by Andrew Day
He spurred his horse and returned to the ranks. The men were shaken, he could see it plainly.
“Heed me well!” he yelled. “We have not come this far to turn away now and die in this shithole of a world. And neither Heaven nor Hell is going to stop me from getting back to my wife and family. So who here will stay and fight?”
The Lok’Chang cried out assent in one voice. No one was backing down.
The General drew his sword and raised it. “Take arms! Prepare for battle! Archers, take aim!”
The archer division, set one column behind the front row of spear men, drew back their arrows. They raised their bows to the blood red sky and pulled backwards, until the flexible wood of the bow was bent double and the men’s arms quivered with the strain.
The General turned back towards the enemy. He saw the archangel, body aglow and sword blazing, sitting astride its horse, reins in one hand and blade in the other. It watched them unmoving, issuing no orders. The enemy was not attacking, yet not making a move to defend itself.
Altian waited anxiously. He could feel the blood pumping hard through his body, his hand becoming clammy with sweat. His stomach was queasy, and for a moment he thought he would be sick. He was now used to such feelings. It was simply the condition warriors called battle sickness. It passed quickly, and in its place would be cold, unfeeling emptiness. Soon there would be no feeling but that of his beating heart, his swinging blade, and the spilt blood of his defeated enemy.
He gathered up the dropped reins of his horse, and waited.
Seconds passed, and seemed to last a century. The General regarded his opponent with pity, and regret. He muttered one final prayer under his breath which no one else heard, and then he dropped his sword.
“Fire!”
The archers let loose their arrows. Two hundred spinning shafts of wood launched into the heavens. They flew high, slowing at the pinnacle of their ascent, and then fell back down to earth. Like a huge black storm cloud, the arrows descended down upon the archangel’s forces.
And still the inhuman army did not respond.
The swarm of arrows impacted on their targets. Only one missed, the rest penetrated deep into the armoured creatures undeterred. Most of those hit fell to the ground. A few stood, swaying as though mortally wounded, but did not attempt to administer any aid to their injuries.
The angel never lost its cold, determined expression.
The archers drew back their bows, and at the General’s command, fired again. The second volley took out even more of the enemy. One arrow, however, fell short of its goal, and descended in a direct line towards the archangel.
The angel looked upwards, watching the single deadly missile on its path. At the last moment, it unfurled one great wing and stretched it over its head like a shield. The arrow struck... and bounced off harmlessly, its shaft snapped in two from the impact. The angel lowered its wing, and glared at the Lok’Chang with pity.
Then it made the tiniest of gestures with its free hand, and the army behind it surged silently forwards like a giant, black wave.
The officers of the Lok’Chang barked out commands briskly. The row of spear men in the front most rank stepped forwards and lowered themselves into position, the sharp points of their weapons raised upwards to chest height. Behind them, the archers fired repeatedly, but could barely make a dent in the charging mass of armoured creatures. When one fell, the others behind it simply crushed the body underfoot and kept coming.
Altian’s division stirred behind him. All of the sickness he had felt was long gone. Now a eerie calm descended upon him. He drew his sword and held it tightly in his hand, pointed towards the earth. His eyes scanned the charging enemy relentlessly. They seemed disorganised, a giant and furious rabble devoid of reason and tactics. Altian had fought against such foes before. Against the ordered forces of the Empire, such chaotic hordes proved a far from worthy foe.
The enemy drew closer, so close that Altian could see the dark shadows where the creatures faces should have been, their bizarrely crafted armour of spikes, and their almost ridiculous body structures moulded from parts of men and beasts. Dog like beasts pounded on all fours alongside the odd bird legged creatures with crab-like pincers. The most human shaped ones wielded all manner of weapons; swords, clubs, axes, and spears, all appearing to be made from the same stony substance as their armour.
But there was no order in their charge, no carefully planned ranks or divisions. The different creatures all intermingled recklessly. At such disarray, some of the men breathed easy, and confidently. No matter how terrifying the force, the army would fall beneath the Lok’Chang’s meticulously plotted strategy.
