“Stay together, stay together,” Gawin whispered his sergeant’s last words as he crawled over corpses. Around him, all semblance of order had evaporated. Formations shattered as men ran in all directions, jostling and knocking over soldiers they would have cut down mere minutes before. Horses plunged forward in utter terror, riders thrown free or gripping their saddles with both hands, too desperate to try to gain any sort of control over their mounts. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but escape. For Dragons were clashing.
Their roars were so deafening, you could hardly hear the screaming. The wind from their wings tossed up such dirt and debris as to make seeing impossible. They fought in the air, soaring and diving, slamming into each other and tearing great chunks of flesh to rain down on those scurrying below. They crashed onto the ground, wrestling and biting, and crushing scores of the unlucky beneath their titanic bulk. The Green blew out a vast cloud of smoke, obscuring for a moment the strange Gold/Black as it launched itself up with a beat of its great wings, dispelling the gas cloud and condemning hundreds more to choke to death on their own bleeding lungs.
Gawin saw nothing of this, as he rolled himself over a horse corpse, so he was relatively covered as the Gold/Black responded to its enemy in kind. Others were not so lucky, instantly incinerated or consumed by a strange liquid blackness. Gawin shoved his face into the wet ground and covered the back of his neck, animal instinct seeking any protection possible from the sudden heat. And just as suddenly, it was gone. He laid with his face in the dirt for a few moments longer, hyperventilating, and shaking from muscles that refused to unclench. His mind flailed, grasping for anything. A memory flashed through his mind. He saw with astonishing clarity his first hunt alongside his father, saw again the rabbit he shot, frozen as he drew back his bow and fired. In that moment, faced pressed to muddy ground and trembling with fear, he felt a strange kinship with the rabbit. The sheer absurdity of it struck him and, to his surprise, a laugh burst from his lungs. Another followed the first, and maddened laughter rose in concert with the roars of dragons and the sounds of dying men.
He didn't know how long he laughed or how long it took for his muscles to unclench, but when the dragons roared again, much closer now, he stood up and ran. His arms pumped desperately, legs churning up the earth and he ran and vaulted bodies of man and beast, but, in his mind, his only thought was “the rabbit died.” He could see people running ahead of him, away from the Dragons. That's all that mattered.
Then he was on the ground again, knocked off his feet by a titanic gust of wind, but he bounced up, pushing himself up and off a corpse so quickly he didn't even register what it belonged to. Flying debris clouded his vision, bits of dirt, clothes, banners, and a thousand other bits of detritus blocked his few of the fleeing men in front of him, knocked him about, even off his feet, but he ran on. Slower now, tripping and picking his way over the field of corpses, but he ran on. There was nothing but this moment, nothing but the next step. Nothing but running, fleeing. On some level he must have been aware of the shouts of pain and fear ahead, but that existed somewhere outside the next step, the step that would carry him further from the Dragons.
But his run could not last forever, it ended, as all things must. Something hit him from behind, spinning him, knocking him forward, and he saw them. They were locked together in the air. Gold/Black had managed to lock its teeth around Green’s neck and was wrenching back and forth forcing an agonized shriek. Green’s hind claws came up in desperation, carving deep rents, adding to the shimmering multicolored blood raining down.
Gawin only marveled at it momentarily, shocked into immobility by the sheer magnitude of the spectacle when something struck his face and began to burn. Pain,unlike anything he has ever experienced, drove him to cry out, a sound of indescribable agony passing his lips as he writhed on the ground. He felt his hair catch fire and melt, smelled his face burning then smelt nothing at all. Darkness came for him, with merciful swiftness yet agonizing slowness.
______________________________________________________________________________
Awareness returned slowly. At first, only a vague sensation of movement. Something tugging at his feet. Then the pain returned, not like before, but he was weak, screaming was beyond him, a pitiful whimpering was all he managed.
Tainted
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The word passed through him like a cutting winter wind, shocking him into full awareness just in time to hear someone being murdered. He cracked open his eye and saw only bloody dirt. Something had his arms in a death grip and was dragging him facedown. His face felt stiff, too stiff to move, and his right eye saw nothing. Most of the right side of his head was on fire but
Tainted
The word struck him again followed by the sound of blades in flesh. Closer this time. He had to escape it, whatever it was. Gawin tried to pull his arms free. It barely shifted before he was cast to the ground, the right side of his face hitting the ground first. He did not have time to scream before darkness reclaimed him.
