Chapter 8: Piss, Tears & Flames

It is a particularly rainy day in Nexonin... Actually, to call it just "rainy" would be to greatly undermine it, for it is pouring down like hell atop the houses and shops of the esteemed Nexonia City. Puddles of water fill the cracks in the roads of the poor streets... steaming, hot water. Wagons and carriages are hurrying about, trying to escape the fury of the clouds. In reality, those are the most fortunate, much less the folk hurrying in the streets like rats, seeking shelter from the rain.

Three old men are seated on chairs in front of a small house, only barely covered by their roof. One of them is a fat man with a pair of glasses, quite slow and a bit shaky and shivery, possibly in his sixties, the second man almost as old, dark-skinned, exhausted and quite obviously sick and tired of the world, and the third a slim man in his fifties, a bit mad-looking. They all dress in a poor fashion, but the slim one is very much sticking out, wearing a long, black hat, a strange, dirty silk sweater and a pair of pointy shoes.

The three men are seated, lazily watching the folk run from the downpour. A cup of tea is placed on the table, a distance away from the fat man, a trickle of hot raindrops from the roof takes a habit of falling onto it. He grabs the cup, drinking minute portions of it as he watches the rain and the various figures running in the street, splashing and making a mess out of themselves.

"You see?" says the fat man. "The water... It is rising."

"Steaming hot rain." says the dark-skinned man. "I can't imagine what it is like out there."

"Poor folks..." says the fat man. "Wares and goods are going bad... Those poor, poor folks will not handle this loss. Death knocks on their door every day, and every day the door becomes a little bit weaker."

"It is a miracle." says the dark-skinned man.

"A miracle?" cries the fat man, shaking as he utters his next words, almost as if he was about to have a stroke. "Is that your choice of words?!"

"It is an unpleasant miracle!" cries the dark-skinned man, struggling to work his brain up while speaking. "I forgot the word for it!"

"You idiot..." says the fat man, sitting back and taking another sip, before taking an exaggeratedly huge breath and then breathing out for a long moment.

"You know, it is said," says the fat man, "that hot rain is a sign of impeding doom... for you see, it is the angels up above, weeping, grieving our misfortune. It is a downpour of angels' tears."

"Cut the crap!" cries the slim man, breaking his silence. The other two men look towards him, confused. The fat man struggles to set himself a slight angle to the side to face the man, as he shakes heavily and with difficulty in his movement, while the dark-skinned man turns to him and gives him an exhausted, half-assed stare.

"Pardon?" utters the fat man.

"Angels' tears, my ass!" cries the slim man, in a mad manner. "Let me tell you something, the two of you, these are no tears, the angels are up there pissing down on us... Laughing and getting drunk on our doom... They love it!"

The two men brush him off and go about with their business. The slim man just shakes his head and continues to watch the street. A cloaked, beautiful young woman appears from beyond the roads, walking down the street towards them, green eyes, slim figure, blonde hair that is barely visible as she covers her head with her cloak, and despite her poor clothing and her dirt-ridden cloak, she does not look very different from a princess. She walks in front of the three men, carrying a basket of vegetables in her hand.

"Afternoon, father!" she calls, exasperated, not stopping.

"Afternoon, Meridith," calls the slim man, shaking his head, still slightly bothered, "home early?"

"Father, it's a shitfest." says Meridith, coldly, "Vegetables are going to shit, fruits are going to shit, the whole.. city is going to shit, I got to get these to the shed to clean them up from... all the shit."

"Have at it, then," calls the slim man, "but don't stay out for too long, you wouldn't want to come home covered in holy piss and shit."

"I will, father." calls Meridith, "You take care."

"Disaster!" cries the dark-skinned man. The other two men turn to him, confused. "I remembered the word!"

As Meridith walks out of sight, she starts to watch her vegetables, completely covered in hot water and steaming up, you could tell she's feeling a bit discomforted from holding the hot basket. She is startled when she gets pulled aside in an instant, into a tight place between two houses.

