Under the scorching Sun, in a desolate land devoid of even the most basic of man's needs, forces the scope of which possibly undermined most in current times engaged in a bloody conflict all for the sanctified nature of what was seemingly, an expanse of nothing but sand and death.

The Holy City that the Crusaders sought to both conquer and defend from a people that might just have had the same right to it as them had been desecrated, burnt and all but razed to the ground.

Though, at this point, it could be argued that none of the original warring factions even remained to contest their right to said city.

The Holy Grail, a wish-granting relic, had given rise to an entity that had routed both the desert dwellers and the crusaders and established a land of it's own upon the still burning corpse of what had once stood tall and proud amongst a sea of sand.

An ent- man that historians, nay, the world knew as perhaps the greatest Defier.

The Sun King, Meryamen, the self-declared King of Kings and Godking, Ramsses the Great, King Ozymandias of Egypt.

At the same time however, the same Grail had given rise to a man whose bravery was seldom matched even across the vast annals of man's undoubtedly great and intricate history.

The Great King of England, the man acknowledged as the Coeur de Lion, Richard the Lionheart.

Or so he claimed to be at least.

Supported by a massive contingent of warriors that had appeared alongside him, he had fought Ozymandias to a standstill and driven the original parties involved even further along the brink of total annihilation.

And as if this weren't enough catastrophe, as if this conundrum had managed to upset Gods that had long left humanity's plane of existence, a new calamity made itself known.

*

A tardy, crude assortment of ragtag tents was what they'd set up for the night, so that their mounts could get some of the much needed rest after constant journeying under the blazing Sun that seemed to keep a resentful eye trained on them from above, so that they too could rest and recuperate after being forced away from their camp by heretics and man-faced lions the size of giants spoken of in fairytales.

How could they even have expected what the darkness of the night brought with it?

No one knew who'd been the first to call and point out something shifting just outside the short area illuminated by their cackling torches, maybe they'd been mocking them for setting out on what was now looking to be a lost cause when it should have been a glorious conquest sanctioned by their God.

They all knew when a jagged spear tore through the caller's neck and out his groin, parting his very flesh as a pathetic flicker of scream escaped his lips.

They all saw the monster disguised as a human tread out into the light.

They all saw the glistening cracks that were it's four eyes, it's hide of dark lined metal and the thin fluttering fabric that concealed only God knew what to it's right.

As they watched in shocked horror, metal grinded and shifted as one of it's hands seemed to move and point to the sky, maybe it had been mocking them, telling them to call upon their God and see if he could bring them salvation.

Some listened, others readied themselves for what could only be called a desperate struggle against the inevitable, readying swords and spears as those wise few tried to run.

Run they did, right into the darkness that didn't give them a moment's respite before claiming their lives in silence.

Yet, none bore witness to that brutal spectacle.

Their gazes transfixed on the monster that had made itself known.

Only then did it shift again, pointing at them, all of them, just as the moon playfully peeked from behind the clouds to reveal scores upon scores of fiends that had surrounded them.

Eyes of fire, flesh made of iron and steel, decorated by blood.

Was it any surprise then that most of them lost the will to fight?

They tried however.

All for naught.

And now, a nameless man watched paralysed as men, nay, undead fiends ran amok in what had once been a peaceful reminder of home, their tools slicing and tearing apart those unfortunate enough to be caught in their path.

They chased down those that fled, cut down those that resisted.

Set alight the tents that were to guard them against nature, burnt their food and trampled upon their belongings.

Ah.

A realisation dawned on him as a rugged blade reached for his neck.

This must have been their punishment for allowing the desecration of the Holy City.

Yet, the blade stopped an inch from his skin, held in place by a hand with pointed fingers.

"This one lives, we do require information do we not? Or will you be the one to run around all day to make me a map?"

"No, my lord."

He didn't understand their words but he did understand one thing.

He hadn't been saved.

The gentle and kind voice that had almost eased his heart had come from the monster that had unleashed this hell upon his brethren.

He understood now.

The one cast out from the heavens had come for him.

* * *