There was no hope, his muscles burned, his pain had become chronic. He had fallen into a world of smoke and fire. It felt like his body was an inflated bag, with air constantly leaking out from it. His sight was fuzzy and he couldn't think clearly. His throat tightened and his limbs were heavy and clumsy. There was no end in sight.

His abdominals shook from exertion, but he pushed on.

“Seven thousand six hundred and three…” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

His arms were gelatin, but he pushed on.

“Seven thousand six hundred and four...” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

It was Martin and his rival, Joruc, they were all that was left in a twenty-five man push-up contest. They both shook with each grunt, each push, their jaws strained from tension. The crowd of boys and Homunculi silently surrounding them.

“Seven thousand six hundred and five…!” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

Sharp pangs in his shoulders commanded him to stop, but he didn't, he pushed on.

“Seven thousand six hundred and six...!!” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

A stabbing pain had infiltrated his wrists several thousand ago, and he didn't know if he could continue, but he pushed on.

“Seven thousand six hundred and seven…!!!” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

The boy next to him cried out in pain with each thrust, giving Martin enough strength to push on.

“Seven thousand six hundred and eight…!!!!” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

Martins' arms were failing, it felt like the weight of the world was sitting on his back and he couldn't go up. But he had become used to this pain, this fatigue sapping his strength, it had become his only friend in the sanctum of the Sentinels. So he pushed, and so did the other boy for they knew the same pain.

“Seven thousand six hundred and nine…!!!!!” Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

His thoughts were foggy from the self-inflicted torment. In his mind, all he could remember was the embarrassment of his first months at the sanctum. The humiliation over four years ago was filled with shame and discontent for his pitiful existence. He had to learn the hard way, the Homunculi way.

It had been a week after his bloodletting ceremony. A small handful of boys were sworn in with their sentinels after him and afterward he hadn’t seen a single Sentinel for the entire week. Martin had been pushed harder than he had ever been in the standard army, and the real training hadn't even begun. Though the cadre of Homunculi had been cruel to him and the other apostles, they were fair with their punishments. They drove the boys like slaves, whipping, taunting, and beating the weak and strong alike. Martin had already been beaten many times for his timidness. He felt abandoned after Sovereign left on a mission from the church and didn't know when he would return. He struggled frantically to stay above the constant flood of abuse the cadre inflicted on the class, but to no avail. Lying comfortably in his bed in the early morning he heard the bugle trumpet into the cold air. Dread seeped into his place of safety and spurred him into action. The bugle was a call to arms for the boys to wake up and gather on the training field. They dressed hurriedly and shoved at each other trying to get down the winding stairs and through the many halls to the gymnasium, a sizable outdoor coliseum. The field was a massive oval covered in coarse sand and surrounded by tall marble walls. Inside the gymnasium was all manner of gymnastics equipment and obstacle courses to test the boy's grit and physicality. They shuffled into files, dressed in there worn-in leather training gear. There were fifty Apostles ranging from twelve to nineteen. All boys, all chosen by their respected sentinel for valiant deeds or powers of cognition. Every one of them was the cream of the crop in some way shape or form, but here they were nothing to the cadre.

The Homunculi were freakish looking creatures. They were bizarre humanoids with enlarged hands and ape-like proportions. Homunculi were all identical with bald heads and stone matte grey eyes, their skin was smooth and hairless and looked like it was covered in powdered ash. They didn't require food, sleep, or attention, and could be treated worse than a dog. To own one was to show how well off you were. Everyone from housewives, the church, businesses, and farms all desired one. Like gold, the thing about Homunculi is that they are finite. You could only obtain one by trade or sale, you couldn't make one of your own. The magic that once made the ancient creatures has been forgotten in the aniles of time along with the other four primordial magic’s. Many centuries ago the church snuffed out all casters of these magics, and only stories and some nonspecific knowledge remained. Martin knew two things about them, one, they were created with an ancient magic bringing them to life from the earth. The second thing Martin knew about Homunculi was that they could be the wickedest creatures on earth.

