“The crisp night air kept the stench of death at bay. Ice crystals blanketed the field and buried the bodies in a sea of white that sparkled like tiny diamonds beneath the moonlit sky. All was quiet except for the howling winds of winter tearing across the solemn plains. The only victor of this battle was Obidion the Ferryman, who was eager to transport the souls of the dead from this world to the next.

‘There were no survivors.’ Chasetree's words hung in the air, heavy with dread. ‘Not on our side nor theirs.’ King Wulfbrok's eyes darkened, reflecting the flames from the nearby fireplace. ‘So, all is lost then?’

‘The Oracle has made it known that She does not wish to speak with you.’ The words fell like a death knell, and the King’s fury erupted. ‘The blood spilt upon the Holy Plains was the ultimate insult to the Gods.’

‘Beauty can be found in any nightmare if you dare to search for it.’ The Oracle watched with milky-white eyes as the horrors materialized before her. ‘The death toll rises too quickly...when the Goddess of the Earth realm unleashes her vengeance upon man.’

Among the heaps of the dead, one shape began to stir. A moan of pain rose from beneath the grey sky as a tall man with dark skin caked in gore emerged from a pile of severed limbs. He breathed ice and shivered fiercely, but he was alive.

‘Oh great Sebu, I shall not take this second chance at life for granted,’ he rasped, scouring the bodies for anything he could use, weapons, water, and food rations. With the frenzied desperation of a wolf facing starvation...