"Shit!" she cries, scared.

It is a cloaked figure, he puts his finger on his mouth, signaling her to be quiet. He takes the cloak off his head, it is Prince Markus. He smiles at her, she frowns.

"You almost gave me a heart attack you pig!" she cries, removing the cloak off of her head, revealing her long hair, she is wearing it in a crown braid.

"Oh god, I am such a terrible person!" cries Markus, jesting.

After a short moment, Meridith laughs, shaking her head. He intimately gets closer to her, turning his smile to a kiss.

"Come on now." he says, waiting for his kiss.

"Fuck off." she aggressively says, then laughing.

He backs off a bit, feigning sadness.

"Okay, fine, gods!" he says.

"What are you doing here?" she says.

"I mean isn't it obvious?" he says, smiling, "I'm here to buy some veggies of course!"

"The veggies are terrible." she says, pertaining to her cold manner.

"I think the veggies are beautiful," he says, getting closer once again, smiling, "they've lost a bit of weight, haven't they?"

"I said fuck off." she says, pushing him away, pissed. "It's raining."

"Yes, I can see that." he says, disappointed, slowly backing off and turning around. "Well... It's been nice talking to you, I guess I'll see you soon."

He starts walking away. Meridith sighs and rolls her eyes. Let's just get this over with.

"What did you want?" she calls. Markus turns back at her, smiling casually and playfully.

"I wanted to say goodbye!" he says.

"Good-" she starts to say, shocked. "What the fuck do you mean 'goodbye'?"

"Don't you see the rain? The clouds? The wind?" says the prince. "It is time for the great battle, the Dark Lord is coming and I have to fight him, and who knows how long this could last."

"Oh dear." she says, worried, thinking for a second. "Oh dear... Are you going to be alright?"

"I think I will." he says. "I mean, how often can the gods be wrong about something?"

"Well..." she says, thinking, biting her lips from worry. She moves a little closer and very slightly lays her hands on his chest. "Please, please be safe, Mark."

"Meridith." he says, getting closer. "I am sorry, I am sorry for everything... your father, your brother, your... I... I love you Meridith, and I will never love another woman as long as I live. I am sworn to you like a sword to its master."

"Yes, of course," she says, rolling her eyes, "which is why you are getting married to the green girl."

She pushes him and starts walking away, before he gently grabs her by the shoulders.

"I am not!" he cries. "Listen, my love... It is my father's wish, it is what he wants, not what I want!"

"Screw your father!" she cries, trying to walk away again.

"Screw my father!" he cries, holding her again. They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, a pure, true love's stare. He moves just a little bit closer.

"Listen to me, Meridith." he says. "I will kill the Dark Lord, and then I will marry you, against my father's wish. I will do whatever I must, even if I must leave this kingdom... We can live together on an island far, far away..."

She stares at him, smiling. He moves even closer.

"Just me and you... together... all the coconuts and the palm trees and... the wicked little squirrels stealing the pies we leave on the window to cool off!" he says.

She laughs, blushing and turning away for a moment, before she looks back into his eyes, his lips, and back into his eyes, finally submitting to his charm.

"Oh, come over here you pig!" she says, laughing once again, as they finally exchange an intimate kiss.

They are startled and forced to break off by a speeding wagon nearby, which sprays a puddle of water near them, causing a lot of noise. Meridith instinctively jumps back.

"Oh gods." she cries. "Thank the gods that didn't get me, I didn't want to spend the weekend drying my clothes."

"Wish me luck, my love." he says. "If I defeat the Dark Lord, I will try to get my father to step aside and crown me king."

"Don't forget the thing about my father." she says. "I mean it, don't you even dare!"

"I will not." he says. "Your father was wronged, and he will be compensated."

He starts backing away, smiling.

"... I love you." she calls, smiling back.

"I would kill for you, my love!" he calls, running off.

