Crimson Grave

Crimson Grave

Prologue: The War’s Climax

In the land of Gaia, continent on the east side of the world, there has been a war, ongoing for twenty years. However, the blood shed between the two powerful countries of Dextran and Astaire is coming to a close. The power of Dextran pushes forward and Astaire is hard-pressed to hold back the tide. Thus, in the war-torn city of Rennin, the forces of Astaire have one last chance to hold back the might that is the war engine of Dextran.

Syn Sanada stood with his unit, his crimson scarf blowing in the wind. He sighed, looking back at his unit of fifty fighting men. He smiled as they enjoyed themselves, after all, odds were this was going to be the last battle they were going to fight. Astaire had very little hope winning this battle. Laughing quietly, he resumed polishing his sword, staring at his reflection in the shiny metal of the blade. Haunting amber eyes stared back at, those two lifeless orbs of color.

His amber eyes were like two lifeless holes, his crimson hair hanging down around his face, which was very thin and handsome, if his few encounters with women were to be trusted. His unit liked to joke that his hair was crimson from all of the blood that Syn had spilled. He had on black boots, reaching up to a few inches above where his ankles should be. There was a few inches of white cloth above that, leading to his baggy black pants, which went up to his waist.

He had a black belt, with two straps coming down off it, connecting in the front and back. From there, he had on a black shirt, with a breast plate and shoulder guards which reflected the sunlight. Also, he had on gloves, which were black and also had metal plating on the back hand and knuckle parts. He had his sword, Crimson, hanging off his belt. Then, he had a crimson scarf hanging off his neck.

Crimson appeared to be a normal blade, with the actual blade part about three feet long. It had a normal guard, which was cross shaped. The hilt was wrapped with white cloth, much like that on his legs. However, right in the middle of the blade, there was a streak or line of crimson. It was from the blood of the first man he had killed with it. The word Crimson had been etched onto the crimson streak.

All of his life, Syn had been trained for combat. At the age of three, when he was “collected” from an orphanage, he was taught the ways of war and combat. They had needed an elite unit of warriors. So, one of them had decided to take in orphans, training them from birth to be effective killing machines. They were. At the age of five, they had Syn slit a neck wide open to prepare him to kill.

He still remembered the nightmares he had after that fateful day. However, at age seven, when they had a selection test for the best warriors, Syn had no trouble killing his opponent. He learned how to fight with his hands, then his sword at age eight, before finally mastering the weapon at age thirteen. The elite unit, named The Crimson Dragons, where to be put to the test.

All of them were made to wear a red scarf, as to identify themselves to their other warriors as the elite Crimson Dragons. In the first few fights, they proved themselves well worth the time spent training them, as they killed many more than they lost. However, the battle where they would really prove themselves would also be the last battle for the unit.

They were asked to be the rearguard, as to save the majority of the force that was fleeing. Their last stand was one to remember, as they successfully held off a force five times their size, allowing the main force to retreat. Syn, along with a few others, were the only survivors of the elite unit. After that, he had been put in charge of this unit, where they had trouble taking orders from a mere fifteen years old.

However, after a demonstration of his skill and prowess, they soon changed their collective minds. Syn heard the trumpets sound, a grin coming to his face. The Dextrani were coming to finish the job off. Only while fighting did he truly feel alive anymore. “All right you, bastards, are you to ready to fight?” Syn shouted, grinning at the response of yells he received. Yeah, Syn would gladly die with these men beside him.

The Astairian army had come to Rennin, as it was the best place for their remaining numbers to make a last stand. The wall that had once surrounded Rennin there was a giant gap. However, that only served as the best place for the Astairian army to use as their last stand. The army had crowded around the gap, ready to fall back through the wall should the tide of battle turn against them.

