347 B.C.

The city was on fire, but he refused to leave.

The flames were unstoppable, a wall of heat and destruction that he knew would consume everything that the monsters didn't destroy. Yet, he wouldn't leave his post. Not when his brother-in-arms fled to safety with the others, not when they begged him to come with them, to save himself from certain death. He would not leave. The monsters had taken everything from him; his darling Rosalind, his beautiful wife and their unborn child. He only had his honor, and he would give up his life before he gave up his dignity.

He had sworn an oath to protect the temple, even at the cost of his life, and while he could not fight the monsters, he would not abandon that post. He would honor his goddesses, and his oath in his last breaths.

He did not blame the others; they had families, children, people to worry about. They deserved to live, to have a life. He even encouraged them to go. But he would not be convinced to leave.

As the fire grew closer to the temple, his lungs began to burn from the ash and smoke that seemed to permeate the air around him, and the heat radiating from the fire began to cause his metal armor to burn the bare skin underneath. Yet, he remained, only moving to draw his sword as the monster drew closer.

He saw their outlines approaching in the black smoke and ash and they were darker than that, somehow, like inky blackness of a moonless night, when the clouds hide the stars, and smothers out any light. He knew that the sword in his hand would do no good against the inhuman creatures, but he would not die without a fight, not without trying to avenge at least a portion of the lives they had taken.

He could hardly breathe for the smoke, when the monster got close enough for him to make out details. The thing didn't have a mouth, but its eyes were glowing red, like fire behind it or like the pits of some terrible underworld. It said nothing, but he could've, sworn he heard it laughing, which turned his stomach, as it knocked the sword from his hands easily. It hardly paused, before thrusting one of its dark claws through his chest. It stared at him from a moment, as pain like nothing he had felt before erupted in his chest, then pulled the claw away with a sickening squelch.

He staggered backwards, the world swimming around him, and the terrible creature disappeared into the smoke once again. He reached for the pillar in support as he wheezed clutching at his chest. Between the pain and the smoke, he could barely breathe. The solider staggered into the temple, through the doors, clutching the walls with one hand, and his bloody chest with the other, that chilling laugh still echoing in his mind. Had his family heard it too before they died? He finally collapsed onto the cool marble floor in front of the alter, which seemed like ice in contrast to the fire outside, and the warm liquid seeping from his chest.

The pain grew exponentially with every breath, and he knew that he'd lost too much blood. He was dying. His mind started to wander, and for a moment, he thought he saw Rosalind, as she had been the summer they met; beautiful, with flowers in her hair, a smile on her face, and so full of life.  But the illusion faded and he was alone, and in pain again. He coughed, and could taste the metallic blood on his lips.

Now fear and shame gripped him. He had failed. He hadn't protected Rosalind, he hadn't protected the temple. His eyes, blurred with pain found the statue of Leanoi, his patron goddess. "I'm sorry." He rasped, coughing up more blood, as he sent up one last prayer. "I could not fight them My Lady, I failed in my duty. I was not strong enough. Forgive me" He had not defeated those unholy terrors. He could only hope that someone, someday would, and that they would avenge all those who had died.

He closed his eyes, letting his head rest on the cool floor. It would not be long now, he thought, Soon I will see Rosalind. The pain in his chest was nearly unbearable, and his breathing was labored and he could hear the fire raging outside the temple, and it was only a matter of time before the temple caught fire.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before his thoughts slowed, and everything around him seemed to stop. His last conscious thought was of his family. Maybe he would see them again. Maybe he would be forgiven for his failures. Then the pain stopped.

---------------

The city had been almost entirely destroyed when a brave few returned the next morning. The temple and the prison still stood, both made mostly of stone, but there had been no survivors inside the prison. It seemed they had all been murdered, or suffocated. They picked through rubble for hours, finding little but ashes and remains.

There had been no survivors.

Two men, former guards, checked the temple as they left the city again. They wanted to find their brother-in-arms, and give him a burial, if there was a body left to bury. He deserved that much. They saw the blood at the steps, and the discarded sword, and knew what they were going to find within the marble walls.

So imagine their surprise when they found their comrade on the floor in a large pool of his own blood, unconscious but alive.

However, their joy did not blind them to the fact that he was different. His armor had been ripped open, and covering all visible parts of his chest were covered in marks, bright gold, and unlike anything they had ever seen before.

He was marked.

And he was not the only one. Over the next weeks, stories swept across the land of people surviving attacks that should have killed the, to wake up marked, and powerful. There weren't many of them, but there were enough. It seemed that the world could finally fight back against the monsters.

It seemed his prayer had been answered, the solider thought, as he studied his markings, someone was fighting back.