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…And so, my esteemed Emperor, glory be to your name, I must vigorously implore you to heed your humble, pitiful servant. The Kairan barbarians of the steppes grow more and more daring by the day, raiding, pillaging, and violating our establishments on the edge of the Long Wall. Garrisons find men floating downstream along the Vyreene River, chunks of flesh torn brutally asunder from the bloody bodies. The soldiers grow wary, paranoid. Many of the younger men jump at the sight of shadows and most of the elders can be seen crossing themselves at all hours of the day.
They need a strong, driving hand to show them they have naught to fear. They must see their Emperor display a show of force to break down the restless Kairan tribes before the wildings decide that a war to ravage and plunder the heart of the Empire is not only feasible, but optimal.
Gradius and Byron already have their men stalking the edges of our borders, appearing to make themselves ready for conflict. We cannot afford to see the Kairans add their numbers to this dire strait. We must slam our foot on the throat of the beast and end this now, before it escalates any further!
With that, Commander Teagen Pilate lay down his pen, falling back into his chair with a deep, weary sigh fluttering out of the corners of his dry lips. Pilate, broad shoulders and stern face, was no longer a young man; thankfully, though, he also knew he was not quite old either. His hair had turned a shade akin to the silvery white of a newly fallen snow, and wrinkles had only barely begun to be lightly visible across his strong brow. His green eyes, while not as strong as they had once been, still shone brightly and his powerful body could still dance circles around younger men, with sword and woman both.
Still, that did not make the duties of garrison commander on an active and violent border any less strenuous to him. He forced himself to sit back upright, forsaking his slouch from a moment before, stretching his arms with the crack of stiff cartilage sounding just below the metallic clangs of his ornate armor. The steel he wore was the envy of most men: a strong alloy plate inlayed with gems from across the world, gilded with gold of the most brilliant radiance. Due to this armor which had been a gift from the Emperor (may his soul be blessed and may his reign last a thousand lifetimes!), Pilate shone as a scion of the sun any time he took the field. Even here, in his dank office where the dull and gray interior of stone was lit only by the faint glimmer of several burning candles, the armor seemed to cast its’ own light in shimmering beams across the room.
As a result, he hated the armor with a passion. He was practically a target for wildling bowmen to take turns exercising their archery on. As greatly as the thought of being in the Emperor’s favor appealed to him, he didn’t like the flip side of the coin one bit. And he couldn’t ever dare to forsake the armor. Even outside of his presence, the grievous insult of shunning the Emperor’s gift would shirk its’ way back to the exalted one’s ears…and earn the exalted one’s wrath.
He felt his face grow tense at that thought. Was the favor of Emperor Seo really worth all that much then, if all it did was place him in immediate danger? His men would follow him regardless of trivial imperial politics; obedience was an essential key to the efficiency of the legions. He could spit upon the effigy of the Glorious One twice daily, once before breakfast and again before bed, and up until the time the Black Dragon came to haul him away for execution his men would execute his orders to the letter. And yet Seo often dominated the priorities of each military commander in the Legion, even here at the border.
Troubled, he drew up another loose, slightly crumpled piece of parchment and refreshed the ebony ink on his pen. Before he began writing once more, he took the last letter, the one he had spent all morning meticulously preparing, and carelessly tossed it into the fire, blazing in a searing hue of crimson, which roared in the hearth behind him. He wanted to slam his calloused hands on his ashen desk in sheer frustration. Six letters had been sent before this one over the last year and a half. All had met with the same response: silence. Despite the obvious forbearing that the Kairan tribes were beginning to come together for the first time in over a century to wage a war of attrition against the newly reborn Vyreene Empire, no one in the capitol of Varkas seemed to care much for the struggles of their border’s defense at the Long Wall which separated civilization from the wilderness and the wolves from the sheep. Teagen did pound his fists on the desk at that thought, and all that it earned him was sore hands, the blood pulsing thickly through his tightly clenched palms.
