Disclaimer: I am reposting this from my old account. I hope to continue this strange story some day.

De Prologus: Land of Dissidia: 000

The Land of Dissidia is a world plagued in constant war. This is a story asset in an alterative universe, where our heroes are not that of myth and science-fiction, but of medieval darkness. Where sorcerers conjured spells, where monks prayed and fasted every day…

At a time when knights bravely fought for their kingdoms, a place in which mighty stallions reared upon their hind legs, in a land where nature ruled, a continent very much like our own…

There was a place, long ago, that was robust and pure, a land flowing with opportunity and mirth. However, those days have long vanished, replacing it with ruins of unspeakable horror, and absolute darkness for those who remain.

Now, only war awaits those who enter the kingdom of Dissidia . . .

The night had been unusually still, the air tension with malevolent thoughts. A great mount, pathways craved into its graceful back, stood mighty and tall, a lone fortress resting atop the hill, a gold and white flag waving high above, the image of a great dragon baring its huge claws.

Movement was barely caught as the raiding party scaled the mount, having nothing with them but the armor on their backs, weapons on the hand, and their will to live and fight strong and burning deep within. No flag marked their standing, no alliance made known.

The leading captain, his dark armor covering his body, horns spurted out of his helmet, was only marked by his stance in the party, and the other members' body language towards him.

The crunching of gravel under his foot was the only noise he heard as he marched forward. Clad in armor that reflected no light, the deepest black, he continued his trek along the mountain, fifty or so other troops following in his lead, dressed in similar armor. While the other men hunched over, he stood tall, his metal-clad leather boots pointing forward, eyes peering through the visors strong and vibrant.

The castle that sat on the mountain, dubbed Castle Sanctum, was said to be untouchable by mortal hands. Many men would try to reach its walls, swords and spears mounted at the ready. Unfortunately, the battleground gave the Castle a well dealt hand. Archers would fire from open windows, while catapults were launched out. Raiders would try to scale the walls, but each time was met with failure, never once reaching the bowels of the great fortress and facing its powerful mistress.

But today was different. Today was the day Sanctum and its lady fell. By the orders of the Emperor, he would slay the Lady of the Castle and bring her head for all to see.

Seeking the cover of darkness, the invading force moved silently, their armor hardly clanking together as they made wide moves to prevent the steel from touching. The commanding officer lifted his hand, silently calling the troops to stop. He looked up at the stronghold before him, its brick red walls illuminated by fiery torches posted all around. He knew these lights could give their position, and he also knew that they could not afford to be caught in an attempt to lay siege to one of the last strongholds in Dissidia.

Gripping his midnight cape close to him, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "I will go ahead and scope out the surroundings. You are not to follow me until I give the signal."

"My lord," one soldier said, putting a hand to his breastplate, "when will we know you've given the signal? What is the signal?"

The commander pointed to a tall tower, one of the tallest in the stronghold. "When the light in that tower goes out, storm the area. Leave no survivors."

The girl hated patrol duty.

Leaning against the stone wall of the Sanctum castle, she gave a sigh screaming boredom. Nothing was more frustrating than watching over an impenetrable fortress. She much rather explore, travel across the land and meet new people. However, these late days have been ill-met, with nothing but patrol after patrol after patrol, walking aimlessly around the castle, hoping something might happen.

It was during her utter boredom that a mysterious man in black began approaching the castle wall. It was when she sighed loudly did the armored man become alert to her dissatisfaction. It was after her frustration shown that he decided to make his move.

Gripping hold of the wall, he threw himself over, black cape flipping behind him, sword in hand. She had no forewarning to the attack, and barely had enough time to left her shield up in defiance to the man's attack.

Ricocheting of the shield, the man twirled and swung his blade again. This time she had enough time to draw her sword and parry, but the man wiped out another blade from nowhere, striking her shield and knocking her square off her feet.

Standing over her, the man asked through his masked face, "It is a pity I must finish you off." He lifted his blade to strike her down.

The Lady of Castle Sanctum sat in her throne room, a saucer in one delicate hand, the other picking the teacup from the plate to her lips to drink the sweet liquid inside. The scent of herbs filled her nose as she brought the cup up and drank, yet as the warm tea ran down her throat, a chill ran down her spine.

"It is deathly quiet," she commented to a soldier by her side.

The warrior nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Tis unusual for such a night as this." His armor clanked against his frame as he shifted side to side.

Suddenly, a warning blared in the form of a horn. However, as quick as it came, it suddenly stopped, as if cut off from the air. Completely unfazed, the Lady calmly sipped her tea. "We appear to have guests."

Still painted with silence, the two listened, not moving a muscle as a second and third horn blared out. Something loud and hard vibrated the liquid in the lady's cup.

"I shall see to them," the warrior stated, drawing his sword. His shield by his side, he stoically marched towards the large wooden doors before. Only a petite woman stood near the exit, casually having her arms crossed over her robe-clad chest.

"Off to meet the guest?" the woman asked the warrior. "I don't mean to intrude on your quest, but you do realize that the numbers are not in your favor?" She gave a little shrug with her tiny shoulders, adding, "You really said leave victory for our other troops to savor."

"I must meet the enemy head on," the warrior replied. "I refuse to let myself be holed in here when other warriors could be getting killed by the opposing forces."