"Okay now you're being dramatic!" she calls, smiling, shaking her head, as he disappears into the street.

----

An enormous cloud of mist crawls over the kingdom, bigger than any that had ever been seen, dragging a haunting presence across with it. The people at the outskirts of the kingdom near the southern border watch the cloud, gasping in fear, they know that there is no escape.

We are now at a simple village, filled with simple people. In fact, so simple, they are dead.

A horde of dark goblins surrounds the village, scavenging the area. One very unfortunate woman in a cloak runs for her life, frightened. Two scary dark goblins chase her between the buildings and the houses, the very alleyways of the village, with crooked daggers, laughing maniacally.

She continues to run, looking behind her one more time, frightened, but before she could look forth once again, she is impaled by another goblin through the chest. She lets off one last crack of pain, before she drops to the ground, dead.

Between two houses in an alleyway near that same road, in an absurdly dark and secluded area, two cloaked figures are stood, watching, one of them a frog person, and the other covering his face so we can not really see it, but what we can see is a pair of huge goat-like horns. Wait a minute, cloaked frog person? Oh, It's the same one from Thornridge, of course. The frog person turns to the horned person, shocked.

"Dark army?" says the frog person.

The horned man looks away one more time, and returns to him.

"Scout team." he says.

"Ribbet!" cries the frog person, becoming more restless. "We need to inform the king, immediately!"

The horned person stays silent. The frog person moves closer to him, looking behind him one more time, suspicious.

"Take us away." Says the frog person.

Suddenly, the horned person waves his hands, and they disappear into a cloud of smoke.

----

The horned person and the frog person barge into the Nexonish throne room, knocking the doors open.

"The Dark Lord is here!" cries the frog person.

"Oh dear!" cries the king, seated on his throne, being vigorously back-rubbed by two royal maidens. "Send the army, immediately!"

----

The royal barracks, vast, saturated with pointy weaponry, from blades, crossbows, maces, and axes all around. A large fish hangs on one wall, engraved underneath it, in a very fancy writing, are the words; "Finn, Chekhov's Fish".

Hundreds of warriors and swordmen roaming about, preparing for the big battle, sharpening their swords, packing their crossbows, doing lifts, all different kinds of preparations in this crowded hall. It is extremely noisy, from the clunks to the clanks to the various murmurs and conversations being had between the men. They aren't scared, however, this battle might be what their whole life has culminated to and they are ready and proud.

On one bench, a very strong and determined swordman is seated. He is Scar, in his late twenties, in full metal armor, polishing his large, steel blade, a small but intimidating cut runs through his left eye to his cheek. Another man is seated across from him, doing exactly what he's doing.

"So what was all that about, huh?" says the man.

"I don't know, she just... kept asking me questions and whatnot..." says Scar. "I think she was documenting the war, writing a story about it."

"A story?" says the man. "Mate... Why'd she go to just you and not everyone else? I had some exciting things to say too!"

"I don't know, something about uh..." says Scar, "audiences identifying with individual people more than they do numbers."

"That's stupid." says the man. "I love reading about numbers, s'why I always wanted to be an accountant."

"Yeah, but we're here." says Scar, shrugging. "It's not awful, but it ain't awful either."

"You can say that again!" -says the man, laughing as he sheathes his blade, stretching his legs in preparation- "I mean.. we'll probably just finish this in a day's time or so, being that all this is prophesized and whatnot.. it's nothing, is it?"

"I hope so." says Scar, thinking for a moment.

"How's your little girl by the way?" says the man.

"Cece? Oh, she's a wonderful little devil!" cries Scar, laughing, "She'll be four by this time next month."

"Jolly!" says the man. "Got a picture of her?"

"I... uh I don't really..."

"What's wrong?" asks the man. "You don't have one?"

"No, I do, it's just that..." says Scar. "That woman writing the story, she told me that... I shouldn't be showing pictures of my little girl around."

"Why not?"

