Oizys

The clash had begun, the armies were a blur of killing. Several thousand troops had been deployed to take back this planet. Hundreds of thousands still fought on in rebellion. The immortal vessels were doing their job, overwhelming the mortal warriors of the rebellion.

The federation troops were showing off the new skills the vessels let them use. Fire would spout from the hands of some. Water would turn to ice as it shot out of others. Some were forcing gusts of wind to brutalize large areas of enemies.

Philo, clad in his royally decorated black armor, saw them all as traitors, and they died like traitors. Death, a mere shadow here, claimed all of the mortal souls that fell, they would never become the immortals the fought for. True death found them, and Philo found solace in that thought. He knew his actions were as justified as his title. Only he could be the Paladin for, his Mistress. Nyx, the Goddess of Chaos, needed him to finish snuffing out the evil wrongdoers against her.

The rest could fight and kill, most of them had more practice and skill at it even, but none had the special talent he did. Given only to him, Mistress Nyx had set him apart from the rest.

He watched as auras bled together, their multitude of colors mashing into one giant collage. A giant of a man was the main focal point, he stood in the center of both armies. His massive steel grey arms were covered in blood. The effect of his presence was clearly visible. Moros left only fragments of his enemies behind when he finished with his fighting.

Some of the blood flying around him was crimson, some was emerald. None of it was his own. He was ripping apart bodies and throwing the pieces at his opponents. His snarl sent fear running down the pants of the mortals.

They found themselves paralyzed with fear of the giant wolf shifter in front of them. His teeth glistening and jagged, tore into flesh and through bone. They were mortal yet, this battle wasn't supposed to have happened until their vessels arrived. Why had this small force of destruction arrived instead?

“Don’t just stand there!” The yell came from the rebel captain. He knew why, someone had leaked the details of the mission to steal that freighter. Had their infiltration team been found out? He could only see what was in front of him though, and no one had planned on that ship unleashing the immortal son of Nyx, the wolf commander Moros.

He was watching his squad get eaten alive. He couldn't even stop them. Blood lust would consume everyone on this planet. They had known the risks, but this world didn't deserve the Armageddon wrought upon them. 

“Fight back!” He was firing rounds off from his hand cannon, but it was having now effect on the giant beast. “Do something! Frarraa!”

The captain watched, as his childhood friend froze up in front of the beast. Frarraa’s sword was limp in his hand, the shield on his arm down against his side.

“Nooooo!”

Shooting at the beast was pointless, his firearm had no effect. He had used up all of the shots anyway, so he flung it aside. In a last desperate act, he leaped for his friend. The wolf shifter had lunged for Frarraa at the same time, and all three collided together.

The captain had thrown out his arms, wrapping them around his friend for protection. The jolt of impact knocked him and Frarraa over. They rolled over and over, the hard ground digging into every inch of their bodies. When the captain opened his eyes, the beast was already running off towards another group of fighters. He held Frarraa in his arms, he smiled.

He had saved at least him, one of his friends would still be here. They just needed to stay hidden until the battle was over, they could run back home after that. He looked around, dead bodies were scattered all around him. Mostly just limbs and decapitated heads.

To his right he saw three legs, and for a moment he swore he recognized the holster on one of them. The non-standard leather, deep midnight black, with pure silver trimmings.

But, that was his holster. Why was it on a leg, laying a few feet away.

He looked back at the friend in his arms, and then down past him. Only now did he see, or not see, what was left of their bodies. The beast had torn straight through both of them. Gouging the pelvis of Frarraa in half, sheering the left leg off in the process. The giant wolf had gone through and taken both of the captains legs, he was left with just the bare minimum of stumps.

So he didn’t save any of his friends after all. Tears finally began to well up.

“Graaawwhhhhhh!”

The scream split the night, and yet the battle raged on. No one else seemed to notice the grief of one dying captain. Not among the thousands, and hundreds of thousands, of others dying and still struggling.

But one god still cared. And if destiny was to answer a call, this one was as good as any other.

The light that slipped between the shadows. The breeze that fluttered beneath the wind. The mist that hangs among the rain. The grain of sand hiding in the glass.

As the captain looked up, his last view of the sky, he knew this was his end. He had so many regrets, most only coming to light as he lay dying. Following along with the federation was impossible. After learning its truths, the rebel leaders had to fight. And it was the duty of people like him, and Frarraa, to liberate and save the planets. Nyx and her council had given gifts, resources, and even power, no one had ever asked the price.

“The price was your soul.” The captain heard the words as if they came from somewhere else. “Of course, your souls will still be theirs. It will just be in a different cage.”

The voice was sweet, mellow, like a wise elderly teacher.

“Who are you? You, whom cried for my help?”

Who was he? Who was I? The captain, was the captain, but who was he?

“You are getting closer to the answer.”

The answer? The answer to what?

“To whom you will become.”

But, I’m the captain.

“You were, and now, you are.”

I am?

“What are you?”

The voice was now an echo. The captain looked around, but saw nothing. The battlefield was gone. He could not see, there was no feeling at all. His senses were all muted.

“You are. And you will be. So what will you be?”

What would he be? What was he now? Was he dead?

“Not for much longer.”

So he had died. Was this rebirth?

“In a sense.”

What would he become? What should he become? The light for worlds wrapped in shadows?

“Some worlds have too much light already.”

How do worlds have too much light?

“Over concentration.”

Then, I need to be able to pass through the light.

“Whom shall you be?”

I need to fix what is broken.

“You’ll need to dim the light.”

I need to be the shadow.

“You are the shadow.”

I will avenge my friends.

“Take your misery, and put it on someone else.”

Frarraa….

“Be reborn, Oizys.”

The light flashed out of the dark. And Oizys opened his eyes. The corridor he was in was a full green. Electric machines whirred and beeped.

He raised his arm to his face. It was a cold metal arm, the bleak grey and off white tones folded over each other. He knew what he was, he had been transplanted into a vessel.

He had been reborn, immortal. The captain had died, on the field surrounded by his dead friends. Holding the last one of them as the light died from their eyes. Now he was Oizys, and his misery, would be the universe’s misery.

Only the truly desperate beg from the beggars.