The Soldier and the Maiden

Now the rain came down blocking my sight and drenching my blood-soaked tunic down to the very fibers. My sword dragged behind me marking the ground in an uneven groove in the ground next to my footsteps and dark red earth. My right hand was holding a deep gash on my shoulder, trying to keep it covered and closed the best it can.
The light from the open shack was my only beacon, leading me from this miserable red rain to people who might help me. But only feet from the door was what I stumbled to as my knees buckled and caved in, throwing me face first into the mud.
The mud splashed into my wound and very quickly the soil around me was turning a deep red. I groped the dirt trying to get to the door, but didn't make it very far before complete darkness enveloped my vision.
Warmth was the first thing I became aware of. The warmth from a flickering flame alighting my cheeks and nose, the warmth of a padded bed under my back, and the warmth from a small hand lying gently upon my forehead.
My eyes tried to ignore my request to open and shook and flattered in mad protest. I heard a gasp and the hand moved from me. I finally won in my eyes and opened the weary pupils to the warm world around me.
The light from a small, white candle stood tall in the dark room not far from my resting head on a bedside table. The roar of the storm outside was pounding on the thicket roof but not getting in.
There was a shift in the shadows beyond my vision and I turned toward it, but the darkness was too thick.
I whispered a ragged word that slipped near silently from my lips and was heard by the angel in the shadows.
Now my eyes began to cut through their fog and I quickly found two wide, almost frighted eyes. They were a reflective blue-gray, like a cloudy day on a beautiful lake, and almost seemed to produce their own light.
"...help..." I tried to say and she must have heard it for she quickly rushed out of the room to return moments later with a wooden cup filled with water and mixed with crushed leaves of some unknown plant. It was tea that she had brought me.
She set down the cup on the table next to the lamp and tended to my head, propping it up and easing me into an upright, sitting position. She tended to me as a mother would her child and let me sip from the cup.
It didn't taste very good to me but I knew it was rude to protest, not that I could.
After the tea was finished the angel put my head back down and began to leave the room. I wanted to cry out for her to stay but the words were lost in my throat.
-~-

The Waring Brothers- A Celestial Battle

There they both stood, on a plain of fire and ice. Lava reached over the tundra and the frost took over the ashes. The brothers stared with hateful eyes, eyes that shined fire and ice in themselves.
The moon stood behind the brother with the deep blue jacket atop a black shirt and pants. The color of the jacket matched the left eye of the man and the frosted blade in the man's right hand. The right eye was a deep red that had a fire burning inside it.
He stood opposite the man in red, who had the sun on his back. This man had a deep red jacket with the same black shirt and pants, the same shade of red as the heated blade in his left hand and the man's left eye. The right eye of this man was a dark blue, the same shade of his brother.
They feuded for control for centuries, the ice and the fire. But neither could subdue the other.
The brothers were drawing for the final battle, ready to win this never ending war.
As one, the two held their blades high and charged, perfectly synchronized. Before the blades hit a powerful light radiated from the collision created the end of existence. The balance of nature was thrown out, and the entire cosmos began to unravel.
How does this end? This battle repeats itself, with each new collision bringing a revival of the battle. This constant cycle is embodied in the creation of life, and the destruction of death. With each explosion life was destroyed then brought back in another form, one different than the last. The fusion of ice and fire brings about new worlds, and with each new world comes a new battle.

The Trill of Battle

Larc understood his place in this battle.
He knew this would happen all his life, though not so quickly.
His father had always told him that one day Larc would be in the war council. What he wasn't told was that he would rise to his position by the age of 16.
As Larc stared out at the rolling grasslands of the battlefield he recited the motto of their army.
To fight for his country, and kill who opposes them.
Each soldier, even Larc who didn't agree with it, understood it and was willing to follow it at any cost.
For some time now they had been at war with the neighboring countries under the flag of "keeping the peace". Larc voted against the use of force but the council ignored him, mostly for his age.
The enemy nations criticized Larc's nation as "oppressive" and as such the King declared war to put down the enemy.
The King assembled a massive army of 10000 soldiers and had them stand to fight this battle.
Larc was on the front line with his commander with the breath of the soldiers heating the air around Larc to a near unbearable degree.
It was time. The enemy army had shown up and now the two forces were ready to engage in the pointless war.
Larc heard the commander's horn and instantly drew his blade and raised his shield.
The battle was starting, and Larc knew that none of them were going to win...

The End of A Battle

The fire blocked out all escape. The fields were screaming and the ground belched smoke all around me.
I covered my eyes and my sword began to burn the palm of my hand.
Suddenly, the fire parted and let the most awe-inspiring moment in my life.
Absolute fear took hold of me as the horse dove through the fire with its shielded head bowed down low first entering the clearing. The horse held the power of a mythical beast as it's hid powerful chest shuddered with the graceful impact of its hooves gently trampled the ground. It sprinted through the inferno under the authority of a magnificent rider.
Wearing dark mail under the king's crest, he rode with one hand on the beast and the other holding man's bloodied paint brush. The rider kept his eyes on me through the slits in his long faced helmet, intent on putting me out of my misery.
Before he was on me I prayed to my god that this wasn't an ordinary man, but a messenger of death come to bring me free of this war and senseless destruction.
The angel now was here and in one swift, passing strike I fell to the heated ground below and experienced pure darkness which I welcomed openly.