“Commander...what are those things?”
Even as his lieutenant’s voice faded, it was quickly replaced by the clattering of steel and the shouts of men’s voices ringing out across a battlefield blanketed by a moonless night.
From time immemorial, the twin heavenly orbs above were touted as God’s eyes. They watched over the world, barely moving from their positions for centuries, but now they were missing, like the Creator had turned his gaze away from the disaster which was befalling the human race. Even the clouds and storms could not normally cover their brilliance, so the infernal darkness covering them now was all the more ominous.
Elijah looked away from the fire-lit clouds above and back to his army of 10,000 that stood upon a charred wasteland that rolled along for miles.
Ten battalions were arranged out into footmen, knights, archers, clerics, and siege divisions. The footmen alone numbered close to 6000, arrayed out to the edges of his vision in 400 columns of brawn and steel, stacked 15 men deep. These phalanxes had just met in combat with a host of demonified creatures.
His men’s armor was of the highest quality, imbued with the holy magic of his magisters, but his sharp eyes still made out the grotesque aberrations on the front line cleaving into the plate with claws and talons that glowed insidiously red - soldiers were constantly wounded and ferried to the backline if critical enough where they received more concentrated healing. It was hard to tell against the backdrop of raging fires all around the battlefield, but that strange light...
No, something else was off about that glow. Something familiar yet alien at the same time. A piece of ash floated down and rested on top of his gauntleted fist which laid upon the pommel on his warhammer. Examining it a bit closer, his eyes made out the slightest tinge of red infused into the particle, wisping off of it like smoke from a smoldering coal, before he was suddenly struck with a realization.
Alarm spread through him in an instant before it finally gave way to an ironclad determination. A burst of light erupted from his armor and vaporized the corrupted elements in a twenty meter radius. The man standing at his side was startled and took a few steps away in confusion.
“Speculation can wait, Lieutenant.” Elijah growled out grimly. “Let us set our minds to the task at hand. When all of this filth is dead, we’ll have our clerics classify the demons.”
He motioned to the twin archer divisions on his 10 and 2 o’clock and designated areas of fire, then reverently took up the huge tome that hung on a chain at his side and flipped to a page, activating the two auras Will of Accuracy and Zealotry at the same time. With a majestic pulse of power, the aura cascaded out from him in twin overlapping shock waves that enveloped all of the ranged marksmen in an ethereal green glow.
That was specifically the Will of Accuracy’s visual effect. Zealotry was a bit harder to spot from his vantage point atop his warhorse, but he knew it was bolstering their damage and attack speed nonetheless. Whoever was standing down range of them would see the the golden red light emanating from their eyes like the overflowing waters of a spring.
Elijah himself was an irrepresable font of power, radiating out languid waves that rippled through the air in a huge radius around him. It was so huge, in fact, that it stretched to the footmen on the front lines in the furthest corners of their formation.
What came next was a whirlwind of singing steel. The four hundred gladiuses of the melee troops in front rose and fell with increased vigor, their bite finding much more purchase on the tough hides and carapace they were striking. Nightmarish screams resounded out shortly afterwards which made the Paladin sitting astride his warhorse pause for a split second.
Could they feel pain? Or was it frustration? Shaking his head, he looked out over his force of 10,000 that calmly faced a horde of one hundred thousand or more. From his vantage point, he could see streams of creatures trickling in to bolster the enemy forces from behind. At this rate, they could be facing a million by the end of the night.
Such a realization made his warrior’s spirit burn with anticipation.
“Soldiers of the Golden Host!” He bellowed, a hand drawing out a rune to activate a third simultaneous aura on a page of his holy book - Prayer of Healing. As soon as he felt the mana for activation drain from him, Elijah flipped to another page designated for troop commandments and sent out tactical movement directions to the various battalions. His actions were the broad strokes that set the stage for the finer details the captains would add in the heat of battle. Each man was personally trained, so he trusted them to fulfill his directives with foresight. Feeding a bit of his mana into the page sent the instructions on their way.
Only a full second had passed and a glow immediately began drifting skyward as motes of light floated up in between the battalions, washing the soldiers with regenerative power. Wounds stitched themselves together without the aid of clerics and soon the army was once more in pristine condition.
“A-oo!” They called back as one thundering voice, pealing like a crack of thunder across the dying grassland.
“Glory to the All-Father! Show me your strength this day!” His deep voice resonated over the din of battle. Sweeping his eyes up and across the demonic ranks, Elijah threw out a hand forward as he commanded, “Advance!”
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And so the true cogs of war finally started to turn, coming to life with the roaring ferocity of an earthquake.
Five thousand footmen beat their swords against shield in measured rhythm, wading forward over slain monstrosities and mounds of eviscerated carnage as their demonic foes started to break beneath the unexpected strength the soldiers marshalled together. Glowing arrows flitted by overhead, sinking into unprotected flesh and vital points with deadly accuracy, always seeming to find purchase in the creatures a rank or two behind the front row that the footmen pushed against.
The creaking and clattering of wooden mechanism came from Elijah’s right and left and he turned to see the massive siege catapults start to launch gigantic boulders packed to the brim with arcane and fire magic, funnelled by mages that were currently meditating to regain their energy. Great tidal waves of flame and ice were released each time the projectiles landed amongst the demonic horde. Hundreds died by the second and the teeming horde started to almost immediately buckle.
