“Here they come,” said Iskander grimly, his gaze fixed upon the distant horizon of the Poscale field, where an ominous darkness loomed, like a harbinger of doom. “I hope you have some strength in you, Jonas. This fight will consume it all.”

It had been an arduous process of aligning all the units within the army into place, and many hours had passed. Colonel Aurian Piasno’s infantry regiment had been swift and disciplined and waited for most of the morning for the less organized units to settle into place. As predicted, the Stotor volunteers, ragged, shabby, and wild, were the last to fall into formation. Lucky for me, they were all the way across the field, to my right.

When it was all said and done, and a maddening silence settled upon the field, it was nearing noon. The heavy fog from the previous night had begun to slowly roll down towards the fast-flowing river. Then, as the darkness approached ever more, the wind changed direction and was now coming from the east and with it carried a foul and rotten smell. Soldiers shifted around nervously and whispered whether that stink would keep increasing.

I looked up at the sky, where the sun was near its zenith, and yet daylight darkened with every passing moment.

Jace also looked up, and his brow furrowed. “The Enemy approaches, indeed. Though I hoped I would get one more day to prepare myself.”

“By doing what, situps?”

“By getting this stupid armor adjusted!” said Jace and pulled on a leather strap irritably.

“Don’t bother with that. The moment you swing your sword, you will forget all about it.”

“I hope you’re right because this is torture!”

“I’d hide that amulet, too,” said Iskander, noticing his Eye of Hanuk dangling for all to see.

“No!” said Jace firmly. “That I will not do.”

“Suit yourself, but you’re going to lose it.”

“That will also not happen.”

I liked this new, confident Jace. They needed all the mental fortitude they could muster.

As time crawled by, our anticipation grew, reaching maddening heights. The oppressive gloom crept relentlessly upon us, and everyone soon knew that the battle was inescapable, but would not come upon us for some time. Strangely enough, this bothered me the most.

The large field that was before me had a slight downward slope. Further back were two ancient bridges, built over the rapid-flowing Poscale River. I wondered what madness would make the Enemy attack uphill in such a disadvantageous place. I was no military commander, but even I could see this was not a wise idea. But then again, our Enemy was not driven by logic or reason, but by some other goal.

This could possibly be a glaring weakness in how the Enemy operates, and one that we could exploit in the future. That was, assuming that we emerge victorious from this battle.

To my eyes, the sight of our army was glorious. I’d never seen anything close, and a powerful sense of duty flowed into my heart because of it.

I stood in the vanguard, knowing and hoping I would be the first to confront the Enemy. To my left, Florencia was glued to my side, finding some little solace in our closeness. Jace and Iskander stood beside her, looking grimly ahead. And all the while I was like a stone statue, daring not to move, and keeping my mind close to a trance-like state. I had to be ready to perform the spell at a moment’s notice. I had my arms crossed on my chest, and the heavy woolen blanket covering my back and shoulders.

It was getting rather cold.

Further to my left stretched the diverse assembly of the Lienor volunteer army. This motley group was comprised of the Lottie Guards, loyal retainers of knights and other low nobles who had to fight in the field, professional men-at-arms, proud and wealthy knights with their full plate armor and colorful surcoats, fragments of troops from other regiments or armies, soldiers who were on vacation nearby, and pretty much everyone who could and wanted to fight against the Enemy.

To my right was Master Rosalda Fiorlunta with her Knights of Hanuk.

She spoke very little and only gave us an acknowledging nod, and we responded in kind. I sensed her anticipation mirrored ours, and she kept it well hidden. Rosalda had already unsheathed her greatsword, and held it upside down, the tip buried in the grass.

All fifty of her knights commanded attention, eclipsing all other units on the field by their magnificence. Clad in steel plate armor, each piece polished to a mirror-like finish, they wore brilliant white surcoats adorned with intricately embroidered symbols of Hanuk. Many whispered and chanted prayers to their deity. All of them had great and mighty swords or large staves of silver and carved steel, and their helmets bore the faces of noble heroes of times past.

Because all of them were mages of differing strengths, there was an almost continuous crackling of magical energy around us. Sparks of blue and gold popped into existence for the tiniest of moments before disappearing forever.

