KING AND QUEEN’S GLORY!!”
The men shout at once, delivering a battle cry meant for the skies to hear.
The Magi scatter, their boots kicking up clouds of snow and frost. Locke follows after the red cape of his Captain, unsure of what’s to come.
PROLOGUE
THROUGH THE EYES OF DIVINITY
“So~ does anyone have any idea what we’re supposed to be waiting on?” one of the Adepts asks impatiently as he sits in the snow.
“The men are getting restless.” Locke points out, standing beside his Captain.
To her left and to her right are the other Lieutenants. As they sit in the snow, bored out of their minds, the Captain stands tall above them, her eyes glowing a magical green. Locke can see the magic flowing in her irises, enhancing her vision, allowing her to see far into the mountains. She’s too busy trying to find out what happened to the other Divisions to entertain his small talk.
“Oi, Reiter you need to relax, man.” Lieutenant Sora Hisashi suggests as she lies on the snow, her mask removed, placed on the armor of her chest.
“It’s literally been an hour now.” adds Lieutenant Chaos Maxwell, his legs hanging off the ledge of the snow-covered cliff. “Look, I know that people often misuse the word ‘literally’ these days, but— it’s literally been an hour now.”
“For a training exercise this is really taking a while to get started.” Lieutenant Annie Tristram adds, her hands gently applying the finishing touches on a small snowman. “In the meantime you should relax, Reiter. This is your last year of officer training, isn’t it? I doubt the result of today will make any lasting impact on your class standing.”
“Hmph.” A huff and a roll of his eyes is Maxwell’s only reply.
The military values strength above all else. Officers are expected to not only be more capable, but also be more powerful Magi than the men under their command. Thus, all of the Lieutenants here are stronger than the one-hundred men they lead; and likewise the Captain is superior to the whole of the Division.
Captain Takahashi, for the time being, is proving herself to be the most professional Magus on the ridge. Unlike her inferiors, she has yet to surrender herself to boredom, nor does she seem interested in playing with Annie in the snow.
“You know, I’m not really sure anymore if this is another exercise.” Chaos says, sitting up and dusting the snow away from his armor.
“If it’s an exercise, then they’re doing a terrible job of enforcing tension.” Sora sits up and pockets her mask. “This is probably some kind of elaborate prank. There’s too much dead air, too much radio silence. Too much pretending from command that nothing is happening. Someone is clearly messing with us. Does anyone here owe anyone from the other Divisions money?”
“If anyone owes anyone else money, it’s probably you.” Chaos says, smirking. “Don’t you have a habit of making random bets with people, only to never pay them back when you lose? Who’s your latest victim, Hisashi? Is it Winters over at Nakamura’s Division? Or did you somehow manage to offend Captain Nakamura himself?”
Lieutenant Hisashi opens her mouth to deliver a retort, but she stops when the sound of a distant boom breaks the air.
All eyes turn to the source of the explosion. And there, beyond the mountains, beyond the snow, is a pillar of black smoke rising amidst the white of snow.
The air falls silent, as a gust of snow washes across the landscape.
“Hey—” Annie sits up, her eyes filled with worry. “—that’s—that’s new—”
“They’re not holding back on the pyrotechnics this time, eh?” Chaos adds, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
For but a fleeting instance, a sense of dread washes over their minds. The distant boom shook the earth as real and as raw as it gets. The explosion lacked the flair and synchronized artificiality of pyrotechnic bombs hidden in the snow.
The men know in their hearts that what they heard, that what they felt, was real.
“Men! Ready yourselves!” the Captain shouts suddenly, her arm swung up.
The Magi, who were just moments ago, sitting in the snow, without a second’s notice rise and assemble themselves into formation. Locke and the other Lieutenants do the same and stand behind the Captain, immediately donning their masks of sharpened fangs, and wielding their swords of gold, just as the air around the Captain begins to swirl.
“We are going to render aid to the Commander and the rest of the Eighteenth Army!” the Captain declares, her voice confident, proud and strong.
We were ordered to stay here and provide artillery support. Locke worryingly tells himself. The few Knights we have here are not fit for close combat.
