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“You best abandon that habit, Artemis,” Angelicus’ voice echoed throughout the boy’s mind, where a pair of slender fingers gently pinched the cigarette between Artemis’ lips. Removing the small, paper cylinder from his mouth, the soldier exhaled a long, smoky breath.

“It’s not like I’ve got my health to worry about,” Artemis returned and rose to his feet. He was an experienced young man, and he had seen war in frequent repetition. This was nothing new for him, but a quick analysis of his team left the young soldier wanting. This was it? One of these aspiring prospects looked like little more than a girl of fourteen winters. Of course, Artemis if anyone, should have known not to judge a book by its cover, as that very philosophy related to himself in high regards. He didn't appear older than a teenager, and was often called out on the fact by his fellow soldiers. 'Little Shit' was a nickname he had grown rather accustomed to. 

However, where one of his teammates donned the appearance of a young girl, and another looked like little more than a thug, which Artemis could relate to, a dark-skinned man stood amongst them, as well. Out of the lot, he seemed the most orthodox, a position closely followed by the woman equipped with a scattergun. Two legitimate soldiers and three freaks, then? Artemis could work with that, as long as these misfits, including himself, could work together. 

"Your health is of no consequence, Artemis," the spirit continued, "it is a distraction, and you are not on your own," Angelicus stated, appearing in his shape of bright, white light. A celestial knight among men. 

Indeed, neither drugs nor alcohol had any effect on the boy's regenerating body, but they offered no advantage whatsoever. This also extended to performance enhancing injections. Artemis' spirit power rendered him immune to both benefits and side effects. 

"Fine," the soldier rolled his eyes, and flicked the cigarette into a trashcan following its completion. He strapped the silver-colored round shield to his left forearm, and started towards the unveiled designation. 

Loud sounds echoed throughout, with shrieking gates finally opening to reveal a path. One could spin tales about the Badlands and its horrors, but the vast mountains and breathtaking landscape were sights to behold. Indeed, it was as if a breathtaking painting, stretching its frames long and wide. 

Even so, dangers roamed across the large, green stretch, and after his many ventures into the Battlefield, Artemis could not ignore previous experiences filling his thoughts in an unfiltered stream. Bloodshed and violence awaited them all. Hopefully this team was prepared for that. "Keep your guard up," Angelicus warned, "even you can be hurt, Artemis."

Stepping across the threshold which separated the city from a world of chaos, Artemis managed a small grin, shaking his head. "It wouldn't be fun otherwise."

"Battle is an exchange of power, and valor, but do not make the mistake of involving bloodlust," the spirit pitched in, his ghostly voice stern and assertive. 

"You like seeing demons die as much as I do, Angelicus," the boy snorted, smirking at his spectral ally. 

"But seeing you hurt holds no joy, so do not exchange skill for recklessness." Angelicus finished, before the knight vanished from sight. He had been the boy's mentor ever since their bond was sealed, and he would continue to maintain such a position within Artemis' life. A position the boy was thankful for.