"Says it's some kind of a bad omen," says Scar, "that people who show pictures of their little girl to other people usually die tragically at war."

"That's bollocks, my friend!" cries the man.

"Yeah, she did sound like a hag." says Scar. "Well, here goes."

He takes a picture out of his pocket and shows it to the man, it's a baby girl of almost four years, cute little thing, in her mother's arm, a fair lady also in her late twenties, innocent looking.

"Sweet little thing!" gushes the man.

"I'm fighting for her." says Scar. "And her mother. I love them more than anything in this world, and I want to protect them... they are why I'm here."

"Well then, I hope you don't die, mate." says the man, patting Scar on the back. "Don't worry Scar, I got your back!"

"Thank you, Billy." says Scar. "You're a real friend, and I promise no one's touchin' you out there, no one but me of course!"

"Very funny," laughs Billy, smacking him on the shoulder with the handle of his sword, "now just hope someone knocks you out before the battle starts, because there is no way you're making it past the first line of goblins."

Scar laughs, shaking his head and going back to polishing and sharpening his sword.

----

Dothsnow hills, one of the famed landmarks of Nexonin, where it almost never stops snowing. Today, however, snow is thicker than ever, as the mist crosses above, and the army of the Dark Lord with it. Thousands of dark goblins, trained to kill and only kill, orcs, gargoyles, monsters of every caliber, with weapons wielded almost as if they were born with it, as if they were breastfed with the blood of their enemies... okay gross, you get the point.

A lonely flower blooms on the hill, a beautiful Tres Montian Lily, a light blue flower that was believed to have gone extinct until now, with large petals that almost reflect the light of the sun, emitting joy and hope. It is instantly trampled, however, by one of the dark goblins, effectively being sent back to extinction.

Hundreds of the king's men are positioned in Lokrini Village, a few miles away from the hill, in a steady formation, weapons raised, hundreds of swords lined up perfectly in lines and rows, and many archers behind them, as well as knights and horsemen with lances ready to go at any moment.

"Yoohoo!" calls an old lady in a dirty cloak, holding a large basket, followed by a few dozen more ladies who emerge from beyond the small houses of the village in tidy waves. The warriors turn to look at the ladies, confused, slightly murmuring amongst themselves. The ladies point the baskets in their direction.

"A gift from the village!" cries the old lady, in a very cheerful and blissful manner. "For good fortune!"

The several warriors in the vicinity start exchanging looks, thinking on whether or not to break their focus for just a little while to have some food.

"A bite won't do you harm!" cries the old lady. "Pass it on, fellas!"

One of the warriors takes a basket and opens it, it is filled with bread and cheese and many portions of grilled beef. They are immediately tempted, they don't seem to have eaten for a while. The baskets are passed on amongst the men as they eat up to gain strength for their big battle. The cloaked ladies exchange looks as they watch the warriors eat, pleased.

One of the ladies, a young, gorgeous woman in her mid-twenties, stands next to one of the particularly muscular and young warriors as he eats. She is hitting on him, with that look on her eyes and her quiet laughter, and he's all in. Ah, what a beautiful moment!

"Why aren't they coming?" says Captain Dormand interrupting said beautiful moment, who seems to be the knight leading the army, currently dual-wielding his two long blades.

"Let them be, Captain Dormand!" cries one the warriors, enjoying his food. "We gotta power up for the big battle! Have some of this, it's god-like!"

One of the young ladies offers the captain a basket, her head turned sideways in an adorable manner while smiling warmly at him.

"I'm well." says Dormand, concentrating into the hills, thinking. There must be something wrong, the dark army should be here by now, but there isn't even a cloud of mist in sight.

The lady takes the basket and leaves, heading towards a house in the back. She skips the house and lays the basket next to a few dozen empty baskets behind the house, where we could see a lady's hand lying there, completely covered in blood.

The men are already finishing their food, they are replenished, ready to fight... or are they?

