Many years ago, when I was a boy, I learnt the sword.
These days, I use a scythe.
A cold, divine, long silver scythe that slices through dark creatures like butter.
My father was a castle guard in the Kingdom of Summer. Specifically, he worked near the Tigras river docks, inspecting goods and keeping the peace. On occasion, he would go to battle, and fight for our freedom.
Unlike him, I don't fight for freedom.
I fight because it's a far cry better to fight than continue drifting infinitely on that oversized soul, collecting smaller souls. In comparison, fighting at the forefront of a great war is riveting.
When I was young, my mother would frequent the markets near my father's post, and I would go with her. We would purchase fruits, fish and clothe from the merchants we knew well.
At times, my mother would leave me with my father to complete her duties as a temple amulu.
Her duty was called sacred, as it was considered an offering and a sacrifice in honour of the goddess Inunnu, the goddess of love and fertility. Her rite was sacred sex of varying descriptions.
I could explain the details in full, but, in the end, it was glorified, brainwashed prostitution. And unlike the wide-eyed child of reverence I once was, I now know that the goddess Inunnu that my mother devoted herself to so fully, was actually named Malenia, and she didn't give a fuck about any of it.
I bleed again. I make blood again. With the war, regrowing one's flesh is both free and accessible for us reapers. The King made it so. He has Malenia treat us reapers fairly and she personally revives and regrows our bodies. I know the King only forces her so that he has our cooperation, but I don't care, I want to fight.
During the times when my mother was… busy… my father would teach me swordsmanship and have me conduct practice swings. I would train in the open space near the dock gates and passersby, or other soldiers would often give me helpful advice or encouraging words.
My training would continue every other day whilst I was young.
Once I was old enough, my mother's 'maternal duties' were complete, and I spent all my time either training near my father's post or learning at the temple my mother 'worked' at.
Bloodlust consumes me. After countless years of slavery, of mind-numbing medial work, of uninterrupted silence and perpetual boredom, I can finally let loose.
And let loose I did.
The horrors of the battlefield did nothing to dull my desire.
Before me lay a grey battlefield, laid waste till only dirt and blood remain. My shoes sink into the mud with every step. My raggy clothes and reapers clothe covered in muck.
A tide of horrifically heinous creatures flow everlasting from great swirling masses of mana.
The mana is thick here. The power of the mage reapers showing its full fruit. It is a vast contrast between what I saw in the land in-between.
Great explosions lay waste to vast expanses of the battlefield.
My own knowledge and use of mana expanding with each harrowing death I ensue.
With my advanced age and not so bright-eyed naïve mindset I now know that witnessing one's own mothers 'temple duties' is not something to be revered like the priests who brainwashed me said.
Apart from the disturbing visages and not so sacred experiences, the temple also taught me to read, write and calculate arithmetic.
This was usually a passage of right for the more noble families, and offspring of esteemed individuals. I would usually not receive this education given my families meagre status.
However, as I happened to be a child born by sacred rite under the eyes of goddess Inunnu, I was an exception in a way…
Who could have guessed that said same goddess would enslave me for hundreds of thousands of years in equivalent time.
Who would have guessed that I would 'outlive' my kingdom, my people, my language, and my culture.
What a small timeline.
Many reapers die repeatedly on the front line. Particularly the mages. There are too many vile creatures to fend them off. They flow through the battlefield like a tide.
They come.
We fight them off.
Then they come again.
Through the dense mana pockets, I believe to be portals of some kind.
The frontline moves with the flow of the battle. Whichever portal produces the most creatures, is where the most blood flows.
It is not possible to hold ranks one a battlefield such as this. Tactics fall apart in mere moments. One second the enemy is coming from in front of you, the next they are behind.
Or above.
Or below.
As the battle rages, the death toll of the reapers is staggering. When we die our bodies do not return. It is our souls that are taken by Malenia. She constructs a new body each time.
Therefore, mountains of corpses form the ground. Blood flows like rivers. And reapers stand atop them, ensuing bloody combat.
Myself among them.
However, unlike the others I do not die as often. In fact, at this stage, it takes a grand assembly of the most harrowing of creatures to end me.
At the beginning I died a few times. But as my sense for warfare returned and the mysticality of magic and mana unveiled.
I became a truly magnificent site to behold.
By the time I was nearing adulthood, my swordsmanship had reached a level where I could be considered decent. It was at this time that I joined my father's brigade and not long after, participated in my first battle.
Now you might expect that my first experience in battle would be a hellish story of blood, gore and horror but in reality, it was a story of glory.
Of course there was hellish amounts of blood, gore and horror to be witnessed but when most soldiers and citizens, my temple-born self-included, are fervent worshippers of the gods, these things are good things.
Very good things.
Good enough to be proceeded by copious amounts of sacred sex in public places atop the corpses of our slain enemies…
I was… naïve… you could say.
My home and up bringing was the worst place imaginable for an eternally damned slave such as myself.
These memories fill me with rage. To think that my naïve self once worshipped the filthy gods.