A banging thud pounded away at his door almost a moment later. Glaring venomously at the entrance to his chamber, Teagen was tempted to scream for whoever it was to take their cursed business elsewhere. Forcing himself to regain his composure, however, he made his face serene and spoke in a firm, deep voice which lacked any real sign of emotion.
“Enter.”
The door swung all the way open and smashed violently against the wall as it did so. Striding imperiously into the room, a hulking monster of a man scowled deeply at the garrison commander. You would never be able to miss Taton Archibald Cooramont: cavernous face lined with as many wrinkles as humanly possible, beady black eyes dilated directly ahead, bald head glinting in the light, back completely straight, and over seven feet tall, he was an unmistakable freak of nature. His own armor was simply adorned, brown leather padded over a standard iron plate. (much to Teagen’s own envy.) He growled gruffly down at the smaller man who currently served as his commanding officer.
“Hey whelp, you were supposed to personally drill the rookie squads on the training grounds this morning. Why in the hell was I the one who ended up having to do it?”
Teagen snorted in response; ever since he had met Taton over twenty years ago when he was little more than a corporal and Taton had been the sergeant over him in the War of Imperial Succession, their relationship had changed very little. Even when rank dictated that it should change entirely, Taton, now in his late seventies, treated Pilate as though he were still a jumped up private who should be sweeping the latrines every morning before the sun rose.
“Because they were only rudimentary drills, Taton, and because you’re the Drill Sergeant. It’s your job. Something came up, so I cancelled my inspection to accommodate higher priorities.”
He gave the veteran fighter a snarky grimace as he danced around the inquisitive glare Taton shot him. “Furthermore, I’m Captain here, not a corporal. I expect to be addressed as ‘sir’ at the very least when you decide to berate me over the duties of our respective stations.”
Taton sneered in response, face lighting up in feigned amusement.
“Kiss my ass.”
Pilate drew his eyebrows up in exasperation, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk while leaning back lazily.
“Excuse me?”
A dangerous glint flashed in Taton’s eyes for a moment before it faded into a seemingly abashed gesture. Only a moment had he showed what he really thought of a man thirty years younger than him ordering him around, but it had been there, and that was important to note, Pilate thought.
“Kiss my ass…sir.”
Well, he thought dryly, at the very least Taton had the ability to fake humility at the necessary times. “That’s better. Now, about that training…”
The door slammed open once more, revealing a rail thin youth, panting hoarsely at the front of his office. Wearing armor similar to Taton’s, he crouched over for a moment, perspiring heavily as sweat dripped down his brow from his long, raven hair which flowed from the open sides of his helmet. He might very well have ran the full length of this portion of the Long Wall in order to reach this office; command posts were often woefully far apart along the border. The youth rested for a moment longer, composing himself before making a full salute, mailed gauntlet hammering against the top portion of his half helm.
“S-sir! Provisional Private Albert Rodion, reporting from post G-7!”
A provisional private, eh? One of the local militia incorporated into the border patrol as a space holder. Pilate always had a dislike for…
…Post G-7?
Teagen raised a brow in true alarm at that; G-7 was not only on the other end of this sector of the wall, but from another sector entirely. This was C sector, and so three other, equally long sectors lay between the two on the wall. That could only mean…
“…who is assaulting us and what is the current assessment of the damages as they stand, Private?”
The boy nodded, extremely relieved the commander already seemed to grasp the dilemma at hand, before continuing with a voice more clear and confident than it had been moments ago.
“We don’t know who, exactly, sir. We have suspicions, but the only certain thing is that they’re Kairan and that there are scores of them. This isn’t a raid, sir, not in the slightest…this is the real thing, Commander. We have a horde waiting on our doorstep. This is the first post on the wall between my old one and here that hasn’t been decimated.”
Teagen Pilate, veteran of fifteen campaigns in over twenty years, felt the blood rush from his face as his complexion became ghostly pale. All of them…three sectors of the Long Wall…eradicated before word could arrive of an attack?
“That’s…that’s not…”
He crashed his right fist so hard into the desk that the furnishing broke into splinters, the pieces rattling uselessly to the ground. Countless swears and foul oaths began to stream in torrents from the commander’s mouth as he tried to come to terms with this impossible, inconceivable situation. He had been too damned late! He had not been able to convince Seo that the military needed to assert itself at the Kairan border and now the entire Eastern Border Defense Force was going to pay the price. Still, that left one unanswered question that the middle aged commander needed explained.