The army drew near. The ground began to shake with the heavy footfalls of the charging monstrosities. Altian studied the line, searching for a weak spot in the surging mass. When the enemy collided with the Lok’Chang’s main body, his division and the division of the far left would charge forward in a combined pincer movement that would allow their force to envelope the opposing group. But when the fighting grew heaviest, Altian needed to bore a hole through their ranks, to divide the force and created a passage for the division behind to pass through. The division could, firstly, out-flank the angel’s force, and secondly, make a line for the bridge and seize control before any reserves could be called from within the fortress.
Altian, waited. And waited.
The spearmen in the front line stood unwavering as the enemy came closer and closer. Running in front of the main body of creatures was a long line of identical human armours. Up close, they stood well over six feet tall, and had bodies the width of two men. And they ran at the spearmen without hesitation.
Mindlessly the creatures threw themselves straight at the points of the spears, and pierced themselves through the chest with such force that the spear blades penetrated deep through their armour and emerged from their backs. And with the last ounce of will they had, they threw their hefty bulks forward onto the spear men, and crushed them beneath themselves.
The creatures following behind leapt the broken line and with terrifying ferocity broke upon the main body of the Lok’Chang like an immense black wave upon rocks.
At once, Altian gave a cry and kicked his horse forwards.
The General, still sitting upon his horse on the front line, took up his sword and began hacking indiscriminately at the creatures that now surged around him. From the corner of his eye he suddenly picked out a line of bird legged creatures charging towards him. He turned his horse to meet them, and watched with shock and surprise as they suddenly leapt straight into the air, over the heads of the first division, and landed gracefully amongst, and a few upon, the men in the second division behind them. They opened their huge pincers and set upon the men before any could react, slashing, cutting and tearing at flesh until a fine red mist coated all in the vicinity.
Finally the numbers of men overwhelmed the freakish creatures, and they fell under a rain of sword blades. The General did not slow. He screamed an order to the men and returned to the fray.
Altian’s division swept upon the left flank of the enemy, and cut a deep abscess into their main body. He leaned over the side of his horse, sweeping his sword left and right and taking the heads of every creature he saw. His men came behind him, rolling through the mass and dropping all before them. Surprisingly the enemy fell easily enough, despite their fearsome appearance. Their armour, strong though it appeared, was brittle, and no match for the strong steel of the Lok’Chang’s Imperial blades. Any sizable break in the creatures armour was enough to release whatever malicious spirit was controlling it, and the empty husk of armour would fall into a useless pile.
But the creatures were fierce fighters. The human armours wielded swords like the most battle hardened of veterans, and the dog beasts, though incapable of holding weapons, could tear at flesh with long claws and hard stony teeth. But it was the bird legged ones that Altian was the most wary of. They dodged back and forth on their disjointed lowe
r limbs, and snipped their pincers through bone like a hot knife through butter.
Three of these types sudden converged on Altian. He leant down and cut his blade cleanly through the neck of the first, as the next ducked and removed the front legs of his horse. The mare gave a pained whine, and fell forward. It landed on its head, breaking its neck, and Altian was flung forward from his saddle.
He went limp, hit the ground and rolled. He climbed to his feet as the next bird leg charged at him, pincers snapping. He ducked the first attack, the sharp blades closing uselessly over his head, and swept his sword through the creature’s ankles. The creature fell, separated from its feet, and landed in its back. Without pause, he flipped his sword around in his hand, and stabbed down at the empty black of the creature’s face. The blade disappeared into the darkness, and the creature went rigid. Then its armour collapsed in on itself, and it was gone.
Now he was amongst his men and the enemy, in the midst of the real fighting, where he should be. Around him, his men were all fighting, killing and dying. Blood splattered over the ashen ground, and painted every man’s features red. Everywhere he looked, there were empty armours of the dead creatures, and torn limbs of dead men. With every step he took, Altian’s feet sunk into the sodden ground. His white silk robe