He wants to voice his opinion. He wants to tell her how reckless of an idea this is. But then again, he isn’t entirely aware of what the Captain has in mind. He does, however, know that it is not his place to question the decision of his superior.
In a time like this, he has no choice but to follow her orders.
“I invoke the first seal of Sorcery—” the Captain shouts at the top of her lungs, her arm pointing straight forward.
The air around her sparks to life. A circle of gold and silver appears a few feet before her slender form, as veins of golden lightning suddenly explode outward in every direction. With the wind roaring at their ears, every single Magus gathered in the snow leans forward, their hands gripping the hilt of their swords.
The forces of magic gather at the Captain’s call, as her men prepare themselves for battle.
“—AGITO!!”
Clouds gather in the heavens as lightning streaks across the endless sky. A bolt of gold falls forth from a crack in the heavens, striking the spell circle floating before the Captain.
In the blink of an eye, Locke’s entire world is reduced to nothing but the blinding light of gold. He feels his body move forward in a sudden jolt, catapulted forward by the forces of sorcery.
In the next second, he finds himself, along with the rest of the Division, in a forest of snow and crimson.
A girl gasps at the sight of blood and a thousand lifeless bodies. Most of the Magi do not lose their composure, but others nearly wretch and break formation at the sight of their fallen comrades.
For now they stand in a forest of death.
Surrounding the small group of Magi is a forest littered with the dead. Though still dressed in their armor and flowing capes, the Magi that surround them no longer shine with neither pride nor courage. Bodies lay slumped amidst trees and small streams, swords and rifles and bows still clenched bravely in their hands. By the look of things, courage was not enough to preserve their lives.
“What happened here…?” Annie’s voice is weak and full of fear. The small, young Magus can all but grip her sword as fear and anxiety take over her body.
“Captain! Look!” a soldier shouts from behind them, pointing to the slumped form of what appears to be the Commander.
The Commander’s body is nearly impossible to recognize due to the amount of blood covering the gold of his armor, but it’s hard to miss the emblem of his proud House emblazed on his chest. Lieutenant Hisashi, the Commander’s own niece, wearing the same emblem on her chest, breaks formation.
“Sora get back here!” Maxwell shouts, but to no avail.
The Lieutenant falls and kneels beside her uncle, holding his head in her arms. The heartwrenching cry she lets out echoes through the entire forest.
Locke looks away out of respect.
“Lieutenants, set up a perimeter.” the Captain states, maintaining her Noblewoman’s calm. “Check for survivors. Whatever did this may still be around. Do not lower your guards.”
The men scatter and assume their positions around the officers. They arrange themselves in a standard three-layer perimeter formation, with each layer a wall of armed men led by a Lieutenant. Locke and Chaos stand the closest to the Captain as she strolls across the snow-covered forest floor, her eyes closed in an attempt to sense where the enemy stands.
Maxwell stands the closest to her, his hands already holding two of his family’s proud ancestral swords.
“What could have done this?” Locke finds himself asking to no one in particular.
“Everyone is dead. The entire Army was annihilated.” Chaos states grimly.
“The battle must have waged on while we were sitting around in the snow, playing with snowmen like children…” Annie says through the radio, her voice full of pain and regret. “We should have noticed— we should have noticed that something was wrong. But instead we assumed that this was all a game…”
“We wouldn’t have been able to do anything, either way.” Chaos says a matter-of-factly. “A battle implies that the opposing side stood a chance at winning. Look around. Only the bodies of our own men litter the forest floor. This wasn’t a battle, this was a massacre.”
The Captain kneels and touches the snow with her palm, her eyes pensive.
“Are there any survivors?” the Captain asks.
“None, ma’am.”
“Then there is nothing else we can do here. Start documenting the scene, we’re falling back and making a report of this.”
A report.
That is the Captain’s nonchalant response to the massacre that surrounds her. A report. She sheds no tears, shows no signs of weakness. She shows only professionalism and discipline.
For that, Locke admires her.
