Damian dreamed of a vast desert, pristine white sands glistened in the brilliant sunlight, dunes rolling across the endless plane, blackened ruins scattered across the landscape like the bones of a long-dead giant, and at its core, a monstrous Black Pyramid stood as a testament to time.
It would have been a breathtaking sight if it weren't so harrowing.
Scores of skeletal remains littered the endless sands, covered in strange armour, wielding weapons cut from pristine stone. Some were tall, some were short, but very few of them were human. Countless bodies of unrecognisable horrors spread across as far as the eye could see.
The sky above was blinding, an unimaginable shade of pristine blue painted the sky with not a single cloud in sight, as he was looking down at the scene below, it began to change,
slowly timed ticked by as night overtook the strange land, and in its wake, the remains stirred to life, rising from their slumber, and as they did, they resumed their endless pursuit of the destruction of one another.
Damian watched the carnage for what felt like both seconds and days before it shifted once again into the day and the creatures returned to death, repeating over and over again day, night, day night, the cycles growing shorter and shorter.
He didn't know how, but he knew he was seeing time in reverse.
The battle seemed to be going on for eternity, with countless days passing by in the blink of an eye. After countless cycles, the landscape slowly changed before him,
It was subtle at first, dunes falling and rising, areas being flattened or torn apart by monstrous attacks, and soon the scores of undead broke apart.
The ancient ruins rebuilt themselves from the rubble as countless settlements seemingly grew from their remains, with only the black pyramid remaining the same over all this time.
Time eventually slowed, and he saw, before him, countless humans and creatures on both sides of the desert. He recognised the scene all too well.
War...how fitting, a soldier like him sent to fight in another war he never asked for.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your first trial...]
'Wha.. what the hell?'
Shielding his eyes from the radiant disk hovering in the sky above, he let out a few shallow breaths, his armour clinging to his body tightly. The heat was unbearable.
It felt like he was being baked alive, even sitting in the shade felt like torture, but that wasn't what he focused on, no…
Looking around, he could see several fellow soldiers all wearing strange stone-like armour, carved from pristine white stone and engraved with a variety of patterns he could not recognise, and with faces he did not know.
Slowly, he turned around, looking behind him. He could see he was in the shadow of a tall black brick building with glassless windows. He could see many weapons and armour stored inside.
'An armoury?'
It didn't make any sense. What the hell happened? The last thing he could remember was lying down on his bed and… ah, I see, this must be hell.
A strange, endless desert of blistering heat, being forced to fight in an endless war. All of it seemed like a fitting punishment for a man like him.
He nearly laughed out loud, then stopped himself. This was not what he expected the afterlife to look like, far from it, but in terms of punishment, it seemed too perfect.
Looking back at the platoon he seemed to be part of, he studied their faces. They all seemed human, but something about them was simply... not quite there, yet he couldn't tell what was wrong.
All of them wore the same expressions as he had seen before in the field, a mixture of fear, ambition and anger. Was this desert their home perhaps?
Shaking his head, he leaned back, pressing the back of his head against the armoury wall, and closed his eyes. He decided to listen to a nearby conversation between two fellow soldiers sitting on some barrels a few meters away.
"You saw her during the last attack, didn't you? The commander of the War legion."
The language they spoke was unlike anything Damian had ever heard, yet he somehow found himself understanding the meaning of these strange words,
"Yeah, she is just as dangerous as the reports said.
I saw her kill dozens of our people and beasts alike in seconds. Her skill was beyond anything I'd ever seen.
In truth, I only managed to escape since the call of Daybreak came before she had a chance to strike me down. I was lucky to survive.
It's doubtful anyone but a centurion would be able to beat her."
"Damn it, really? Our task was to destabilise the legion, or better yet, kill her and her most loyal servants within three cycles.
How the hell are we meant to do that? We don't even have one awakened within our ranks, how are we meant to fight against a Descendent of War herself?"
The other man chucked slightly before answering,
"It's not too bad, at least you know your death will be swift, even if it is brutal.
I'd rather fight her than the creatures they have brought with them. I've seen too many people being torn to pieces and bleeding out to know.
But at this rate, the battle seems endless. Neither side has gained the upper hand yet.
We need something to change soon, before the Gods arrive to lay siege to Truth's Domain."
Both of their faces grew grim.
Before long, their conversation resumed, but Damian had since lost interest, already preoccupied with what he had heard,
'Descendent of War? Lord Truth? Gods?'
It was all very strange to say the least, why would the souls of the dead who populated this hell be so concerned by the outcome of the battle? Surely they had seen the scene he did when they arrived, right?
They had to know the battle would go on for eternity…and yet he couldn't bring himself to say it was true, the fear on these people's faces, the hushed conversation on the enemy formations and key targets, it all felt too…real, like it wasn't all an endless punishment, but a real war with consequences.
Come to think of it, why would their bodies decay into skeletal husks with the ages, if they were just souls, surely they would never age, never grow older, never decompose, they may be hurt but could never die right, that was their punishment.
But if it had been the case, why couldn't he hear any talk about Earth, about the places he knew? If he were truly in hell, why wouldn't there be anyone else who knew it was all pointless?
Suddenly, he felt a knot in his stomach, as a startling realisation started to hit him. What were those words he had heard just before he was baking under the sun?
"Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your first trial…"
'Aspirant, Nightmare Spell, First Trial', those words lingered on his tongue, not wanting to say them out loud, he slowly looked down at his hands and lifted them to his face, feeling the shape of his head, the weight of his body, it all felt wrong,
He had also realised that his eye, why could he see through his right eye? Damian checked quickly to make sure he was seeing things, and a cold chill shot through his spine. He quickly stood up, gaining a few short glances from those around him before they turned away just as quickly.
As he began to walk away, a voice called out to him,
"Hey, idiot, you forgot something!"
Turning around, he saw a burly-looking man pointing towards where he was sitting. Stabbed into the sand was a flawlessly white Spear, with an identical shield lying by its side, both engraved with strange symbols,
"The next cycle will be starting soon, so don't forget your gear.
Unless you have a death wish, you won't have time to come back for it."
Damian stood there for a few moments before nodding and lifting the spear and shield. The weight felt unfamiliar to him as he slowly walked away. Walking through the streets, he eventually found what he believed to be a barracks,
Stepping inside, he saw several crudely made cots with soldiers resting within, many still wearing their armour. He eventually found himself in a small outcove, a bucket of water half empty sitting on a small stool. But he wasn't focused on that; instead, his attention was drawn to the mirror on the wall,
As he stared, he failed to recognise the man staring back at him, as a feeling of primal terror suddenly shot through his body.