A grainy desert with rolling dunes, the sun shining above beating down any who dare linger under its penetrating gaze, and a group of camel riders making haste. A formation of riders, all surrounding one in the center as they journey forward. The rhythmic rise and fall of the camel’s hooves, picking up and departing sand with each step is all that can be heard besides the slow and steady breathing of each rider.

The central rider wipes his brow, his eyes scanning the horizon in a manner between a nervous flick and a steely gaze. Licking his broken lips and feeling his dry throat, he raises his hand in the air and makes a fist.

In one, almost completely in sync move, all the riders urge their camels to slow and stop. A lean forward, a whisper in the wind, and a gentle tug and then they are at rest.

The central figure looks towards the rider in front of him as he dismounts, who is scanning the area around them with a small spyglass. The rider grins at him and gives him a thumbs up, causing the tension to visibly release as breaths that most did not know they held were all released.

The man with a spyglass pats his camel and walks over to the center, taking a swig of water and wiping off some sand he reaches forward and pats the man on the shoulder.

“Aye prince! Everything is all clear, this should be our last rest point before we come into their last known encampment.”

The prince shrugs off the heavy yet comforting hand, drinking some of his own water and splashing some on his face.

“Prince this, prince that, come on Berk there are no outsiders here. When in company of friends use the names that a friend would use”

Berk shrugs dramatically and makes a point of scratching the cloth near his ear and flicking his fingers.

“Right, oh right Prince Kerem. Majesty incarnate, one who stands above thousands! To hunt those who scurry in the sands for glory and prestige! Honor thy father! Honor thy land!”

The man shouts his boisterous phrase aloud, causing the rest of the riders to visibly flinch and gapingly stare with empty eyes before going back to surveying the land.

“Jumpy bunch, are these cursed freaks even reliable? The Sultan’s toys get stranger and stranger by the day” mumbled Berk while he pulled his cloak back onto his face and strapped his water satchel back onto his camel and wondering aloud.

“Wonder where these bandits are though, nothing but these weak little cactus fledglings everywhere. Nothing grows out this far huh, not even these survivors.”

Kerem sips the last of his own drink and remounts his camel, with two quick hand signs the rest of the riders mount in unison and they begin a slow trot forward.

Taking a breath, Kerem surveys his eerily quiet troops and adjusts the saber on his belt. He yells aloud, scaring his nerves back into silence.

“Nothing but cactus for now; but if our information is correct, we may run into them at any moment. Keep the spyglass out Berk, even if the light dries out your eye!”

A sign of acknowledgement comes from Berk and he pops out his tool, watching the horizon closely.

Out of the corner of the prince’s eye he sees the unending field of cactus, circling him from every which way. He maneuvers his Camel with deft hands around the desert greens, but his eye flicks towards movement.

“Cacti do not mo-“

With a burst of motion, sand is sprayed upwards and outwards from all directions of the slow-moving riders. The camels whine in fear and a chilling laughter begins to echo all around, coming from everywhere but nowhere.

Kerem feels his heart burst dozens of times over and is even thrown off his camel. Landing on the ground in a perfect roll, he pulls a whistle from his cloak and blows on it once. No sound is heard.

Dismount

He blows on it thrice with rhythm this time.

Surround, Center, Formation.

As the sand settles, violence erupts. Laughter and the sound of blades cutting the air, with the occasional sound of leather being torn.

“PRINCE!”

A white blur accompanies the sound, Kerem narrowly dodges several thick needles aimed towards him while the rest are blocked by the blur.

In front of Kerem is Berk, steam wafting from his clothes as he quickly pulls out several needles whilst ignoring the reddening of his cloak.

A breath later the two are surrounded by identically uniformed men, who are similar in both look and temperament.

Many have needles stuck within their bodies and some are missing limbs or are gushing blood from an orifice. They are silent.

Taking stock of the situation, Kerem pulls out his saber and looks around. The ear-piercing laughter subsides for a moment, he sees that they are surrounded by messy looking humans in patchwork sand cloaks.

“Our targets,” whispers Kerem, “Ambush, organized, dangerous. Hold nothing back.”

Berk nods and breaths deeply, the very sand around him vibrates as the steam on his body churns with vigor.

The silent whistle is blown in an intricate pattern once again.

Bows, Pierce, Follow

The silent guard sheath their swords and pull out their short bows. In reaction the bandits all take a step backwards in unison and reach down where they each pull out a bag that sparkles in the sun.

As the guard pull back on their arrows and a dark slosh oozes forth from the tip of each arrow, the bandits pull out a glistening object each and with feral smiles they give a cheer and throw with all their might.

“Javelins” whispers Berk in fright.

He dissipates from his spot, appearing behind Kerem and then the world blurs into glossy lines and flashing lights.

Kerem hears dozens of whistles in the wind and several thumps. Cries of agony rings out and after a brief stop, he sees several bandits fall to the ground with blood staining the sand below them.

Fumbling for his whistle he blows one shrill tune, finally allowing mortal men to hear it cry.

Charge, To The End

Bandit after bandit go down in front of him, the thick human wall of flesh and bone being eroded by the steaming Berk as he dispatches the foe with one hand and carries his prince with the other.

“Why fight a battle you cannot win!” screams Kerem with confusion, witnessing the almost feral bandits fight and die without a care in the world.

One bandit gets his sword arm chopped off and his stomach split open, but all he does in response is giggle and lurch forward whilst bearing his fangs.

Suddenly the Prince is thrown back behind Berk, he tumbles on the ground as a growl thunders in his ears and all the hairs on his body grasp towards the heavens.

The wall of flesh separates and from behind his tense ally a muscular human stomps forward. His eyes are bloodshot red, his face twisted in a maniacal grin and his posture one of energy dying to be released.

“Be careful Prince, this one is di-“

The feral man launches forward and tackles Berk before he can even get his sword in the way, the two struggle on the ground as flesh meets flesh and blood to blood.

Kerem turns and tries to help but is blocked by several bandits who grin and laugh, never entering his range but not allowing him the freedom to turn and assist.

Groans, grunts and-

“AAAGH-“

Followed by an all too familiar sounding scream.

Laughter, this time not the madness laden cackle of the bandits but something…less human.

“This. Cannot. BE! Stories they are just stories!”

Kerem babbles to himself, unable to move as his intestines twist into knots and his limbs begin to shake uncontrollably.

Smiles all around, the bandits step back and point behind the Prince. They tap one another on the shoulder and bellow in sadistic delight.

Turning around so slowly that he could hear every bone in his body creak, Kerem saw his best friend and ally on the ground. His eyes lifeless, the steam no longer present, but his sight was soon stolen and forced upon the bestial man from which the sounds of devils erupted from.

The beast idly paces forward, the sounds emanating from his only stopped by the munching on one of Berk’s arms.

Kerem dropped his sword and fell to his knees, the sand beneath him rejoicing in glee as they receive a surprise rain shower.

The Beast stalks forward whilst consuming flesh and gnawing on bone. His feet walk past the fallen bandits on the ground, his eyes staying on the face of each and every one for but a moment before he moves forward without nary a pause in his step.

Throwing the half- eaten hand to the ground the Beast stands in front of Kerem and looks down upon him.

A single word is let loose in raspy breath.

“Weak”

The world goes white, then red, then black.