Her gaze meets with his and he nods. He takes out from his pocket a Kingdom-issued smart phone, and after switching it to its camera, begins taking photographs of the grim death that litters the forest floor. Other soldiers start doing the same, as other pre-assigned officers take down notes and collect samples.
Locke observes the sight of death with a neutral calm. This is not the first time he’s been exposed to so much death.
But that is a memory meant remembering for another time.
He instead decides to focus on the task at hand, with the Captain and Annie conversing in the background.
“Tristram, did you find a way to re-establish communication with the Outpost yet?”
“Not yet, Captain.”
“What is it? Is something jamming our signal? Is the reception bad?”
“No, it’s not that… no one is responding to my calls, Captain. It’s that simple.”
“What? Is everyone taking a bloody lunch break? Perform an Agito and get back to the base personally if you have to, I want what happened here reported to an immediate Commande—”
“—Mmmm.”
A third voice, feminine, so strong and authoritative that Locke feels his heart skip a beat in fear, interrupts the conversation.
“—It looks like she missed a spot.”
“WHO IS THIS?” the Captain shouts, her noble demeanor suddenly broken.
But the voice does not reply.
Locke, worried about the dark voice’s words, closes his phone and pockets it.
“That call came from the Outpost, Captain—”
Takahashi’s eyes widen in sudden realization.
“The base’s been compromised…” she utters slowly, before throwing her hand in the air. “Magi, to me! We are returning to the Twenty-Sixth Outpost! We—”
But the Captain’s voice is suddenly drowned out by the boom of thunder. Eyes raised, the Magi watch as the clouds above them scatter and dissipate. Amidst the swirling mass of white, upon a canvas of blue, they watch as the figure of a woman descends from the heavens, head-first and fearless. A streak of baleful red follows in her wake, setting the sky ablaze.
She crashes in a tremEnrous impact, a hundred meters away from where the Captain stands. A wall of snow and fire and dirt explodes a hundred feet from the ground, moving forward like a tsunami, rippling outward at the speed of sound. Magi dig their swords into the ground and hide behind trees in an attempt to keep themselves from being thrown away like ragdolls.
But not all survive the impact. Some are thrown with such force that their backs break against trees and rocks, while others are pierced by the sharpness of wood and stone.
Locke watches in fear and awe as the entire Division is destroyed in an instant.
When the dust finally settles, he sees the forest in an even worse state than before.
Amidst uprooted trees and the grayness of ash, stands a lone figure of unspeakable beauty.
Taller than any woman he has ever seen, smirking prouder than any King in the world, her mere presence melts the snow at her feet. Maxwell, after struggling to free himself from under the trunk of a tree, stares at the woman in utter disbelief.
Recognition slowly gives life to his battered face. Awe fills his eyes. But that awe is slowly replaced with fear.
For he recognizes, that standing before them now, is a figure of myth and legend.
They call themselves gods, but the world considers them as forces of nature molded into human form.
Reapers.
Maxwell rises slowly; his hands fumbling to reach his blades that have since fallen in the snow. His knees shake, his breathing unsteady, his right eye blinded by blood from a gash in his forehead. Yet despite this he stands tall, he stands defiant.
“He—lp—me—”
Because lying on the ground, under the Reaper’s heel, with her back clearly broken, is the battered form of Lieutenant Annie Tristram.
“Is that a Reaper—”
“What’s a Reaper doing here—”
“Why is she—”
Locke hears whispers of fear and panic from all around him.
“What did we do—”
“I don’t want to die—”
“—I don’t want to die—”
“—I don’t want—”
All the courage, all the thought of honor bred into the men leave their systems, as they are reduced to sniveling cowards.
“Forgive me—”
“Forgive us—”
“Reaper—”
“Reaper—”
“Reaper—”
“Reaper— Reaper—”
Their voices are too weak for the Reaper to hear. But they utter their words regardless. Even Locke himself begins to feel the strength from his legs disappear with every second that passes.
The once brave soldiers abandon their courage. As fear grips their hearts, they resort to prayers of mercy and reverence in a bid to spare their lives. No one dares ask the Reaper for her reason behind this act of violence. No one dares challenge the will of the goddess standing before them.