The Astairian army numbered only 20,000, while the might of Dextran numbered easily 200,000, if not more. Syn, along with his unit, were in the front of the mass, staring as the might of Dextran prepared to come crashing down on them. The opposing army was huge, easily larger than their own. Though, that only meant it was more for them to kill. Syn smiled; maybe tomorrow there wouldn’t be life for him anymore. As the Dextrani troops rushed forward, Syn drew his sword, licking his lips.

Shouting, Syn charged forward, his unit right behind him. The army moved now, too, inspired by the red scarf and his bravery. The lines crashed into each other, swords clashing against sword and shield, metal hitting metal.

Syn sidestepped a pathetic spear thrust, plunging Crimson into the unprotected throat of the soldier, blood covering his face and the blade. This was how Syn had given his sword it’s name. Syn cursed, as he saw one of his soldier’s fall, a spear through his throat. Anger consumed Syn, as he ripped through soldiers, his sword flashing in the sunlight a dull crimson. Birds flew through the air, cawing, as they awaited for the feast that was soon to come.

His sword was a blur, tearing through flesh and metal alike as his anger continued to grow. He ducked under a clumsy sword swing, gutting the soldier with his sword. Syn pulled the sword out, pushing the soldier forward, where he crashed into another soldier. Both fell and Syn’s sword was already through the throat of the fallen soldier.

“Come on, boys, give ‘em HELL!” Syn shouted the last word, grinning at the shouts of his men as they fought even harder. As they pushed forward, they soon realized they were the only unit doing so. The whole line was being pushed back.

Roaring, Syn caught the wrist of a soldier, slicing off the hand and then the head. As the second sword fell, Syn grabbed it and flung it in one fluid motion, smiling as it pierced the helm of another soldier and he hit the ground. Syn rolled forward, trying to avoid a spear, though with no luck. The tip of the spear went right through his armor and pierced the skin of his left shoulder, stopping a few inches into the flesh.

Cursing, Syn pulled it out of his shoulder without even a grimace of pain. Hefting it in his left hand, he threw it to the floor. Blood soaked the shirt he had, though he couldn’t see it, he could feel the warmth on his shoulder. While the wound did hurt, pain was nothing new to Syn. He had grown up with pain.

Cursing, he realized that the unit had moved ahead too much. They had pulled ahead and the Dextrani troops had circled them, cutting them off from rejoining the line. However much of a warrior Syn was, he tended to get carried and lose track of what was happening.

“All right, form up! We have to rejoin our lines! Everyone push back to our lines, and I’ll cover the rear!” Syn ordered, turning around to face the flood of Dextrani troops as they tried to rush the “unprotected” rear of his unit. Gripping Crimson tighter, he briefly stared down at his hands, where he could imagine them soaked in blood.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he raised Crimson and pointed it at the Dextrani troops, daring them to try him. Try him they would, as the line charged forward. They shouted insults as they rushed forward, their weapons and armor shining in the sunlight. The Dextrani troops used either spears or swords, were light skinned and wore dark clothes, along with bright armor.

Glancing back, he smiled. His unit was close to rejoining the line and he would not let them down. He fell to one knee, his left hand reaching down into his left boot. Pulling out the six-inch blade, he then crossed it was Crimson. The blades created sparks as they crossed and Syn smiled. Crimson & Shadow.

Shadow was just like Crimson with the exception that it was only six inches long and the red streak was black on this blade. Just like on Crimson, Shadow was etched onto the black streak of the blade. However, while the red on Crimson was from blood, the black on Shadow had been put there by the blacksmith while he had been working on it, a slight mistake Syn had thought fitting to the blade.

A Dextrani came in with a high slice, which Syn blocked with Crimson before slicing the soldier’s throat with Shadow. Syn sidestepped a thrust, Shadow piercing the eye of the soldier. Rather than pulling the dagger out, Syn forced it out of the head and helm. Blood stained both Crimson & Shadow, along with Syn’s face.