The petite woman laughed. "Oh my! How brash you are! Did you happen to make a wish upon a falling star? Or maybe you've bashed your head, without letting it mead." However, her taunts were halted when she noticed the full glare he was giving her. Sighing, she shrugged again, waving her hand dismissively. "Very well, then. I won't stand in your way to save your men. But don't come crying to me when you've busted a leg. I will simply not fix it, even if you beg."

"I am aware." With that, the warrior opened the door. Suddenly, the quiet room was filled with harsh cries of battle, echoing off the stone walls and vibrating throughout the entire fortress. The Lady for once lost her composure, giving a soft cry in surprise as her cup slipped out of her hand. Her ears finely toned, she heard the numerous cries of her men falling to the hands of the enemy, swords clashing against each other, armor breaking, wood banging.

The cup shattered at the same time as the warrior closed the door, taking the noise with him. But the Lady could only stare in shock as she fully grasped the sheer amount of carnage her troops must be facing. Worry encased her in a cocoon of doubt, and as a last resort of strength, she turned to face the petite woman.

But the normally cocky doctor had a look of grim concern on her face. She looked into the Lady's eyes. "My lady, I do believe we have quite a mess to handle."

Standing over the girl, the intruder asked through his masked face, "It is a pity I must finish you off." He lifted his blade to strike her down.

However, the sword maiden was not out of the race yet. Reaching into her pouch, she tossed out some powder. The fine dust scattered and managed to wage itself into the metal mask. The man cried out as the dust did its toll, robbing him of sight temporarily through painful tears.

Not wasting a single breathe, the sword maiden then pulled out a small horn. Taking a breathe, she blew hard into it, but a booted foot kicked her in the ribs, stealing her voice away. Picking her up and snatching the horn away, the man pulled the girl inched from his armor clad face and hissed, "Do you wish to die so eagerly?"

The girl responded by spitting. "In your dreams, fathead."

Suddenly, outcries of war shouted from all around. The two momentarily paused as warriors dressed in black armor similar to the intruder's charge into the patrolling forces of Sanctum. Swords clashed and sparks flew, and suddenly the two were swept in the middle of a great battlefield.

The man, though obviously apart of this invading charge, seemed utterly shocked. "But the signal . . ?" he barely murmured.

The girl took the shock as an opportunity and kicked him back with her booted feet. Grunted, he released the sword maiden and stumbled back. But just as Prishe was about to fight for castle and mistress, the man turned away and shouted, "I'll deal with you later!" and fled off to somewhere.

The sword maiden would have none of that, though. "Hey!" she cried. "I'm not done with you yet!" But try as she might, the maze of the castle stopped her in her tracks, and the fighting going on all around her begged for her attention. Cursing, she crossed blades with a foe, parrying his sword and knocking him out with her shield.

Just her luck that the only interesting thing that would happen here went way out of hand in the end.

The heat of battle was too much for his mind to take.

Already dealt with several blows to the head, every part of his body stinging and aching, he tried desperate to hold his own against the stronger warrior before him.

The man was older, stronger, and much more experienced than he. As the blows were exchanged, he couldn't help but feel at a loss. This man will surely kill me if I do not do something! he thought with panic.

The man parried another slash of his. Regarding the youth before him, the warrior felt a slight ping of pity. To end such a life in a place like this, the old warrior thought. This is not how it should be.

Still, a job needed to be done, and both were determined to finish it. However, only one would walk out victorious. And the elder fighter was winning.

The sword flew out of the youth's hand. His shield clamored to the ground with a loud clank. On his knees, he looked up at the older warrior, eyes wide with fear. This is it, then, he thought regrettably. This is all that's left. I failed.

Pointing his blade at the youth's throat, the warrior asked, "Do you have any final words before I end your life?"

The youth opened his mouth to answer, but the words would not come out. Not that it mattered. Suddenly, a large bang was heard, and a cannonball flew out of nowhere. Its path lead, its target locked out, the black ball of death soared through the air to meet its enemy face-on.

The youth had closed his eyes on impact. He felt nothing, only his sense of hearing remained. His body numb from pain, his eyes swollen and sore, his tongue only tasting blood, and fire and black powder soiling the air, he could only hear the large explosion of rock and wood bursting.

When at last he dared to open his eyes, he expected some great calamity of some sort. But no. All that remained of the warrior who had stood before him was his helmet, shield, and sword.

Strangely enough, the youth did not feel himself get up, nor did he understand why he was picking up the blade, shield, and helmet. His armor smashed and bent, he felt himself remove the tight spots, almost choking his breastplate. When at least he was only donned in chain mail, he walked, free and unaware of the violent conflict around him.

He only took a left, then found himself isolated, set apart from the battle. Dead bodies laid all around him, weapons scattered everywhere. Questions began to plague his mind. Where was he? What was he doing here? What was happening outside? Why is there death everywhere? But the most important question stood in his mind, one that overreached all the others. And as he played that one question in his mind, he truly found himself lost. The youth took only a few steps, then suddenly . . .

Everything went black.

The battle against Sanctum would soon sent ripples throughout the entire continent. Many would be swept up the wave, only to meet certain doom and despair at the end. One man's journey from this blood-stained field would take him far and wide, to places he could only once dream off. All in the name to find who he once was.