—except for Maxwell.
“No…” Chaos’ voice is as weak as a whisper.
But his is a voice of defiance.
“If this is what passes off as an army these days, then I am sorely disappointed.”
The Reaper does not shout.
She does not raise her voice. But her words are loud enough to hear. Her eyes regard the kneeling, the bleeding, and the half-dead with merciless contempt. She stares at the figures of proud soldiers as if they were mere ants— insects not worthy of her attention.
Then her eyes lower.
She stares at her foot, pressed down hard on Annie’s broken back.
Before fear could even take hold of Locke’s heart, her foot presses down on the Lieutenant’s body.
There is neither a fountain of blood nor an explosion of dirt and wind.
Annie’s eyes merely widen, before the light from her gaze is extinguished.
From her lifeless form, a tremor stretches forth, fissures as wide as rivers spread across the earth in every direction, devouring trees, rocks and unconscious Magi alike.
Those who are still able to stand run for their lives. All sense of duty, all sense of unity is lost as each Magus works selfishly for their personal survival.
As the earth shakes beneath him, Locke forces all the strength he has left to channel into his legs. He tries to stand, but his breathing is ragged and unsteady.
It is difficult to focus. The world around him is lost in the madness of despair. It takes him what feels like an hour to eventually get to his feet.
From the corner of his eye, he watches Maxwell angrily draw his swords.
He watches as the young man grits his teeth and steps forward, against all logic, toward the Reaper.
He’s going to die.
But that isn’t my problem.
He cannot even glance at the Reaper for fear of judgment. He can’t even acknowledge the source of his fear. All he can do is turn on his heel and face away from the sight of a rampaging god.
Locke throws away honor, he throws away courage, he throws away every noble thing taught to him since birth, every virtue that is supposed to define the character of a good soldier. For what is the purpose of strength and glory in the face of absolute death?
And with that, Locke leaves.
He flees the scene, kicking the snow as he sprints to safety.
He runs past the bleeding and the dead, those too weak and too unlucky to survive the Reaper’s mere arrival.
He runs past the brave and stupid, those who, despite logic, draw their swords against the god.
He leaves behind Maxwell as he charges to his death.
He leaves behind Takahashi as she tends to the dying.
He leaves behind Hisashi as she stands there traumatized and unmoving.
He leaves behind his duty, his honor.
He leaves behind everything—
—like the coward that he is.
—but he doesn’t get far.
“…!!”
Suddenly, all the air leaves his lungs, as his vision is blurred in an instant. Everything around him turns red as an indescribable pain rings out from the cavity
of his chest.
Blood spills from his mouth like water, as he struggles to maintain his composure amidst the pain.
He uses the last of his strength to lower his gaze, to helplessly stare at the arm now protruding through his heart.
And as easily as that.
All the life is extinguished from his eyes.
On that day, the war against divinity began.
LOCKE REITER
The Silvered Alps is a cold, unforgiving place, located deep in the northern border of the Kingdom of Kria. At the foot of its tallest mountain is the twenty-sixth outpost, a walled army base manned by one-hundred thousand regular soldiers and some five thousand temporary troops. With the base so deep in the mountains, its men are always gripped by the cold hand of winter.
Two-thousand men armored in gold and silver gallop through the snow. In their hands are swords and spears forged from sorcery. Their capes billow in the wind as they race forth through the darkness of night. The lower-half of their faces are covered with golden masks, some barred with sharpened fangs, others emblazoned with sigils and crests.
Magi throughout the Empire are required to render mandatory military service for at least four years before they turn the age of twenty-one. During this time, they are given ranks and command over their peers. While the young Magi are rarely deployed in actual wars, their four years of service teaches them values that remain with them for the rest of their lives.
They are taught things like the value of leadership and the worth of honor. Their decision-making skills are honed, as are their skills with swords, rifles and staffs. But rarely are they able to use these talents for war in situations where their lives are placed in actual risk.
Because,
In the last hundred years, peace reigned across the world.
In the last hundred years, the concept of war was erased from the memory of man.