This was the pride of a nation. This was His glory. No other power in the world - not the Elves, the Orcs, the Beastkin, the other Kingdoms of Men, no, not even the Dwarven Empire - could stand before the might of this small army. These professional soldiers were the finest that history had ever produced. All made possible by their unwavering faith towards the All-Father.
Elijah gently squeezed with his plate covered legs and his war stallion responded by steadily trotting down the hillside, his lieutenant following a short distance away on his own steed. Power continued to radiate out from him in waves, an ever constant tug on his formidable mana reserves. Spinning rings of power floating around him constantly, reminding him of the favor he was given by the Divine.
The pair finally stopped in front of a small squad of fifty soldiers that were currently taking a knee while they watching the fighting. Each man was easily twice the size of a footman and weighed three times as much due to the sheer muscle mass packed onto their frames. Thick, overlapping plates of steel painted black hung on their shoulders - pauldrons they were called - with etchings of war emblazoned upon them, shining in gold due to the original color of the blessed plate underneath. Their wedge-shaped chestplate armor was fastened in place by large links of steel chain that wrapped alongside their chainmail covered ribs to where the rest of the torso armor protected their back.
The rest of their armor was barren of decoration. Legplates, greaves, handguards, chainmail strapped underneath to ward off a beguiling blade - all had a metallic black sheen to them. The sole exceptions to this appearance were the large shoulder armor and the helmets.
While each had once had their own weapon specializations, Elijah had drilled into them the skills needed to wield a spear, sword, and shield to the same level he was capable. Each weapon was made from the finest Dwarven Alurite and enchanted with a spell that healed them based on the damage they dealt.
“Honorguard,” he said warmly.
Or as their enemies had taken to calling them due to their overwhelming courage…
Dreadnoughts.
Winged helmets of black and gold swung to meet his gaze. The wings themselves were not overly large, but their golden sheen caught the firelight of the surroundings and gave them a ferociously brilliant glow. Every race of man was represented beneath those awe-inspiring helms, a feat he accomplished after travelling the world to recruit the best combat paladins that humanity had to offer. One by one, he had defeated and convinced them to swear their fealty. Though their eyes were unreadable due to the shadows cast by the dark skies and the nature of their full faceguard, he knew what they wanted. He knew what they craved. It coursed through his blood as well.
Screams echoed in the background and the fighting suddenly broke in the middle as a resounding roar reverberated across the battlefield sending shockwaves of sand blasting against Elijah’s bearded face. A second roar came just as the first abated, a few footmen sent flying by the sheer force of the wind buffeting their ranks. The following rank and file close behind those unfortunate souls showed their veterancy and ability to adapt by kneeling low and tilting their shields up to redirect the force of the blast as it whipped into their line.
Billowing smoke covered a twenty meter swathe directly in front of the 1st Battalion and Elijah’s wizened eyes squinted to try and see through it. Flashes of flame. Ash and cinder whirled within, stirring the air that looked like it was turning sick by proximity.
Finally, a man walked out from within.
Or, at least, what had once been a man. Pale white and silver armor adorned an even paler man, his hard grey eyes scanning the line of infantry arrayed before him while silver hair so translucent it turned crimson in the fires burning around them. He tilted his head slightly and the smoke moved once again.
Two massive hounds, caked in brimstone and death, stepped forward to flank him on either side. Collars of spiked iron ringed their necks and the horns, wickedly curved and barbed, pointed forwards in a pair. Their enormity was impossible. Each one was the size of five horses put together. Elijah grimaced before the figure suddenly vanished, his body becoming incorporeal and intangible as the smoke that followed. The hellhounds bounded after him and their target was obvious.
The shieldwall.
What followed had never been witnessed in the twenty five years of his command - his line broke. Blood flew in crimson arcs, drawn by a blade that looked like a sliver of corrupted moonlight. Massive jaws bit down on footmen’s heads and twisted upwards, cracking the spine and rendering the soldiers headless just as quickly as their massive flaming paws swiped left and then right, ripping through blessed steel like cloth.
“Attend me!” Elijah roared, wrathful fury erupting like a volcano. The sight of his men being torn asunder was too much for the general to bear.
As one, the fifty Honorguard swiftly rose and broke in two groups. Their gold, black trimmed cloaks flapped in the caustic wind as each group moved to flank the grand paladin as he dismounted from his stallion, warhammer and shield in hand, and crunched down the hill in sabatons of steel. In his anger, he did not forget himself however. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he shouted to his lieutenant, “Command the backline, Roland!” and then picked up speed into a trot. The Honorguard stuck to him like a gold-flecked shadow.
“All-Father...” he murmured, breath unburdened by the pace as they worked their way through the remaining thirty meters to the front line. Screams continued to sound out from his brothers and streams of blood drew crimson arcs in the air. His triple auras thrummed with power at the invocation and began to congregate into one single formation.
“Hear my prayer.”
“Hear our prayer,” the Dreadnoughts echoed gruffly low, their feet and steel thundering behind him. Power started to radiated from the cracks in their plate and flowed towards Elijah, congregating on his weapon and shield.
“Render against the demonic foes that have invaded our lands…”
A gauntlet gripped the large hammer and pointed it Heavenward, holy power swirling upwards in a coned vortex.
“Judgment.”