“How in the hell did the Kairans manage to take down so many posts so quickly?”
Before the young private could respond, a thundering boom split through the silent air, ripping into Teagen’s eardrums and forcing him to cover them for a moment. As the sound dissipated, the three soldiers stared at each other uneasily before rushing for the door to view the exterior of the wall. Passing the outer gates which led to the outside, Tegan felt his jaw drop in sheer, terrified astonishment at the unbelievable horror.
Pyres of the fiercest heat, morbidly and unearthly black, blazed across the once magnificent limestone finish that was the Empire’s impenetrable Long Wall. The usually calm ebony of the night sky was made a color that almost seemed darker than black, more than just the absence of light, but the antithesis of light itself, as if light could never exist in that sky again. The stars remained, but they did not shine; they were merely slightly less dark blotches on a more empty ebony curtain. The moon, hanging full and foreboding over the night, lingered crimson as blood above the entire ordeal. Teagen felt his courage, his hope, his soul itself draining from his useless, weak body as the darkness seemed to encroach and consume all that it saw. This was a nightmare in living form, beating him down where he stood.
Men clutching useless swords in quivering hands shirked back in terror, screaming as monstrous barbarians covered in all sorts of animal pelts and skins leapt over ladders onto the wall, their eyes lit in a chaotic revel in lust for blood, slaying any foolish enough to remain in their pathway. The Kairans conducted the massacre on a primitive and inefficient level; they stopped to loot the dead as well as to satisfy their other needs by defiling the bodies of their fallen foes, cackling in a frenzied hysteria at their complete triumph. Blood splattered freely in waves over the bricks, marring the rugged beauty of the garrison and painting the lime walls a murky scarlet.
Teagen felt his mouth begin to move, attempting to form words that he wasn’t sure he could say.
“R-re-retrea…”
The portion of the wall that the three men had been standing on exploded in a sudden whirlwind of flame. Their bodies flew limply across the sky, landing on the edge of the wall facing the Empire, tossing them painfully over the hard stone. Chips of rock and mortar sliced through the air like missiles, shooting men down as they fell in showers. Sweat dripped from their faces as the heat bit at them and scalded their flesh, simmering in an unnatural sizzle, the obsidian blaze practically a demonic enemy in itself as it seemed to creep slowly towards its’ imperial victims. Struggling to his uneasy feet over the snapping of bones he knew were broken, Teagen stared in concern at elderly Taton and young Albert; the two had risen to their feet far more quickly than he had, he noted with a mix of shame and hopefulness. Taking a moment to compose himself, he shouted at Taton over the din of the slaughter. His face was drawn taut with pain, but made alert with fierce determination. Thick black smog forced its’ way into his lungs and tried to choke him on his own words, but he pressed on, shouting his final orders to his old mentor.
“Sergeant Taton! Return to Varkas immediately! Inform Seo that he had best get his ass off of that throne of his and send the legions east, otherwise he won’t have an empire before the coming of the next season. Go! That’s an order, to both of you! Protect the boy!”
The grizzled old veteran, expression shocked and perturbed, merely stood there for a moment, trying to puzzle out another way to save all of them. Albert, caught in awe of his situation, merely shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide in palpable terror. Three of the barbarians had come to their side of the wall, and one, covered in a hulking gray wolves pelt and growling in triumph, charged towards the Imperial survivors. With a flick of his wrist, Teagen drew his gladius and in one deadly motion split the Kairan in half, creating a raining shower of blood which splashed on the commander and caked warmly over his flesh.
The two Kairans behind the leader howled in fury, and were soon joined by four more enemy combatants. Pilate glanced back and snarled at the two other border defenders.
“Why are you still here?! Go now!”