But an hour ago, Admiral Sommer ordered the 18th Army to engage a threat deep within the Alps, calling into service every available Magus serving in the outpost.
That time, no one dared consider that this threat was real.
“We are a mile out from the rendezvous point!” Commander Hisashi yells from the very front of the formation. “Spread out!”
Running behind him are four of his twelve Captains. On his command, the Captains distance themselves from him, spreading out to the immediate east and west.
“Division Four! Gather on me!” Captain Nikita Takahashi yells at the top of her lungs, raising her golden staff high into air.
Four-hundred Magi break off from the main group and arrange themselves behind her. Though they came into the snow, running together as a large group of two-thousand, the men have now broken apart into four smaller formations, each led by a powerful Captain.
“Takahashi! Take your Division up on that ridge to the east!” the Commander shouts over the radio into Nikita’s earpiece. “Nakamura, run two Infantry Squads to act as an escort for her! The rest of you will follow me!”
“FOR THE KING AND QUEEN’S GLORY!!”
“FOR THE KING AND QUEEN’S GLORY!!”
The men shout at once, delivering a battle cry meant for the skies to hear.
The Magi scatter, their boots kicking up clouds of snow and frost. Locke follows after the red cape of his Captain, unsure of what’s to come.
PROLOGUE
THROUGH THE EYES OF DIVINITY
“So~ does anyone have any idea what we’re supposed to be waiting on?” one of the Adepts asks impatiently as he sits in the snow.
“The men are getting restless.” Locke points out, standing beside his Captain.
To her left and to her right are the other Lieutenants. As they sit in the snow, bored out of their minds, the Captain stands tall above them, her eyes glowing a magical green. Locke can see the magic flowing in her irises, enhancing her vision, allowing her to see far into the mountains. She’s too busy trying to find out what happened to the other Divisions to entertain his small talk.
“Oi, Reiter you need to relax, man.” Lieutenant Sora Hisashi suggests as she lies on the snow, her mask removed, placed on the armor of her chest.
“It’s literally been an hour now.” adds Lieutenant Chaos Maxwell, his legs hanging off the ledge of the snow-covered cliff. “Look, I know that people often misuse the word ‘literally’ these days, but— it’s literally been an hour now.”
“For a training exercise this is really taking a while to get started.” Lieutenant Annie Tristram adds, her hands gently applying the finishing touches on a small snowman. “In the meantime you should relax, Reiter. This is your last year of officer training, isn’t it? I doubt the result of today will make any lasting impact on your class standing.”
“Hmph.” A huff and a roll of his eyes is Maxwell’s only reply.
The military values strength above all else. Officers are expected to not only be more capable, but also be more powerful Magi than the men under their command. Thus, all of the Lieutenants here are stronger than the one-hundred men they lead; and likewise the Captain is superior to the whole of the Division.
Captain Takahashi, for the time being, is proving herself to be the most professional Magus on the ridge. Unlike her inferiors, she has yet to surrender herself to boredom, nor does she seem interested in playing with Annie in the snow.
“You know, I’m not really sure anymore if this is another exercise.” Chaos says, sitting up and dusting the snow away from his armor.
“If it’s an exercise, then they’re doing a terrible job of enforcing tension.” Sora sits up and pockets her mask. “This is probably some kind of elaborate prank. There’s too much dead air, too much radio silence. Too much pretending from command that nothing is happening. Someone is clearly messing with us. Does anyone here owe anyone from the other Divisions money?”
“If anyone owes anyone else money, it’s probably you.” Chaos says, smirking. “Don’t you have a habit of making random bets with people, only to never pay them back when you lose? Who’s your latest victim, Hisashi? Is it Winters over at Nakamura’s Division? Or did you somehow manage to offend Captain Nakamura himself?”
Lieutenant Hisashi opens her mouth to deliver a retort, but she stops when the sound of a distant boom breaks the air.
All eyes turn to the source of the explosion. And there, beyond the mountains, beyond the snow, is a pillar of black smoke rising amidst the white of snow.
The air falls silent, as a gust of snow washes across the landscape.