Continuing on, I earnt a name for myself as a warrior, earning the title of Medjey in my early adulthood.
The title exclaimed that I was an elite warrior of the highest calibre, and I had the blood on my hands to prove it.
I probably also had 10 or so children at this time but I never would have met any of them.
Many of my living days were filled with cultish sex and bloody murder.
My name only grew more and more fearsome as I got older, reaching many of the surrounding lands.
At some point I started being known as Medjey of Inunnu, exclaiming that I was a blessed warrior bestowed upon the world by the goddess Inunnu.
And I believed it.
For a while.
But now I truly am a warrior of the goddess Inunnu. Or goddess Malenia I should say.
I am an unstoppable force with a blade. No creature of any description can slay me.
Sure, some creatures can scream so loud that my ears burst. My skin may be torn by claws, but my muscles hold true. Pain does not phase me. I was a skeleton for gods only know how long after all. These things don't inhibit me. They drive me.
Magic has even entered my battle art. I learn from the other reapers. Just like the boy did. And I use it like he did too.
My favourite is [Rubius]. It does not block large attacks. Not like when the other reapers use it. Instead, it deflects attacks slightly, shifts footholds, acts as grounding for me in the air. It is small, versatile. Powerful.
Everything about me has become powerful. Not like the gods. I am not a fool. They could wipe the floor with me. But amongst the reapers. The corrupt creatures. The mortals of varying descriptions. I seem inevitable.
And whilst being names Malenia's warrior fills me with pride as a warrior. It also fills me with mirth.
As my living age advanced my devotion wilted steeply. What was the point of all the blood and outlandish sex?
My parents passed away at some point, whether by sacrifice or natural causes, I don't remember.
I walked through battlefield after battlefield and butchered many whom I'd never met, never given a thought for, or even considered humans. Just animals on the chopping block.
I killed them like it was a regular everyday chore. Like going shopping in the markets.
Eventually my age caught up with me, I was maybe 45, or a little younger, when I became ill. Not the oldest to ever live but right up there. I was an elder to my people and my words held much weight.
A great warrior.
Devoted worshipper.
Father of many.
Good in bed.
I was known for many things.
Particularly the last thing.
Bored with all of it, I made one final act to just get it over with. I was going to die of disease anyway so I figured might as well go out on my own terms.
I chose to sacrifice myself.
To just end it.
Not with any religious ideals in mind. It was just an easy means of getting it done without letting some random step on my pride as a warrior.
So, with that.
I died.
What a life.
Sex, glory and reverence.
How ideal.
Except it wasn't after a while.
And it gives me nothing but a headache to remember it.
And what came after death simply fills me with rage.
"So, you're the human that's good with a sword?"
Moments after I died, I heard what I thought to be the sweetest voice imaginable.
Immediately I knew that the woman before me was the goddess Inunnu. The goddess of love and fertility. And she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Which is saying a lot given my regular activities.
Her long, silky hair reached the backs of her ankles. Its blonde shimmer complimenting her deep golden eyes. Her complexing, white and pale as silica sand. Her delicate, perky features giving her an aura of purity and innocence.
I could go on and on about the deep emotions I felt when I first laid eyes on her, but the moment ended as quickly as it began.
"So weak", she said, a sneer screeching along her otherwise blissful voice.
"Those useless reapers tried so hard to hide you that I actually expected something decent from you. But it turns out you're just a pathetic creature after all. Just what should I have expected from Eardh…"
I remember my heart shattering as she spoke these words. It was, in its entirety, a realisation that my entire life, my fellow people's lives, and my religion, were all just lies.
"Whatever… he should be capable enough to handle Eardh, no need to waste even a trash mage on this dump. You… swordsman, did your brain get left behind or something. Stop looking stupid and listen. You will now be this world's reaper and conduct duties as such. That is all."
With the snap of her fingers a blinding light appeared. At the moment, I was still too shocked to understand what was happening. However, I do remember faintly hearing her say "I can't believe I wasted my time on this trash" a moment before being boiled alive under a blazing sun.
These are painful memories. But I welcome pain now. It's better than unending silence and isolation.
That place where the reaper's go is a rock in the middle of nowhere. A bright white sun blazes down upon us, blinding us. But it is also extraordinarily hot.
The reapers are immortal. They cannot die due to the curse left on them by Malenia.
The curse works by binding our souls to our bones with divine magic. As a by-product of this curse, our bones are extra durable and do not break easily. The heat of the white sun is certainly not enough to destroy them. However, the flesh of an unprepared human is a different matter.
If properly covered and insulated by the reapers cloak, which is a divine artifact, the flesh will not burn. But if caught unprepared, flesh catches alight instantly.
I will never forget the agony of my flesh burning off the bone. Unable to die, I screamed in horror as I melted. My eyeballs popped, skin, muscle and ligaments alike turned crispy black and flaked off me before disappearing in a puff of smoke.
It was strange and alien, and I was scared witless. Seeing with my eyes, feeling without my flesh, smelling without a nose, speaking without a tongue or lips.
