I move my squad out of the alleyway and into one of the wide tree-lined avenues that run parallel to the line of battle. After a quick mental command, my squad begins to make its way slowly and carefully down the wide unoccupied avenue always staying close to some kind of concealments such as trash bins and doorways. Activating one of my more unique abilities for a second I break off my vision from the scouts and look sideways into the Mundane realm. On the other side of the veil, a storm is raging, thunder booming in time to the artillery on this side. That seemed about right, the Mundane realm always gave some sort of reflection of the Other realm. With the intensity of the storm on the Mundane side, I could tell that the damage the battle was doing to the city would be immense. Seeing nothing to worry about for the time being I return my vision back to my squad quickly re-assimilating the scouts' vision. Some of our foes were natives of the Mundane and could slip in and out of it without immediate ill effect. It was alway wise to keep an eye on both realms.

  We moved down the avenue until we came to an intersection with another wide avenue and here I paused. I don’t know how but I felt something amiss. I sent a command to the scouts to quickly climb one of the corner building for a better vantage point. I watched with the eyes of the rest of the squad as the misty almost translucent grey figures of the scouts quickly climb the building, seeming almost to glide their way up. Once they were on the sloped roof of the three-story wooden building their senses quick told me I was right. Something was moving our way from the battle line and it was big.

  With a mental command, my squad quickly hid, most such as myself leaping into garage bins, after all, we have no sense of smell. Some of the smaller Yellows crouched in recessed doorways. It looked like whatever it was would take a few minutes to arrive. I found myself full of strange energy, wanting to be anywhere other than the damp darkness of the inside of the bin watching through faraway eyes as a nebulous danger approached. I began to mumble to myself in my quiet raspy voice.

Stolen story; please report.

  “ Deliver the following command to outpost Delta Three Seven Six ‘local experimentation deemed inefficient at the current time, liquidate all living stock for processing and begin local harvesting of all available resources for shipment to processing center Beta Six’ end message and return with report”

  Not only was this message the first task I had ever been assigned in my existence but the orders had been given to me by the Maker himself. I was one of the few of the third generation to have met the creator of us all. He was such a strange being, a man like the riders from earlier and yet somehow special in a way my mind couldn’t understand. Sometimes the I would repeat these holy words to myself whenever I had difficulty focusing on a particularly hard task, or during long periods of inactivity. Now I found it allowed me to refocus as the enemy came into view.

  Like before it was a group of riders but that was about as far as the similarities went. The first notable difference was quantity while there had only been three riders before, this group is almost five hundred strong. As the group drew closer I saw further differences. The animals being ridden were not warhorses but instead enormous deer. The deer are not moving at the cautious gait of the former riders but at a full charge. The deer’s enormous antlers bobbing up and down as each hoof strikes the ground the cement under them cracking, grass pushing its way up out of the cracks, leaving the street behind them a cracked and overgrown mess. The riders themselves were only lightly armored wearing chest plates and greaves of what looked like hammered copper covered in huge runes that glow a pulsing emerald green. The unarmored portions of the riders are bare except for silver banded paint and are mostly a chestnut brown with a few lighter or paler. Their hair streams behind them in all colors of the natural world, ranging from deep greens to fiery reds and is filled with hundreds of tiny brass bells.

  Copto hearing is not very good but as the host gets closer I can hear the sound of the bells even without the help of the scouts' senses. The sound seems to fill the bin I am hiding in. As the host gets closer the sound of the bells only grows louder filling my mind and making it impossible to even think. As the sound reaches a peak my vision blurs and all thought leaves me as I curl into the fetal position in my dark bin.