One of the men, the first man to eat, starts screaming in pain, putting his hand on his stomach, which makes a loud noise as if it were being ripped by a beast from the inside. Everyone is shocked and terrified, backing away, confused. Other men start to join, and shortly after, everyone. Dormand looks around, noticing the chaos that had befallen within his army, shocked.

"What's going on?!" he shouts, raising his blades defensively as he turns to the ladies, who are now slowly creeping towards him. The old lady takes off her cloak, revealing her long, dark ears... a dark elf. She grins widely at him, as all the other ladies join.

The young lady near the other man stares at him, shifting from a seductive look to a dark one, as she quickly erects a knife from the sleeve of her cloak and stabs the man straight in the eye with a curve that pokes his brain out the other end.

The men struggle to stay on their feet, screaming and shouting rising among their ranks, a lot of the men fall to their knees, some vomiting blood, and others rolling on the floor in raw pain. One man unsheathes his blade, raising it high, in an almost mad manner.

"This is no honorable death! I will not suffer for the recreation of the gods!" he says as he stabs himself in the heart, resting himself from the pain.

The men roll on the floor in pain, an unholy sensation of suffering and torture. One man takes off his armor and clothes and starts clawing his belly button, blood pouring out of it as he screeches at the top of his lungs, nerves popping out of his head from the pain.

"Who are you people?!" cries Dormand, backing off, alternating his blades at each of them as they start to surround him.

"Fight all you want." utters the old lady, raising her knife, with a vicious look in her eyes, as all the other ladies join her. "The Dark Lord always triumphs!"

They move even closer, but he does not fear, he starts to slash at them, killing one, two, three, in a quick and maneuverable manner, but after a very short moment, he is completely surrounded. The ladies continually stab him from every direction in every part of his body, riddling him with knife wounds. They laugh and scream as they continue to impale his body, even after he is dead. Holes, his entire body is just filled with holes now, he got absolutely swiss-cheesed up.

The ladies start to kill all the other suffering warriors. It doesn't take long before the few warriors who have not eaten start to group together and fight, killing the ladies one by one, but by that time, it is too late.

"The army is here!" cries one of the few remaining knights on horseback. Panic courses through those who remained, it is clear that some of the men were hoping the knight was talking about their own army.

His horse, and all the other horses, start to go AWOL. They run around, terrified, as the cold, dark mist starts to creep up on them, followed by the ambient sound of the marching army of the dark, those dark men which they cannot see. The men creep back, weapons raised, preparing, horrified. It's official, ladies and gentlemen, there is no hope.

"We are dead men." says one of the warriors, sheathing his blade and backing off.

"Not in the angels' paradise, we aren't!" cries the knight, pointing his lance forwards, determined.

"I have seen enough of this world to know that you and all your kings are full of shit." says the warrior. "There is no paradise, only hell."

The warrior runs away, followed by many others. The knight watches in fear. Another knight comes close to him, who might be the only other knight left.

"Let's gather everyone. Make our final battle a great one." says the first knight.

"Nah." says the second, instantly getting off his horse. "You enjoy your fucking angels' paradise, I'm gonna go live on an island."

He runs away, as fast as he could. The knight watches him, becoming even more fearful as he starts to lose all the hope that he had mustered. The running man drops his pants and starts running in his underwear.

"This is not an insult by the way!" calls the man as he is running. "They were heavy, I'm just trying to run faster!"

The knight turns to look in front of him. He starts to notice thousands of figures among the mist, coming closer and closer, he can almost hear their terrifying breaths and murmurs nearing, and in the distance... Four dark, mysterious figures, only barely visible from the mist, but their silhouettes are so distinguishable yet haunting that it is almost hypnotic. The very few warriors who haven't run all come close to the knight, eyes locked onto him.

"Now what?" asks one of the men. The knight looks at the man, then back at the army.

"Fuck me." he mutters.