He awoke facedown on the ground, the left side this time, with a weight in the middle of his back pinning him in place. He cracked his left eye, barely able to make out a pair of rusty grieves in front of his face. When Gawin began to turn his head to see more, he gasped from the shocking pain and his vision went spotty, but he managed to hang on to consciousness.
Tainted
The Voice cut through him again, mere yards away. Strong hands pulled Gawin up to his knees as another man died. He blinked away tears as he looked to his left and saw a monster. It was huge, ten feet tall at least, armored in heavy black plate, with a lethal looking blade as tall as a minotaur. But none of that was what truly scared Gawin, not when he could see the bare skull grinning at him from beneath the skeleton’s open faced helm. It gestured and a pair of rusty armored skeletons dragged an unconscious body forward. The colossal undead reached out, engulfing most of the man's shoulders with metal covered fingers, before effortlessly picking him up to eye level, as if it was performing some kind of inspection.
Tainted
It dropped the limp body and the pair of skeletons immediately set up onto the man, stabbing him repeatedly. He died almost without a sound, more mercy that the next would receive. He screamed and fought, kicking out at the zombies who struggled to drag him forward. Another few more undead shambled into Gawin’s vision from behind, but stopping in their tracks as the massive skeleton warrior spoke again, after barely a glance, condemning the struggler to violent death.
Another body was dragged forward, off white armor stained by mud and blood. Somehow, Gawin found more room in his heart for fear as he realized that he was next after this one. He began to hyperventilate, gasping for air even while his skin cracked from the effort. Time seemed to slow as his mind raced, lone seeing eye taking in every detail, as if noticing everything would grant him a few more precious seconds of life.
The body clattered as the zombie dropped it to the ground, helmet already half off, rolling aside so Gawin could see her eyes staring back at him, partially covered by long hair, dyed bone white. A Bellite, Gawin realized and he felt a little fear ease away as the corner of the woman’s mouth quirked upwards, almost hearing her voice in his mind telling him not to give her away. Armor clattered as the Undead stepped closer.
“ISABELLE!” the no longer faking priest shouted, sending a dome of light bursting forth from body. When the light touched the skeletons beside her, they disintegrated, old bones blasted apart by divine energies. Gawin was struck momentarily blind as the light hit him and felt the weight on his back vanish. Something clattered and the ground shook for a moment. When Gawin’s sight returned, he saw the Bellite priest’s dangling feet, the massive undead was unaffected by the divine blast, having crossed the distance and seized her by the throat with one hand, holding her up without effort.
Isabelle. The creature spoke, drawing out the word to convey the most perfect disdain Gawin had ever heard. Then it began to squeeze. The priest struck vainly at the monster’s gauntlet, metal ringing louder than the pathetic sounds she made. Gawin squeezed his eye shut before the crunching pop came. He squeezed it shut even tighter as he felt the monster step in front of him. The hand came down, colossal armored fingers clamping down and lifting him into the air. Gawin held his breath, waiting for the end.
Yet the end refused to come. Gawin sobbed in tortured fear. Just kill me please. After an eternity, he cracked open his eye and looked straight into an empty socket. The moment stretched into a minute, before the monster ever so gently lowered him to his feet. The shield-sized hand grabbed him by the chin and turned his head to the left, causing an explosion of pain across his burned face. Another long moment, and the hand fell away as the undead walked past him. Gawin stood, immobile but for the shaking of fear, certain he would see a sword or spear point about to pop out of his chest at any moment.
He stood shaking until the bodies of the executed twitched and slowly stood, to take unsteady steps towards whatever was behind him. When he could no longer hear them, he risked it, taking a few bracing breaths, then a few more, before he turned around, shuffling in place so he didn’t turn his head. He was struck dumb by what he saw, though thankfully not gasping from the shock.
Behind him was an army. Rank after rank of undead stood in block formation, better than anything he and his fellow conscripts had managed on the way to the field, better even than the professional regiments too. Gawin’s eye brushed over zombies in Laketon tabards, Bedegar colors, and all manner of armor and heraldry he did not recognize. Strange spectral figures floated next to a block of undead cavalry as the last of the stragglers took their places. Gawin could see over the ranks to the towering undead at the head of well over a thousand undead. At some unseen signal, the entire front rank of the army took a perfectly synchronized step. Without a sound but the tramp of feet and jingle of armor, the undead army marched, leaving not a single corpse behind on the field. Within minutes, Gawin was utterly alone on a bloodstained field.
Finally unfrozen, Gawin took a few stumbling steps and fainted onto the ground.