In a world divided into three races since ancient times, there have been three kingdoms. The first kingdom is the kingdom of the gods and sits in the heavens ruling above the other two. The second is called Amaryllis and filled with the prosperous...
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"The sky was a sea of spilled ink."
It tore at the edge of the Lekki soldiers' vision, ripping them of their sanity as they ran towards the Mutare soldiers. They ran with their swords raised, their eyes filled with pain, and their cries like a chorus of the undead, ripping through the thick silence that had filled the air, choking any who lived in it.
Their footsteps echoed across the soft, pine needle ridden forest floor, like thunder rumbling in the great sky and there was bloodlust in each Lekki's heart, a determined vengeance to take back what had been stolen from them in burning in each pair of the Lekki soldier's eyes.
The Lekki commander was a tall, well-built man, with dark hair fading into gray, that was just another shadow in this already dark and cold world. He had a shaggy beard with sharp eyes that scanned the chaos as he barked orders he to his soldiers in a gruff voice.
He wore a simple suit of armor, with a sun engraved on his chest plate, yet he stood with confidence and strength, which was what set him out compared to his fellow soldiers. He gripped a long steel sword in his hands, that was coated with Mutare blood. It was thick, pitch black, and sticky like honey. It clung to anything it touched, staining it forever.
The Mutare moved like a pack of wolves, their dark armor reflecting their hearts. The creatures of the night moved quickly, quicker than any Lekki, their bodies surprisingly nimble for their large sizes. When they did strike, they struck hard and quick, always going for the kill.
They were creatures incapable of mercy, so they deserved none for themselves. That was the first thing new soldiers learned, and it was beaten into their minds so they would never be able to forget it. If one spared a Mutare it was likely that same creature would hunt you down and you'd be the one in need of mercy. Yet none would be given.
A Mutare rushed the commander, yet the large man didn't even have to blink before running his blade through the creature's flesh. "You'll never win," the creature growled, before the Lekki commander removed his blade from the creature's body, and the corpse fell to the ground, its flesh burning away from its bones.
The Mutare's bodies decomposed at a rapid speed, and it wasn't long before the creature was nothing more than a pile of ash. The commander just simply wove his way through the battlefield, every so often barking orders at those around him. This wasn't going according to plan. They were losing.
The commander knew that this was a suicide mission as soon as he had received his orders from the general. Yet he knew better to question direct orders. They would need a miracle if they wanted to pull this off. And perhaps a miracle they received.
Even over the chaos on the battlefield, the sound of a horse's whinny was still heard. It was as if a bell had been sounded, echoing through the clearing, where both Lekki and Mutare lay dying, causing both sides of the battle to stop and stare, as flames crawled up of the sides of trees in a way that could only mean a god had arrived.
