Unto glory, once more

Corpses are scattered everywhere. The sounds of battle all around. While I lay there on the cold, blood-soaked ground, commiserating my miserable afterlife, I could already feel the pull of cosmic energy trying to put me back on my feet. I'm not sure how I got entangled in this mess of a war, but there seemed to be no end to it all. Every waking moment, and I'm really stretching the limitation of the word waking here, I'm either fighting for what's left of my life, or being reassembled by the powers that be for another round of endless barbarism.

No one really knows why they're here. All we do is get sent forth into the enemy lines, or so we're told. I've been here so long my days have started to blend together. Even if it would free me I wouldn't have been able to tell whether I'd been here for weeks, months or years. And it's not like we have any social interaction other than either stabbing, maiming or dismembering the opposing force, or being on the receiving end of someone's blade. I think I can vaguely remember a time where I could put up my feet and have a cold one.

And there it is, the forceful reassembly of my body. The arm that got severed some minutes ago violently snaps back into place. The magical fibre of the world manifesting with painful agony where the flesh reattaches itself to my body. It's not like this is a clean processes that properly heals the body, mind and soul. No, this is purely a functional connection, that gets harder and denser as this process is repeated hundreds of times. Layers of scar tissue and improperly aligned muscles stitched together so it forms a body capable of wielding a weapon. On the bright side, nerves also get severed. Over time you just become numb to the ripping and reattaching of lost parts.

As long as you don't lose your head you retain most of your faculties. At first that feels like a blessing. You do your best to fight and win whatever battle you're in. Thinking you can outsmart the enemy, thinking you stand a chance to end this war. Slash, counter, block, stab, sidestep, duck, slash. There is a certain elegance to sword fighting, a dance with death, a battle of wits. And then you die.

But you really don't. Your body gave out on you, yes, but then there's that dark push and pull. Coaxing your body into doing something that it was never designed to do. Close up wounds, reattach limbs, energising muscles and then a spark of life that forces you back into full awareness. Your first thoughts are wondrous, a new chance, another life to live. If you're lucky you have some time to appreciate that first moment a bit longer. If you're like me, you get stabbed right in the heart again, just for good measure, or because your opponent just has a better grasp on what's going on. So there you are again, dead but not dead. Alive, but not living.

You'll quickly adapt to the situation. You learn to be quick on your feet once you're back among the living. And that's where you're going to see that keeping your head is important. Those who've taking a few to many hits on the head are going to have that scarring there too. And with those neurons misfiring it's only going to get worse. Once you can't think for yourself anymore the magic will take over. It'll just take over the wheel and you're nothing but a meat puppet. Thrown into the fray, mechanically moving until you physically can't, and then a rebuild and redo.

I can feel my body's almost ready for another round. I can't stop it, all I can do is make the best of yet another round. Maybe I'll see some familiar faces again. Some will exchange knowing glances, others are new and willing, and others, well they're just one death to many to remember anything. I knew this promise of everlasting life was to good to be true. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let someone stab me in the head this time.

Forward! Unto glory once more!