The soldier of time has been stripped weary of his surroundings. He drags his feet through the cracked pavements of pits of flame. His sword grew as heavy as twice his weight. The sword left a stain of cracked warrior morale and poor judgment. He did not heed the warnings of the sky nor the imperial guards. He was destined to find his own path, for fate has given up all hopes and believes of his existence.

The brave man had an eye at the front but his legs had his feet strained together. With every walk, he felt the raging termites running up his legs. They were as numb as hell, from all that journey. The quest was still up ahead, but the destination was nowhere in sight. The only indications of the warrior's path are a mere compass and a blunt sword. He had neglected to polish and sharpen the sword, for his enemies were of the darkness elements. His sword would not do them any harm, for they have been in this world for centuries.

Staring right at the compass, he stood helplessly in the midst of giving up and laying his sword down to rest. He whispered words down his breathe, and said "If only..". Time was not on his side, nor was the darkness going to wait for his arrival. The darkness dawned down and overcast the true blue skies, swallowing every happiness it could find.


The warrior was at his wits ends. The journey was tough. The hunger had made it worse and the sand storm had pushed him an inch further with every passing step forward. He glazed up front, but all he could see was the dark sky lights, gloomy clouds and the endless phantoms that lurk in ambush. He twitched, sighed and marched on in the greatest uncertainty, hoping one day this darkness would be lifted.

"It points straight. No matter how much you miss, you're still going straight" - frostdude