Out in the gymnasium, the boys stood there towering over the four-foot Homunculi but cowered like dogs. The cadre was made up of ten of the strongest, each as fearsome as the last. They wore tight leather briefs in the gymnasium, otherwise, they wore burlap robes. Their bodies were chiseled from stone and their faces were like iron. At the nucleus of the group was none other than the Sgt-at-arms. His skin was marked with many bulbous scars and deep crevices from previous wounds. On the leaders head, he wore a Dirty red bandanna implying his leadership and superiority among the Homunculi. He stepped forward and spoke.

“One day you might become a Sentinel, until that day you are all trash. If you have the courage, skill, or aptitude to have been handpicked by our Masters than you might just survive our training.” The creature spoke with terrifying honesty. “There is no leaving our sanctum, it is your home as well as your prison. The only way out is by taking your own life.The few of you who have been here for weeks have already seen plenty of cowards who have committed suicide. If you will let this physical world go and accept the torment you will go far, and as I said, will one day become a Sentinel.” The Apostles stood there petrified from the only piece of encouragement they would ever receive from the Cadre.

“You will respond to the members of my Cadre as sir! You will do as they command! You will push your Body, mind, and soul until you bleed from your eyes. This is the First day of the rest of your lives worms. Cadre, take charge of these Apostles and make them Sentinels.” At the sound of his order the cadre leapt onto the boys, issuing orders, and barking commands. Thick clouds of coarse dust burst in the air as they ran and screamed at the Apostles. The sound of chaos began choking the Apostles as it closed in, and the smell of fright began to seep from there pores.

“Get on the ground and push!” screamed a Homunculi, with haste the followed his command. Some of the boys were fit, most were not, including Martin. The poor boy struggled to get five poorly performed pushups and then gave up. A few members of the cadre noticed this and took it as a life-and-death insult. The few who saw ran over to Martin who was pouting in the sand. They began to crowd him, insult him, and kick sand in his face. With every grunt Martin made from there bullying the cadre burst out with laughter at his pathetic floundering. Martin stood up and attempted to strike at them but they just pushed him around like a rag-doll. Tears welled in his eyes like so many times before, all he wanted was to try and show them he wasn't to be laughed at, but his efforts were in vain. They shoved him to the ground and began to spit on him, covering him in thick wads of off-white mucus, humiliating the boy even further. The group of Homunculi quickly scattered when the Sgt-at-arms came to inspect what his Cadre was cackling at. When he arrived he saw a weak, pale boy, with misty green eyes flopped in the sand.

“Why aren't you doing pushups like all the others?” The Homunculi starred at Martin with displeasure but waited for Martin to speak. The boy sat there silently wallowing in his self-pity, but the Sergeants question wasn't to be taken as rhetorical. After a brief pause, the Homunculus Slapped Martin with his large hand, flattening him on the ground.

“Now, why aren't you doing pushups like all the other Worms?” He asked again with a passive tone. Martin stood up to retaliate but was only as tall as the far superior Homunculus. With a swift slap, Martin was back on the ground, Martins posing proving to be in vain. He looked around for sympathy but no one was there, all the boys were doing pushups, they were struggling, they were in pain. But not him, and that made him dribble shame from every orifice. Martin struggled desperately to sit up but felt a terrible throbbing in his head and couldn’t balance himself. The Sgt-at-arms walked closer to the boy and squatted so they were face to face. The Homunculus slowly reached out and grabbed Martins head in-between his massive hands and squeezed tightly. He stared at the starry eyed Martin.

“There are only three types of people in this world worm, Strong ones, Smart ones, and dead ones. You get to pick which one you are. Got it?” His words slipped out of his mouth like a knife and sliced into Martin who never felt strong nor smart, He supposed that narrowed it down.

“Got it?!” The Homunculus screamed in the boy’s face. Martin just frantically nodded his head, but that only infuriated the Sgt-at-arms.

“RESPOND!” Hollard the Sergeant as he squeezed tighter.

“I got it, sir!” Martin hollard back in pain. The Homunculus threw the boy down, grinned, and stood up.

“Then decide which person you want to be.” He said staring into the boys broken soul. In a fit of desperation, Martin made his mind up right then and there in the sands of the gymnasium. He got on his belly and pushed, it was pitiful, but he pushed.