----

Outside the walls of the Nexonish Capitol, the kingdom's real army is stationed, thousands of swordmen guarding the wall, almost a hundred archers atop, preparing their quivers. In front of the army stands Prince Markus, in his fanciest yet most battle-fit set of armor, holding his sword, staring into the road, prepared. Next to him, our very own group of adventurers, or should I say... mentors.

An ambient noise is heard from beyond the wall, chanting and singing of dozens of different frequencies and pitches that don't go well together, resulting in an incoherent noise. It comes from the mages, preparing their spells.

Jon, Fangs, and Emit are all stood, giving the prince a well-needed speech.

"This is the day, Markus." says Jon. "This is the day you prove to everyone that you are the one, to prove to them why the gods chose you out of anyone."

"Yeah.." says Markus, nervously.

"They could have picked anyone." cries Jon, pointing towards a knight in the army. "They could have picked that guy over there!"

"Hello." says the knight in the back, waving.

"Be strong, Markus, and be brave." says Jon.

"Don't be a pussy." says Fangs.

Jon moves closer, firmly holding Markus by the shoulders, fiercely looking into his eyes. Markus is very anxious and pressured at the moment.

"Think about what's at stake, think about your kingdom." says Jon.

"I'm thinking." says Markus, frowning.

"Think about the families and the children." says Jon. "Think, Mark!"

"I ... Okay, yeah, they're in my head now." says Markus, nervously tapping his feet.

"Think about the thing you love the most!" says Jon.

"What is that?" says Markus.

"I don't fucking know! How am I supposed to know?!" cries Jon, moving away. "Concentrate! You are the wyvern! You set fire to your enemies if they dare to oppose you!"

"Okay, okay yeah, yeah-"

"Yeah man concentrate, don't be stupid!" says Fangs.

"Don't be fucking stupid!" -Emit cries, before shifting to a more respectful tone- ".. Your highness!"

"People will die, Markus!" cries Jon.

"Can you shut the hell up? Please?" cries Markus, holding his head, overwhelmed. "You're... putting a lot of pressure on me! I got enough on my mind as is!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry." says Jon, letting go of him and calming down.

"No, really, I can't think straight when you're all knocking on my head like that!" cries Markus. "Wyvern this, Wyvern that... I'm about to lay an egg from you lot!"

Jon nods, turning and thinking for a moment. He lays his hand on the grip of his magical blade, hesitantly feeling the grip. Should I? Maybe not, or maybe... Ah, fuck it.

"Listen, Markus, I've been meaning to do this for a long time." says Jon. He unsheathes his blade, taking one last look at it, smiling at his own proud reflection on the blade, before he takes a deep, nostalgic breath. "I have carried this sword for as long as I can remember... I've always taken it upon myself that I'd never pass it on, until I know that I'm ready... until I find the young man who could carry its legacy, the man who I could retire, knowing that he would do exactly what I would do... and more."

Jon hands the blade to Markus.

"It is yours now." Says Jon.

Markus stares at the blade, amazed. It is clear that the aesthetic of it impresses him, the world's money couldn't buy a weapon as powerful and majestic. He takes it and starts to look at it, fully enjoying its grip. He looks back at Jon, smiling.

"Thank you, Jon Eagle of Stratfort." says Markus, respectfully. "Rest assured that your blade is in safe hands."

"Doesn't matter." Says Jon. "As long as they are worthy hands, you can do whatever the fuck you want with it."

They are interrupted by a running man from afar, the men raise their weapons, cautious and preparing to attack, until they notice that the man is...

"In his underwear?" says Emit, confused.

He runs to them at full speed. Fangs couldn't help but laugh a little bit.

"They're here! The dark army is here!" calls the underwear man, still running towards them. "Thousands, maybe millions of them! There's goblins and orcs and sexy babes! Do not fall for the sexy babes! Do not trust them! They are cursed!"

"Put some pants on, my man!" cries Fangs, still laughing.

"Woah, calm down, mate!" says Markus, who moves forward to stop the man. "Where are the other men?"

