The sun had barely begun to rise when Kalem arrived at the deployment area. The air was thick with the scent of metal, sweat, and the distant lingering traces of forge smoke carried by the wind. He adjusted the straps of his chest plate, ensuring it sat securely over his tunic. His gauntlets were snug, the metal plates catching the dim morning light, and his armored boots clanked slightly against the stone beneath his feet.
On his back, he carried a crate—heavier than most would expect, given its contents. Inside were weapons, a mix of his own work and standard armaments, all neatly arranged for easy access. While most warriors carried a single favored weapon at their waist or strapped to their back, Kalem always preferred to be prepared.
He exhaled, taking in the sheer number of soldiers gathered in the open courtyard. Rows of men and women—some fully armored, others lightly equipped—stood in various formations, their expressions ranging from grim determination to quiet anticipation.
"Quite a lot more people than I thought," Kalem muttered to himself, scanning the crowd.
Most of them were veterans—seasoned warriors who had been fighting the abyssal horrors for years, if not decades. Their armor bore the scars of countless battles, some still stained with remnants of abyssal blood that no amount of scrubbing could remove. Their weapons were well-worn, their eyes sharp and hardened.
Then there were the newcomers—those like Kalem, though most were older than him. They stood in small groups, some adjusting their gear nervously, others talking in hushed voices, trying to mask their anxiety with forced confidence.
A few glanced at Kalem, their eyes drawn to the crate on his back or the twin short swords sheathed at his sides. Most, however, paid him little mind. Here, strength mattered far more than words, and until he proved himself in battle, he was just another body in the war machine that was Gehenna.
A deep voice cut through the morning air, snapping everyone's attention toward the front.
"Listen up, you lot!" A towering figure in darkened plate armor strode into view, his crimson cloak billowing slightly as he moved. His face was marked with scars, his presence alone commanding respect. "New blood, veterans, mercenaries—it doesn't matter who you were before today. Once you step beyond those walls, the only thing that matters is survival."
Kalem listened closely, noting the way even the veterans remained silent. This was someone important.
"I am Captain Varik, and I will be leading this deployment. Some of you will live through your first mission. Some of you won't. But if you want to increase your chances, then remember this—Gehenna does not tolerate weakness."
His gaze swept across the gathered warriors. "Out there, you will face things that do not bleed like men. Things that do not tire. Things that do not fear you. If you hesitate, if you falter, if you turn your back to run, you are already dead."
A murmur rippled through the recruits, some shifting uneasily. The veterans, however, stood motionless. They already knew this truth.
Varik continued, "Our task is to push into the Outer Wastes. Scouts have reported increased abyssal activity near the eastern ridges, and we will be clearing the infestation before it spreads further. The weak will be culled. The strong will prove themselves."
Kalem smirked slightly. A trial by fire, then? He had expected nothing less.
"Form up!" Varik barked. "Veterans, you know the drill. New blood, stick with someone who won't let you die like an idiot."
The crowd began moving, warriors falling into formation with practiced efficiency. Kalem adjusted his crate and started toward the assigned section for newcomers when a voice called out behind him.
"You there. The one with the crate."
Kalem turned to find a man eyeing him with curiosity. He was older, likely in his forties, with a rugged face and a spear strapped across his back. His armor was mismatched but well-maintained, and his stance suggested he had survived more battles than most.
"You're new, aren't you?" the man asked.
Kalem nodded. "Just arrived a few days ago."
The man studied him for a moment before nodding. "Name's Garron. I've seen a lot of fresh recruits come through here. Most don't last past their first skirmish."
Kalem met his gaze evenly. "Then I guess I'll have to be an exception."
Garron chuckled. "Confident, huh? Good. But confidence alone won't keep you breathing. Stick close to someone who knows what they're doing, and don't get reckless."
Kalem nodded again, but inwardly, he knew he wasn't just another recruit fumbling through his first battle. He had trained, fought, and forged his own path long before stepping into Gehenna.
The formations were nearly set when the sound of grinding gears echoed across the courtyard. A massive set of iron doors, embedded into the outer wall of Gehenna, began to open. Beyond them lay the wasteland—the corrupted land where abyssal creatures prowled, waiting for fresh prey.
A chilling wind blew in from the other side, carrying with it the faintest scent of something foul.
Varik stepped forward. "Move out!"
And with that command, the warriors of Gehenna began their march into the abyss.