The six Kairans charged with animalistic roars, while Teagen began to spin his blade around rhythmically, almost as if in a dance of flowing silver. His armor shone brilliantly, even while soaked in blood, and the Imperial Legionnaire of a hundred battles stood as a glowing god of war before the barbarians who had the worst kind of nerve to stand in his path.
Albert, recovering and seeing his commander in danger, leapt forward with a battle cry upon his lips while his hand reached down for his sword. Swearing erupted from behind him, and he yelped as he felt an iron tight grip grab him by the collar and drag him backwards. With no time to prepare, Taton took his charge in both arms and threw them down the ramp which provided easy escape for the defenders in case the wall were to ever be overrun, as it had on that particular night. Both of them cursing the other for standing in the way, Taton pulled the reluctant Albert slowly away from the wall as they hit the ground, the deep emerald forest which lay on the imperial side engulfing them as the night raged on the wall which lay behind them.
Gladius whirling like a whip, Teagen severed a man’s arm with one slash and immediately gutted a man with a thrust made half a second later. The first man shrieked in pain as blood flowed from his severed stump, while the other man fell without a noise to the ground as death embraced him. Teagen never stopped to take a breath, grabbing the one armed man by the collar and hurling him towards the closest three others, causing them all to go down in a heap of frenzied limbs and bodies. Dancing towards them in an instant, he brought his sword down in an arcing slash, again and again, blood flying upwards towards as his arms began to grow weary from the thick chops which landed in meaty thuds on his fallen adversaries, severing flesh and bone in a efficient exercise of killing. The pile of what had been men on the ground before him more closely resembled a butcher shop then it did humans by the time he was done.
Spinning about without hesitation, he was surprised to notice that the last man had not moved an inch; standing near him, with a small, cropped, brown goatee, and smiling at him with thin lips, the last man seemed to have enjoyed his performance. Piercing golden eyes, shining even more brightly than Pilate’s armor, seemed to stab right through him beneath a thick head of auburn hair. His body was gaunt, unremarkable, and unlike the rest of the Kairans he was dressed in a normal suit of armor, not adorned with any sort of animal remains. A style not utilized by Kairan warriors, for the pelts were signs of their beast spirits, which showed what kind of soldiers they were. This led to respect, fear, power…Kairan military was based largely upon the beast spirits. And this man seemed to have none. Teagen glared at him while spinning his sword, waiting for a proper moment to strike. The strange Kairan merely continued to grin at him, eyes growing wider, his breathing unsettling audible in long, wheezing rasps.
Teagen felt his eyes grow large as the man’s shadow seemed to rise behind him. The dark scion of the man steadily expanded until it was easily eight feet tall. The arms became slender and embellished with talons, while the legs became short and stocky with feline claws protruding from its toes. Slits of red appeared on the creature’s head, as though the blood around the Kairan had transformed into the…the thing’s…unnatural eyes. The golden eyed man continued to smile hauntingly, his mouth beginning to twitch as a guttural sound, which Teagen realized in disgust must be laughter, began to emanate in a low cackle. The shadow began to extend forward, and as it did so, he licked his lips in anticipation.
A voice, to which no tone could be placed, no idea could form, no word could describe, slid from the man’s mouth.
“Good. Fresh Imperial Flesh.”
The shadow flew forward in a blur; Teagen couldn’t even move his sword as the black tendrils which were talons and claws punctured his body. A gasp of sheer pain was formed and released wordlessly as he felt the things writhe and slash about within his body, his entrails torn and slashed as he was disemboweled from the inside. His head cocked up as his body went limp, and staring into the things demonic crimson eyes, he saw what appeared to be a mouth open up beneath them. The teeth were knives; they didn’t shine, and they didn’t look solid, but Teagen knew what knives looked like. Fervent prayers, thought madly in the mind of a destroyed man facing death, passed unspoken and unanswered in Teagen Pilate’s brain as the dark creature devoured him slowly. Skin, bone, and all.
Several Kairans walked towards their commander. His mouth was bloody, though his face was lit with its’ usual deranged smile. Most of them men could be heard silently mouthing prayers to the spirits to protect them from evil. The tribes never could feel easy around the one known only as “The Shadow Man.” The Shadow Man pointed his boney finger towards the other side of the long wall and nodded, his mouth licking the blood clean off his lips with a look of relish.
