March of The Dead (MotD)

Darkness clawed at the edges, obscuring the beauty the room had once exhibited. Busts of long forgotten rulers lined the tattered carpet covering the cracked marble leading to the relic of a throne.

The ceiling towered above, arching nearly fifty feet. Rotted wooden rafters hid abandoned archer posts. Pillars supported the ceiling for its length. Fit to hold over two hundred comfortably.

Torn banners hung from the ceiling depicting an emblem that once held great power behind it, now not remembered even in the oldest history books.

Even in its decrepit state, the room radiated power and influence. Magic suffused every brick, responding to the majesty that had once ordained this great hall. Pulsing in time with each breath the hall's new master took.

Knights of black knelt in reverence to their master in formation on either side of the ruined carpet. They wore capes of crimson, so dark as to be closer to black. The edges of their dark armor plates were silver, giving the appearance that the silver was actually light coming from beneath the plates.

Standing to one side of the throne, a giant of a man wore similar armor to the knights, but much heavier and with layered chainmail underneath. A large claymore sat in its sheath on his back, thirsting for more.

And on the other, a lithe woman wore smooth a dark purple armored gown. Black chainmail covered her chest and the leg slit. Layered scalemail served as her corset. The fabric did well to cover everything while still leaving little unseen, but did do an excellent job of concealing the numerous daggers and knives she had upon her body.

Power radiated off these two, yet were dwarfed by the domination of the man on the throne. A man who wore the heavy armor of his knights and a cloak of ethereal ebony that obscured his face, ever changing, ever flowing, wisps of black smoke drifting away, as if the cloak itself was made of it.

"The knights are ready." The giant said with finality.

"As are the winged." The woman added, "the mages are prepared, but they will require time to set up once they reach their destinations."

"How long?" The giant asked.

"Depends on the area, but no more than an hour."

The one on the throne opened his eyes, pale green orbs of death and misery that shone throne the mystical veil of the hood.

The stale air froze, the very Mana in the hall bound by his gaze.

"Notify the North. They have had enough time to experiment with their new toys. Send word to the Houses of the Deep, I have new food for them to play with to their hearts' desire.

Call up the Legions.

Let those animals fear my name."

* * * * *

"Get down!"

Screams of pain and the silence of death were all that followed.

Fire blazed through the sky as steel rang on the ground.

"Get those Archers up that hill! Cover them!"

Nearly one hundred Human soldiers shouted in confirmation before a dozen explosive orbs of fire crashed into them. Bodies flew, limbs burned, few survived.

Field Marshal Gavol watched the battle from a nearby hill. Surrounded by his bodyguards, advisors, and assistants, they watched the Fourth Army of the mighty Gilaen Empire splinter and break.

Each soldier was well trained and capable of using their abilities even without the System's assistance. It had taken the Fourth Army a year and a half and they were seen as the pride of the Gilaen Empire for the achievement.

Yet here they were, in their first large scale battle against the Demon Invaders, and they were being cut through.

Their advanced training and independence from the System allowed them to fight on largely even terms of power and skill but it did not seem to matter.

The Giant Argalon used their strength to brute force and crush those around them. There was very little that could be done against the flying Argalon, they swooped down, cut apart the heads of necks of half a dozen before flying back up out of reach.

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Devils, battle hardened and disciplined, fill the Demon ranks, each one a potent soldier, even their archers were well versed in melee combat.

Yet the most devastating were the Argalon Mages. They numbered so very few, but each one was a Master Level threat. Only six were needed to disable the System in the area, allowing the handful of others to use their specialty long range Magic and devastate the Human formations.

Any attack the Field Marshal attempted to launch against the Mages were blocked by the vast number of Devils and punished by the Argalon. Any formation and strategy that was attempted was broken into pieces by the Mages' spells.

The Marshal's nose twitched, his teeth creaking, "Sound the retreat. This is a lost battle. Preserve as many soldiers as possible. We will live to fight another day."

His officers' faces were grim. They did not like the idea of retreat any better than he did, but they were not blinded by their pride.

Mages let out all their spells and archers released all their arrows, all in the attempt to push the Demons back and allow the Humans to retreat.

It had minimal effect. Hundreds were being cut down from behind, even as thousands managed to get away.

"Field Marshal, they are going to pursue us."

"There isn't much we can do about that. All we can do is try to preserve as many soldiers as we can for future engagements. This battle is a loss."

The aid bowed, nearly falling over as the ground began to shake.