“Hey—” Annie sits up, her eyes filled with worry. “—that’s—that’s new—”
“They’re not holding back on the pyrotechnics this time, eh?” Chaos adds, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
For but a fleeting instance, a sense of dread washes over their minds. The distant boom shook the earth as real and as raw as it gets. The explosion lacked the flair and synchronized artificiality of pyrotechnic bombs hidden in the snow.
The men know in their hearts that what they heard, that what they felt, was real.
“Men! Ready yourselves!” the Captain shouts suddenly, her arm swung up.
The Magi, who were just moments ago, sitting in the snow, without a second’s notice rise and assemble themselves into formation. Locke and the other Lieutenants do the same and stand behind the Captain, immediately donning their masks of sharpened fangs, and wielding their swords of gold, just as the air around the Captain begins to swirl.
“We are going to render aid to the Commander and the rest of the Eighteenth Army!” the Captain declares, her voice confident, proud and strong.
We were ordered to stay here and provide artillery support. Locke worryingly tells himself. The few Knights we have here are not fit for close combat.
He wants to voice his opinion. He wants to tell her how reckless of an idea this is. But then again, he isn’t entirely aware of what the Captain has in mind. He does, however, know that it is not his place to question the decision of his superior.
In a time like this, he has no choice but to follow her orders.
“I invoke the first seal of Sorcery—” the Captain shouts at the top of her lungs, her arm pointing straight forward.
The air around her sparks to life. A circle of gold and silver appears a few feet before her slender form, as veins of golden lightning suddenly explode outward in every direction. With the wind roaring at their ears, every single Magus gathered in the snow leans forward, their hands gripping the hilt of their swords.
The forces of magic gather at the Captain’s call, as her men prepare themselves for battle.
“—AGITO!!”
Clouds gather in the heavens as lightning streaks across the endless sky. A bolt of gold falls forth from a crack in the heavens, striking the spell circle floating before the Captain.
In the blink of an eye, Locke’s entire world is reduced to nothing but the blinding light of gold. He feels his body move forward in a sudden jolt, catapulted forward by the forces of sorcery.
In the next second, he finds himself, along with the rest of the Division, in a forest of snow and crimson.
A girl gasps at the sight of blood and a thousand lifeless bodies. Most of the Magi do not lose their composure, but others nearly wretch and break formation at the sight of their fallen comrades.
For now they stand in a forest of death.
Surrounding the small group of Magi is a forest littered with the dead. Though still dressed in their armor and flowing capes, the Magi that surround them no longer shine with neither pride nor courage. Bodies lay slumped amidst trees and small streams, swords and rifles and bows still clenched bravely in their hands. By the look of things, courage was not enough to preserve their lives.
“What happened here…?” Annie’s voice is weak and full of fear. The small, young Magus can all but grip her sword as fear and anxiety take over her body.
“Captain! Look!” a soldier shouts from behind them, pointing to the slumped form of what appears to be the Commander.
The Commander’s body is nearly impossible to recognize due to the amount of blood covering the gold of his armor, but it’s hard to miss the emblem of his proud House emblazed on his chest. Lieutenant Hisashi, the Commander’s own niece, wearing the same emblem on her chest, breaks formation.
“Sora get back here!” Maxwell shouts, but to no avail.
The Lieutenant falls and kneels beside her uncle, holding his head in her arms. The heartwrenching cry she lets out echoes through the entire forest.
Locke looks away out of respect.
“Lieutenants, set up a perimeter.” the Captain states, maintaining her Noblewoman’s calm. “Check for survivors. Whatever did this may still be around. Do not lower your guards.”
The men scatter and assume their positions around the officers. They arrange themselves in a standard three-layer perimeter formation, with each layer a wall of armed men led by a Lieutenant. Locke and Chaos stand the closest to the Captain as she strolls across the snow-covered forest floor, her eyes closed in an attempt to sense where the enemy stands.
Maxwell stands the closest to her, his hands already holding two of his family’s proud ancestral swords.
“What could have done this?” Locke finds himself asking to no one in particular.