“Go. Hunt the dogs. And leave some alive.”
Author's Note:
They need a strong, driving hand to show them they have naught to fear. They must see their Emperor display a show of force to break down the restless Kairan tribes before the wildings decide that a war to ravage and plunder the heart of the Empire is not only feasible, but optimal.
Gradius and Byron already have their men stalking the edges of our borders, appearing to make themselves ready for conflict. We cannot afford to see the Kairans add their numbers to this dire strait. We must slam our foot on the throat of the beast and end this now, before it escalates any further!
Your man, sword and body, always.
Teagen Pilate, Commander of Imperial Border Patrol Unit twenty four.
Teagen Pilate, Commander of Imperial Border Patrol Unit twenty four.
Still, that did not make the duties of garrison commander on an active and violent border any less strenuous to him. He forced himself to sit back upright, forsaking his slouch from a moment before, stretching his arms with the crack of stiff cartilage sounding just below the metallic clangs of his ornate armor. The steel he wore was the envy of most men: a strong alloy plate inlayed with gems from across the world, gilded with gold of the most brilliant radiance. Due to this armor which had been a gift from the Emperor (may his soul be blessed and may his reign last a thousand lifetimes!), Pilate shone as a scion of the sun any time he took the field. Even here, in his dank office where the dull and gray interior of stone was lit only by the faint glimmer of several burning candles, the armor seemed to cast its’ own light in shimmering beams across the room.
As a result, he hated the armor with a passion. He was practically a target for wildling bowmen to take turns exercising their archery on. As greatly as the thought of being in the Emperor’s favor appealed to him, he didn’t like the flip side of the coin one bit. And he couldn’t ever dare to forsake the armor. Even outside of his presence, the grievous insult of shunning the Emperor’s gift would shirk its’ way back to the exalted one’s ears…and earn the exalted one’s wrath.
He felt his face grow tense at that thought. Was the favor of Emperor Seo really worth all that much then, if all it did was place him in immediate danger? His men would follow him regardless of trivial imperial politics; obedience was an essential key to the efficiency of the legions. He could spit upon the effigy of the Glorious One twice daily, once before breakfast and again before bed, and up until the time the Black Dragon came to haul him away for execution his men would execute his orders to the letter. And yet Seo often dominated the priorities of each military commander in the Legion, even here at the border.
Troubled, he drew up another loose, slightly crumpled piece of parchment and refreshed the ebony ink on his pen. Before he began writing once more, he took the last letter, the one he had spent all morning meticulously preparing, and carelessly tossed it into the fire, blazing in a searing hue of crimson, which roared in the hearth behind him. He wanted to slam his calloused hands on his ashen desk in sheer frustration. Six letters had been sent before this one over the last year and a half. All had met with the same response: silence. Despite the obvious forbearing that the Kairan tribes were beginning to come together for the first time in over a century to wage a war of attrition against the newly reborn Vyreene Empire, no one in the capitol of Varkas seemed to care much for the struggles of their border’s defense at the Long Wall which separated civilization from the wilderness and the wolves from the sheep. Teagen did pound his fists on the desk at that thought, and all that it earned him was sore hands, the blood pulsing thickly through his tightly clenched palms.
A banging thud pounded away at his door almost a moment later. Glaring venomously at the entrance to his chamber, Teagen was tempted to scream for whoever it was to take their cursed business elsewhere. Forcing himself to regain his composure, however, he made his face serene and spoke in a firm, deep voice which lacked any real sign of emotion.
“Enter.”
The door swung all the way open and smashed violently against the wall as it did so. Striding imperiously into the room, a hulking monster of a man scowled deeply at the garrison commander. You would never be able to miss Taton Archibald Cooramont: cavernous face lined with as many wrinkles as humanly possible, beady black eyes dilated directly ahead, bald head glinting in the light, back completely straight, and over seven feet tall, he was an unmistakable freak of nature. His own armor was simply adorned, brown leather padded over a standard iron plate. (much to Teagen’s own envy.) He growled gruffly down at the smaller man who currently served as his commanding officer.