"They have all died!" Cries the underwear man. "I told them to take off their pants and they didn't, now they're dead! They should've utilized their speed, but they couldn't forfeit their pride! They're all screwed now, oh gods, am I screwed? Should I-"

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" -screams Markus, pushing the man away, who is about to lose his mind from panic and shock, before he turns to call to the soldiers- "Take him in, give him a few slaps, he'll be alright."

"Thank gods!" cries the man, as two swordmen emerge from the army to take him in. "I am free at last! Holy crap!"

"... That wasn't even their real army." says Markus, nervous, now facing Jon.

"That wasn't even our real army!" cries Jon.

"Seriously?!" shouts the underwear man, stopping to turn back to the prince.

"Just... take him away." calls the prince. "And give him some bloody pants! Gods!"

They take him away. He mumbles as he disappears into the walls.

"What do you think of this?" says Markus, getting uneasy, much more than he had before, biting his lips a little.

"I think you guys need lighter pants." says Fangs.

"Listen, there's no going back now." says Jon. "I already gave you the sword and the pep talk, you have to fight now."

"I said I'm going to fight! Bloody hell!" cries Markus, shaking his head and thinking. "I am a wyvern, I am a warrior, I am a mage, and I am the chosen one. The only way the dark lord could defeat me would be in a contest of who has the bigger nose!"

"That's the spirit!" cries Jon, giving the prince a quick and reassuring pat on the back. "We're with you, this is our battle too. Let's do this."

"You've freed Thornridge," says Emit, joining Jon with a second pat, "now it's time to free the world."

They all start taking battle positions, preparing their weapons. Fangs starts humming to prepare his giant conjuration as he did before, this time he is concentrating very well, like his life really depends on it. Emit starts singing, causing strange magical green circles to appear on the ground everywhere. Smaller sanctuary spells?

Markus waits for the army. His left foot vibrates profusely, rapidly tapping up and down.

"Good luck." says Jon. "You won't need it, but just in case."

"T- yeah, to you too, my friend." says Markus. "Ready to kick some ass?"

"Damn straight!" cries Jon, before he bumps him on the shoulder and goes to the other men in the army. He starts chanting, causing their armors and weapons to glow bright blue, slowly enchanting them. Everyone is steady and ready.

In the distance, Scar and Billy stand next to each other, in battle formations, among the first line of defending swordmen. Scar stares fiercely into the horizon, at the dark army, waiting.

"Alright Billy, this is it." says Scar.

"Let's hope you fight as well as you polish your sword," says Billy, "because they won't be keeping you around to polish theirs!"

"Let's hope you fight as well as you talk!" says Scar, laughing. "Those aren't the ugly women you pick up at bars, first thing an ogre's gonna do when he picks you up is crush you on a rock!"

"Don't be stupid, the only thing getting crushed today is the Dark Lord's donkey-head!" cries Billy.

"Hah! Well then I better be there to witness it, would be a bloody historical sight!" cries Scar.

Mist starts to rise from beneath the horizon, darkening its very trail. The marching could be heard, thousands of feet nearing their walls. The men stand their ground, patient. The marching closes in, ringing like drums held by the gods, beating on the earth's very crust. Suddenly, the dark army stops to a halt, and the sound stops.

--

--

--

A moment passes, neither the men nor the mist moves one inch closer. The king's men start to exchange looks, confused.

--

--

--

"Why are they not moving?" Markus whispers to Jon. Jon shrugs.

--

--

--

Silence ensues for another mere minute, before it is overshadowed by an impeding wave of clucks. The confusion rises even more. Hundreds of small figures could be seen dashing from afar. Markus squints, trying to figure out what is coming at them. The men start to raise their weapons in preparation.

"Are those..." Markus starts to say.

"... The hell?" says Jon.

We can now see that what is running towards them is an army of chickens, dashing across the grass with a very damp trail of mist behind them, a deafening cluster of hundreds of clucks ringing across the battlefield.

