"ERIK!" cried the demonic voice, "Erik I know what you are passing now, this is not the time to- Erik!!”

But he stood immobile, his mind astray in the past.

He had waited there, in that dirty cell, for weeks, the other prisoners were taken. Not him.

He saw them, the faces of his family and friends, being taken before him. The terror but also the hope in their face as the guard pointed at them. At first, they told each other to remain strong and have faith. Then they told themselves to have faith.

When he was the only one remaining in the cell, he had neither faith nor strength.

A hand lay on his shoulder, that brought him back to reality. It seemed to be some sort of shaman, given his strange feathers and extensive armour, he offered him a soup. What was it? He couldn't say. He knew it was warm, even if it tasted horrible. Soon enough he began to feel better, his fever had gone momentary, allowing him to sleep.

"Erik!" the voice cried as Erik was falling into sleep

"What do you want now, raven?"

“Erik, we know this island. We were south of Dinzi and west of Revia. The island had settlers in the past. This means that this island is...

Erik strolled his head, trying to remember, "oh no."

"Oh yes, Erik those aren’t human. Their God isn’t human."

"Escape! Escape! What had we done for the last few years if not escaping! We managed to survive! If I escape from this cell, there will be only winter and snow for kilometres on end!”

"It will keep you alive."

"It will keep me alive, you said well! It didn’t make me live.

"What do you want to do? Lay down and sleep till afternoon? Don't be stupid Erik, you know deep down that you like this life. What life would you have lived if not that of an idiot peasant, illiterate and without guts? Tell me I am listening. No, the reason you are still alive is that deep down, you're like this constant striving to survive. Something deep down likes being on the edge.”

“And that something is you.”

“I am you.”

​He looked into the void, not knowing what to respond, it was true after all. But that wasn't the reason that he had continued to live for all this time. The reason was that deep down inside him, he wanted to find a cure and stop the war. If only he managed to summon the old gods, he would be saved and his crusade ended.

After waking up from a brief night of sleep, he had the sensation that his movements had changed. Becoming smoother and slower. Something was not right. The men that hold him prisoner brought him food. Food that was probably drugged. His condition was worsening. In the guards' whispers, he could nearly understand something: that soon he would be dead. Another skeleton near a bush.

​Erik stood up and tried to struggle with the guard. They blocked him easily and they beat him. After a few short minutes, while he was still bleeding, the shaman came near him. He said some things to the guards and pointed towards the exit, the guards obeyed.

Still confused and weak, they washed him and cured his injuries. Even the soup now was different, it didn’t make give him slothfulness. Even his bed now was better, they had given him extra skin. Well tendered and well feed, he went to sleep.

When he woke up he saw the girl standing near his bed. He woke up, and she gave him armour and indicated the exit of the cell. The guards were looking at him. Once gone from the cell, he saw a huge table full of weapons. All raw and non-refined. He understood what had happened. The primal gods had always preferred shows in their sacrifices. He chose the axe, the axe never failed him.

Erik entered the arena with an axe, all the cheering brought back good memories. The cave was dimly lighted with a few torches here and there. He had always preferred axes. Swords were too much of trouble and too fragile. Maces didn’t cut the flesh. Axes, axes were what he needed. ​

His first assailant rushed too quickly, aiming for the throat. Unfortunately for him, Erik had learned to play dirty. A small rock was everything that he needed to finish him off. Not even the time to realize what had hit his eye, that Erik axe cut his head.

​Then another one came, this time with a rounded big shield and a wooden spear. “Bad combination,” thought Erik. He rushed towards the shield, attacking it relentlessly. As soon as he was about to strike back, he leaned toward his side and smashed his skull. Erik began to feel good, he could feel it. All the rage and hatred released on the battlefield. He looked at the others, all terrorized and young, too young. Was this supposed to be training? Was he supposed to be their first kill?

The shaman said something and a new warrior was brought to the foreground. He recognized her, Gywen ​the little girl from the ship.

"Erik?" she asked confused, "Erik, do you recognize me?" , she too was bathed in blood, "why would the righteous gods do this to us?'

He recognized that tone in her voice, that terror in her eyes. She had lost her faith and was in complete shock.

"What happened?

"We were attacked, we were attacked with foul magic. The captain managed to dock the ship near a beach, we survived. Marcus, the priest, they made me kill him. The rest of us were taken, prisoners. The guards and knights abandoned us. Everyone abandoned me. I am so afraid. I am going to die.” at this point, he began crying.

Erik was thinking as fast as he could. How could he get away from there? There was a gate not far from there. How could he survive? Was it necessary to kill her? Thoughts swarm in his mind. The shaman was close to the arena, a quick strike? That will do. But what about the others? How many there are? Thirty? Forty? Fifty!?!

He was a raider, not a hundred-man slayer berserk.

The creature had begun to look confused at them, that there weren't battling. The shaman made a gesture. One warrior ran desperately, he was cut down by an arrow to the throat. Something was coming for them. Demons could feel each other presence.