“Hey whelp, you were supposed to personally drill the rookie squads on the training grounds this morning. Why in the hell was I the one who ended up having to do it?”
Teagen snorted in response; ever since he had met Taton over twenty years ago when he was little more than a corporal and Taton had been the sergeant over him in the War of Imperial Succession, their relationship had changed very little. Even when rank dictated that it should change entirely, Taton, now in his late seventies, treated Pilate as though he were still a jumped up private who should be sweeping the latrines every morning before the sun rose.
“Because they were only rudimentary drills, Taton, and because you’re the Drill Sergeant. It’s your job. Something came up, so I cancelled my inspection to accommodate higher priorities.”
He gave the veteran fighter a snarky grimace as he danced around the inquisitive glare Taton shot him. “Furthermore, I’m Captain here, not a corporal. I expect to be addressed as ‘sir’ at the very least when you decide to berate me over the duties of our respective stations.”
Taton sneered in response, face lighting up in feigned amusement.
“Kiss my ass.”
Pilate drew his eyebrows up in exasperation, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk while leaning back lazily.
“Excuse me?”
A dangerous glint flashed in Taton’s eyes for a moment before it faded into a seemingly abashed gesture. Only a moment had he showed what he really thought of a man thirty years younger than him ordering him around, but it had been there, and that was important to note, Pilate thought.
“Kiss my ass…sir.”
Well, he thought dryly, at the very least Taton had the ability to fake humility at the necessary times. “That’s better. Now, about that training…”
The door slammed open once more, revealing a rail thin youth, panting hoarsely at the front of his office. Wearing armor similar to Taton’s, he crouched over for a moment, perspiring heavily as sweat dripped down his brow from his long, raven hair which flowed from the open sides of his helmet. He might very well have ran the full length of this portion of the Long Wall in order to reach this office; command posts were often woefully far apart along the border. The youth rested for a moment longer, composing himself before making a full salute, mailed gauntlet hammering against the top portion of his half helm.
“S-sir! Provisional Private Albert Rodion, reporting from post G-7!”
A provisional private, eh? One of the local militia incorporated into the border patrol as a space holder. Pilate always had a dislike for…
…Post G-7?
Teagen raised a brow in true alarm at that; G-7 was not only on the other end of this sector of the wall, but from another sector entirely. This was C sector, and so three other, equally long sectors lay between the two on the wall. That could only mean…
“…who is assaulting us and what is the current assessment of the damages as they stand, Private?”
The boy nodded, extremely relieved the commander already seemed to grasp the dilemma at hand, before continuing with a voice more clear and confident than it had been moments ago.
“We don’t know who, exactly, sir. We have suspicions, but the only certain thing is that they’re Kairan and that there are scores of them. This isn’t a raid, sir, not in the slightest…this is the real thing, Commander. We have a horde waiting on our doorstep. This is the first post on the wall between my old one and here that hasn’t been decimated.”
Teagen Pilate, veteran of fifteen campaigns in over twenty years, felt the blood rush from his face as his complexion became ghostly pale. All of them…three sectors of the Long Wall…eradicated before word could arrive of an attack?
“That’s…that’s not…”
He crashed his right fist so hard into the desk that the furnishing broke into splinters, the pieces rattling uselessly to the ground. Countless swears and foul oaths began to stream in torrents from the commander’s mouth as he tried to come to terms with this impossible, inconceivable situation. He had been too damned late! He had not been able to convince Seo that the military needed to assert itself at the Kairan border and now the entire Eastern Border Defense Force was going to pay the price. Still, that left one unanswered question that the middle aged commander needed explained.
“How in the hell did the Kairans manage to take down so many posts so quickly?”
Before the young private could respond, a thundering boom split through the silent air, ripping into Teagen’s eardrums and forcing him to cover them for a moment. As the sound dissipated, the three soldiers stared at each other uneasily before rushing for the door to view the exterior of the wall. Passing the outer gates which led to the outside, Tegan felt his jaw drop in sheer, terrified astonishment at the unbelievable horror.
