Voidborne:The Soul sea chronicles

Eliot blinked, his vision blurry and unfocused. His body, or rather the body he now occupied, shuddered with each shallow breath. Pain lanced through his side, radiating across his limbs. He touched the area instinctively and felt the sticky warmth of blood seeping through the crude armor. This body was wounded, and badly. He couldn't tell how deep the injury was, but each movement was a reminder of its fragility.

The battlefield was chaos incarnate. Soldiers clashed in the distance, their screams of fury and pain mingling with the metallic clang of weapons. Fire raged in patches across the field, casting flickering shadows over the broken ground. The air was thick with smoke and ash, carrying the stench of blood, sweat, and death.

Eliot scanned the area, searching desperately for a place to hide, but there was none. The field was open and exposed, littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers and beasts. The only shelter was the gruesome piles of corpses scattered across the battlefield, some stacked so high they resembled small hills.

He knew he couldn't stay in the open. The pain in his body was worsening, his breath becoming more labored. He needed time to recover, time to think, but time was a luxury this place didn't offer. A distant scream made him flinch, and his eyes locked onto a nearby pile of bodies. It was grotesque, but it was the only option.

Dragging himself forward, Eliot winced as his limbs protested. He could feel the weight of the broken sword in his hand, though he doubted it would be of much use. Step by agonizing step, he reached the base of the mound, the stench of decay making his stomach churn. He hesitated, nausea threatening to overwhelm him, but a nearby explosion reminded him he had no choice. Gritting his teeth, he climbed into the pile, pushing himself beneath the lifeless forms.

The bodies were cold and heavy, their blood soaking into his armor. He buried himself deeper, shoving limbs aside and letting the weight of the corpses press down on him. The stench was unbearable, a mix of rot and burnt flesh, but Eliot forced himself to remain still. He had survived the void; he could survive this.

As he adjusted to his grim hiding spot, the sounds of battle grew louder. Soldiers screamed as they fell, their cries blending with the roars of beasts and the clash of steel. Eliot peeked out from beneath the bodies, his heart pounding as he took in the scene.

Above the battlefield, two figures hovered in the sky, locked in combat. They weren't human, not anymore. Their forms were monstrous, warped by an overwhelming power that radiated from them like a storm. One was a massive, hulking creature with jagged wings and a body that seemed to absorb the light around it. The other was slender and serpent-like, its movements impossibly fast, its limbs leaving trails of crackling energy in their wake.

Each clash between the two sent shockwaves rippling through the air, flattening soldiers and scattering debris. The ground beneath them trembled with each impact, and the battlefield seemed to warp under their presence. Soldiers and beasts alike were caught in the crossfire, their bodies obliterated by the stray blows of these titanic beings.

Eliot watched in horror as entire squads of men were reduced to nothing more than ash and debris. The two figures didn't seem to care. They were entirely focused on their battle, oblivious to the lives they were destroying below. Eliot gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the broken sword.

"What monsters," he muttered under his breath. "Do they even realize what they're doing? Do they even care?"

What he didn't know was that they did realize. They simply didn't care. To them, the soldiers on the battlefield were expendable, mere tools in a never-ending war. Their purpose wasn't survival or victory; it was destruction. The soldiers were created to die, their lives as fleeting and meaningless as the flames that consumed them. And the two beings above, forged for war, were no different. Their existence revolved around conflict, and nothing else mattered.

Eliot tried to focus on his breathing, willing his body to calm down. The pain in his side was relentless, but he couldn't afford to lose control. He forced himself to listen to the sounds around him, the screams, the clashes, the roars. It was a horrifying symphony, but it was also familiar. It had been so long since he had heard the voices of others, even if those voices were screams of pain.

A strange smile tugged at his lips. The void had been silent, empty. This world was chaotic and cruel, but it was alive. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Eliot didn't feel alone.

As he lay among the bodies, trying to stay hidden, a sharp pain shot through his head. He clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as a sudden rush of memories flooded his mind. They weren't his memories, but the memories of the body he now inhabited.

He saw flashes of a dark, sterile room filled with the hum of machinery. Glass tubes lined the walls, each one filled with a murky liquid. Inside the tubes were bodies, floating lifelessly like grotesque marionettes. One of those bodies was his, or rather, the one he now occupied.

The memory shifted, showing the moment the body emerged from the tube. The liquid drained, and the body was pulled out, limp and unresponsive. There was no ceremony, no meaning. It was just one among countless others, another tool created for a single purpose: war.

The body had no name, no identity. It was artificial, designed to fight and die without question. Even if it survived a battle, it wouldn't matter. Any injury, no matter how small, would render it useless. It would be discarded, recycled, replaced by another.

Eliot's headache subsided, and the memories faded, leaving him in stunned silence. He stared at the sky through the gaps in the corpses above him, his mind racing. The void, for all its emptiness, had been peaceful. There was no war, no death, no suffering. But this world? This world was a nightmare.

He looked down at his hands, the hands of a body that wasn't his. They were strong, but they didn't belong to him. He felt like a trespasser, a ghost in a shell designed for destruction. And yet, despite the horror of it all, he was alive. And for now, that was enough.

The battlefield around him raged on, the screams and clashes growing louder as the war dragged on. Eliot remained still, hidden among the dead, watching and waiting. He didn't know what he could do next, but one thing was certain: he would survive. He had to.