“Everyone is dead. The entire Army was annihilated.” Chaos states grimly.
“The battle must have waged on while we were sitting around in the snow, playing with snowmen like children…” Annie says through the radio, her voice full of pain and regret. “We should have noticed— we should have noticed that something was wrong. But instead we assumed that this was all a game…”
“We wouldn’t have been able to do anything, either way.” Chaos says a matter-of-factly. “A battle implies that the opposing side stood a chance at winning. Look around. Only the bodies of our own men litter the forest floor. This wasn’t a battle, this was a massacre.”
The Captain kneels and touches the snow with her palm, her eyes pensive.
“Are there any survivors?” the Captain asks.
“None, ma’am.”
“Then there is nothing else we can do here. Start documenting the scene, we’re falling back and making a report of this.”
A report.
That is the Captain’s nonchalant response to the massacre that surrounds her. A report. She sheds no tears, shows no signs of weakness. She shows only professionalism and discipline.
For that, Locke admires her.
Her gaze meets with his and he nods. He takes out from his pocket a Kingdom-issued smart phone, and after switching it to its camera, begins taking photographs of the grim death that litters the forest floor. Other soldiers start doing the same, as other pre-assigned officers take down notes and collect samples.
Locke observes the sight of death with a neutral calm. This is not the first time he’s been exposed to so much death.
But that is a memory meant remembering for another time.
He instead decides to focus on the task at hand, with the Captain and Annie conversing in the background.
“Tristram, did you find a way to re-establish communication with the Outpost yet?”
“Not yet, Captain.”
“What is it? Is something jamming our signal? Is the reception bad?”
“No, it’s not that… no one is responding to my calls, Captain. It’s that simple.”
“What? Is everyone taking a bloody lunch break? Perform an Agito and get back to the base personally if you have to, I want what happened here reported to an immediate Commande—”
“—Mmmm.”
A third voice, feminine, so strong and authoritative that Locke feels his heart skip a beat in fear, interrupts the conversation.
“—It looks like she missed a spot.”
“WHO IS THIS?” the Captain shouts, her noble demeanor suddenly broken.
But the voice does not reply.
Locke, worried about the dark voice’s words, closes his phone and pockets it.
“That call came from the Outpost, Captain—”
Takahashi’s eyes widen in sudden realization.
“The base’s been compromised…” she utters slowly, before throwing her hand in the air. “Magi, to me! We are returning to the Twenty-Sixth Outpost! We—”
But the Captain’s voice is suddenly drowned out by the boom of thunder. Eyes raised, the Magi watch as the clouds above them scatter and dissipate. Amidst the swirling mass of white, upon a canvas of blue, they watch as the figure of a woman descends from the heavens, head-first and fearless. A streak of baleful red follows in her wake, setting the sky ablaze.
She crashes in a tremEnrous impact, a hundred meters away from where the Captain stands. A wall of snow and fire and dirt explodes a hundred feet from the ground, moving forward like a tsunami, rippling outward at the speed of sound. Magi dig their swords into the ground and hide behind trees in an attempt to keep themselves from being thrown away like ragdolls.
But not all survive the impact. Some are thrown with such force that their backs break against trees and rocks, while others are pierced by the sharpness of wood and stone.
Locke watches in fear and awe as the entire Division is destroyed in an instant.
When the dust finally settles, he sees the forest in an even worse state than before.
Amidst uprooted trees and the grayness of ash, stands a lone figure of unspeakable beauty.
Taller than any woman he has ever seen, smirking prouder than any King in the world, her mere presence melts the snow at her feet. Maxwell, after struggling to free himself from under the trunk of a tree, stares at the woman in utter disbelief.
Recognition slowly gives life to his battered face. Awe fills his eyes. But that awe is slowly replaced with fear.
For he recognizes, that standing before them now, is a figure of myth and legend.
They call themselves gods, but the world considers them as forces of nature molded into human form.
Reapers.
Maxwell rises slowly; his hands fumbling to reach his blades that have since fallen in the snow. His knees shake, his breathing unsteady, his right eye blinded by blood from a gash in his forehead. Yet despite this he stands tall, he stands defiant.
