Galactic Year, 649.

It has been long since the fall of earth. Our mother planet has been in ruins for centuries. Humanity is in a full-scale war against the Kyl'aq. Countless men have died in the cold, vast battleground of outer space. However, their blood was not enough to satisfy the devourers. Our growing military strategy and firepower is outmatched. We were unable to keep up with the Kyl'aqi evolution. The thick metallic clouds they spew disabled our machinery and jammed our communications. Their staunch plasma shields rendered most of our weapons utterly useless. Microbial anomalies and acidic fumes put a huge burden on our economy and manpower. However, the nightmare that is most feared by the defenders of man, is none other than the dreaded Atrox. The epitome of the Kyl'aq warring class, the Atrox, evolved an organ that enables biological cold nuclear fission. Powered by this unworldly source of energy, the Atrox unleash fearsome power with unaccountable agility in battle. Several Space fleets were torn like paper by this small human-sized beast.

Anyone who watches the Atrox in battle would despair at the reality upon which we are standing. The fall of humanity is near. The last card humanity drew to fight against the mighty Atrox was a symbol we believed in from the ancient past.

The Knights.

The weapon they wield, the Knightsword, is made from epoh, the only substance in this universe capable of penetrating the hardened shields of the Atrox. Because epoh is so rare in quantity, it was not forged into bullets or shells, things that would be wasted and forgotten. It was thus cast into a weapon our first ancestors passed down to us – the sword.

Those who receive the sword that are most expensive and precious – more than a thousand cities – who can stand against the mighty Atrox, the living hope of humanity itself, they are the Knights.

Undergoing hundreds of surgeries and augmentations to exceed the limits of man, swapping genes and being injected with neurochemicals, withstanding merciless training that cut bones and reshape organs, and receiving the most rigorous education our race can provide, The Knights are not seen as mere humans but as demigods of our century. However, the demand is far greater than our supply, and the average age of the knights are in the teens. So many young knights are pushed into war and slaughtered before they ever master their swordsmanship.

They are the ones who watch their comrades fall hundreds of times. They are the ones who battle with thousands of foes and finally cross blades with the Atrox.

Our gods are mere children, who shoulder the despair of all a humanity that is struggling to survive.

The praises, money, and worship of our society could not cure these children who are wounded deep within. Young knights endure mere hours and minutes for the months and years of the human race. Their lives are like candles, lit up and consumed by fire for their brothers' bliss. Yes, they are live sacrifices for our failing world.

May glory be within all fallen Knights. We pray they would find peace at last; the peace they desired so dearly in their lives.