Standing behind and further to my right, were colonel Piasno’s men—battle-hardened soldiers and seasoned professionals, lifelong soldiers. Many had decades of experience in small but brutal skirmishes near the Stotor borders. They stood unwavering, wearing steel armor and surcoats of royal blue and gold, damp and glistening from morning dew. Spears, halberds, and poleaxes were held at the ready. Many had maces or warhammers for secondary weapons, while others had opted for arming swords.

Far to the right, just under a mile distant, beyond the haphazard formation of the Stotor volunteers, lay a small thicket of shrubbery and dense trees. There, I occasionally glimpsed the watchful figures of the Lottie Corisseri, peering out onto the battlefield.

I had never seen the corisseri before and wondered how numerous they were, and how it would be to stand against their charge. There wasn’t much that could withstand a full-fledged cavalry charge.

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Then, on the distant horizon, a tide of darkness finally emerged. Daylight dimmed even more, and the air grew even colder. Anticipation spiked. Our ranks started to nervously move around, groan, and whisper.

This was the Enemy and they were here. We could already single out individual human-shaped figures running madly ahead, and like a tidal wave, they funneled across the two bridges.

The Shadow fell upon our hearts and minds, and it was as if they had brought with them a spell to break our very will. I saw some soldiers shaking from fear. The very ground itself began to tremble, and the wind carried a vomitous stench of rot, sweat, and worse.

Soon we heard vile grunting, chanting, cries of nonsense, and sentence fragments that I could not understand.

What approached us was not an army of disciplined soldiers, but a scattered horde of frenzied savages, devoid of reason and thought. Their wild, mad dash towards us—and I wondered how their strength wasn’t spent already—let me know with all certainty that many of them were barely even conscious.

This horde would crash against our spears and axes at different times and would break like an impotent wave.

But, as this mass advanced, I saw walking amongst them, great and terrible brutes that towered over the rest. The scouts had been right.

The booming and bold voice of Rosalda Fiorlunta rose. “Draw courage from Hanuk, for the Enemy comes! Hold onto that inner fire, my brothers and sisters, and feed it your fury! Now is not the time to hold anything back. Show them your mettle!”

For a moment I wished for the charisma to speak such encouraging and emboldening words that could rally the spirit, but my strength lay elsewhere. I could inspire through action, and let others draw strength from my strength.

Now it was finally time for me to summon my Armor from that desolate, faraway realm of scorching heat. It had been a long time coming, and I never felt truly complete. I hoped this would finally fill that void.

The air was filled with the demonic stink of the Enemy, and the shadow of them loomed across the Poscale grasslands.

“By the Gods!” cried one soldier, as he saw what he was about to fight. “What madness is this?”

Jace stood firm, but I saw his knees waver, and his eyes twitch. “Do you think we are going to die?”

“Maybe,” said Iskander with his usual laconic tone. He had his own greatsword drawn as well, and resting on his shoulder. Unlike the Knights of Hanuk, his greatsword had the most utilitarian look, with scratches and chips broken off here and there.

“Jonas, stay close,” said Florencia, her voice faltering. “We need to fight together, as a team. One mistake could mean…”

But her words dissolved into the foul wind as I descended into the recesses of my soul. It was only natural to be afraid before a great battle, but I was not. I only felt a growing excitement over the coming carnage, one that Goxhandar shared most enthusiastically.

The trance-like state was easy to fall into, and very quickly I smelled the dry heat that came from outside the dark cave, and the whistling wind that blew against the rocks. The sky there was a maddened whirlpool of grey and red, in perpetual storm. Oh, how I wished never to be there again!

Now, I was deeply in two worlds at the same time. I saw flashes of the real world, where Florencia stood, worried and fearful, and the other where I saw my suit of armor before me.

I took a resolute step forward, ahead of the front lines, and threw down the woolen blanket that had shielded me from the cold.

My Armor was waiting for me, ready for me to break it free from its protective prison. I heard it call out to me, begging me to use its power to enhance mine.