Deflecting a thrust, Syn shoulder thrust the soldier, before slicing the soldier’s stomach open. Syn was a whirlwind of death and metal. Syn was a very dangerous man, not just because he was a skilled warrior. But because death had no meaning to him. He wasn’t afraid of it. If he should die, then he should die. He had nothing to lose if he were to die here. A Dextrani troop rushed him, his swords prepared to cut off Syn’s head. One he blocked with Shadow, the other he narrowly avoided by leaning back. The cold metal nicked his throat, getting a hiss of anger from Syn.

The blood leaked down Syn’s neck, inciting his anger more. Syn ran the soldier through with Crimson, a sick smile on his face as he heard the soldier gasp for breath before dying. Syn whirled around, cutting the back of the knees of a soldier who had ran past him once he had the chance. He plunged Shadow through the back of his knee, pulling it out as he swung with Crimson. A soldier fell, his hands reaching for their bleeding throats.

Syn stared forward, his eyes taking in the mass of swords, spears, shields, and armor. He looked back, a small laugh escaping his lips as he saw his unit had rejoined the line. His arm ached, from his constant motion, though he ignored it. He had been trained since birth to be a warrior. He had been conditioned to be able to fight longer, better, and ignore pain, hunger, and weariness.

He looked a demon to the Dextrani. His bright, crimson hair shone in the light. His blades were stained with the blood of their comrades. His face was stained with the very same blood. His amber eyes were lifeless; he had the look of a demon in reality.

Syn looked down, at the battle field. Bodies littered the battle ground. Syn stared at Crimson & Shadow, the cause of many of their deaths. Syn grinned, his canines showing. Gripping both Crimson and Shadow so tightly his knuckles began to turn white, he charged the mass of enemy soldiers’ by himself. Syn threw Shadow at the mass, the dagger piercing someone’s jugular. The soldier gurgled, blood spirting out as his hands rose up and grasped the blade.

Syn had started running after throwing Shadow, his legs bringing him to clash with the soldiers quickly. He lashed out, Crimson cutting through flesh and metal. He snatched Shadow from the now corpse, where it soon found it’s way into the stomach of another. Syn fought like a man processed, wanting to kill as many of them as he could before he died.

Syn pressed forward, finding himself surrounded by the Dextrani troops. Knocking away a killing thrust with Crimson, he stabbed the soldier in the leg, bringing him to his knees, before stabbing him in the forehead. Syn blocked a series of slices and thrust from two soldiers, while kicking one back and stabbing another.

A spear went whistling through the air. Syn ducked under what would have been his death, the spear ending the life of another instead. Syn cursed, as a sword cut into the skin on his left shoulder. The blow had been powerful, to cut right through the armor as well. Spinning around, Syn unleashed a series of vicious thrusts. The man fell, seven stab wounds in his stomach and chest. Syn ducked and wove out of the way of several killing strikes. Out of the way of death, he unleashed his own revenge on them.

Syn hissed, his right hand over the wounds on his shoulder. The wounds considerably cut back on how well he could fight now. Syn forced Shadow into the neck of some soldier, his arm straining to do it. There was a fire along his whole arm now, from pain and overuse. Syn kicked the knee cap of a Dextrani, breaking the bone and forcing the soldier to his knees. In one sweeping motion his head was on the floor.

Syn looked around, at all of the death and carnage on the battlefield. Suddenly, he felt very exhausted. He felt like he was going to fall down. Turning back, he saw that this battle was over already. The line had been overrun, all except for his unit which was putting up their last stand. The rest were running like cowards through the hole, while his units, now only about 30 brave soldiers, were trying to keep the flood of the men back.

If they could put up their last stand, so could Syn. He shouted a battle cry, as he rushed forward once more. Crimson & Shadow were flashing all around as they dealt death to all. Clouds gathered in the sky, casting a darkness down on the battlefield. Thunder boomed and lightning arched all around them, as a heavy rain began to fall. It was almost like the Heavens were crying. The rain washed away most of the blood on Syn’s face and blades.

