It’s called being a soldier, battle plans and orders carried out to the finest detail. Nobody cares about the casualties as long as the battles won. I fight with sword and soul, with musket and rifle. I travel through the rifts of battle. Leaping into their darkness. Hear me, hear my voice as I’m shot in battle. Listen to my cries of pain, and see the crimson soul seep from my body to the ground. Look and you will see the dying soldier in need. I can not hear the shouts of my comrades, and will not listen to their tears. I’m drowning in my blood as it rises to my throat. I look at the darkness ahead, and I frown. I’m suddenly in the middle of a storm being tossed from side to side, the waves crash into us. With a surge of energy I’m cast from the ship, and a cold rush hits my body. I look up into the darkness, as the sound and lights fade. I feel the roughness and my back lays against the sand. It lies there complacent, unable to break the darknesses hold. Then a light purges my vision and I’m flying, my wings steel. Hearing a crash, I go to look, my wings silver glow fades to red and I plummet, the ground below looked so soft. “Kill me now.” I prayed and whispered. Then I see the light, I fall past it. Into the darkness I plummet again. My body hits the ground, it’s soft and silky. The echoing crunch of my bone and the heavenly scream block out any other sound. I don’t cry, but lay there. I look up into the light… I wonder, is my service in vain. Voices fill my head, the sound of my loved ones crying. My general says my name and he says how proud he is of me, “It’s called being a soldier.” He says sadly. Again I awake...