I kept walking forward and barely heard faint shouting and disapproval. Lieutenants and commanders all ordered me back in line, for my own safety. But they did not understand, for I would soon be protected in a mighty way.

The thunderous approach of the Enemy became deafening as they charged up the slope, their frantic footsteps slipping on the wet grass. They stumbled and collided with one another, but clawed back up and continued their maddened charge.

There was no more time left, and I reached out with my right hand towards the Armor. But this time, I did not attempt to break the impenetrable runes. Instead, I imagined clearly and confidently myself already wearing it. I willed myself to see the world through the darkened eye slits of the armor.

Into that singular, focused thought, I poured all the strength and will that I could muster. A shift in my perspective occurred. The two worlds flashed white and black and red before my eyes.

Without so much as a whisper, I saw myself standing now inside the protective circle and heard a suffocating silence. Then, a swelling tide of strength, as the fiery currents of the empyrean flowed mightily into my veins and soul. I felt becoming more than I had been.

Yet, the deep and malicious rumbling and dark chanting came ever closer, and I suddenly remembered where I was. With a forceful push, I fell back into the present reality, where Florencia was waiting for me.

But the very moment my mind snapped back in place, a sharp and even louder crackle sounded around me. A whirlwind of pale pink flames scorched the very grass and earth underneath me, and I saw myself wreathed in a psychic fire of my own doing.

“Jonas!” I heard the frantic screams of Florencia, but then she fell silent as she saw what I’d done. All our soldiers were mute as well.

I had done it.

Confronted by the Enemy, I wore my suit of armor.

Overlapping plates of demonic bone covered the entirety of my body, from foot to neck, in macabre white and yellow color, reflecting the dim sunlight in oily hues. Each plate of bone was unique and asymmetrical, yet fit perfectly where it lay, covering the piece underneath it. And when I took a step forward, it felt astonishingly effortless. I moved with greater speed and agility.

And atop the scales of bone, the suit of armor had thick shoulder pads made from tusk fragments, teeth, and skull pieces fused together—grim trophies that I had taken from vanquished foes. And the helmet that crowned me was a mask of terror for the demonic foe, grim tusks protruding from its cheekbones, and its eye sockets an abyss of black that was aflame with pale pink flame. And looking down at my left hand, its gauntlet had four terrifying claws of bronze bone.

At that moment, I thought the suit of armor would be most complete with a mantle that had woven into it even more runes of warding. But that had been burned and destroyed by that fool Ardovar Verrier.

Moving within this magnificent war gear of unmatched potency was an effortless ballet, each gesture executed and enhanced with magic. I wondered just how quickly I could fight.

“Why do I feel so much stronger and faster with this?” I asked Goxhandar.

“It is because your armor is a most powerful artifact of great magnificence and craftmanship. For some of its crafting, I was not by your side, but piecing together what little you have told me about the making of your armor, know that you spent a century crafting it into what it is now. Know also that one cannot make such a thing without a heavy price in blood and time.”

“A century!” I gasped. “A century in that realm… Maybe it’s for the best I don’t remember anything.”

“That is precisely the words you uttered before you went away, Master, saying that you did not wish to remember any of it. I thought you were too weak when you left, but you had made up your mind.”

“I finally understand why I would do that, Goxhandar! Spending over a century alone, in that cave…”

“Not alone, Master. But I must urge you to focus on the present. Now is the time for battle!”

I laughed, my voice echoing inside the demonic-bone helmet, and I looked at my left gauntleted hand, and how perfectly it articulated. And most curiously, I could change the length of the bronze-colored claws at will. Longer or shorter, just how I willed it.

“But Goxhandar, how can I deliver my rightful fury without my greatest of weapon?” I said and felt Goxhandar joyously swim around.

I heard more panicked voices and yelling, and the dark and cold shadow of the Enemy approach, but I cared not. I made a single step forward and raised my right hand, palm facing down.

“Come forth the Blood Maul!” I whispered into my helmet, as the first wretched savages were almost upon me.

“And would you please orchestrate a most grand entrance? I would like to surpass Rosalda’s fancy speech, and break the Enemy’s soul!”

“Gladly!” said Goxhandar.