Crimson clanged against another sword, sparks flying off from the metal. Syn came in from the side with Shadow, aiming for the rib cage of this soldier. The soldier caught the hand, head butting Syn with his metal helm. Syn tried to jump back, but the soldier’s grip on his hand was like iron. Syn’s forehead was ringing from the blow the soldier had dealt him and blood was starting to get into his right eye.

Syn kneed the man in his lower area, before jamming Shadow right under the soldier’s chin. He kicked the soldier way from him, Crimson clanging against another blade. Syn lashed out with Shadow, the dagger making a permanent smile on some soldier. Syn saw a sword curving for his head. He blocked it, sparks flying off Shadow. Grunting, Syn shoved Crimson through the soldier’s stomach, bringing it up until the blade had cut the soldier’s cranium in half.

Syn stared back, where his unit was nearly overrun. The Dextrani troops had bypassed them, rushing after the remnants of the Astairian army as they futilely tried to stop them. Syn ducked around a spear thrust, bringing Crimson slashing upward as he moved forward. The blade cut through wood, metal, and flesh alike. The soldier’s body fell, his head rolling off as pieces of the broken spear clattered against the earth.

Hearing a roar, Syn spun around to face the new threat. Syn blinked in surprise. It was one of the Dextrani berserkers. He hadn’t seen in a long time. The berserkers towered over Syn, standing at almost ten feet tall. His arms and legs were the size of tree trunks. It had gruesome armor, made form both metal and bone. In it’s hands were a huge battle axe. Berserkers were the only soldiers of the Dextrani army to use axes.

The creature roared, swinging the mighty battle axe like nothing. Syn, rather than risking blocking it and have his weapon’s shatter, rolled to the side, the axe barely missing his head. Syn flung Shadow, smiling as it made contact with the behemoth’s leg. The berserker looked down at the tiny blade, before giving out a laugh which hurt Syn’s ears.

The creature came in with a vertical slice, trying to cut Syn in half. He sidestepped the killing blow, before lunging forward. Crimson tore through the berserker’s index finger, getting a howl of pain. The berserker lashed out with his left hand, knocking Syn to the side. Syn crashed onto the floor, the wind knocked out of him. He lie on the floor, shaking his head when suddenly the berserker was above him. It brought it’s axe crashing down Syn, who had barely gotten Crimson up in time to save his life.

The blade barely held the huge axe there, sparks flying on Syn’s flesh. Syn cursed, as the axe came closer and closer to his face. His arms were shaking, struggling to hold off his death. Syn managed to deflect the axe to the side with a show of spectacular strength. The axe crashed onto the floor next to Syn and he rolled to the side, leaping to his feet.

Syn wiped away the blood from his mouth, hacking with Crimson at the arm of the berserker. Syn managed to slice halfway through the flesh and bone, before Syn was backhanded. The fist was like a huge stone, knocking Syn off his feet. The berserker stared at what was left of his arm, a mass of blood, flesh, skin, bone and muscle. It roared in anger. This was the first time something had hurt it.

Syn gasped, his breathing heavy. His head was ringing from the last blow and he couldn’t see straightly anymore. He fixed his amber eyes on the berserker, grinning at what he had done to the beast’s arm. All around them Dextrani troops rushed forward, leaving the two alone. None of them wanted to get in-between the demon and the beast.

Syn looked around, where he saw a spear lying on the floor. He swooped down and grasped the weapon, holding it tightly in his left hand. He took aim, his arm muscles tense. He threw, the tip of the spear spiraling. The berserker howled, as the spear dug into it’s forehead. A whole foot of the spear pushed right through the skull and the great behemoth fell, finally dead. Syn panted, exhausted from his battle with the beast. Walking over to the slain beast, he pulled Shadow out of the beast’s leg in a shower of blood.

Wiping away the blood from his eyes, it suddenly felt like Syn’s head was ablaze. He managed to turn, his amber eyes staring at the soldier who had smashed the hilt of his sword into the back of Syn’s skull. “Bastard. . .“ He said, as black enveloped his vision and he saw no more.