This is my first fanfiction, it's a look on the Duel Terminal World from inside the world itself, hope you enjoy it!

Sheathing his jagged blade, the exhausted warrior, wearing steel armour on his top half and a thick wolf fur on the bottom, sat down in the barracks.

"What exactly is the point of this anyway? Walk out there, fight until we're almost dead, leave, same with the other side, and the other, and the other, repeat until we die and our kids take over to repeat the exact same process until they die and their kids take over, what are we even fighting for?" he rants, occasionally stopping to catch his breath as he does so.

One of his comrades, a bipedal lion creature, wearing thick golden armour on his top half and just as thick leather trousers on the bottom, his arms replaced with incredibly long claws, turned to the frustrated man, baring his teeth and speaking in a snarl:

"It's better we fight than let the other tribes take over our lands! Remember we have families? Those bastards will probably kill them all if they reach them!"

Axel sighed, taking off the steel armour as he prepared for the short rest the warriors were given "It's not just that though, every week Gottoms goes to negotiations with the other tribes, seeing if they could work it out, and every week, he comes back yelling and screaming, but if they wanted to continue fighting, they wouldn't negotiate at all, now would they?"

Dressed completely in red armour, with a cape made of bear fur, twin swords sheathed at his sides, Uruz watched the argument between the two, this occurred daily between the two of them, with Axel questioning the war and why it takes place, whilst Airbellum, enraged at Axel's lack of dedication to the cause and infuriated at how the newest soldier speaks of this seemingly-eternal war, debates bitterly with him, exasperated, Uruz spoke up, like he does every day:

"It doesn't matter either way, we either fight, or we die, no amount of arguing is going to change that, best thing to do is keep going and hope this ends soon."

But no matter how many times he said it, he never truly believed his own statement, the fighting had raged for longer than he could remember, and showed no signs of stopping, it would take a miracle to change that.

What nobody predicted is that soon, the war would end. But it would not be a miracle, not in any shape or form. Rather, the shape would be death.

That's the Prologue complete, what do you think so far?