"What is going on?" The Field Marshal exclaimed, going down on one knee to avoid falling over.

None of his aids, officers, or attendants had any answer.

"Sir! Look!"

The Marshal looked to where the bodyguard was pointing and saw a pit from hell open in the ground, swallowing dozens of Humans and Demons alike.

A moment later, row upon row of Black Knights stormed out of the pit, cutting apart anything that stood in their way. The Field Marshal noticed that the new foe was no targeting the Humans, just removing the ones in their way.

"Issue the command! Continue the retreat! I don't know what those things are or where they came from, but they are not targeting us."

Stunned as they were, their training kicked in and they rushed to obey. Word quickly spread among the Human Soldiers.

The Field Marshal watched as these Black Knights charged into the Demon lines with reckless abandon, slaughtering several before they themselves would fall, only to stand back up a moment later and continue the massacre.

"What are these things?" One of his officers muttered to himself.

"Whatever they are, they don't seem to have an interest in us. We will use them to cover our retreat. Our priority is now to get word of these things to Command." The Marshal commanded.

"Are they allies?"

One of the other officers scoffed, "Did you not see them cut down our soldiers? At best they hate the Demons more than us."

After only a few minutes since the pit opened up, hundreds of the Black Knights had charged out, and they showed no sign of stopping. Dozens flooded out every moment. An unending tidal wave of death and despair.

"You will vacate the area." A dark voice commanded from behind, sending chills down the Spines of all present.

Everyone spun around, their hands on their weapons. The bodyguards lowered their spears to the single man, even as they felt his power pulsing out from him, a power they knew they had no hope of surviving, if he willed their death.

Even as he felt his throat tighten, the Field Marshal forced the words out, "Identify yourself."

The being of death that stood before them did not budge in any way, "You have five minutes."

The earth cracked and shadows rose up like vines, wrapping around the being before pulling him down into the ground. A moment later, there was no sign he had ever stood before them.

His officers turned to him, "Sir, what do we do?"

"We leave. We were already retreating anyway, now we are just going to do it faster. Leave behind everything but the most important stuff. We don't know anything about him. I would prefer not to fight with someone of that caliber without knowing them."

His subordinates voiced their confirmation and got to work. In just two minutes, everything critical was packed up and stored in the Rings of Holding.

The hill the Commanders were on was vacated by the fourth minute.

Alaster watched the Humans leave the area with dull eyes. High above the ground, Alaster hovered there, watching his Death Knights swarm over the Demons. But the surprise was wearing off. The Demons were already adjusting and fighting back.

They did not know they had already lost.

His Death Knights would continue to reconstruct themselves endlessly until he ran out of Mana. And he regained Mana with each life that he or his Minions reaped.

But this battle was not a simple extermination. This battle was to test out various of his Minions. He could continue to send his Death Knights, but he was curious how his Legions of Forgotten would fare against the Demons.

Alaster mentally communicated with his Lords, 'Do it.'

A loud horn boomed over the plains. The Demons looked disengaged from the Death Knights and looked around warily. Cries of alarm and panic spread as the Forgotten silently charged out of the woods behind the Demons.

The Forgotten ate through the hundred meter stretch of land between the woods and the rear of the Demons in seconds.

With the Death Knights in front and the Forgotten behind, the Demons were surrounded. They panicked.

Flying Argalon were ripped from the sky by inky tendrils. Argalon were flanked and speared. Devils were overwhelmed and crushed.

Their mages tried to clear a way to escape, but the Forgotten were all experienced Mages of their own and while they were individually weaker than the Argalon Mages, with enough of them together, they blocked or cancelled the Argalon Mages' Magic, seemingly without effort.

Numerous other attempts at escape were made, all failures.

Alaster had no intention of allowing a single Demon to escape.

Fenrir watched from the ground, on the very hill the Human Officers had occupied, 'This is going well.'

'Agreed.' Vivian giggled, as she glided around high above.

'Kill them to the last. Then send the Minions back underground and remove any trace of our presence here.' Alaster commanded without emotion, shadow wrapping around him, vanishing along with him a moment later.

Fenrir looked above at the spot where Alaster had been and sighed.

'He is getting worse.'

'I know, but what can we do about it?' Vivian asked, equally as concerned for their original body.

'I don't know, but I also don't want to see what he will do if he gets even worse.'

'I don't even dream and that House still haunts them.' Vivian whispered more to herself than her brother.