Looking at the scene above my head, all over my body I felt an eerie sensation. It started small like a tiny scratch, but eventually it led to my whole body shaking. I felt the blood drain from my face. Without me knowing why, I wrapped my arms around my body. My nails dug so deep into my arms, that red blood started to seep out in stark contrast to my pale skin. I'm scared. I hate this. Let it stop.

My knees gave out and I dropped to the floor, feeling the cold mosaics beneath my hands and pressing my forehead to the smooth surface, praying to God. My breathing became faster. I couldn't stop it. I closed my eyes and hoped that it would be over.

A cold gust of seawind carrying a fresh salt smell cleared my thoughts. I inhaled deeply and tried to catch my breath. I'm safe, I chanted to myself, I'm safe. Those days are over. I'll do better this time. But when I opened my eyes, a horrible sight unfolded.

What a joke. Hope? Better? There's a reason why you shouldn't hope. No matter what, hope is just... hope. And reality does not wait for hope, but if it does arrive - it shall crush it with all its might, not leaving a single sprout behind. That's what reality is, that's the cruel world we live in. And this was my reality right now.

Far from the temple, I stood on the battlefield, no part of my body left untouched by the blood of the enemies I had slain. The red sticky fluid clung to my armor and skin, restricting my movements bit by bit. The feeling of the blood made me want to throw up. Even then, my determined voice, raw from exhaustion and pain, carried my orders to my troops while I thrusted my sword into the head of an enemy soldier, soiling my beloved land once again with this hellish war. All of it felt extremely familiar, but I paid no mind. Securing our victory and saving my comrades was my top priority.

My body was throbbing with an immense amount of pain. Every step I took made me want to scream my lungs out, but I had to keep going. For the kingdom, for my knights, and for myself.

Looking at the state of the battle, I could see our side pushing the opponent back. They were unorganized, unwilling to work together, and surprisingly weak. We had the advantage in this fight; we could win. A sense of satisfaction rose up in me. Maybe, just maybe, this was the very first step to the victory of Haedevili.

Losing my focus, made me vulnerable. I felt a slash in my neck, ripping my armour apart. The cut in my neck burned. The ground under my feet shook violently, causing me to lose my balance. I fell down on the hard ground. My body shook uncontrollably. No matter how hard I wanted to scream, not a single sound escaped my throat.

"....!!"

He had descended upon this fight. He who was nicknamed The Dark Heaven, the ruler of the Kingdom of Misodleom; Caelius. He strolled around the battlefield as if it was but a leisure walk to him, with his dark powers spreading across the field, injecting all of his soldiers with a new source of energy. He made it seem like child's play.

The monsters started gathering in groups, hunting my comrades. The same knights I had just given orders to were getting eaten by monsters at least twice their size. Everywhere around me, my soldiers fought as hard as they could, but ultimately met their death. All of it, by the powers of one person, no, a monster.

The illusion I had till now tore down in a fraction of seconds. We were losing the fight; we had already lost.

With eyes as bright as the sun he stared into the deepest part of your being, and with hair as red as the bottomless torment of hell, he had all rights to be called a devil. Just making eye contact alone felt like staring into the gaping maw of a fathomless predator. He was the embodiment of evil.

Behind his trail of blood and corpses, a young lady followed him. She held her umbrella at a high angle, covering her face, yet there was no doubt about her identity. She was a traitor yet still strode so confidently, fitting her title of princess.

I hated myself for thinking that despite everything, she looked amazing.

My fellow knight, whose name I did not know, fell next to me, his throat slit open. Gushes of blood felt warm against my cold hands. It served as my rough wake-up call from this cruelty. The déjà vu I had felt before finally started to make sense.

This was the past. No matter what I would do - It would not change anything. Even when I knew that it wasn't real, the sensation I had felt didn't leave. The terror was engraved into my bones.

The last thing I saw before losing consciousness were the bloodshot eyes of the soldier laying next to me. Eyes praying for help. I reached my shaking hand out to him, trying to reassure him in his last moments before finally meeting the darkness.

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A/N : I love angst.