The next few months the boys ran, did pulls ups, leg lifts, and of course pushups until they shook from exhaustion. There was no sign of stopping, for weeks it was an absolute onslaught of madness and physical torment. Indeed, there were suicides, but they seemed trivial and disconnected, everyone else was too focused on staying alive to care. The Cadre talked in strange rasping voices that sounded permanently scratchy and high pitch, it was straight from the throat, all that would come out is a hoarse croak lending them the insult frogmen from the Apostles, of course they would never say it in there presence in fear of punishment. They heard rumors of the Frogmen dragging disobedient Apostles who called them by there unofficial moniker down into the dungeon, where they would beat them within an inch of their life, but again, these were just rumors.

One very specific morning after almost six months of abuse they all gathered in the gymnasium after the bugles call. The Cadre seemed more relaxed, calm, perhaps even docile. The air was cool and the sun had not begun to rise over the city walls. In the distance, the birds chirped a busied tune. The atmosphere of the morning gave the illusion of peace, so the Apostles lowered their guard. The Sgt-at-arms came forward to give a short but potent monologue that normally had to do with the day's task or instruction, this had become routine before Physical training.

“Today is a special day. A different day. You will be given over to a Sentinel to start your classroom courses. That doesn't mean your free from our physical instruction, only that you have grown from worms to boys, and we will treat you as such. So, boys, prepare to do pushups.” All the Apostles got on their bellies and readied themselves to perform the exercise.

“This will be a competition, The Ten boys who come in last will have to see us in the gymnasium every day for a year after classes and on Sundays after prayer lets out. And I can promise it won't be a pleasure jog, so try your damndest.” He was speaking softly; the gentle speech and his gravelly voice was intimidating. The boys felt uneasy hearing such easygoingness from the Sgt-at-arms. He raised his arm and the boys primed their muscles. His arm lowered with a clap against his thigh and a Frogman next to him began counting, the boys pushed with the hoarse cadence of the instructor. Right from the beginning Martin felt the ache from yesterday's training, his triceps were pumping full of blood and now each push took effort. He made it to fifty before the first man dropped out, and it filled him with a sense of accomplishment, just beating one person made him feel like he’d grown. Two more dropped out after Sixty, so he kept going with the cadence, but soon after seven had dropped out, around ninety his arms failed and he no longer had it in him. Martin collapsed and couldn't get up, so he layed in the dirt, feeling proud of his accomplishment. The count went to three hundred before all the boys had failed. They all slowly stood up, sore from the competition.

“Good job lads, your dismissed, except the Ten who failed, you ten stay behind for further instruction.” The Sergeant spoke sweetly to them. Martin watched the class shuffle past the marble columns and out of sight, his throat got tight and his palms were sweaty. He didn't know what further instruction could mean, and it terrified him.

“You ten are the weakest in your class. Luckily for you, I have ways to alleviate such a condition. You will run, jump, climb, and push until I deem you ready to be realised from this extra activity. Perhaps this will incentivize you to seek strength on your own and escape our torment…” The Leader Homunculus stared at them, few looked unimpressive and it made him feel underwhelmed.

“...Or not. Your lessons start tomorrow after your last class lets out. Dismissed.” Irony of it all was he would look forward to those “lessons” more than the classes. He would be caught falling asleep, unintentionally trying to read his books upside down, or talking with classmates. The classroom work was tedious and uninteresting, books upon books, none of the basic school work he found worth his time, but there was one book that captured his imagination like a timeless work of fiction, Demonic imagery and scripture. It was essentially a grotesque picture book full of a horrid collection of creatures from the demonic realm. It wasn't his favorite just because of its level of ease to read, or that there were pictures; in fact, there were words that had no literal meaning and could only be written in highly descriptive paragraphs. No, he enjoyed the book for its realism and applicability to his profession. For what he lacked in brains and brawn he made up for in an natural ability to know what mattered, his ability to prioritize and to plan ahead were exceptional for a youth of his caliber.

Martin took what the Sgt-at-arms said to heart, he pushed himself on his own time. Every second he had to himself he was doing pushups, air squats, burpees, Sword drills, etc. He embraced the strenuous life, the pain gave him a euphoria of superiority and it showed. He slayed himself day in and day out, the cadre noticed, his classmates noticed, but all he wanted was for the sentinels to notice, for Sovereign to notice.