Pyres of the fiercest heat, morbidly and unearthly black, blazed across the once magnificent limestone finish that was the Empire’s impenetrable Long Wall. The usually calm ebony of the night sky was made a color that almost seemed darker than black, more than just the absence of light, but the antithesis of light itself, as if light could never exist in that sky again. The stars remained, but they did not shine; they were merely slightly less dark blotches on a more empty ebony curtain. The moon, hanging full and foreboding over the night, lingered crimson as blood above the entire ordeal. Teagen felt his courage, his hope, his soul itself draining from his useless, weak body as the darkness seemed to encroach and consume all that it saw. This was a nightmare in living form, beating him down where he stood.
Men clutching useless swords in quivering hands shirked back in terror, screaming as monstrous barbarians covered in all sorts of animal pelts and skins leapt over ladders onto the wall, their eyes lit in a chaotic revel in lust for blood, slaying any foolish enough to remain in their pathway. The Kairans conducted the massacre on a primitive and inefficient level; they stopped to loot the dead as well as to satisfy their other needs by defiling the bodies of their fallen foes, cackling in a frenzied hysteria at their complete triumph. Blood splattered freely in waves over the bricks, marring the rugged beauty of the garrison and painting the lime walls a murky scarlet.
Teagen felt his mouth begin to move, attempting to form words that he wasn’t sure he could say.
“R-re-retrea…”
The portion of the wall that the three men had been standing on exploded in a sudden whirlwind of flame. Their bodies flew limply across the sky, landing on the edge of the wall facing the Empire, tossing them painfully over the hard stone. Chips of rock and mortar sliced through the air like missiles, shooting men down as they fell in showers. Sweat dripped from their faces as the heat bit at them and scalded their flesh, simmering in an unnatural sizzle, the obsidian blaze practically a demonic enemy in itself as it seemed to creep slowly towards its’ imperial victims. Struggling to his uneasy feet over the snapping of bones he knew were broken, Teagen stared in concern at elderly Taton and young Albert; the two had risen to their feet far more quickly than he had, he noted with a mix of shame and hopefulness. Taking a moment to compose himself, he shouted at Taton over the din of the slaughter. His face was drawn taut with pain, but made alert with fierce determination. Thick black smog forced its’ way into his lungs and tried to choke him on his own words, but he pressed on, shouting his final orders to his old mentor.
“Sergeant Taton! Return to Varkas immediately! Inform Seo that he had best get his ass off of that throne of his and send the legions east, otherwise he won’t have an empire before the coming of the next season. Go! That’s an order, to both of you! Protect the boy!”
The grizzled old veteran, expression shocked and perturbed, merely stood there for a moment, trying to puzzle out another way to save all of them. Albert, caught in awe of his situation, merely shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide in palpable terror. Three of the barbarians had come to their side of the wall, and one, covered in a hulking gray wolves pelt and growling in triumph, charged towards the Imperial survivors. With a flick of his wrist, Teagen drew his gladius and in one deadly motion split the Kairan in half, creating a raining shower of blood which splashed on the commander and caked warmly over his flesh.
The two Kairans behind the leader howled in fury, and were soon joined by four more enemy combatants. Pilate glanced back and snarled at the two other border defenders.
“Why are you still here?! Go now!”
The six Kairans charged with animalistic roars, while Teagen began to spin his blade around rhythmically, almost as if in a dance of flowing silver. His armor shone brilliantly, even while soaked in blood, and the Imperial Legionnaire of a hundred battles stood as a glowing god of war before the barbarians who had the worst kind of nerve to stand in his path.
Albert, recovering and seeing his commander in danger, leapt forward with a battle cry upon his lips while his hand reached down for his sword. Swearing erupted from behind him, and he yelped as he felt an iron tight grip grab him by the collar and drag him backwards. With no time to prepare, Taton took his charge in both arms and threw them down the ramp which provided easy escape for the defenders in case the wall were to ever be overrun, as it had on that particular night. Both of them cursing the other for standing in the way, Taton pulled the reluctant Albert slowly away from the wall as they hit the ground, the deep emerald forest which lay on the imperial side engulfing them as the night raged on the wall which lay behind them.
