Dragons, Demons and Men

The Beginning of the End

Steel clashed with the deformed bones of the undead. Thousands of cries from both sides, the screams of men that fall dead and the screeches of the deformed masses as they drop and shrivel. The air was thick with the stench of death it's self. The ground was invisible. All the soldiers saw was red, like a river flowing between there legs it was thick with blood. This battle was no win for both sides. Although the Demons had no emotions, no thoughts other than kill. They have still lost. Yet no battle, no war had seen such catastrophic losses as today. As each man fell the line lost an inch, as they turned to see there king, there hope in this battle they saw nothing. No king. No hope. Nothing. There line was pushed back, inch by inch. No song would be sung today. No feast to be made. It would be a miracle of both the old gods and the new to have a single soul to return home today, it would be a miracle if anything went back to there home, to their master today.

From 10,000 strong to 100. There was no hope. No miracle that could save them today. Circled, the last hope, the last defence held strong as Demons stopped there advance to intimidate, to take all the hope that was once left in those men away, surrounding them. Seconds felt like years as those deformed creations stood, emotionless, staring into the souls of those before them. The ground began to shake. The men screamed the name 'Terra' they said the God of earth has come to save. But this was short lived as they saw 'Sky Tenebris'. At that point. They knew. This would be no savour. Sky Tenebris, Dark Sky, the Dragon, this was no day of success, no day of glory like the Kings, Queens and Generals has said. This was the day of reckoning. His roar pierced the sky. Men dropped covering there ears and those Demons from the abyss? They started to flee. Fire filled the black sky, the blood stricken ground. The deformed soulless bodies cried for there master as they where burnt alive, there skin peeled turning to ash. Sky Tenebris flew, the strength in his wings blew clouds away. The sheer size of this God was immense, but there was no time for stargazing. All he brought was death. He was nicknamed Mors after the last appearance 2 thousand years ago. He flew in a scorched the earth. Sending everything back into ancient times, kingdoms fell that day in mere hours.

The men fled, every man for himself. As they ran over the blood stricken lands they started to chant
'Mors venit. In fine huius initium' Death is Coming. This is the Beginning of the End.