It was almost a year and a half before he saw his master again, he felt the scar on his arm, he lived in the sanctum of the sentinels, he trained his body and mind, but yet, being a sentinel meant nothing without his master's presence. When Sovereign returned he came back with swagger, but his apprentice was also sporting a swagger of his own. Sovereign rode in on his white mare who gleamed in the sunlight of the average noon morning. There was no trumpets or grand warning, yet, Martin knew his Master had returned. The boy felt in his sinew that Sovereign had entered the sanctum and jutted from his meditations. He stood there trying to understand his premonition, and as sudden as it came he raced to the stables. Martins' feet were as quick as thought while he raced through the halls and into the paddock. He saw his Master standing there, his breastplate shimmered, and his face was weathered from the road, but he looked healthy.

“Master!” Martin blurted out in delight.

“Martin, how are you boy?” Sovereign said as he gladly laid eyes on his Apostle. Martin ran to him, his jubilation was impossible to hide. As soon as the boy reached him they clasped arms the same way they did during the ceremony, there scars matching up perfectly.

“Wow, Martin, Your arms are much larger then when I last saw you. The homunculi taking good care of you I see.” Sovereign was amazed at the size the once puny boy had become.

“Are you proud of me, Master?” Martin said in great elation to Sovereigns astonishment.

“Martin, I've always been proud of you… I picked you because you have the potential to be heroic, not because of your brute strength. Though, not to take away your accomplishment, I’m sincerely impressed.” Sovereigns eyes showed only truth and the boy was once again whole.

“Where have you been? What have you been doing? Can you train me? When can we go on Adventures? Who have you met? …” Martin fired off a dozen questions before Sovereign patiently interrupted, not wanting to ruin the boy’s excitement. Sovereign began walking toward the Sanctum.

“I was away hunting a of the old world. It was a great serpent as long as the city walls, with needle like teeth as long as my sword, we believe it also spat a corrosive mucus from its mouth. I’ll tell you all about it after I settle in.” Sovereign nonchalantly rambled on as he headed toward the hall leading to the barracks.

“Incredible! What was its name? What did it look like? Can I come next time?” Martin followed like a dog begging for scraps.

“I believe it called itself Yormengunter…” Sovereign thought deeply on it for a moment as he continued walking. The Sentinel’s thoughts broke as he noticed the boy still following him.

“Martin, aren't you supposed to be in class?” He spoke up with the intention on getting rid of the boy so he could debrief the Cardinals.

“Yes sir! I forgot, I was just excited. Where can I find…” Martin was oozing vim, but Sovereign interrupted again.

“I’ll find you Martin, I promise.” Sovereigns voice trailed off and echoed as he walked up the spiral staircase. Martin couldn't wait. But The Sentinel couldn't keep his promise, service to the church was thankless and constant.

It had been so long that the boy couldn't remember the last time he saw the man, every now and then he thought he would hear his voice echo from the halls, or see his gleaming horse in the stables. But nonetheless he would grow up in the sanctum without his Master by his side. He never felt bitter, or spiteful, only lonely and without purpose. He saw the special training the other Apostles got from their Master, and he wished only to hear a single story from his. The years would go by and he would follow the Homunculus orders, keep his head low, and carrie on with the weight, alone.

“Seven thousand six hundred and ten!!!!!” The homunculi yelled.

Everyone stared at the boys suffering in the dirt, not one person there wished to be them. The boys rattled from absolute fatigue. Martin began to strain so hard he saw droplets of blood drip on the sweat-drenched sand below. He had ruptured a blood vessel in his eye, but still struggled to push on.

“Seven thousand six hundred and eleven!!!!!!!” The homunculi yelled.

Martin couldn't do it. His mind, body, and soul were pushed to their final limits. Before The Homunculi could call out the next number Martins arms buckled and he plummeted face first into the course sand of the gymnasium. Everyone cheered, they were jumping about congratulating the finalists, there was so much enthusiasm and good cheer from everyone, including the Homunculi. Martin didn't pay attention to the celebration, he just laid on his belly breathing in his loss. His sight was murky, and his breath was labored, but under the cloister, he could make out the shape of a grey-haired Sentinel who was leaning against a column, and Martin could swear he was smiling.