“He—lp—me—”
Because lying on the ground, under the Reaper’s heel, with her back clearly broken, is the battered form of Lieutenant Annie Tristram.
“Is that a Reaper—”
“What’s a Reaper doing here—”
“Why is she—”
Locke hears whispers of fear and panic from all around him.
“What did we do—”
“I don’t want to die—”
“—I don’t want to die—”
“—I don’t want—”
All the courage, all the thought of honor bred into the men leave their systems, as they are reduced to sniveling cowards.
“Forgive me—”
“Forgive us—”
“Reaper—”
“Reaper—”
“Reaper—”
“Reaper— Reaper—”
Their voices are too weak for the Reaper to hear. But they utter their words regardless. Even Locke himself begins to feel the strength from his legs disappear with every second that passes.
The once brave soldiers abandon their courage. As fear grips their hearts, they resort to prayers of mercy and reverence in a bid to spare their lives. No one dares ask the Reaper for her reason behind this act of violence. No one dares challenge the will of the goddess standing before them.
—except for Maxwell.
“No…” Chaos’ voice is as weak as a whisper.
But his is a voice of defiance.
“If this is what passes off as an army these days, then I am sorely disappointed.”
The Reaper does not shout.
She does not raise her voice. But her words are loud enough to hear. Her eyes regard the kneeling, the bleeding, and the half-dead with merciless contempt. She stares at the figures of proud soldiers as if they were mere ants— insects not worthy of her attention.
Then her eyes lower.
She stares at her foot, pressed down hard on Annie’s broken back.
Before fear could even take hold of Locke’s heart, her foot presses down on the Lieutenant’s body.
There is neither a fountain of blood nor an explosion of dirt and wind.
Annie’s eyes merely widen, before the light from her gaze is extinguished.
From her lifeless form, a tremor stretches forth, fissures as wide as rivers spread across the earth in every direction, devouring trees, rocks and unconscious Magi alike.
Those who are still able to stand run for their lives. All sense of duty, all sense of unity is lost as each Magus works selfishly for their personal survival.
As the earth shakes beneath him, Locke forces all the strength he has left to channel into his legs. He tries to stand, but his breathing is ragged and unsteady.
It is difficult to focus. The world around him is lost in the madness of despair. It takes him what feels like an hour to eventually get to his feet.
From the corner of his eye, he watches Maxwell angrily draw his swords.
He watches as the young man grits his teeth and steps forward, against all logic, toward the Reaper.
He’s going to die.
But that isn’t my problem.
He cannot even glance at the Reaper for fear of judgment. He can’t even acknowledge the source of his fear. All he can do is turn on his heel and face away from the sight of a rampaging god.
Locke throws away honor, he throws away courage, he throws away every noble thing taught to him since birth, every virtue that is supposed to define the character of a good soldier. For what is the purpose of strength and glory in the face of absolute death?
And with that, Locke leaves.
He flees the scene, kicking the snow as he sprints to safety.
He runs past the bleeding and the dead, those too weak and too unlucky to survive the Reaper’s mere arrival.
He runs past the brave and stupid, those who, despite logic, draw their swords against the god.
He leaves behind Maxwell as he charges to his death.
He leaves behind Takahashi as she tends to the dying.
He leaves behind Hisashi as she stands there traumatized and unmoving.
He leaves behind his duty, his honor.
He leaves behind everything—
—like the coward that he is.
—but he doesn’t get far.
“…!!”
Suddenly, all the air leaves his lungs, as his vision is blurred in an instant. Everything around him turns red as an indescribable pain rings out from the cavity
of his chest.
Blood spills from his mouth like water, as he struggles to maintain his composure amidst the pain.
He uses the last of his strength to lower his gaze, to helplessly stare at the arm now protruding through his heart.
And as easily as that.
All the life is extinguished from his eyes.
On that day, the war against divinity began.
The entirety of the fiction can be found on JukePopSerials.com here!: https://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/947
Also, here's a little infographic I made to summarize the world the story is set in: http://i.imgur.com/fjdD3LM.jpg