Gladius whirling like a whip, Teagen severed a man’s arm with one slash and immediately gutted a man with a thrust made half a second later. The first man shrieked in pain as blood flowed from his severed stump, while the other man fell without a noise to the ground as death embraced him. Teagen never stopped to take a breath, grabbing the one armed man by the collar and hurling him towards the closest three others, causing them all to go down in a heap of frenzied limbs and bodies. Dancing towards them in an instant, he brought his sword down in an arcing slash, again and again, blood flying upwards towards as his arms began to grow weary from the thick chops which landed in meaty thuds on his fallen adversaries, severing flesh and bone in a efficient exercise of killing. The pile of what had been men on the ground before him more closely resembled a butcher shop then it did humans by the time he was done.
Spinning about without hesitation, he was surprised to notice that the last man had not moved an inch; standing near him, with a small, cropped, brown goatee, and smiling at him with thin lips, the last man seemed to have enjoyed his performance. Piercing golden eyes, shining even more brightly than Pilate’s armor, seemed to stab right through him beneath a thick head of auburn hair. His body was gaunt, unremarkable, and unlike the rest of the Kairans he was dressed in a normal suit of armor, not adorned with any sort of animal remains. A style not utilized by Kairan warriors, for the pelts were signs of their beast spirits, which showed what kind of soldiers they were. This led to respect, fear, power…Kairan military was based largely upon the beast spirits. And this man seemed to have none. Teagen glared at him while spinning his sword, waiting for a proper moment to strike. The strange Kairan merely continued to grin at him, eyes growing wider, his breathing unsettling audible in long, wheezing rasps.
Teagen felt his eyes grow large as the man’s shadow seemed to rise behind him. The dark scion of the man steadily expanded until it was easily eight feet tall. The arms became slender and embellished with talons, while the legs became short and stocky with feline claws protruding from its toes. Slits of red appeared on the creature’s head, as though the blood around the Kairan had transformed into the…the thing’s…unnatural eyes. The golden eyed man continued to smile hauntingly, his mouth beginning to twitch as a guttural sound, which Teagen realized in disgust must be laughter, began to emanate in a low cackle. The shadow began to extend forward, and as it did so, he licked his lips in anticipation.
A voice, to which no tone could be placed, no idea could form, no word could describe, slid from the man’s mouth.
“Good. Fresh Imperial Flesh.”
The shadow flew forward in a blur; Teagen couldn’t even move his sword as the black tendrils which were talons and claws punctured his body. A gasp of sheer pain was formed and released wordlessly as he felt the things writhe and slash about within his body, his entrails torn and slashed as he was disemboweled from the inside. His head cocked up as his body went limp, and staring into the things demonic crimson eyes, he saw what appeared to be a mouth open up beneath them. The teeth were knives; they didn’t shine, and they didn’t look solid, but Teagen knew what knives looked like. Fervent prayers, thought madly in the mind of a destroyed man facing death, passed unspoken and unanswered in Teagen Pilate’s brain as the dark creature devoured him slowly. Skin, bone, and all.
Several Kairans walked towards their commander. His mouth was bloody, though his face was lit with its’ usual deranged smile. Most of them men could be heard silently mouthing prayers to the spirits to protect them from evil. The tribes never could feel easy around the one known only as “The Shadow Man.” The Shadow Man pointed his boney finger towards the other side of the long wall and nodded, his mouth licking the blood clean off his lips with a look of relish.
“Go. Hunt the dogs. And leave some alive.”
I still hunger.
Author's Note:
Howdy hey. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. This is an original story I'm doing as a side project, and I thought I would throw it up here. This takes place on the continent of Sagratarius, and we'll be following Ablert and Taton as our main protagonists, if you didn't already surmise it. They'll be adventure, battles, and all sorts of quaint quests, so hopefully the tale turns out interesting. If you have any comments, complaints, words of critique or encouragement, please leave em for me to see. And that's about my two bits, so have a great day.
