[attr="class","springflowerstitle"]Hero Reborn

[attr="class","springflowersprompt"]Rᴇʙɪʀᴛʜ | Fʀɪᴛᴢ Jᴀᴄᴏʙs

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Ragged breaths escaped his gaped mouth as Fritz witnessed the scene around him. Soldiers slain by his troop of heroic mercenaries searching to bring relief to unfortunate Earth towns. The war between Heaven and Hell raged throughout their home, maliciously scarring Mother Earth’s lands. Equally, the warring sides viciously took from the surrounding village without thought of the people who truly owned this land. Two gods stood upon their contrasting thrones fighting for their individual causes while forgetting casualties created in the crossfires. It was sickening…
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Adrenaline died down as the opposition proved conquered for another day. His hand tightened around the sword, blood-soaked knuckles turning pale. In a single, hard shake, blood was thrown from the blade of his broadsword, discarded to the ground. These twisted heathens who labelled themselves soldiers were nothing more than sinners searching for an excuse to commit crime. They proved the day they arrived over the hills, upset by the young guard’s accomplishments. Once, the wandering hero, Fritz Jacobs, was a guard charged with protecting his village, courageous and loyal.
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Alas, things altered radically when raiders arrived in mass, torches blazed as flames were raised to lick homes. The shrill screams of those he grew up around perishing to tainted swords or spiteful flames. As a failed hero, he could not protect his family and friends and was instead forced to witness their execution. His life was preserved for a time, the vile soldiers dragging him elsewhere to undergo further “punishment”. They attempted to place him in servitude, however, Fritz proved to be a difficult one to willingly accept a torture-filled existence.
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At one point he perished, the sharpened axe of his execution meeting his neck in a single, strong swing. Most would believe the sun would have set upon his tale and search for heroism, but they were mistaken. Unwillingly rebirthed into the body of a reaper via a twisted curse, Fritz was forced to return to Earth. By Thanatos’ cold hands, expectations to uphold the magical affliction was required, but somewhat of a mercy provided with the location he was placed. The story truly began when his afterlife alongside his family was callously torn from his hands.
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Upholding values, determination steely, he rose from the shambles of his miserable life a different man. Emotions were shoved aside, any mental pains pushed down as he vowed to create a safe world for those who required it. Nobody deserved to feel the emotional and physical torture he endured. Captured in his right hand was his trusty broadsword, his sapphire hues analyzing the scene. Where he was taken was liberated, his enlistment of mercenaries and decision to protect other villages shining brightly.
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“Sir, the enemy is retreating,” a mercenary stated as they stepped forward.
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The blue-haired reaper’s eyes glanced towards him, muscles still tense from battle. A long exhale escaped Fritz’s nose as he adjusted his blade, returning it to the scabbard.
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“Send out a small group to do some scouting. They might be back,” he commanded.
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The mercenary provided the warrior a nod before retreating to deliver the command from the man who led them. Reforged from his brief trip to Purgatory, Fritz stood alone, remembering the radical changes he underwent. Before, he proved to be regular among his village, a light-hearted man off duty and a serious guard during work. Now? The seriousness consumed the light-hearted joke maker. The torturous situations destroying the expressiveness of his face and replacing it with something else.
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A stoic, albeit, phlegmatic warrior willing to sacrifice his life should it mean others prospered. There was nothing left for him in this world and his afterlife was destroyed the moment his soul was placed inside this vessel. Another death meant being cast into the eternal abyss of darkness, but at least others could live happily.

[attr="class","springflowerstitle"]Cry Like The Rain

[attr="class","springflowersprompt"]Tʜᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴏʀᴍs/Rᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴍs | Mᴀʟᴀᴋᴀɪ Mᴏᴏʀs

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Rain tapped upon his bedroom window, a near-silence consuming his surroundings. Through the lenses of his large glasses, he stared out the window, watching the grey accumulation of clouds. Once a magnificent azure now hidden beneath a curtain of dull grey... Silently, he sat, knees brought to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he merely stared. There was nothing particularly joyous about the damages manifested from the previous situation he was involved in... The sounds of blasphemy screamed, the sensation of a blade cutting into flesh all while degrading comments filled his ears.
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Air was sucked deep into the depths of his lungs before shakily leaving his mouth. In response to those poisonous memories, he tightened his grip around his knees. The ravenette's chin settled on his knees, eyes closing for a moment as he merely breathed. In, out, in, out. Days passed since those torturous eves spent trapped inside a basement, frightened and alone, silenced for years from her actions alone. A victim of abuse, timid and struggling to free himself from the shackles embedded in his very flesh.
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Freedom was discovered by sheer fortune, a phone snatched and a trusted individual called. On that day, mercy was demonstrated by the gods on his physical pain... but the scars burned. Beneath his shirt were lines forged by a blade used by a cruel women. Each gravestone of lacerations now healed itched whenever his thoughts drifted to those darkened memories. How immense pain filled him... how the mental and physical injuries was accomplished without consideration... how he could never forget those feelings...
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Shakier breaths left his quivering lips, hot tears accumulating in his hazel eyes and rolling down his cheeks once plump. The colouration of his cheeks turned red as they swelled from the inevitable sobbing to arrive. The soothing taps of a light rain on glass was ignored as choked sobs escaped his mouth. The man was hurt from the volatile circumstances of his previous home, the abuse he endured. Minutes passed before a soft knock echoed through the bedroom. Immediately, the urge to cry was resisted, however, to no avail.
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The door softly creaked open as another man entered the scene.
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"Malakai?" The man softly spoke.
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From the threshold he witnessed his son, a fractured person from the horrible trauma he went through. A frown appeared on his expression as he strode forward. The father crawled onto the bed, bringing his knees to his chest, an arm reaching around his son's shoulders. The sobbing man was pulled closer to his father, a trusted hand rubbing his upper arm. Sounds of sobbing mingled with the quiet patter of rain, not a word spoken between them. Sometimes, people needed a moment to cry about the misfortunes and release it all like the rain-bearing clouds.