Before long after arriving at that rock, I was just a skeleton…
Standing completely naked…
In this unfamiliar place…
The burning bright hell hole.
Now I once again find myself in an unfamiliar place. A grey bloody hell hole. After previously spending countless years in a dark lonely hell hole.
You could say I'm familiar with hell holes.
My scythe slices the flesh of unfamiliar creatures as if parting paper. Limbs, heads, and other extremities fall likes snow. Blood like rain.
Thick red blood, mixed with black corrupt, and occasional other colours from strange aversions of mortals and reapers. There's certainly more out there than I've seen.
My scythe spins at a speed never seen in a reapers hand. A product of [Accel] at its finest. Wisps of [Incarnat] dance like a halo in its wake. Seering each unfortunate creature that endures it gruesomely.
[Radrab], a spell I learnt from the old codger, infects the wounds I inflict with rot, causing the wounds to sizzle and pulsate brutely.
The old codger that runs the reapers management system was the first I spoke to, and I speak with him often now. He taught me everything to do with being a reaper, and the truth behind Malenia.
When I told him about my people's worship of the goddess Inunnu and asked if that was her, he laughed at me. With a hint of pity, he told me that the sweet goddess I prayed to wasn't real. Only that horrible woman was.
The whole process didn't take long. There isn't much to being a reaper, especially in a place like Eardh where magic is non-existent. Was… non-existent.
He gave me my scythe, cloak and watch. He told me about the watch's functions and about the wispy blue lake.
After that he sent me to the desolate soul land between death and life.
It didn't take long to learn about the time dilation between the two. Rather obvious after a while.
I crafted my boat with the occasional extra junk that came along with a soul. Like the wood or metal that was used to kill the person.
Naturally, these materials didn't come through as solid object. They were immaterial and attached to the soul but we reapers can separate the two and do some nifty things to make them solid again. But more of that another time.
Eventually I settled with a wooden boat. I have no idea how long it took to make.
I considered not doing the job anymore after however many years. I asked the codger about it.
"What if we all just stopped working", I asked.
Again, he laughed at me and said, "There are worse ends than eternal slavery boy".
With that, I never thought of acting out again.
Many years passed that way…
Until he arrived…
That boy is the greatest thing I have witnessed both in life and in death.
To grow with such speed and to have the guts to face me in that situation. I could tell he was a strong human at first glance. But not that strong.
I was never adept at magic. I learnt a little bit but without the proper resources or an abundant supply of mana it is nigh impossible to learn.
Not to mention I seemingly have little talent for it. Even now my effective strength as a mage is low. Something about a strong soul tether being needed. Apparently, mine is rather weak. Not that I mind, I am a swordsman after all first and foremost.
I learnt from some of the other reapers who faced him that mana was abundant in the land in-between when they fought him.
This caused some much-welcomed curiosity amongst the reapers who came up with many theories as to why this happened. After all, almost all of them are ancient great mages, and it is well known that mana is much too thin in Eardh to use magic.
Many claimed that not only was there mana, but their magic was also no weaker than normal, suggesting the mana quality was exceptional. But others rebutted these claims, saying they wouldn't know truly powerful magic if it hit them.
Much of this flew over my head as I could not even sense mana at the time.
Most of the theories were outlandish at first. Such as there was always mana present, but no one could sense it for some reason. This got a lot of push back.
In the end, the most accepted theory was that the means the corrupt forces used to invade Eardh somehow flooded the world with mana. Like opening a dam and allowing water to flow through.
Much topic and debate arose from this, marking a never-before-seen time of unity and leisure between the reapers, however, I was the only one occupied with a different line of thought.
If mana flooded into Eardh at around the same time as he died. Does that mean that he learnt magic to that degree through talent and combat alone. Without even a textbook or a mentor to guide him. A boy from a magicless world learnt magic and defeated all of these great mages in front of my very eyes.
That is why I say he is the greatest thing I have ever witnessed. But he is also the greatest thing to have ever happened to me.
Even now, as I enjoy the feeling of warfare again, that boy plagues my mind like a fever. His strength awes me. I want to defeat him.
Shortly after Malenia sent me off to speak with that boy, I was summoned to the front lines of the war against Nether. It seemed that my battle with that boy sparked interest not only in Malenia but also the other reapers.
My strength is not something they have seen before or understand. Strength being in one's flesh. I became quite popular amongst the reapers who want to know more.
When Malenia received a 'request' from Zoraz, The King of The God's, for reapers to join his forces on the front lines, she immediately offloaded the duty to the old codger. I was one of the first to be chosen to go. And I was glad to do it.
It makes sense to use reapers in a war. We are immortally contracted by Malenia and cannot die. If only the bitch was less obnoxious and lazy, she would be incredibly valuable in any war.
Immediately after the king's summons, those of us that were chosen went to the front lines. Our duty was to fight the monstrous forces and hold them back whilst the proper preparations were made to end the war.
The front line mostly consisted of reapers, due to our immortality, but there were others there too.
However, needless to say, but, I, Mordarath the Medjey, was eternally grateful to bask in bloody battle once again.
And bask I did.