"Are they mocking us, your highness?" calls one of the knights at Markus, but he continues to watch, confused. What the fuck are they doing? No seriously, I don't get it, nobody does.

"Be ready for anything!" calls the prince, "This could be a trap!"

The men raise their weapons as the chickens get much closer. In an instant, the chickens start dashing between their legs with their damp trail of mist which almost covers only their feet. The men look underneath them, confused, as the chickens and mist pass by.

"The hell is going on?!" cries a knight.

Fangs, who is still humming and preparing his summon, stops momentarily as his wolfish ears rise at the sense of danger. He starts to look around himself, observantly. The chickens pass and disappear into the wilderness, but not the trail of mist beneath their legs. They look beneath them, as the mist slowly starts to dissipate to reveal a trail of seeds littering the ground. Hundreds, maybe thousands or even tens of thousands of seeds.

"What is this?" says Emit, confused. Puzzled murmuring spreads across the army. Markus observes the seeds, thinking, he then looks up towards the dark army and notices the four mysterious figures from earlier with their eerie silhouettes. The knight next to him notices them as well, and gasps in fear.

"Your highness!" cries the knight. "The Four Wards of Darkness! They are here!"

The Four Wards of Darkness, the most menacing beings in all of Nexonia. Let's introduce them now, shall we?

HOD, short for the Hand of Death, a large man, almost ten feet tall, fully covered in a plated armor of dragon-bone, he is said to have risen from the pits of hell with a will to kill anything that walks. His head resembles a skull that sometimes is or is not covered in flames. His fists are the hardest weapon in all of Nexonia, they say they can crush iron to pulp. A fierce, gore-loving character that laughs at the thought of smashing someone to bits.

TAMER, a very calm and collected man, with a leather jacket and leather pants, looks just like an average ranger with a long mustache and a large hat, but he can control anything that walks on fours... Or twos... Or none at all, I guess he can control snakes as well? And worms too, I suppose? Scratch the analogy, he controls creatures, and he's the best at it. His whip is an ultimate weapon of submission that could send a dragon to his knees.

MISTMAN, also known as THE CRAWLER, a being made completely of mist, ominous and mysterious, his voice sounds like what you would imagine the devil whispering in your ear, breathing down your neck, to sound like. He controls the mist and everything within it.

And last but not least, HYBRID, the most mysterious of the four, a gray and pale figure, he looks like an alien, still-eyed, almost like a more sophisticated and humanoid image of the dashers we had seen way back in chapter 1. His personality would mirror that of an introverted boy you'd see in your class, but his power makes him the exact opposite, a terrifying, fearless leader... Wait a minute, I've narrated this before, haven't I? I can't really seem to remember when, though.

Markus starts sensing the oddity in the air, but it's not just oddity, it smells more like-

"Gunpowder?" Markus says to himself, suspicious. He tries to sniff the air further, tracing the smell, before he looks down at the seeds. Something is so wrong.

Hod stands near the horizon, laughing maniacally, so loud and menacing that you could clearly hear him from this far distance, as his skull starts to emit flames. He leans down, spreading his arms wide as he shoots an arc of flame at the ground.

The flames start to crawl up towards the men, catching onto the grass and creeping up like a mad man. They raise their swords, confused, until the flames reach the seeds on the ground. Instead of carrying on the flames, however, the seeds start to explode in a rough and destructive manner, turning the trail of flames to a trail of explosions, taking at the warriors, blowing them one by one. The explosions are so strong that they toss the warriors' bodies around, sometimes crushing them into each other, ripping their limbs and heads apart. The men start to run, terrified and confused, but it's no good, the explosions and flames are too fast, and very quickly, they catch on to and brutally kill most of the army. Scar stares at the explosions, terrified, the reflection of fire filling his eyeballs. Jon idly watches the trail approach him, in shock and an overwhelming sense of fear, he cries;

"Fuck!"